What an adventure I had the day after New Year’s.
I was baby-sitting my friends’ dogs and decided to take them to Bagby Hot Springs, in Oregon’s Cascade Mountains, for a long walk. The drive was about 55 miles in steadily deteriorating road conditions. As I approached Bagby, I met a man standing in the road, looking lost. You have to realize it was about 20 degrees Fahrenheit, and there was about one and one-half feet of snow on the ground. He was soaked to the skin.
“Can I help you?” I asked. He said in a thick Moldavian accent, “I am fine.” It was obvious he was not fine. “My car is in the river,” he continued. I was speechless for a second. I realized this guy was in shock. He had run off the icy road and flipped his car into the river — and then he swam to shore. Two groups of people had passed him by and neither had stopped to help. One said they would turn around, and the other simply refused to stop as he begged for help. This guy was freezing to death in the woods and they were ignoring him. I couldn’t believe it.
It took me a while, but I convinced him to get in my car. We drove back to the scene, and sure enough, there were the skid marks — but no car. It had floated downstream 200 yards, and was stuck there. I could not figure out how he had escaped. A huge dent in the roof showed how the car had flipped over before entering the river.
I drove him back to the Estacada fire station and they dried him off. Being a Sunday, there were no police to be found, even after calling 911 and waiting two hours with the firemen. We left to drive my friend home, stopping at two more police stations — but they were all closed, with directions to call 911 in an emergency. My new friend was thanking me, but I told him it was my duty — and the next time he saw someone who needed help, I knew he would be there to aid them. I watched as he walked into his building. The look on his face was the same stunned expression I noted as when I had first met him.
