‘Wanderer’ crosses paths with Lodi teen

Just ten minutes after I arrived in town, it appeared possible that my friends’ predictions about Lodi might be right.

“Why stop in Lodi?” they had asked. “Why start a trip of 15 thousand miles with an insignificant 70-mile hop?

“And what in the world do you plan to do for five whole days in that God-forsaken outpost?”

Well, for me, stopping in Lodi seems the perfect way to start my 12-month trek through the U.S. and Canada. This trip isn’t about landmarks and famous attractions; it’s about lifestyles and ordinary people. I’m expecting a rich and rewarding experience even though I’ll pass within a few hundred miles of several major tourist attractions without paying them a visit.

As I see things, it’s perfectly logical to fly in the face of common sense and to voluntarily become stuck in Lodi for the better part of a week. What better way to make my point? I figured120 hours in Lodi will prove that anywhere is a likely location for discovery and adventure.

That logic had me eastbound on Kettleman Lane, just a mile short of my first night’s destination, where I bumped into Logan Stelmacher, 18, who was at the wheel of a pickup truck riding high on four huge wheels.

The tires on that truck are so massive, in fact, that they protrude beyond the body, forming rubber buffers along the sides.

Now my 1995 Saturn creates a far less imposing profile. It’s a rather nondescript vehicle with wheels that look like toys next to Logan’s big donuts. But the Saturn does have one redeeming characteristic, flexible doors and fenders.

Allow me to reconstruct the Kettleman Lane Incident.

With me in his blind spot, Logan eased into the right lane. His mighty right front tire encountered the pliable outer shell of my front door - yes, just inches from my frail body.

Huge treads grabbed at my side mirror, hoping, perhaps, to gain purchase so the truck could complete a transit across my windshield and hood. But the mirror snapped off and the tire never left the ground.

The force of impact compressed the outer wall of my door. Just as suddenly as the two vehicles had come together, the inevitable equal-and-opposite-reaction followed and we sort of bounced apart. In retrospect, it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant sensation, the two vehicles sort of brushed against each other, little harm done.

Two years ago, I was involved in another collision. This one occurred in Ontario – in the heart of the “Inland Empire.” I was stopped at an intersection when a young fellow ran into me head-on. I’ll never forget the look on his face before he shifted into reverse and took off in a classic hit-and-run maneuver.

But Logan, as I was to learn over the succeeding half day, is a different sort of young man. He continued driving only until he reached a clearing where, rather than accelerating, he slowed to a stop and jumped down from his cab.

Seeing this lanky young fellow coming toward me in the early evening with a big tattoo on his shoulder gave me pause. Frankly, I expected a bit of a confrontation – most of us tend to react with anger when we make a mistake; we tend to search for a way to blame someone else for our error.

But Logan’s first concern was for my well being.

“Are you O.K. sir?”

I looked into his clear eyes and believed instantly that he was truly concerned. He quickly admitted that he had been at fault, “I just never saw you,” he said.

He carefully – and quite legibly - - wrote his name, address, phone, insurance company and policy number on a slip of paper and waited politely for me to gain my wits.

This act of deference meant a lot to me. I’d only just met this young man but I had a good feeling about him. So, I suggested that he might prefer that we not involve the police or even our insurance companies.

He was obviously very pleased - - I’d say joyful- -and thanked me profusely.

“Now,” I began, “how do you think we can best get my car back in service?”

We agreed to meet for lunch the next day and he promised to do some legwork in the meantime. He called me an hour later to announce that he’d made some progress and was confident that we could effect all necessary repairs in short order.

The next day, during lunch, I learned that Logan is a bit of a daredevil. He enjoys risk-taking and will, in just a few months, take that trait to the limit as he begins training that will lead to his becoming a Navy Seal.

As I watched and listened to this young man describe his life and his plans for the future, I realized that my decision to choose the path less taken was already proved valid. Lodi will be a highlight of my trip not because of its history or natural beauty, but because it introduced me to Logan and a couple of his buddies who spent the afternoon “buffing out” some rubber tire marks from my door and replacing my mirror.

It was a minor incident in Logan’s life, just a few hours spent with an old guy and his little car and about ten bucks for a Pep Boys mirror. But for me, it was a chance to connect with one of the millions who will look out for me in my old age. They’ll keep me on the road, keep me fed and clothed, entertain me and - - in the case of Logan and hundreds of thousands of others who hear the call to duty - - keep me safe in a dangerous world.

Thanks, Logan.

And, Hey! Lodi! I’m glad I met you!