19 years ago I spent Thanksgiving Day in Battle Mountain Nevada. I'd taken off for San Francisco right from work on Wednesday afternoon, and started driving into the night. About 7 hours into that never ending flat tundra of Northern Nevada, my car started dying right on the freeway. It was the alternator. I got out of my car and a man in a mini-van pulled over and said the next exit was just about 200 yards away and he'd take me. When I got into the van, there was a .38 calibur handgun on the floorboard by my feet. I freaked out a little, thinking that if he reached for it I'd knee him in the head. But he just drove me to the exit and to the NAMPA parts store. The store was closed, but he knew the owner and brought him back. It was about 10:00 p.m. They opened the store and we went inside. Almost every inch of available wall space overhead was covered with hunting trophies (Elk and deer heads, moose, etc). A thousand hunted animals stared down at me standing at the counter, where the owner said an alternator for my VW GTI would cost me about $400. $400 I asked? $400 he said flatly. So I said thanks, I think I'll call my Dad. And then I walked out into the bitter cold to where I saw a motel off the freeway. It was a Holiday Inn Express. I asked the Manger if I could use the phone and I called my Dad collect. I told him what happened, he agreed it was the alternator, and he said he'd be there in the morning with a new one. So Thanksgiving morning I woke up, walked around town. There were 3 buildings: The NAMPA parts store, a bar/restauraunt called the Owl Club, and the Motel. I spent the morning in the Owl Club reading the Battle Mountain Bugle---first page news was a group of pictures of all the children who had turned one years old that month in Battle Mountain and a story about plowing the snow off 'main street' earlier that week. I walked back to the Motel and my Dad and his wife showed up around 11:00 a.m. They had brought a turkey, potatoes and gravy, stuffing, and yams kept warm in a cooler. They set the table with a linen cloth in the tiny conference room of the Holiday in Express, and there we ate thanksgiving dinner in Battle Moutain making a toast with Martenelli's cider from styrofoam cups. Then my Daddy fixed the carburator and we drove back together, the rest of the way to San Francisco. That was a Happy Thanksgiving. | 