80-Year-Old Angels

A few months ago I got the exciting news that my best friend was getting married! When she asked if I would be able to make it to the wedding I told her I would do everything in my power to get there, but the more I thought about it, though, the more impossible it seemed. Nevertheless, after talking things over with my husband, I started looking for good flight deals and discovered that if I flew in to Las Vegas and took a bus from there, it would cut my travel costs in half! This was wonderful news, especially since we would be needing to buy three plane tickets this summer--one for my best friend's wedding in June and two for July when Beto and I would both be flying to Utah to see my family before my brother leaves on his mission. What had once seemed like an incredibly daunting financial feat was now a possibility.

As with most things in my life, however, this little trip turned into quite the adventure. The day of my flight finally arrived and I spent most of the day packing and making sure things would run smoothly at home while I was gone. Then it was off to the airport! Beto and I grabbed something to eat at the McDonald's in front of the airport and then we said our goodbyes and I was on my way. After maneuvering my way through check-in, airport security, and immigration, I found my gate and settled in. The U.S.A. vs. Ghana World Cup soccer game was on every television in the area so I took advantage of the situation and just enjoyed the moment. I should have taken it as a bad sign when my phone suddenly died and refused to turn back on; I had NO idea what I was in for in the next 15 hours!

I discovered the first and most important setback of the trip as I boarded the plane at 6:30pm (Mexico time): it had begun to rain. We sat on the tarmac for over an hour as we waited out the worst of the storm and then took our place in the long line of delayed flights still waiting to take off. We were in the air by 8pm, a full hour later than scheduled. That, of course, is when I started to worry. I had given myself an hour and a half to get from the airport to the bus station (which, according to the internet, was only a 15 minute shuttle ride away . . . and shuttles were "always waiting" at the airport exit). With the flight delay, my hour and a half had quickly turned into 30 minutes. I knew I was in trouble, but even then I didn't know exactly how much trouble I was in for.

The plane touched down at 9:30pm Las Vegas time (which would be 11:30 in Mexico City) and I quickly made my way to baggage claim and through customs. By 9:40pm I was at the shuttle office with a full 35 minutes to get to the bus station (my bus left at 10:15). Unfortunately for me, the internet lied. When I asked for a shuttle, the girl at the desk told me she would have to call for a shuttle (i.e. shuttles are not "always waiting" at the airport exit), but that even if I could get on a shuttle at that very moment, I would never make it to the bus station by 10:15 (because the shuttle ride to the bus station would definitely last longer than the 15 minutes I'd read about online). In fact, the bus station, she informed me, was on the other side of the city; and my only real hope of making it there on time was to take a taxi.

Alright, so I would have to take a taxi. The problem with that solution was that a taxi would cost $35 USD and I only had $20 USD on me (it was actually a 20 dollar bill we had received for our wedding that we hadn't had time to exchange.) Solution to the problem: use my debit card at the ATM. Problem to the solution #1: the ATM was back inside the airport, several minutes away and my time was already short. Problem #2: once I got to the ATM I couldn't remember my pin. Now don't jump to any conclusions and get to thinking that I am extremely forgetful or didn't think things through all the way (although both those accusations could be true). The reason I couldn't remember my pin goes back to January when, along with other things, my debit card was stolen. After the robbery my parents ordered me a new card and sent it across the border. When I received it I decided to create a pin that was totally different from my old pin, just to be safe. The problem was that I never wrote it down and I never used my card after that. In fact, I didn't even activate my card until several months later when I needed it to buy my plane tickets . . . at which time I realized I couldn't remember my pin. So I called the international number for my bank and was informed that I would only be able to change my pin at a branch in the U.S. (since my bank doesn't exist in Mexico). So, ironically, I had been planning all along to go to the bank during my short stay to resolve the issue.

Back to the story! I couldn't remember my pin. After several attempts at the ATM I decided to hope for compassion and returned to the taxi pick-up. I handed the driver my luggage and told him to take me as far as he could on $20 and then jumped in the back of his taxi. The driver did have compassion on me, but not so much as to take me all the way to the bus station. Instead, he took me as far as $18 could take me, gave me $3 dollars change (I know, he gave me a whole extra dollar back!), and gave me his water bottle and some directions. It was now 10:10pm and my bus left in five minutes. The taxi driver had gotten me as far as the Strip and told me to use the rest of my money to take the bus. So I started running through the crowds (trying not to be completely overwhelmed by the huge buildings and shiny lights all around me) until I found a bus.

The bus doors opened and I heard a little voice saying "Please pay before boarding." I was so confused! In Mexico you always pay the bus driver as you get on the bus, but the bus driver was hidden inside a bullet-proof, black-tinted glass case! So I just stood on the curb with a look of utter confusion on my face until the bus driver opened his door and yelled at me to get on. So, with my three remaining dollars clutched tightly in one hand and my suitcase in the other, I boarded the bus in the middle of the Las Vegas strip. The driver had asked me where I needed to go as I got on the bus and I had told him The Plaza Hotel (because, according to the internet, it is right next to the bus station). A few blocks after boarding the driver stopped the bus and came out of his bullet-proof cabin and motioned for me to get off the bus with him (imagine me with a face of total bewilderment). With the bus still running and traffic going by, the driver stepped off the bus with me and pointed toward the Palazzo Hotel and started giving me instructions how to get there. "I actually need to get to the Greyhound Bus Station" I told him, to which he responded with as much confusion as I was feeling until we clarified that the bus station was next to the Plaza Hotel, not the Palazzo. So he ordered me back onto the bus.

Before I got back on, I admitted I hadn't paid yet and showed him my three dollars in the hopes that I was supposed to pay him directly. Though I could tell he was completely baffled by my ignorance, he kindly led me toward the back of the bus (and past all the complaining passengers) to a little machine. Once at the machine the driver entered in the standard bus fare of $6 and motioned for me to put the money in the machine. I cringed inside as I told him I only had three dollars. He just shook his head and told me to put what I had in the machine and went back to his bullet-proof cabin. I struggled with the machine for a few more minutes and then tried to blend in with the bus to avoid the annoyed glances of my fellow passengers. All I could think was "I'm definitely not in Mexico anymore." (Why does transportation have to be so technologically complicated?!)

By this time I already knew I had missed my bus to Salt Lake--I'd seen someone's watch before the whole bus fare fiasco that had said it was 10:20pm--but I was hoping to get to the station in time to make it on to the next bus out. Eventually the city bus was approaching my stop and the driver called me over the intercom asking me to come to the front of the bus. Thankfully, he had called me up to give me directions to the Greyhound bus station. He told me that if I went left at the next stop light and walked through the Golden Nugget that the Plaza Hotel would be on the other side and the bus station would be right next to it. I followed his instructions and, as I crossed the street at the stoplight, I was able to wave goodbye to the very kind, patient, and informative bus driver who at least helped me figure out American transportation technology and got me to the bus station!

My adventures, however, had only begun. As I walked into the Golden Nugget I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. To my right, a woman up on a stage was asking a man in the crowd to take off his shirt, so I decided to look straight ahead. Straight ahead, a woman (with much less than a shirt on) was doing a dance I never want to see again, so I looked to the left. To the left there were two women (wearing about as much as the previous woman) dancing on top of a bar . . . so I decided that the sidewalk was my safest bet and stared at it until I was out of the lion's den! Confused and disoriented I looked around for the bus station and then, when I couldn't see it, asked a nice-looking lady for help. She kindly pointed out the great big sign that said bus and I sheepishly thanked her and walked away.

I walked into the Greyhound bus station at 10:45pm knowing several important, and rather unfortunate facts: 1) I had missed my bus; 2) I was now on the other side of the city from the airport; 3) I had no more money and no access to money (due to the forgotten pin number); and 4) what happens in Vegas simply shouldn't happen. As my luck would have it, more unfortunate facts were on their way. The lady at the counter informed me that the next bus to Salt Lake (which left at 7:55am) was already full and the next bus would leave at 10:15 the next evening. She also informed me that I could not be refunded for my ticket unless I paid her another $20 for the refundable ticket. Though I already knew it was hopeless, I made a half-hearted effort to withdraw money from the ATM inside the station and then wandered over to the waiting area.

I felt the most comfortable sitting next to my fellow latinos (not that I am one biologically, but I feel latino) and eventually asked one of them if I could borrow their phone to call my parents (since mine was broken and wouldn't work in the U.S. anyway). My mother didn't answer. So I sat and thought and thought and thought of possible solutions to no avail. A while later the woman whose phone I had borrowed returned and said she had received a message from someone about 20 minutes earlier. It was my mother asking who was calling. I quickly texted back that it was me and that I'd missed my bus, had no money, and didn't know how I was going to get home. No reply. The woman (and her phone) disappeared for a while so I borrowed someone else's phone, but after the 10th attempt I essentially gave up on calling my parents. It was, after all, 1:00am in Utah.

So I sat and prayed and sat some more. Eventually I wandered back to the front desk to see if I could get on a waiting list for the morning bus, but that was a no-go since the waiting list was already several customers long. I was running out of options and, since I no longer had a ticket for a Greyhound bus, I could very possibly be out of a place to stay. Back in the waiting area I tried to ignore the gruesome Forensic Files documentary showing on the giant screen TV and blasting over the bus station speakers. After several horrific murder stories I simply couldn't handle it anymore and decided to give the ATM another shot. As I stood at the ATM entering one pin after another, my prayers were answered when I heard two elderly men mention Salt Lake City as they were talking to a Greyhound worker.

I spun on the spot at the sound of their voices and immediately made my way toward their shining, glowing, aura. I really didn't know what I was hoping for, but I simply had to talk to them. "Excuse me," I said, "but I couldn't help but overhear you talking about Salt Lake. Are you headed that way?" They, of course, were not going to Salt Lake (I mean, really, who would go to the Greyhound bus station at 12:30 in the morning to take a bus that leaves at 7:55am?) They were, in fact, waiting for their 90-year-old friend who was coming on the bus from Salt Lake that would arrive at 1:15am. Their friend had just lost his wife and had travelled to Montana to spread her ashes in the mountains. He had gotten off the bus in Salt Lake City and quickly got lost. Someone saw him wandering the city and called the police, who took him into custody and then returned him to the bus. His friends were rightfully worried about him and had personally come to the bus station to pick him up and make sure he made it safely home. They were asking if his bus had arrived when I heard them mention Salt Lake City.

"You wouldn't happen to be from Utah, would you?" they asked me with their unmistakeable country-boy accents.

"I am," I admitted. "How could you tell?"

The older one leaned in and said with a chuckle, "You just happen to be the only woman in here with sleeves that cover her shoulders."

I laughed too. "And where are you from?"

"We live in a little community about 65 miles north of here," one of them answered, and then added with a knowing eyebrow raise "with a population that's about 50% Mormon."

The other man leaned in and whispered "And we're some of those Mormons."

"Oh good," I said. "Me too! What are your names?"

The older of the two reached out his hand and shook mine, "I'm Brother Gary."

"And I'm Brother Roger" the younger one followed.

"And I'm Sister Ashley!" I finished off.

The craziness of the bus station melted away away as Gary told me about fighting in World War II with Leroy (the 90-year-old man coming on the bus), and Roger told me his conversion story and how he had served later on in the Vietnam war. Their stories came one after the other and I couldn't help but feel safe with these two funny, but amazing men.

As the time drew nearer for their friend's bus to arrive, Gary looked at me with a rather serious and fatherly look and said, "Now you sit right at the front of your bus and don't talk to anyone but the bus driver until you get to Utah. Alright?"

"Well," I hesitated, ". . . I actually missed my bus and the morning bus is full and has a waiting list and the next bus after that heads out at 10:15 tomorrow night and I don't really know what to do." The words came rushing out in a tumble.

Gary and Roger looked at me with alarm and one of them said, "Well we can't let that happen!"

"Yeah," I agreed. "I was wondering if you would take me to the airport."

"Well of course we will!" Gary exclaimed. "It's the only thing that can be done!"

Relief coursed through my body as I told them how grateful I was and that they were the answer to my prayers. They would hear none of it and simply told me not to move an inch while they went to help Leroy off the bus. It took them a while to accomplish their task since, as I quickly learned, Leroy has dementia and had caused such a ruckus on the trip from Salt Lake to Vegas that the bus had had to pull over three times just to keep him from stealing other passengers' things (he obviously thought they were his). Eventually Gary and Roger led a very disoriented Leroy into the bus station and out onto the street.

While Gary went for his car (a very grandfatherly Lincoln sedan), a woman approached me and asked me (in Spanish) if I was related to the men. I told her I was just traveling with them and she pointed toward Leroy and explained that he had tried stealing her bag on the bus. "A man like that simply shouldn't be traveling alone!" she said. As if on cue, Leroy wandered over to the two of us and tried grabbing the woman's bag again. I took Leroy by the arm and gently lead him to the curb where Gary was waiting for us in the car.

The trip to the airport took on a quirkish excitement all its own. Gary was driving, Roger was in the passenger seat giving directions, and I was in the back making sure Leroy didn't try jumping out of the car. After giving Gary the initial directions, Roger informed us all he was going to call his wife Sally because, even though it was a little past 2am in the morning, he didn't want her to worry.

"I'm not going to call my wife" said Gary, "I told Bettie I'd be home when I got there!"

I couldn't help but laugh to myself at that one! Roger quickly had his wife on the phone, assuring her that everything was alright and that they had safely picked up Leroy. "We're gonna take just a little longer though Sal. We're taking a young lady to the airport who got stranded at the bus station. She's heading to Salt Lake!"

We were now on the free way and Roger decided to consult me about our path to the airport, "Now there are two ways to get to the airport" he said. "We can either get there on the highway or we can cut through the Strip! You decide."

"I'm okay with whatever is best for you" I said.

"Well the Strip is faster!" Roger hinted.

"The Strip it is!" I replied, and Gary took the exit to the Strip. As we drove through, Roger pointed out New York, New York, MGM Grand, the "hotel that looks like a castle," and "that other famous place on the corner."

"You know what we call tourists around here?" Roger asked me. "Tourons! One part tourist, one part moron! You don't think these buildings got this big and fancy because the owners let all the tourists win do you?" I had to admit, the name seemed very fitting.

We were now off the Strip and getting closer to the airport. Roger commented that Gary probably knew his way around this area, but Gary was quick to reply in his gravelly, small-town grandpa way of speaking: "Well, I may know my way around here, but I, in no way, would be averse to people giving me directions." So Roger pointed out the airport exit and off we went. The only problem was that we never got to the airport and somehow ended up on the freeway again. "Well how in the world did we end up here?" Gary said in confusion. "One second we were on our way to the airport and the next we're on the freeway! Young lady, you are definitely in the company of three old men! . . . Now, how do I go left?"

"There is no left."

"Well then let's go right."

After several minutes of hilarious conversation, we found our way back to the first airport exit and Gary and Roger successfully found the second exit we'd missed the first time around. All too soon we were at the airport terminal and Gary was getting my bags out of the trunk. Leroy tried to get out of the car with me, but Roger kindly informed him that he wasn't home yet and wouldn't be taking a plane either. I gave Gary and Roger both a hug goodbye and told them they were my angels and then walked into the Las Vegas airport.

It was empty. Or almost empty. A few security guards were walking back and forth through the check-in areas and I spotted a handful of travelers trying to catch some shut eye on those ridiculously uncomfortable airport chairs. I spotted a clock that said it was 2:30 in the morning. That meant it was 4:30am in Mexico and it had been almost twelve hours since I'd eaten anything and 21 hours since I'd gotten any sleep. So I found an airport wheelchair and tried as many possible ways of sleeping in it as I could until I gave up and went looking for food. I found a 24-hour snack store that charges those outrageously high prices for food-like products, and then remembered I didn't have any money. So I found an ATM and punched in random pin combinations until that got boring and wandered back to my wheelchair at the Delta check-in.

I noticed airport employees trickling in around 3:15am so I decided I'd be the first in line at check-in. By 4am I was speaking to someone at the desk, hoping for the best. The good news was that I could buy a ticket at the airport counter. The bad news was that it was hundreds of dollars, nothing in comparison to the $69 flights from Vegas to Salt Lake I had seen online. The Delta service agent helping me apologized for the high prices, but said I wouldn't find anything better for a flight that left the same day. She suggested I check out Southwest so I headed over to that line (which was considerably long by that point) and waited my turn, only to find out that the ticket was the same price.

The energy and strength I had received from my 80-year-old angels was wearing thin and I felt all my hope slipping away when I reached into my pocket and realized I had $1.50 in coins in my pocket. I had seen pay-phones earlier so I hastily made my way to the nearest one in the hopes that my parents would answer their phones now that it was almost 6am in Utah. I inserted the coins, dialed my mothers number, and then choked back tears as my mother said, "Ashley? It is so good to hear your voice!"

"It's . . . it's g-good to hear yours too!" I squeaked out. They had been praying for me. Ever since they realized my mom had missed all my calls, she and my father had been on their knees, praying for me to make it safely home. I have no doubt their prayers sent two cowboy grandpas from the-middle-of-nowhere Nevada to a Greyhound bus station in Las Vegas at 1am in the morning so they could get me back to the airport. (After telling my parents about my adventures, my dad started calling the men--including Leroy--the "Three Nephites.") After several phone calls, conversations with airline officials, and one online purchase, I had a flight to Salt Lake that left at 6:30am. It was now 5:40am and my gate was on the other side of the airport, so I ran!

I arrived at my gate right at 6am as the final passengers were boarding the plane and, panting, made it to my seat. My neighbor lent me her phone so I could text my parents and let them know I had made it on the plane, and then the final leg of my crazy journey was underway. We touched down in Salt Lake an hour later and I literally walked out of the airport and into my father's arms. Over a day without sleep and 15 hours without food, but I was home!

The rest of the day was spent stopping by my family members' work or home to surprise them (no one but my parents knew I was coming), taking a three hour nap, and then celebrating my best friend's marriage at her pre-reception in Paradise. The next day made the entire adventure worth it as I listened to the powerful promises made between God and two incredible individuals in the House of the Lord. In fact, it makes all the craziness in life make sense and gives every adventure purpose to know who we really are and who we really can become.

I thank God for his goodness in the promises he makes and the protection he gives to us in this life. As I told my taxi driver about the adventures I had had up to that point in my journey, he told me, "When I'm in those type of situations, I just think to myself that I could have just received the news that I have terminal cancer, and then it's not so bad." I've thought a lot about that since and I can see the great truth in his words. My life is so blessed. I am married to my best friend (who is an incredible man and servant of the Lord) for time and all eternity; I have an amazing, loving, and supportive family; I have been blessed with good friends; I have the priceless blessings of the fully restored gospel of Jesus Christ; and I have angels watching over me whenever the journeys of life get just a little too adventurous. God is good.