If there were ever a week that deserved a “wowie wow,” it’s this one.

As some of you know, my brother Liam and my dad live in Los Angeles. I live in San Francisco, and my sister Lilah is in Berkeley, only about twenty minutes away. Every month I drive the 390 miles from San Francisco to LA to give my brother a break from caregiving and to help my dad. Sometimes Lilah joins me, sometimes she can’t. This time, she came along.

I’ve done this drive every month for three years. No tickets, no accidents, nothing. I’ve become a seasoned veteran of the I-5. Until Wednesday night.

We left around 8 p.m., caravanning down the freeway in separate cars. About an hour and a half in, a diesel truck tire exploded ahead of me and flew out of nowhere straight into my car. I rolled over it before I even processed what had happened. My tire pressure and check engine lights stayed off, so I kept driving. Twenty minutes later, I started hearing a noise.

I pulled over, and Lilah stopped behind me. My front bumper, hood, and the undercarriage protectors were cracked and hanging off. We found a nearby gas station and pulled in. It was 11 p.m., we were in the middle of nowhere, 200 miles from LA and 190 miles from home. I called my insurance company for help.

The representative said, “Unfortunately, our systems are down and we can’t send anyone.”

I pay for roadside assistance, so I asked if they could call a local tow company. Again, he said, “Our systems are down.”

“How long will they be down for?” I asked.

“It could be twenty minutes or a few hours. You could call California Highway Patrol (CHP).”

At that point, I felt stranded and helpless. Lilah went inside to grab duct tape while I called CHP. While waiting, I searched online for 24-hour roadside assistance and reached a kind man who answered my panicked call. I sent him photos, and he told me I could remove the damaged parts myself since the damage was mostly cosmetic. He didn’t charge me anything, just helped me calm down and gave advice.

When CHP arrived, they explained that if I filed a report, insurance might mark me at fault. They stood by holding flashlights while I cut and zip-tied pieces of my car back together. When everything was secure enough, Lilah and I got back on the road. We arrived at our dad’s house at 3 a.m. and immediately collapsed into bed.

The next morning, I started calling around for repair quotes. The cheapest one was $3,600. I decided to report the incident to my insurance, even though it might be labeled as a collision and count against me. Then I found out my dad had accidentally changed the deductible from $500 to $1,000 during one of his forgetful moments. I didn’t have that kind of money sitting around, but there wasn’t much I could do.

My insurance told me to take the car to an approved body shop for an inspection and promised they would send a check within hours. I drove my taped-up car to the shop, only to find out they’d been told by my insurance that I needed a tow truck and did not have an inspector on site. I did not.

I went back to the original body shop that had given me the honest quote. The owner, a gentle and kind man, asked for my claim number and told me to leave the car with him. He said he’d take care of it. Later that day, he called to say he had arranged the inspection and would try to get the claim changed from “collision” to “not at fault.”

That simple act of kindness meant everything. I spent the rest of the weekend with my family, grateful to be safe. When it was time to head home, I caught a ride back to the Bay with Lilah, who offered to let me use her car since she doesn’t need it much near campus.

Yesterday I called my insurance again and found out that I was actually covered for a rental car, but they had made a mistake in my policy and misinformed me. So today after work, I’ll be picking up the rental and waiting for news on the inspection. Once it’s complete, they’ll order the parts and send them to the shop. Repairs might take one to three weeks.

It’s been an exhausting and expensive week, but also a strangely heartwarming one. Between Lilah’s duct tape, the kind stranger who helped me over the phone, the patient body shop owner, and the CHP officers holding their flashlights, I was reminded that kindness shows up even in the most unexpected places.

Even on a dark stretch of highway at 11 p.m.

Wish me luck as I deal with insurance calls, repairs, and rental cars. Thank you for letting me share this wild ride of a week with you. Here’s to safe travels, kind strangers, and the strength it takes to keep going, zip ties and all.