Yesterday the battery in my old truck was dead, for the third time in two weeks. My friend Mike had charged it once, jumped it once, and here it was, cold and clicking once again. Naturally, I discovered this after I had laboriously filled the manure spreader. When I called Mike to ask for his suggestions he explained that his own truck was currently dismantled and waiting for parts. But never fear! He jumped on his motorcycle and roared the 8 miles out to the farm. Super Mike!
For ten years, Mike has been the friend who has rescued me at odd hours more times than I can count. He is the one who came for Jon and me when the fuel filter broke down on the highway an hour away. He is the one who magically appeared when I had two small children in the back seat, a Christmas tree tied to the roof, and a dead engine. Flat tire? Out of gas? Failed brakes? Broken starter? Mike has coped with it all. He plows the driveway and chainsaws fallen trees. He has met airplane flights in Albany, picked up my dogs at the vet, helped me set up for parties, driven Jon to school. He has repaired all my small engines forever and once dropped everything to come out to inspect a lawnmower that suddenly refused to start. (He looked at the lawnmower and then looked at me. “Engine won’t turn over if you have the blades engaged,” he explained patiently. “Oh, Mike, I’m so stupid!” A cheerful giggle: “You said it, Sis, not me!”)
Last night he came out to remove the dead battery because I didn’t know how. I’m going to try to buy a new battery this morning after barn chores. If I’m successful, he will zoom out on his motorcycle again to install it.
I am so lucky. In my life, Mike is not just a friend, but a superhero.