A Good Samaritan at the Tropic of Cancer
Just when you think all you need is a break in the travel day, you get a whole lot more.
One fall day on our way to Mazatlan in the Mexican state of Sinaloa, we pulled our Dodge Ram 3500 truck and 27 foot Aerolite travel trailer into a spacious overlook rest stop near where the invisible line of the Tropic of Cancer intersects toll highway (Maxipista) 15D. Our goal was to simply give ourselves and our dog an opportunity for a rest break, a cool drink of water and a snack. We couldn’t have known we were about to experience an acquaintance with a “road angel.”
The early November weather had warmed considerably as we headed south from Arizona. Our yellow Lab hesitated when she jumped down from her extended cab seat. The pavement’s heat surprised her and the loud hisses of brakes from a half-dozen semi trucks startled her. I held her leash and followed her to a spot in the shade.
As my husband rounded our truck and headed to open the trailer for us, a man wearing a plaid cotton shirt and jeans and a teenaged boy who bore him a strong resemblance approached us. The boy, as clean and as casually dressed as his father, was sipping a bottled soft drink and munching from a small snack bag of chips.
“May I to help you?” the man asked. He pointed to a flat tire on our trailer, a flat we had no awareness of until this moment. Before my husband could respond, the man knelt down and, with wrench in hand, was ready to loosen the lug nuts.
“Wait, I have an idea,” my husband said. As he gestured for the man to stand, he opened a trailer compartment and withdrew the zipper bag that contains our square plastic chocks. He quickly improvised a ramp and pulled our truck forward to free the flattened tire from contact with the ground.
Another rest-stop visitor approached with a proper lug wrench in hand, lending it on the spot to our Good Samaritan. By now a few men had gathered to survey the situation.
“Thank you, but I can do it,” my husband said, pointing to himself and then to the tire. The man in the plaid shirt shook his head. Smiling broadly, he indicated with certainty that he, not my husband, would change the tire. The boy stood by, clearly prepared to assist his father.
One of the interested visitors removed the spare tire cover. Our main man gathered up the spare and changed it out for the bad tire. In minutes, he had tightened the lug nuts, fastened the spent tire and undamaged rim to the spare tire holder and we were all but ready to go.
“You’ve helped us so much,” my husband said to him. He extended a cupped hand toward the man, a hand that held bills enough to buy the man and boy a fine dinner.
The man withdrew and slid his hands into his pockets, refusing the tip. “I do for you. No money. Please.”
“I want to thank you,” my husband said. “Can I at least buy you a cola?” He gestured to the pop can the boy still held.
In Southern Arizona, treating someone who has done you a small favor to a soda pop is a common practice. My husband did not want our new friend to go unrewarded.
“Thank you, no,” the man said. “It is my pleasure.” He extended his hand to my husband, and they shared a handshake.
The small crowd dispersed. The man and the boy got into a weathered sedan and drove off.
My husband and I walked the dog, enjoyed a little lunch and vowed between us to treat others along our path as well as we were treated by the Mexican travelers we encountered along our way.