I was sure all the Good Samaritans had gone the way of the dinosaurs--until just recently.
Driving in the fast lane of the San Diego Freeway toward Los Angeles, my front tire next to the concrete divider blew out. I pulled into the emergency lane and stopped, putting on my hazard lights. To my right by the slow lane, and only about 100 yards ahead, was a call box--but no way to get to it because of the heavy traffic. Why weren't there any on the divider?
I stood by my car searching for about 40 minutes for a CHP or police car to aid in sending a tow truck--not one went by.
Suddenly, a small, new tan station wagon pulled ahead of my car, and its white-haired driver asked me what the problem was. When he found out I had a spare, he insisted I get in the car and relax while he changed the tire. When I tried to give him a $5 bill, he put up his hands to refuse, so I stuffed in in his shirt pocket anyway.