Returning from Tucson, Arizona, I was ahead towing JB's car. Crossing I20 east in sparsely populated west Texas, a pickup truck pulled up on my left, but wouldn't pass. It unnerved me. I couldn't see JB with the motorhome, but knew he wasn't far behind. Anxious, I shot a glance. A little boy waved for me to stop, as if it wasn't an option.
As I eased off the road, the male driver and two little boys came running to tell me I had a tire going down on the tow dolly. If it had gone flat, it could have been ruined. I thanked them. It was a long way between towns, and it was Saturday. The man suggested a wider, flatter place just ahead to pull off.
To my relief, JB arrived and pulled the motorhome over at the wide spot. The Texas stranger helped him take the tire off, then took him and it to a garage he knew was open. The boys and I stayed with the motorhome. Oreos and milk and travel talk occupied our time. Traveling in our moving house fascinated them. Disney World was where they wanted to go. No, I hadn't been there - yet. They said their dad was always on the lookout for people on the road in need.
The men returned with the repaired tire and had it back on the tow dolly in minutes. We thanked him again. The Texan smiled and nodded a "your welcome," called the boys to his truck, waved, and went on down the road. God Bless them. Goodness strikes again.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
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