Too Scared to Yell
By: W. Ray Luce
While I was an explorer scout I took part in three council sponsored events. One we took with our post was a 60 mile trek through the high Uintah Mountains, including hiking King’s Peak, the highest point in Utah. The second was a trip down the Colorado River in large rubber rafts with John Cross as guide—before the creation of Glenn Canyon Dam. The third was a survival training course at Stead Air Force Base in Sierra Nevada Mountains. That trip took place over Thanksgiving holiday when I was a junior in high school (1958). As it turned out there were a number of tender mercies on the trip.
We traveled to Sparks Nevada on an old bus that might generously be called a mediocre, old church bus. It was several steps down from any school bus that I ever rode on. I think there was some delay in getting the bus after we had all arrived, but we were finally on our way. We had our first major trouble somewhere in Nevada when we were going up a hill (in the middle of the desert), and the bus started to sputter. We got out and pushed the bus around and headed down the hill—there was, it turned out a gas station at the bottom of the hill, and even though it was late there was still someone there. We had inklings of trouble when the bus driver was trying to downshift the bus to slow it down—using a floor gear shifter—when the shifting gear came out of the floor. He was still able get to the gear rod back into the floor gear assembly and to stop the bus. My cousin Joe, who was on the trip, told his children about holding the gear into the floor assembly as the bus drove down the hill. It turned out we did not need gas, and after a lengthy delay it was determined that it must have been some blockage in the gas line that caused the bus to react that way. It was cleared out as well as possible and we were on our way. The plan was that one driver (Ned Aracheed, (sp)I believe) was going to sleep while the first driver drove so he could take over the second shift. That did not happen—because of the aforementioned problems.
Things went well and we were approaching Sparks Nevada—where we were going to spend the night in the LDS church. It was late at night and I am sure no one else was awake. We were traveling on a new interstate into Sparks when the driver fell asleep. He drifted from the center of the road over to the right side and was on the verge of going off the road into a steep pit. I was awake, but for the only time in my life I was too frightened to yell. I could and did pray a lot and just at the last second the driver woke up and turned the bus back on the road. I quickly went to a front seat and talked with the driver until we arrived at the church. It was many years later—after my mission before I could sleep in a moving vehicle.
The training was wonderful—we made parachute teepees and heated them with inside fires and learned a great deal about survival. We came back to the main base on Saturday night and slept near the bus. Although several scouts tried to stay in the latrines because they were warm—it was 4 degrees below zero on the flight line just beyond our bus. I was warm in Uncle Rex’s army surplus polar sleeping bag. We had a really remarkable testimony meeting on Sunday on the bus and then were ready to start the trip home. The bus would not start, and so they got a tow truck to tow it so they could start it by putting it into gear while it was going. When they put it into gear the clutch plate broke into pieces. They talked with the motor pool and determined that it might be a few days while they were able to get the part. All of our equipment was moved down to the Sparks chapel with a few pickup trucks and we were assured that they would contact our parents and schools telling them why we were going to be gone a few more days than anticipated. They showed us the bus stop and said that there was a good antique car collection in Reno. We stowed our equipment and went to the bus stop. The bus came and we were about to get on when we saw some other scouts coming and decided to wait for them. They all arrived, and before the next bus came the leaders came by in a pickup truck telling us that they had been able to fix the bus and that we needed to get back to the church and get ready to go. The bus came, and after a trip well into the night we arrived home. The trip home was miserable. It was cold, and I was not able to sleep.
I have often reflected on the many tender mercies on the trip. First, that there was a gas station with someone still there at the bottom of the hill when we had fuel problems. Secondly—and perhaps most obvious—that the driver woke up on the road into Sparks, and third, that we did not get on the bus to go to Reno, but waited for the other scouts. If we had been scattered in Reno it is hard to tell how long it would have taken to find us all in the days before cell phones.
We traveled to Sparks Nevada on an old bus that might generously be called a mediocre, old church bus. It was several steps down from any school bus that I ever rode on. I think there was some delay in getting the bus after we had all arrived, but we were finally on our way. We had our first major trouble somewhere in Nevada when we were going up a hill (in the middle of the desert), and the bus started to sputter. We got out and pushed the bus around and headed down the hill—there was, it turned out a gas station at the bottom of the hill, and even though it was late there was still someone there. We had inklings of trouble when the bus driver was trying to downshift the bus to slow it down—using a floor gear shifter—when the shifting gear came out of the floor. He was still able get to the gear rod back into the floor gear assembly and to stop the bus. My cousin Joe, who was on the trip, told his children about holding the gear into the floor assembly as the bus drove down the hill. It turned out we did not need gas, and after a lengthy delay it was determined that it must have been some blockage in the gas line that caused the bus to react that way. It was cleared out as well as possible and we were on our way. The plan was that one driver (Ned Aracheed, (sp)I believe) was going to sleep while the first driver drove so he could take over the second shift. That did not happen—because of the aforementioned problems.
Things went well and we were approaching Sparks Nevada—where we were going to spend the night in the LDS church. It was late at night and I am sure no one else was awake. We were traveling on a new interstate into Sparks when the driver fell asleep. He drifted from the center of the road over to the right side and was on the verge of going off the road into a steep pit. I was awake, but for the only time in my life I was too frightened to yell. I could and did pray a lot and just at the last second the driver woke up and turned the bus back on the road. I quickly went to a front seat and talked with the driver until we arrived at the church. It was many years later—after my mission before I could sleep in a moving vehicle.
The training was wonderful—we made parachute teepees and heated them with inside fires and learned a great deal about survival. We came back to the main base on Saturday night and slept near the bus. Although several scouts tried to stay in the latrines because they were warm—it was 4 degrees below zero on the flight line just beyond our bus. I was warm in Uncle Rex’s army surplus polar sleeping bag. We had a really remarkable testimony meeting on Sunday on the bus and then were ready to start the trip home. The bus would not start, and so they got a tow truck to tow it so they could start it by putting it into gear while it was going. When they put it into gear the clutch plate broke into pieces. They talked with the motor pool and determined that it might be a few days while they were able to get the part. All of our equipment was moved down to the Sparks chapel with a few pickup trucks and we were assured that they would contact our parents and schools telling them why we were going to be gone a few more days than anticipated. They showed us the bus stop and said that there was a good antique car collection in Reno. We stowed our equipment and went to the bus stop. The bus came and we were about to get on when we saw some other scouts coming and decided to wait for them. They all arrived, and before the next bus came the leaders came by in a pickup truck telling us that they had been able to fix the bus and that we needed to get back to the church and get ready to go. The bus came, and after a trip well into the night we arrived home. The trip home was miserable. It was cold, and I was not able to sleep.
I have often reflected on the many tender mercies on the trip. First, that there was a gas station with someone still there at the bottom of the hill when we had fuel problems. Secondly—and perhaps most obvious—that the driver woke up on the road into Sparks, and third, that we did not get on the bus to go to Reno, but waited for the other scouts. If we had been scattered in Reno it is hard to tell how long it would have taken to find us all in the days before cell phones.