I yelled that sentence out the window of our car at this nice family as we were traveling home from San Diego on I-5.
“YOU’RE ON FIRE!” I screamed above the rushing wind as I hung my head out our passenger side window. I pointed at their back right tire – which indeed looked like there were flames shooting out between the spokes of their tire.
“PULL OVER! YOU’RE ON FIRE!” I was pretty certain.
They jerked the wheel of their car to the shoulder and we pulled off in front of them. I jumped from our car and ran like a stampeding bull elephant to the back of their car. There was a bag wrapped around their tire. Most of it was gone. Had it been on fire? Who’s to say? Looked like it had, but by the time I stormtroopered their car, the blaze was out, and I was left holding the tattered bag.
I had some ‘splaining to do to the driver and the passenger who both hopped out of the car and were staring at me. I must have looked like a crazy person. I was wearing the only clean clothes I had left from the vacation – a T shirt and a black skirt which was blowing up over my head with the wind from the passing cars.
I started with, “I’m sorry. I thought you were on fi-re.” And say it as I did, with a Southern accent.