The Dusty Road to Robbers Roost

            “It’s your choice today,” Ted told me two weeks ago.

I stuck the last of the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher as I considered and finally suggested Robbers Roost. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to see Robbers Roost except legends abounded about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, part of the1800’s Wild Bunch who holed up at Robbers Roost in the desert east of Hanksville.

We grabbed Michael R. Kelsey’s book, Hiking and Exploring Utah’s Henry Mountains and Robbers Roost, gassed up our 2015 Jeep Patriot, and were on our way. Besides spectacular scenery there’s not much between Blanding and Hanksville on Highway 95 except Fry Canyon Lodge which wasn’t up and running. Our valiant little vehicle hummed along, but the air conditioner didn’t seem as cool as usual. I fretted, wondering if we’d have to get it recharged, but it kept us cool enough, and after 126 miles on the Bicentennial Highway, we arrived in Hanksville. 

We refueled at Stan’s Convenience Store for nearly six dollars a gallon and headed onto Highway 24. Following a map in Kelsey’s book, we turned off the highway onto a dirt road and chugged along, churning up dust. It was high desert country, complete with mesas and sand dunes. Robbers Roost, also known as the Ekker Ranch, was located 50 miles up that dirt road, and we had traveled about 40 miles when the Jeep’s warning buzzer sounded. Ted pulled over, saying the battery light had come on. We climbed out, and he lifted the hood, took off the battery cover, and jiggled the cables. “It looks okay,” he said. 

“But I can hear something.” We listened as water gurgled in the engine.

We got back in, and Ted turned the key in the ignition. The buzzer sounded again, this time indicating the Jeep was overheating. Ted turned it off, climbed back out, and propped up the hood. My stomach tightened from apprehension as I got out to stand beside my hubby. Ted leaned over the engine, straightened, and pulled out a very long belt. 

“It’s not broken anywhere,” he said, examining it, “but it’s frayed.”

Ted can fix almost anything, but I feared this was beyond his ability, so I began praying for help and peace because I was feeling anything but serene.

He crawled under the Jeep to look things over, finally squirming out to say, “I don’t know how to rewind it.”

I held my phone’s flashlight over the engine and continued to pray as Ted fiddled with the belt.

Though it seemed longer to me, according to Ted, in about five minutes, two pickups, traveling together, stopped, and the young men asked if we needed help.

“We’ve thrown a belt.” Ted held up the culprit.

The two young men and a young woman immediately hopped out of their vehicles. We soon learned their names, Mike, Andrew, and Megan, all in their twenties. Mike pulled out his tool case holding every socket imaginable, slid underneath the Jeep, and began to take off the skid plate. 

Andrew asked if we had Triple A, which we do, but none of us had cell service. While the men worked on the Jeep and with our little dog following me, I walked up the road and climbed an embankment to see if I could get a signal. I was finally able to call Triple A, but all I could get were automated operators, and the calls kept dropping. Megan finally joined me and suggested I try a towing company. Although the connection remained spotty, I was finally able to talk to a man at Alexander’s Towing who said he could get a belt from Green River and bring it out to us.

Back at the Jeep, I found out later, Mike said he didn’t know how to get the belt back on either. They thumbed through the Jeep’s manuals to no avail. None of them had any internet bars on their phones, but since Ted had been able to pull up his map earlier, he googled a 2015 Jeep serpentine belt and up popped a YouTube video showing how to fix it. Andrew photographed it, and with that photo, Mike wound it back onto the pulleys.

Oblivious to what was happening, I was still up on the embankment, talking to Alexander’s Towing. “I’m repairing a flat, so it’ll take some time to get the belt to you,” he said. “Where are you?”

I was giving him directions when Megan said, “They’ve got it started. Let’s get you down there.”

I told Alexander they’d fixed the Jeep and hustled down to our vehicle.

Ted was shaking hands with the young men and thanking them. “What do we owe you?” 

“Nothing.” Mike packed up his tool case and slid it into the back of his pickup. As I walked over to thank him, he held out a hand, but I hugged him instead.

“You’re an answer to prayer.”

“Nobody’s ever called me that before!” 

He sounded so surprised, I smiled. “Well, you are.”

I hopped in the Jeep with Kenidee, Ted did a turnaround, and while our rescuers drove north, we headed back to Highway 24. Although cell service continued to be iffy, Alexander’s Towing tried to call several times. I finally texted to let him know we wouldn’t need the belt, and he responded with a thumbs up.

Once we left Hanksville, Ted drove 55-miles-per-hour, our valiant little vehicle humming along. My churning stomach settled, and I dozed off. We made it all the way back to Blanding, a miracle in itself, and Ted parked the Jeep in our garage.  

The dusty road to Robbers Roost turned out to be much more important than our destination at an outlaw hideout. Were we grateful for the young people who were the unmistakable answer to our prayers? Yes. 

Were we awed? Absolutely. 

 Were we humbled? Beyond words to express.