Not another One-Shot-Ober

by Admiral Biscuit

Solo

Solo
A Highway 502 Story
Admiral Biscuit

Who in Equestria designed this stupid thing? Poppy stretched on her hind legs and reached just a little bit further into the depths of the engine, finally managing to touch the end of her socket wrench. She'd positioned it with telekinesis, but her field wasn't as strong as her hoof, and the bolt just wouldn't turn. What it needed was a good shove, and then it would come right out.

She scooted her hind legs across the floor until she was in a good position, then planted her hooves firmly on the concrete, trying to ignore the fender that was digging into her ribs. With a hard shove, the ratchet finally turned, and the stubborn bolt moved.

Poppy focused her attention back on the ratchet, grabbing the end with her aura. Despite what some of the local ponies thought, the more leverage she had, the easier she could turn a bolt: magic had its limitations, after all; it wasn't as simple as just grabbing the bolt with her aura and turning it.

When it was almost all the way out, things got a little complicated. Now she had to deal with the weight of the generator, as well. She floated the ratchet over to her tray—now the bolt was loose enough to turn with her aura—and stuck a hoof against the generator to hold it in place while she spun the bolt the rest of the way out.

The upper cowl for the radiator was nice and flat, so she set the bolt there, along with its sisters, and got a good hold of the generator, snaking it out from its bracket. Rebuilding it would be a fun afternoon project.

Her ears perked as she heard a car drive over the pneumatic hose and ring the chime. She looked out the bay door to make sure that her brother was paying attention—sometimes when Mom wasn't working, he'd fall asleep at the counter—watching until she saw him trot out to the gas pumps.

She carried the broken generator over to the workbench, carefully balancing it on top of a pile of used engine parts that might come in handy for something someday, cleared a small spot, and set down a few shop rags, then put the generator in the center.

Then her stomach rumbled, and she decided that it would be okay to have lunch before she tore into it.

Up in front was a cooler full of sandwiches that a deliverypony brought every day. They were supposed to throw them in the compost heap if they didn't sell in a day or two, but her Mom was way too frugal for that; she kept the unsold sandwiches for lunch. Even after a couple of days, they were pretty good, although the bread was sometimes stale and the lettuce wilted.

Over the last week, they'd had pretty good sales, and there wasn't much selection. Lettuce and daisy, or cucumber rose. For a second, she considered taking one of each, before settling on the cucumber rose and a bottle of root beer.

Rather than eat back in the shop, she took Dusty's recently-vacated seat, unwrapped the sandwich, and picked up a pinup calendar that was sitting next to the schedule.

She idly flipped through it while she was eating, debating which stallion was the most handsome. Poppy had narrowed it down to two, and was flipping back and forth to decide if July's attractive face was a strong enough feature to draw attention away from his unfortunately-shaped penis. Then the phone rang.

She picked up the handset and stuck it against her ear, switching to a hoof-hold when it was close. “Hello. Orchid Frost's Service Station.”

“Hi Poppy. Palomino Police dispatch here. Radio car called in a wreck. Single car off in the ditch, he says the back's fouling traffic. It's on 502, about a mile out of town.”

Poppy spoke without thinking. “Um, okay, we'll send the wrecker right out.”

“Thanks.” There was a click, and the connection was broken.

Mom's out of town. She bit her lip. They had to do the tow; if they didn't the road might be blocked for hours while they got a truck from Los Pegasus or somewhere and that would make the police officer unhappy . . . she wasn't supposed to drive the wrecker by herself, but she knew how. She'd gone out on plenty of calls with Mom, sometimes even driving.

But never alone.

She pushed the sandwich off to the side, drained her root beer, and took one last look at the calendar, reaching the conclusion that overall appearance was no less important than size, then trotted out back to start up the wrecker.

The process was an art unto itself. Two pumps of the accelerator pedal to prime the carb, choke cable pulled all the way out, and then turn the ignition key and hope.

When it rumbled to life, she waited until the oil pressure gauge came off its peg before giving it a little throttle. It sputtered, and she feathered the choke knob in slightly, until the engine steadied. Once upon a time, the carburetor had had an automatic choke, but it had broken years ago, and there weren't any trucks like it in their little scrapyard to steal parts from.

Besides, it was reliable once it warmed up. It just didn't like starting.

Poppy made sure the parking brake was set and the transmission was in neutral before hopping out of the cab. She walked back into the front office to tell Dusty where she was going.

“Mom says you aren't supposed to drive the wrecker by yourself.”

“Mom isn't here.”

“That's the point.”

“If we don't get that car, who's going to?”

Dusty scratched his chin. This difficulty hadn't occurred to him.

“I'll be back in a couple of hours. You can have the rest of my sandwich, if you want.”

“Fine.” He looked down at the desk, and then he noticed the calendar. “That stallion's got a really ugly—“

“Glad I'm not the only one who thinks so.” Poppy reached across the counter and changed it to November. “He's a lot better looking. See ya in a bit.”

Back in the truck, Poppy shoved the choke knob all the way in and made a final check of the instrument panel. Everything looked normal, so she hooked a hoof around the steering wheel, pressed on the brake, and released the parking brake handle.

She glanced over her shoulder to ensure that all the equipment that was supposed to be on the deck was still there, then shifted it into first gear and headed for the road.

When she got up to the asphalt, she thought about turning on the trucks beacon, but she wasn't supposed to use it unless she was actually towing something, and since this was her first solo trip, she had to do everything by the book, so she clicked on the turn signal and waited for a break in traffic.

The trip out of town went by quickly, then she was on the highway, her mane whipping around in the wind. She could probably reach across with her aura and crank the passenger side window up, but she was concentrating on keeping the truck in its lane and watching for the car off the road. It wouldn't do to overshoot, especially if the policepony was still on scene.

Fortunately for her pride, she saw the accident long before she arrived. The radio car was still there, parked halfway on the road to serve as a warning to other motorists.

Now Poppy could turn on her beacons, and she did, slowing as she approached the scene. Traffic was very light, and the oncoming lane was empty, so she pulled across the road, giving the police car a wide berth.

As she swung back into her lane, she caught a glimpse of the wrecked automobile in her rearview-mirror. Its nose was down in the ditch, and all the front sheet metal was a twisted, mangled wreck. The left front door was open, leaning up against the bent fender, and the running board was jammed all the way down in the dirt.

Normally, to avoid causing further damage, she would have tried to pull the car back out the way it had gone in; in this case, there was no need. Nothing she could do would make the front end worse. She hoped that the driver and passengers had survived.

Poppy didn't need the policepony to tell her what to do. She backed up until she had the truck in a good position, set the brake, and engaged the PTO. It took her less than a minute to drop the chocks behind the rear wheels—probably unneeded, but it would be embarrassing to pull the wrecker off the road—and then she unhooked the winch cable from the sling and started stringing it out towards the car.

The front axle beam was still intact, which gave her a good attachment point. As bent as the leaf springs were, they weren't broken, and would probably stay attached to the frame.

Before going back to the truck, she picked up the small debris which had been torn from the car in the accident: the right front wheel, a headlight, and a number of smaller parts as well. Those, she tossed in the back of the car.

She hadn't meant to, but she looked forward while she was working, and noticed the bent steering wheel and the spiderwebbed cracks just above it. Poppy swallowed down a bit of bile and tried not to think about the unbuckled driver smashing his head into the windshield and his chest into the steering wheel, and instead focused her attention back on the car, which was of course her primary concern.

It came out easily, which was a relief. She'd left the truck in a good position, so once the car was up against the back of the deck, she lowered it on a pair of jackstands, reached inside the car to put the column shifter into gear, then pulled up her chocks and got back into the truck.

Once she was clear of the front of the car, she set up the sling, then backed up until it just touched the bumper. Chaining the car to the sling was a familiar task; Orchid usually let her do that. In the interests of safety, after the car was lifted, she pulled a set of chains out of the deck lockers and hooked them to the frame of the car, so if the front axle did tear off, the car wouldn't go far.

Satisfied with her hookup, she shifted the car back into neutral and pulled forward and off the shoulder, to give traffic room to get by. The policepony had clearly been watching; when she stopped the truck, he was right behind her, also fully off the road.

Before she could get out of the truck, he was standing at her door, a bundle of papers held in his mouth. Without a word, she took them, then leaned down and started transferring the information from the police paperwork to one of her tow tickets.

She dutifully wrote down where the wreck had been, filled out the equipment she'd had to use and her time on scene, then tucked everything into the glove box, checked her mirrors for oncoming traffic, and pulled back out in the road.

By the time she'd turned around at an exit, she was starting to feel like a professional. The wrecked car was still behind her, just as it should be, the paperwork was complete, and she hadn't made a foal of herself out on the road. She'd even remembered to roll the passenger side window up while she was stopped.

She slowed down a little ways outside of town—she knew that sudden stops weren't advisable when there was a car on the back—and got back to the service station without incident.

She could have backed the car into a spot, but she was feeling lazy and went the long way around, so that she could pull straight through.

Poppy hopped out of the truck, found a couple boards to support the front of the wreck, and dropped it neatly in the row with a couple other cars they'd towed in off the highway in the last week.

She parked the wrecker back in its usual spot and shut it off, taking a minute to bask in the glow of a job well done. Then she hopped out of the wrecker and headed back into the service bay to rebuild a generator.

Comments

[yrfoxtaur]

Heh.

You faked me out at least twice.

(Gasp! It is an human pulling up to the pump!)
(Aww.)
(Gasp! It is a non equestrian make of car in the ditch!)
(Aww.)

Also, at first I was thinking that that pinup calendar was pretty dang racy, but then i considered the typicalness of a lack of clothing in pony society, and realized that it made sense

[Admiral Biscuit]

6587640
There's one subtle detail here that definitively sets its chronology before Highway 502.

[yrfoxtaur]

6587662 huh. Rereadin' time (also, didja see my edit)

Oh. Poppy's magical ability?

[Admiral Biscuit]

6587670

Oh. Poppy's magical ability?

Nope, but that was a good guess.

She still likes root beer in this one.

[theRedBrony]

taking a minute to bask in the glow of a job well done.

Love dat feel.

[Celefin]

Thanks for pointing me this way; love me some good, non-dramatic slice of life ;)
Where should I stop next?

[Admiral Biscuit]

EDIT: Removed; double post.

[Iron Sides]

I like it, lot of little technical bits tossed in.

[Admiral Biscuit]

9098862
Thanks!

[PresentPerfect]

Huh. I dare say this could be used as a technical manual for towing. :)

[Admiral Biscuit]

9822061
It could be, if one was so inclined.