Father's Day Mechanic

 We were traveling from PA to VA on Sunday, Father's Day.  It was to meet with most of the rest of our family for our vacation together. I95 was hot and crowded with slow downs most of the way.  A motorcyclist drove up to the passenger side window and yelled, "Your brakes are on fire!"  And when we looked, yes, there was smoke pouring out of the wheel well.  I got it to the side of the road and let it cool down and then got off at an exit, pumping the brakes and trying not to go too fast. Finally we had to get off the road and pulled into the first available turn off. It was a Spanish church, and it was just letting out the service!  Paul, our eldest, was somewhere behind us on the road and I got on the phone to see if he could come rescue us, but I did not even know what town we were in.  I stopped a lady and she said we were in Fredericksburg, which led to a pastor who got a huge jug of water and started dousing our sizzling tires. He introduced us to a parishoner walking by.  He is a mechanic!  This dear man left his family and Father's Day dinner, and took us to his shop, orderd the part, and replaced the calipers.  He worked so fast that Rick, who was left behind to drive the car onward to the resort, beat Paul and his family who I was riding with to our destination.  Paul said, "Only mom and dad would be forced off the road at a church with a mechanic who was willing and able to fix it within a half an hour on Father's day." PTL.