Have you ever had something very good happen in your life that you couldn’t explain? But you really wanted an answer.

Could it be that someone or something was looking out for you? This may have happened in my adventure titled . . .

Angel On The Highway: A True Story

“March 2019”

     It had been a quiet Friday. Nothing much had happened during the day. In the evening, I sat on the couch watching Blue Bloods on TV, as Barbara came into the living room.

     “What time do we have to leave to meet Jeff and Linda for lunch tomorrow?” she asked.

     I thought a minute before responding to her. My son and daughter-in-law are always on time. “Well, we have to be at BJ’s Restaurant in Vacaville at 12:30 p.m. I guess if we leave around 11 a.m., that should give us plenty of time.”

     “Okay, which car are we taking? I have stuff for Linda and I want to load the car tonight.”

     “Your choice.”

     “Let’s take the Murano. I’m more comfortable in it. The Altima is too low to the ground for me.”

     “Is your telephone charged?” I inquired. Barbara and I aren’t techies, so we leave our phones in the cars in case of an emergency and don’t carry them with us.

     “Yeah, I think so.”

     “Good. Then I won’t drag mine along.”

     After finishing watching TV, I closed up the house and got ready for bed. The next morning, I awoke to sunshine peering through the bedroom shutters. Barbara and I ate a small breakfast and I walked our dogs, Jazzi and Abby. We made sure we had everything we needed for our journey to Vacaville and got on the road shortly after eleven.

     The traffic wasn’t too bad—some stop and go, as we transitioned from Highway 65 to I-80 and again on the Yolo Causeway. However, we seemed to be making good time.

     As we approached Dixon, I saw a light glaring at me from the dashboard. The symbol that lit up was one I was familiar with. It meant we had low air pressure in a tire. We’d had this happen a couple of times before. Sometimes it was right on and sometimes it missed the mark and everything was good.

     I turned toward Barbara and muttered, “The air pressure gauge is on.”

     “Oh, no. Not again. How is the car driving?”

     “Just fine. Look. I’m taking my hands off the wheel and the car isn’t veering off the road. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Let’s get to an off-ramp closer to Vacaville, where there’s a service station, and we can get the tire pressure checked.”

     “Okay. But if anything seems weird, let’s pull off to the side of the road and call AAA.”

     “That sounds like a plan I can live with.”

     We drove a bit further and Barbara asked, “Do you hear that rumbling noise?”

     “What rumbling noise?”

     “The one that sounds like a motorcycle coming up behind us, but I don’t see a motorcycle. I think we should pull over,” she said.

     “Not yet,” I responded. “I still haven’t seen a gas station anywhere.”

     “Alan,” she moaned. “It’s getting louder and louder.”

     “All right, I’m pulling over.”

     “Oh, my God! I think the tire exploded,” Barbara yelled.

     “But the car’s still driving fine,” I said, as I guided it safely to the side of the road. Before I could say anything more, Barbara exited our SUV and moved toward the rear tire on the passenger side. I thought about getting out to go check on her, but the traffic was moving in such a fast and furious manner, it frightened me. So I stayed put in my seat.

     The next thing I saw blew my mind. Barbara stood holding a three-foot piece of tire. She screamed, “The tire’s destroyed. I hope the rim is still good.”

     “Just calm down. We’ll be fine. Get back in here and we’ll call AAA.”

     She climbed in and grabbed the phone from the console. She turned it on and moaned, “Oh, no! The battery’s dead.”

     So, there we sat on the freeway, in the middle of nowhere, with a “blown-up tire” and a cell phone with a dead battery. Now what do we do, I thought. I just sat there somewhat puzzled.

     But then, to my disbelief, Barbara opened the door and slid out. The next thing I knew, she was standing in back of the Murano waving a white plastic bag at the oncoming traffic, trying to get someone to stop and help us. I leaned over and turned on the emergency flashers. However, as over sixty cars passed, nobody stopped. They apparently didn’t care.

     Just as I thought all hope was gone, a black, late-model Honda pick-up truck rolled to a stop in front of us. A young man, in his thirties, dressed in a military camouflage uniform approached the driver’s side window and said, “How can I be of help?”

     “Could we borrow your phone? Ours is dead and I need to call my son. We were supposed to meet him an hour ago at BJ’s for lunch. And we need to call AAA to come and fix our tire.”

     He looked at me, and with military precision, spouted, “Please call your son and let him know you are fine. But don’t call AAA. I’ll fix the tire.”

     “Oh, no. You don’t have to. AAA will do it.”

     “But I want to,” he replied. With that, he joined Barbara at the back of the Murano, while I called Jeff.

     In an unbelievably short period of time, I could hear Barbara thanking him for everything he’d done. Then he came around to the driver’s side window and said, “Everything is fine. The spare tire is on. When I get into my truck, pull out slowly onto the road. When you get in front of me I will follow you to an off ramp where you can exit to find a store to purchase a new tire.”

     “Thank you. My name is Alan. What is yours?”

     “Luigi,” he replied.

     “You’ve been so nice to us, Luigi. What can I do for you?”

     “Nothing,” he stated strongly. “Just “pay it forward.”

     With that, he left and got into his truck. Barbara got back into the Murano and exclaimed, “You know, it’s amazing he was here today.”

     “Why?” I asked, a bit confused.

     “Because he’s stationed in Japan. He’s on leave and has only been in the US two days. It’s as if he was dropped from heaven on this road just to help us.”

     I started shaking. What had happened was unbelievable and what occurred next was even more so. As we drove, he followed behind us. And when we turned off at the East Monte Vista Avenue Exit, he turned off, as well, and followed us to BJ’s Restaurant. As we drove into the parking lot, knowing we were where we wanted to be, he waived goodbye and disappeared from our lives forever.

     Well, maybe not forever. For, as we sat in BJ’s with Jeff and Linda, eating lunch two hours later than expected, Jeff’s phone rang. When he completed the call, he looked at Barbara and me, and, with a smile on his face, said, “That was Luigi. He wanted to make sure you were both all right.”

     To my mind, there was only one explanation for what we had experienced. We had met our “angel” . . . on the highway.

Copyright © 2019 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.