There are days, too many of them lately, when I can’t bring myself to read the paper because I know I will be greeted with an onslaught of bad news. So I’m compelled to write about a recent experience as a small, shining glimmer of hope.

A week ago, I was driving with my 12-year-old son in Glenwood when the car began to wobble like I had a flat. As I slowly pulled off at the entrance to Meadows, the rear end of the car fell with a thud. I glanced in my mirror and saw a tire rolling down the road.

A young woman was chasing it, caught it and wheeled it up to us. The woman, joined by her companion, asked if we needed help (#1 and #2). We all stared at the lopsided car, rotor on asphalt. Somewhat in shock, I said I’d call my husband.

I was on the phone when a man stopped to ask if we were OK (#3). He examined the car then said, “You’re lucky you weren’t on the interstate when this happened.” I felt a paradoxical rush of gratitude.

It was a sunny Sunday, with lots of people coming and going. We sat in the shade of a small tree beside Petco, waiting. A car stopped, and two young Latino men got out. “Can we help you change your tire, ma’am?” (#4, #5). Then a mother in a minivan asked if we were all right (#6). Two cowboys in a pick-up asked if we had a jack (#7, #8). A couple walking their dog stopped to see if we needed help (#9, #10).

When my husband and older son pulled up a half hour later, I mentally counted and thanked each of those people who were ready to drop everything to help us. As my husband and son jacked up the car, a motorcycle carrying two guys dressed in their Sunday best stopped (#11, #12). They dismounted and got down on the ground in their suits and ties, ready to lend a hand to complete strangers.

Gretchen Hayduk-Wroblewski

Glenwood Springs