It started out like a typical road trip. It ended like no other.

With a full tank of fuel and plenty of Calistoga, I was headed for Spokane, Washington…the heart and hub of the Inland Empire. Spokane in the summer? Yup. I was off to Spokealoo.

This was a solo trip, as I was on a travel assignment. With the radio and A/C cranked up in my 1980 Mercedes, I made good time driving over Snoqualamie Pass.

The strong scent of farmlands greeted me in George, Washington when I stopped at Martha’s Inn for lunch. George wasn’t there, but his visage was…on faded prints lining the walls of the tacky trucker/tourist cafe to his mug on the men’s restroom door. Even the receipt was stamped “God Bless America.” I didn’t see a piece of cherry pie anywhere.

Back on Interstate 90, I switched from one FM station to another, singing everything from the “The Letter” by The Box Tops to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young’s “Southern Man.” Road trips are great for stretching your vocal cords.

Six hours later, I was in downtown Spokane, checking into the newly renovated Davenport Hotel (www.thedavenporthotel.com). This 1914 luxury hotel has been vacant for 17 years, but in 2000 was purchased by a Spokane couple who has poured nearly $30 million into its restoration. It’s captured the hearts of the locals, with nearly 10,000 people taking the free tour since its opening last month. As the new Grande Dame of the Lilac City, its Old World charm has been updated with modern amenities. Seattle’s Four Seasons Hotel pales in comparison.

Outside of the extreme heat, my junket went smoothly for the next 24 hours. I packed in plenty of activities, from attending a Spokane Indians Northwest League game at Avista Stadium (they lost 11-12 to the Everett Aquasox) to visiting Mountain Dome Winery (home of some fabulous sparkling wines…and wooden gnome carvings by South Whidbey artist Pat McVay). Spokane is undergoing a renaissance in its downtown core, with the restoration of historic buildings and theaters and numerous galleries, shops and restaurants to explore.

Then my bubble burst.

Heading back into the city from the winery late one afternoon, the temperature outside was pushing 100. I couldn’t wait to melt into a tall margarita. Suddenly, I heard what sounded like a loud bang or gunshot. As my speedometer plunged faster than the stock market, I maneuvered onto the exit ramp off I-90. I barely had power.

A woman several cars behind me hopped out of her vehicle and helped me push my Benz closer to the curb…I had no idea where I was. Somewhere on the outskirts of Spokane. Somewhere not so nice. Somewhere very hot.

Fortunately, I had both a cell phone and my AAA card, and I called AAA’s toll-free number. They transferred me to their office in Spokane and I gave them my name, membership number and what type of car I was driving. When I described my location, there was a very puffy pause.

“Sue, I don’t want to alarm you, but you are in a very bad neighborhood,” said the concerned voice on the line. “I advise you to lock your doors, roll up your windows and don’t talk to anybody, ok?”

OK. So here I was, hotter than Hades, stuck on a side street in a sketchy part of town. The AAA dispatcher said she would put a rush on the tow truck, and I hunkered on down. Several people stopped by to assist me, and I waved them on, mouthing that everything was all right. I even faked chatting on my cell phone, trying to look in control.

Fifteen minutes went by; no tow truck. I was sweatin’ like Petunia Pig and down to half a bottle of agua. Time to call AAA again; fortunately, the dispatcher had given me her direct number. “Is the truck on its way?” I cried. “Yes, it should be there any minute…are you OK?” I assured her I was fine, except for the portable sauna in my car.

I finally spotted the tow truck, a sight I won’t soon forget. It was my very own personal aid car, and on the side of the truck was the company’s name: DIVINE. I would soon be saved…by Divine intervention, no less!

Never having my car towed before, I wasn’t sure of the drill. So I did what any good travel journalist would do: I took photos and interviewed my rescuer, a nice young fellow named Clark.

The remainder of my travel junket came to a screeching halt. After being towed to two different shops over the next 24 hours, my sick Benz was diagnosed with a broken timing chain. Nobody wanted to touch her so she was hauled 300 miles over the Cascades for a whopping 700 bucks. I flew home with Alaska Airlines.

Moral of the story? Upgrade to AAA Plus and always carry a cell phone. And if you do break down, Spokane’s a dandy place to land. Talk about a friendly town!

Sue Frause can be reached by e-mail at skfrause@whidbey.com.