Thank goodness for hunters.
I went out Friday to a remote area of the Jefferson National Forest to do a couple of days of light backpacking. It's bow hunting season here. (Since bow hunters have to actually see what they shoot, I wasn't concerned about being mistaken for a handsome buck!)
When I finally returned to my car Saturday morning, with boots soaked through from a mishap during my last of 4 creek crossings, I unloaded my gear, and sat in my car for a long moment to rest my old, aching body. When I turned the key, the ignition circuit blew. I replaced a 40 amp fuse, then promptly blew it again. An apparent short in my starter or starter solenoid. Bummer. Turned on my cell phone--no signal.
Since I was parked in BFE, I started out walking down the road with my codger cane. Two bow hunters, a man with his teenage son, stopped their truck and offered assistance. In the end, they drove me 20 miles into Pearisburg (the Dairy Queen, for a traditional post-hike Blizzard), which I'm sure sacrificed some excellent hunting time for them.
Now my only remaining headache is to pay a tow truck to drive way out there and then haul my car to a mechanic. (These newer cars make it nearly impossible to fix such simple problems at home.)
Thank you, bow hunters.
Bob