By Charlie Adcock, F311374
FMCA National President
December 2014
My Fellow FMCA Members,
I never really intended to make it a habit of sharing my misadventures in this column, but for some reason, when I was considering what to write about this month, the story of how I got lost in Michigan this summer came to mind.
During the month of June, Gloria and I had the opportunity to spend a couple of weeks at Jon and Sondra Walker’s lake house in southern Michigan. We had been there for a week or so, and Jon had finally gotten his boat lift put in the lake. One morning Jon came over to have coffee with me at the motorhome, and afterward he suggested that we go pick up his boat from the warehouse where it is stored and put it into the lake.
Without thinking, I got up and left my wallet and cell phone in the motorhome. We went to the warehouse where he stores his boat, and we hooked up the trailer to Jon’s pickup truck. We returned to the lake, and somewhere along the way, I recalled that we had been on U.S. 12 in Michigan.
Eventually, we arrived at the boat landing, on the opposite side of the lake from the Walkers’ house. Jon backed the boat into the lake. We offloaded the boat with Jon in it, and Jon told me to take the pickup truck and the boat trailer back over to the lake house and he’d meet me there with the boat.
First, let me explain that I could look directly across the lake from the boat landing and see the Arkansas flag that Jon’s son-in-law had put on the flagpole in my honor. I looked around the lake and thought, this cannot be hard. I figured all I had to do was follow the road around to the opposite side of the lake and I’d be at the lake house in no time.
Jon took off across the lake in the boat, and I took off in the pickup with the trailer. I drove for about 30 minutes, making several lefts and several rights. I finally admitted to myself that I was lost. While driving down a country road, I met about eight cyclists. I flagged them down to ask directions. My opening statement to them went something like this: “Hello. I am from Arkansas, and I am visiting a friend who lives in Elkhart but has a lake house here in Michigan. We put his boat in the lake, and he went back to the lake house. When I started back to the lake house in the truck, I got lost.”
I told the cyclists that to get to the lake house when we first arrived, I came up Indiana County Road 17, and when I crossed into Michigan, I was on Highway 12. (County Road 17 does not turn into Highway 12, but I did not realize that at the time.) I shared that once I crossed into Michigan, I went about three blocks and turned onto Wayne Street; so, if they could tell me how to get to Wayne Street, I could find my friend’s house.
The first cyclist said, “That’s not a problem,” and he began to give me directions to Wayne Street. At that point, he and his fellow cyclists started arguing about how to get to Wayne Street. After listening to them for a bit, I decided that I wasn’t really getting anywhere, and I thanked them for their help.
I drove a short distance farther, still lost, and I saw a lady working in her front yard. I stopped and got out of the truck. I introduced myself and explained to her, “I am from Arkansas, and I’m lost. I’m trying to find a friend’s house, and the only name I know is Wayne Street.” I asked her whether she could tell me how to get to Wayne Street. I told her that I came up Indiana County Road 17 and crossed into Michigan on Highway 12 (wrong again) and drove about three blocks and turned on Wayne Street, and if she could tell me how to get to Wayne Street, I could find my friend’s house. She said, “Not a problem.”
She started to tell me to take a left and take a right, and she gave me a bunch of directions, which I did my best to absorb. About that time, her husband walked around the house and asked where I was trying to go, and she said, “I am directing him to Wayne Street.” At this point, they started having a discussion between themselves about the easiest way to get to Wayne Street. Again, I figured out that I wasn’t getting anywhere with directions, so I thanked them and got back into the truck. I decided I would try to remember her directions and follow some of them.
I drove a short distance and made a couple of turns, and suddenly it dawned on me that I was at the lake where we dropped off the boat. I saw a guy working in his front yard, and so I stopped and rolled my window down and proceeded to give him the same speech that I had given everyone else: “I am from Arkansas, and I am lost. . . .” But this time I pointed to the Arkansas flag across the lake and asked whether he could tell me how to get there. He nicely offered to lead me over there.
When he said that, I realized there must be a trick to getting over there. Seems it isn’t as simple as just following the shoreline of the lake. He led me around the correct way, and I ended up at Jon and Sondra’s lake house.
When I got out of the truck and started down to the front of the lake house, all I could hear was laughter from Gloria and Sondra. I was thinking, I’ve been lost for three hours and they are having a party! I must say that Jon had spent one hour of that time driving around the lake looking for me. Gloria had assured him that I probably was lost and that I would find my way back. I guess you could say all’s well that ends well. I will say that my anxiety level was pretty high that morning.
Now I would like to shift gears and talk about something much more serious. In October, Gloria and I attended the Six State Rally in Shreveport, Louisiana. It was an excellent rally. We departed on Sunday morning and headed toward Cincinnati for committee meetings. Sadly, we learned later that day that about 30 minutes after we left, one of the rally attendees had passed away. As he and his wife were departing the rally, he stopped the coach and asked her to get him something for indigestion. When she returned to the front of the coach, she discovered that he was unconscious and slumped over the steering wheel. She summoned help, and someone called an ambulance. He was transported to the hospital, but, unfortunately, they were not able to revive him.
A call was made to Seven Corners, provider of the FMCAssist medical evacuation and repatriation program, which had just gone into effect as an FMCA-paid benefit. A claim was put into motion to return him and their coach to their home. When I told this story to Ned Boston, FMCA Risk Management Committee chairman, his response was that every minute he had spent to help implement the program had been worth it.
One thing I would like to point out about FMCAssist is that the program is extended to associate members as well as full family members. So, any former members of FMCA who would like to rejoin — regardless of whether they currently own a motorhome — will receive coverage under this program. Details regarding the program appear at FMCA.com and at FMCA.SevenCorners.com.
This magazine should arrive in your mailbox about the time Thanksgiving is finishing up, and you probably will have about 24 shopping days left before Christmas. We all seem to have someone in our life who has everything, and we rack our brains about what gift to buy them. Take Gloria, for instance. I think she must have everything. Why, just the other day she bought another set of pots and pans, and she doesn’t even cook. Go figure!
Remember, the best gift you can give someone is yourself. You never know how much you will touch the lives of others and how much you will receive in return until you give a little of yourself. Think, also, of all the memories you will make while volunteering your time and talents.
Regardless of how you celebrate the upcoming holidays, Gloria and I would like to wish you and your family Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year. We look forward to seeing you at a rally somewhere in 2015. Remember, “It’s all about having fun!”