Saturday evening, my husband Arnold and I drove to the gas station and decided to take a “scenic” route back home via a back road we’d never travelled before.

My first mistake.

This road started out as any normal paved country road with sparse housing and alternating acres of timber woods and farm fields. Eventually, it turned to dirt. I generally avoid dirt roads just to save the wear and tear on the car, but it was a beautifully sunny day and we had time to kill. We figured it would eventually connect to the main road that we live on. Let’s go.

The afternoon was hot and humid – typical of the South Carolina Low Country in May. The road seemed to be relatively well-travelled and smooth, though tight on the sides with heavy woods and overgrowth. I took it slow, trying to avoid ruts and bumps. The scenery was pretty, but entirely desolate. There were no houses or signs of human life at all.

After a mile on this dirt road, things began to feel a little sketchy.

We came upon a sharp curve covered with rocks. Not just little stones, either: this looked like a dump truck had dropped off a load of shattered concrete to shore up the dirt. As we approached the curve, there was a small grassy cut-in at the roadside. I actually considered just using it to make a turn-around and backtracking, but reasoned that we couldn’t be too much farther from our home road, and decided to continue.

My second mistake.

I slowly crept over this busted rock area, trying to avoid the biggest and sharpest looking pieces. As we rounded the curve, we came into full shade and could see, up ahead, that this road was still a little wet. (I should mention here that we had some heavy rain a couple days prior.) This whole shaded stretch was also covered with the chunky rocks. Must be placed there to help reinforce the ground where it was softest?

We continued. How bad could it be?

Less than half a mile later, we found out.

My third mistake.

Jagged rocks formed a peak through the center of the road, so I drove very slowly. I was trying to be careful to navigate around the largest and worst of the rocks, weaving side to side. We were creeping along as I felt the wheel start to pull left. I tried giving it some gas and fighting it back toward the center when we stopped moving entirely. Oh no.

I felt the first wave of hot liquid panic blooming in my stomach.

Okay, stay calm. It can’t be that bad.

“Lemme try reverse.”

But that made no difference. The front wheels were spinning but we were not moving. We were stuck on the muddy side of a dirt road in the middle of heavy forest with no houses or sign of humans for miles. And we were not moving.

I told Arnold I was scared. He tried to reassure me that everything was fine and he’d get us out. Wearing nice jeans, a dressy shirt, and Birkenstock slide sandals, this man goes around to the driver’s side front – the problem spot – and just starts digging. He’s tromping through the woods, bringing branches to use for shoveling. He was basically bailing mud with his bare hands while I sat in the driver’s seat repeating a mantra of “I’m scared, I’m scared.”

(I couldn’t even get out to help him; the mud was up to the bottom of my door.)

We worked at this for 20 minutes. He’d do some digging, then I’d try reverse, forward, reverse… We got nowhere. I was a sitting panic attack, he was literally covered in mud, the car was full of mosquitoes, and it wasn’t budging.

So, I did the only logical thing in the moment: I called my mom.

Mom drives a sporty little car and has no way to actually help us, but having her on the line was reassuring. We agreed that it was time to call a tow truck.

First, I had to figure out where we were. I wasn’t sure of the road name but was able to describe the route to get to us. However, he was already on a call and advised us it would be at least an hour before he could head over. And the cost would be $125 minimum.

With no other choice, Arnold got back in the car and we settled in for a long, stifling hot wait.

I began to relax, realizing everything would eventually be okay.

“There’s a truck coming,” Arnold said.

“What?!”

He meant a literal pickup truck, heading toward us from up ahead. In the middle of this desolate road-less-travelled Carolinian forestry abyss, here comes a strange truck. Super panic.

The pickup lumbered toward us, creeping to a stop as the driver and his passenger eyed us over. Arnold and I were staring into the big, rounded front end of an older, dusty white Dodge Ram. When the driver started to get out, my first instinct was to reach for my gun. My body was literally trembling as I chanted, “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.”

A stout, muscular man glistening with sweat approached us. Arnold stepped out to greet him.

I literally wanted to disappear… until I saw the man reach out to shake Arnold’s hand with a big smile. Obviously, this man must have recognized him from his job in retail. (Everyone around here knows Arnold!)

Okay, okay, it’s all right. At least they’re friendly.

Arnold explained our situation and the driver immediately went to the back of his truck and pulled up a shovel.

“It’s your lucky day,” he said with a grin. “You got a guardian angel here today!”

This man was clearly a veteran of country dirt roads.

Meanwhile, his passenger had crept over to us… barefooted. This older gentleman certainly wasn’t prepared to push a car out of the mud this day, but it didn’t seem to faze him.

Our guardian angel began to shovel mud from beneath both front tires like a machine. He got around the wheels and all up in the business. Then six muddy hands pushed with all their might as I eased on the gas. With a little rocking motion, we finally got enough traction.

They shouted, “Go, go, go!” as I made the speedy reversal.

Once the car was on solid ground and I knew we were safe, I stumbled out with shaky knees and tears in my eyes.

I quickly explained that this was our first time ever on this road, and that we live up at the corner of the highway, etc. Clearly, these guys were very familiar with the area because they instantly knew which house we were talking about.

The driver asked our names and then gave us theirs: his name was Chris; his passenger, Marion.

Chris explained that he lives just “up the road” and was on his own way to town. He usually takes the main road to the highway, but for some reason on this day, he felt like he’d take this occasional back way. Just something, he explained, made him decide to turn off at the dirt road.

We spoke for a few moments longer with Chris and Marion, our guardian angels. Hugs and handshakes all around. They helped me navigate to the safest part of the lane, and assured us that the rest of the way was clear and dry.

The moral of this story.

The world is a scary place but not every human being is a monster.

See, I have a tendency to charge all strangers as guilty until proven innocent, you might say. I’m very socially anxious and I do not trust people at face value. For whatever reason, life has taught me that strangers pose a threat (even though this is rarely the case).

In the moment, my brain said fight or flight, get your gun ready to defend yourself, tell them to move along, we don’t need any help, there’s a tow truck on the way, leave us alone.

But that mindset defused as soon as I realized their warm smiles and strong arms meant us no harm, just help. Friendly country neighbors helping neighbors with no motives, just kindness. Real, honest southern hospitality at its finest. These kind strangers saved us a lot of time and money and got us back on the road home.

A bad situation brought us two new friends, a funny story to tell, and, thankfully, no damage to the car.

But I definitely won’t be taking any dirt roads again. Ever.