We were in a hurry on a rural road in the central valley of California, August 2008. We were about twenty CREA group dairy advisers (cover photo), three rented vans (all Toyota, a white one handled by Marcelo Catalá and two gray vans piloted by Fernando Bargo and Mark Snyder (the use of full names in this note because we were the only ones that we could not drink beer at the stops) and an milimetric agenda: leaving Davis University and reach timely at the Charles Ahlem Ranch in Hilmar District. Later, in the truck, 1, Marcelo Català (DeLaval) marked the rhythm, it remained close to the van 2 with Fernando Bargo behind the wheel and closing the caravan the van 3 with Mark taking care not to lose sight of as did not know the way.
To the left of the road, a cloud of dust and a scene that we went through: a lady, hands on the waist, Iooking desperatly to her blue truck buried up to the axles on the sandy roadside. She was worried because of getting late to a job interview. We doubted, and we were discussing whether to stop or not, but the pressure not to miss the tide won by seconds... until we saw that, three hundred metres further on, the white van driven by Marcelo turned on the brake lights, followed by an abrupt U-turn and a rescue decision taken. Behind, happyly, vans 2 and 3 imitated the maneuver. Everything was very fast...almost a S.W.A.T. operation drama. In an instant the woman was surrounded by 23 strangers speaking a foreing language but looking friendly, who took possession of her vehicle. A couple of colleagues who spoke english reassured her, while John Guerrico threw himself to the ground to dig the wheels out and the rest, following his example, began to dislodge the wheels from the sand trap. Someone got into the truck, started the engine, and, to the count of three, we push between screams and laughter. The truck jumped out of sand and returned to the asphalt.
The woman stayed planted to the tarmac, while a yellow school bus flew past raising dust that then fell slowly decreasing the scene. She moved her lips, wanting to say something, but had no words. She did not understand what we said, and from where we had come. One of the guys who spoke english approached slowly, smiled and whispered marking each syllable: “All yours, good luck!” She nodded several times, with the hand on the chest. She tried to stammer out a “thank you...” in spanish, but mixed it all and laughed between tears. Someone signaled a thumb up to her; another one made the gesture of a clock as saying “get to the interview!”. Then the lady went up to the blue truck, and still trembling, moved a few meters, stopped to greet us, waving her arm up high. Her prayers had been answered.
For a few minutes we were like mysterious angels. We look at each other, still with adrenaline in the body. “Go, go, goooo” Marcelo shouted urging us to leave. As we appeared out of nowhere, we got back into the vehicles, we took another U-turn and head back along the road towards the dairy farm. Three U-turns in sync, engines howling, and over time the caravan heading to the dairy.
We lost a few minutes; she recovered her day and maybe her job project. And all of us, in addition to the time we spent, we brought home a nice story that still makes us smile. It would be good to know the story that the blessed lady might of told about our help...some day perhaps.
