Our local airport is St. George, about 75 miles from the sanctuary. It's a small commuter airport, with flights just to Los Angeles and Salt Lake City, and in small planes that seat about 30 people and tend to bounce around when landing in the summer heat.

So we land in St. George, I'm just walking up to my trusty Jeep, when I notice it seems to be slightly tilted over. <groan> Flat tire in the back. And 104 degrees in the parking lot. (It's never that hot at the sanctuary, but St George is lower elevation, more like temps in Las Vegas.

I can't quite face changing the tire in the heat, the other folks took an earlier flight, and I'm useless at flat tire stuff anyway, so one of the guys inside suggests a repair shop that may be open (lots of things are closed here on Sundays), and 13 minutes later, a truck rolls up and it's like something out of some hilarious comedy movie ... a whole delightful Hispanic family , including mom and the kids, and maybe the grandkids, all in a big yellow repair truck. Dad and two of the boy leap out and, presto, it's all done in minutes.

Pics taken with my phone. Don't really do justice to all the shouting and hilarity, but anyway . . .

And 90 minutes later, it's back home . . .