Good Samaritan, Great Location

Yesterday we took the long ride to New Jersey for Thanksgiving dinner. So did everyone else. The fifty mile trip took almost 2 1/2 hours. We expected the traffic, so no one cared. As we were getting off of the Triborough Bridge (I am old school and will still call it Triborough), a man driving in the next lane started to honk his horn. It was the type of honk people do when they need you to roll down your window for directions. We rolled down the window and he said that our front passenger tire was very low. The car had driven well and did not pull to the side as it normally would when a tire was low. We thanked the man and then became worried about the tire being so low that it would become flat. At this point we were in Harlem, making the turn from 125th street onto Second Avenue, in order to connect to the Harlem River Drive. We looked at each other trying to figure out what to do next, when we looked 100 feet ahead of us. There it was, a BP gas station with an air machine. What are the odds of that? We pulled in and checked the tire, which was very low on air. We filled it up until it was firm and hoped for the best. We drove to and from New Jersey and the tire never lost air. We were lucky that a good samaritan cared enough to make us aware of the problem.