It was the end of a three day visit from my 82 year old father and his 70 year old girlfriend. We were en route from Eugene to Portland - a two hour drive - to deliver them to the airport. I'd allocated two hours for the trip, an hour to get through security, and an hour of wriggle room in case I-5 or I-205 were having "traffic issues".

In the backseat, Cel (my wife) and Celia (his girlfriend) were chatting pretty much non-stop over the apparently inexhaustable number of common interests and enthusiasms they'd uncovered over the three days. In the front seat, my dad and I spoke in the manner that most guys speak to each other - short bursts of conversation followed by silences. My dad is not good at "silences" and usually fills them in with his favorite thing - music. However, for this trip, he'd promised to allow the trip to unfold organically rather than turn it into a two hour episode of Name That Tune.

About six miles past Salem, I detected a thumping sound coming from the left front, the kind of thing that suggests that something is loose. I slowed to 60 and got into the right lane. The thump wasn't loud or alarming but it did draw a corner of my vigilance.

Two miles later, the thump abruptly became a loud and signficant vibration that stopped all conversation and drew all attention. I eased us off the road onto the far edge of the shoulder, got out and looked.

Tire.

It wasn't just a flat tire, the tire had come apart. The spare was, of course, a doughnut tire and it was not going to carry four adults and full luggage another 45 miles at expressway speeds. This was going to be a 1 to 1 1/2 hour delay in the best of circumstances. Dad and Celia were not going to make their flight.

Dad and I immediately set to work changing the tire. In the back seat, Cel and Celia worked to manifest a protective angel.

I had noticed that as I pulled off the highway, a black SUV had also pulled off about 60 yards or so ahead of us. As the four of us worked on tires and angels, the SUV slowly backup up until it was in front of us. A tall, blondish young man in his mid-20s stepped out. The angel, Kyle.

He asked if we were all right and could he help. Dad stepped aside and the young man and I set to work. I loosened the bolts. He prepared the jack. I jacked the car. He kept it from sliding off the jack. I changed the tire. He lowered the jack. Dad tried to give him $20 for his help but he refused it.

While we worked, we learned his name was Kyle and that he was on his way to The Dalles. I managed to get him to the side.

"You're going to The Dalles?"

"Yes"

"So you're going up 205, then?"

"Yes"

"Are you on a time schedule?"

"No, not really."

"Here's thing. They (I pointed to Dad and Celia) are trying to catch their flight back to Florida. Right now, they're going to miss that flight. Could you take them to the airport?"

Kyle hesitated as he was not expecting this. The airport would take him about four miles out of his way in each direction. He didn't hesitate too long though.

"Sure. Sure, I'll take them."

That arranged, we went back to the others to tell them. This time Dad shoved the $20 into Kyle's pocket with that determined look peculiar to my Dad (any siblings reading this know that look). The SUV was loaded quickly with Dad and Celia's luggage. Abbreviated and hasty goodbye hugs were given, they loaded into the SUV, and they were gone.

Cel and I made our way back to Salem and put four new tires on the car. I called my Dad's cell phone and left him a message to leave me a message that they arrived on time for their flight (I had to leave my cell phone off because the battery was quite low).

I felt pretty awful. What should have been a sweet hug-filled goodbye ending three wonderful days had been reduced to quick, unfulfilling goodbyes and then "poof" gone. I felt responsible.

Cel and I eventually made our way to Portland and I got the message on my Cel that Dad and Celia had made it safe and sound and were waiting for their flight. When we returned from Portland the next day, I called to check in and learned more about Kyle.

He had a fiancee and was training to be a helicopter pilot - and he had "just" gotten laid off from his job.

My opinion is this: he didn't have to stop. Many young men would have been too angry or upset at being laid off to either stop or help. We had the tire situation under control, so we didn't really need his help with that (although he helped it go more quickly). The only thing he could do that I could not was get my father and his sweetheart to the airport on time - and that's really why he was there.

Cel and Celia manifested an angel. The angel, Kyle.

Postscript:
As equally remarkable as the appearance of the angel Kyle was the behavior of my Dad and Celia. Many people of their age would have been difficult or reluctant. Not them. For them it was just another adventure, another experience. Like two Buddhas, they simply embraced the moment and went with it with neither complaint, nor pause, nor concern. I can only hope to be like that when I grow up.