count the ways

Mark wrote earlier about Dad's considerable qualifications as Rescuer-General, bailer-out and puller-up extraordinaire. In his story, Dad was working his particular magic in what we'll call a vertical context. I've been on the receiving end---rescuee to his rescuer---many times, too, although usually no broken bones or were involved. Typically, this involved a late night phone call from me and Dad unhesitatingly driving to pick me up from wherever I was stranded. This scenario played out more times than I care to admit. Let's list just a few:

• Summer 1987: Going to Glacier! Wait. . . NOT going to Glacier! Dad, can you pick me up from the Amtrak station?
• Summer 1988: Epic improvised hitchhiking trip across Canada goes swimmingly until Watson Lake, where all hope is lost in a sinkhole of despair. Greyhound gets me to Winnipeg. Just for the fun of it, Dad and Kathy drive eight hours north to pick me up from the bus station.
• Fall 1998 - Spring 1991 (various occasions): More hitchhiking, this time weekends from the University of Minnesota in Morris to Not Quite Home But Close Enough. Dad, I'm in Maple Grove/Brooklyn Center/somewhere on 694. Can you come pick me up?
• March 1993: First leg of trip to New Mexico goes horribly wrong when subzero temperatures and a slowly-dying alternator intervene. Cleverly, I drive all the way to Kansas City before deciding that this is serious. Even more cleverly, instead of finding a local mechanic, I decide to turn around and go home so I can replace the alternator myself in the frigid comfort of Dad's garage. Each time it fails, the alternator can be temporarily stunned back to life by stopping the car, opening the hood, and delivering strategically-placed blows to its casing with a metal pipe. On the return trip, the alternator fails approximately once each mile. Hundreds of miles and thousands of blows later, the alternator is in shreds and finally gives up the ghost as I coast into a gas station in Farmington. Almost made it, but not quite. Dad, can you pick me up?
  
• Etc.
  

How do I love thee? Let me count the (high)ways. . .