Who's Truck is this Anyway?

My old truck up front with my neighbor’s less old truck in the background

I took a couple of weeks off from writing. If you read my other newsletter, you know why. I'm back now and have a story to share about a blind spot that happened to me on a recent adventure to the California desert.

When my family moved to California 20 years ago, I had a car that we brought with us. After the first year or so of living here, I discovered that a car isn't the best way to explore the nearby desert. And I LOVE exploring remote places.

So I bought a truck. The truck was already six or seven years old when I got it. But that was okay, it was easy to repair, and I still have it. 

Shortly after buying the truck, I bought a tow strap. For the uninitiated, a tow strap is made of heavy nylon webbing and has heavy metal hooks on each end. When a car or whatever is stuck in the sand, or mud, or snow, one end of the strap is hooked to the stuck car, and the other end is hooked to another vehicle to pull it out. 

So I had bought this tow strap about twenty years ago and stowed it in my truck. There is sat, waiting for a chance to tow.

My neighbor has a truck that is very similar to mine. A couple of weeks ago, we were going pandemic crazy and decided to have a camping trip to the desert. The desert is a rugged place where you can drive dirt roads all day and hardly see another soul. So there we were, exploring the desert with all the rocks and sand and everything else that goes along with that. Having a good-old-time of it. 

We drove our trucks up and out of a canyon and popped out onto a bit of paved road. The road is smooth, and we can go fast, so we did. Up and over a rise, and we see three guys frantically waving us down. We blew past them and pulled off; something didn't seem right. We turned around and headed back to see what was going on, cautiously. 

Here is the scene. Three guys are standing there, and two vehicles off to the side, one of them stuck in the sand. The first guy I pulled up to asked if I spoke Spanish. I answered, "no." He holds a rope up and says it broke, and it's not long enough. I know enough Spanish to get that. I figure this guy is Mexican and fresh from across the border. But so what?

We hop out of our trucks, and the other two guys come up to us, a young man and his father. They are both white. They explain that the van is stuck in the sand, and the rope broke while trying to pull it out. I look, and there is a camper van that probably pre-dates my truck by a good ten years sunk up to its rear axle in the sand. Next to it is a newish pickup truck that had been trying to pull the van out.

My old tow strap came out, and the Mexican guy eagerly takes it and hooks one end to the pickup and the other end to the van.

This is the part where I become so confused and am blindsided by my assumptions and prejudice. The younger white guy climbs in the old camper van, and the Mexican guy jumps in the newish pickup. In a matter of seconds, the van is pulled free, and the Mexican guy is wrapping up my tow strap and handing it to me. The younger white guy comes over and explains that he hasn't seen his father for over a year and they are out camping for the first time ever.

You see what happened, right? I assumed the Mexican guy was in the old van, probably just crossed the border, didn't speak any English, and was doing the best he could. And of course, I thought, the two white guys are likely driving the newish pickup truck and had stopped to help the Mexican guy. 

My instincts were correct; something wasn't right. Something wasn't right in my head. My prejudice and assumptions were clouding my perception of the situation. Here was a guy who doesn't speak English, who had everything to risk, that stopped to help the two other guys that needed the help. If you don't understand his risk, it's the risk of the highway patrol coming along and making it a really bad day for him, no matter his immigration status. Yet, he was there doing what he could to help out two total strangers.

We assess people based on the clothes they wear, the language they speak, how they wear their hair, the condition of their teeth, even how they smell. It's how we navigate the world and keep ourselves and the ones we care for safe. There was no danger to me in the story I told here today. But my culturally conditioned instincts told me to sort out who was who, and those instincts got it wrong. I was wrong. It was a humbling experience.

Has something like this happened to you? Maybe it was an innocent encounter like mine that didn't amount to much, or perhaps it was something that had more serious implications. I'd like to hear about it. Or you could share your thoughts on my story. Either way, leave a comment or send me an email. Your thoughtful comments help me and others grow and understand where our blind spots are regarding racism.

Thanks for reading. I appreciate you.

Martin