My vehicle would not start. This was a calamity of the highest order. This was on Monday, four days before leaving for northern Minnesota for the Opener of the fishing season, where I meet a group of fishermen at a cabin called Drakes Hideaway overlooking Cut Foot Sioux. I had been looking forward to the Opener since the snow melted off my front lawn. Now I was so close, and my vehicle wouldn’t start. 

I returned from spending a day bass fishing in northwestern Wisconsin and putting my boat in the garage when I realized that my vehicle wouldn’t start. I called the Chevy dealer who takes care of my Chevy Traverse. They told me they couldn’t do anything right then, but if I could get my vehicle to them the next morning, they would take a look at it. 

On Tuesday, I called a tow truck and watched as it left our driveway with my vehicle. This was not looking good. Depending on what was wrong and what parts were needed, this could take a while, and I was running out of time. Plus, I had volunteered to bring Friday night’s dinner of bratwurst patties, so there was added concern on my part. I felt responsible. 

I looked into the availability of renting a vehicle with a tow hitch. There aren’t many of them out there, and I wasn’t having much luck. Later Tuesday afternoon, the car dealer called, telling me it was a starter, that they had one in stock, and my vehicle would be ready the next afternoon.

I picked up the car on Wednesday afternoon. I felt lucky that it wasn’t anything worse than a starter, and I had my vehicle back. Everything was looking good. On Thursday, I shopped. I got a dozen-and-a-half bratwurst patties from my local meat market, a dozen-and-a-half hard rolls, a bucket of potato salad, and another bucket of coleslaw. Friday night’s dinner was covered.

Friday was travel day. I made sure that everything I needed for fishing was in the boat, hooked it up to my vehicle, and dragged it out of the garage. I packed the bratwurst patties, potato salad and coleslaw in the ice chest with a bag of ice, loaded it in the back of my vehicle, and threw in a small duffle bag and sleeping bag. 

Closing the garage door, I pulled out of the driveway and immediately heard a howling noise. I pulled over and, thinking it was the boat trailer, checked the axle. The axle wasn’t hot. I took off again, and the howling noise got worse. 

I was trying to get someplace to have the vehicle, or my boat trailer, looked at. The howling seemed to be getting worse. Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw a huge chunk of rubber fly off the back end of the vehicle. This was not good. I got out of the vehicle and found the right rear tire shredded. 

I had big plans to leave early, and to get to Drakes Hideaway early. Now I was stranded. I called a couple of places on my cell phone for roadside assistance, but never got through. I had no idea how I was going to get to Drakes Hideaway. I had tonight’s dinner with me. Drakes Hideaway was depending upon me, and I was stuck on the road. 

As I was starting to panic a bit, a blue sedan stopped in front of my vehicle, and a young man came over to my car as I lowered the window. “Looks like you are having some trouble,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to change the tire,” I told him.

“I can do that,” he said. “This is what I do.”

The young man’s name was Jared Roby, and he created a business he called Mobile Garage Repair. He told me that he even does house calls and fixes peoples’ cars right in their driveways. 

Within a few minute, he dragged out a big jack, lifted up the back of the vehicle, got out the spare tire, and changed tires for me. I was overjoyed. I asked him what he charged, and he told me, “20 bucks.” I told him no. That was too little, and I paid him more. He made a huge difference; I would still be stranded if it wasn’t for him. 

I needed to get another tire. I stopped at a tire dealer and explained my problem. A young man told me they would be happy to replace the tire, but didn’t have my size in stock. What now?

He suggested that I go a block down the street to our local Fleet Farm to see if they had a tire there. Fleet Farm had my size tire, but would never get to my car anytime that day. I bought the new tire, returned to the tire dealer, and within a few minutes, they replaced the tire and remounted my spare tire. 

My original plan had been to stop for breakfast at a small café where I often eat at on my way north. But now, I didn’t have time. I pulled into a drive-through at a fast-food place, got a couple double cheeseburgers and bag of fries, and headed out on the highway. I was two hours later than I had wanted, but finally on the road north. 

I felt a sense of trepidation as I drove. What else could go wrong? You should never ask that question, because there are all sorts of things which could still go wrong. But as I got further north, I started feeling more confident.

I was overjoyed to finally pull into Drakes Hideaway. I was greeted by the usual suspects. There was Tom Horn from Saint Cloud; Tom Peterson with his two sons, Evan and Avery and three-year old grandson Redden from Grand Rapids; and Judge Dennis Murphy with his grandson Jeremiah and Mark Billeadeau, with his son Bryan and their friend Vinny Lesnar. all from the Twin Cities. Plus this writer representing Wisconsin. 

Jeremiah helped me launch the boat and I tied it up to the dock. We were all set for the Opener the following morning. 

That evening, Jeremiah and I grilled bratwurst patties on the Blackstone griddle on the back porch. There is always great excitement the night before the Opener.

We drank a little liquor, smoked cigars, told jokes and revived memories from other Openers. Everyone caught up with what was going on in their lives since the last time we got together. I was especially happy to be there with all that had gone awry. 

The next morning, Jeremiah and I fried bacon and eggs on the Blackstone. Skies were blue with little wind, but still chilly in the morning. It was going to be a good day. 

After breakfast, the Judge, Jeremiah and I pulled away from the dock, motoring out into the lake. We stopped in a small bay and anchored over a hump in 13 feet of water where we had started fishing on several other Openers. We were fishing with chartreuse jigs and minnows. 

Twenty minutes after starting, I felt a fish slam my bait. Pulling back, I set the hook. The rod was doubled over as the fish tore off, rod tip plunging. I turned the fish and got it coming back toward the boat. It took a minute before we saw the fish in the clear water: a long, golden-brown shape. Jeremiah was standing next to me with the net, and as I brought fish alongside the boat, he thrust the net into the water and pulled it up with the fish twisting and turning in the mesh. 

It was a 17-inch walleye. Everything finally seemed right. 

My vehicle worked, the first fish was caught, and my troubles were behind me. Life is good. (Fingers crossed!)