Twenty miles outside of Phoenix, on
the outskirts of Fountain Hills, the
front bumper broke loose and started

to scrape the road. It sounded like
the front end of the car was dis-
integrating. Such a racket would

come and go depending on the
elevation in the mountains and the
direction of the wind and we had five

hundred miles to go. We made it
to Payson, sixty miles up the road
and stopped at an auto parts store

to find out about a collision repair
place. Bingo! The young man at the
repair place took one look and said,

“No problem.” A half-hour later
we were pulling into our traditional
stop (on the annual trip back home)

for breakfast — bumper repaired.
Five hundred miles, five hundred
miles, five hundred miles, five

hundred miles, Oh, Lord, you know we
need to go five hundred miles toward
home…and we did thanks to the nice,

courteous, unassuming, qualified kid
at a collision repair place in a small
town in the mountains of Arizona.