On Sunday, January 15, 2011, at around 5:15 PM, something unusual caught my eye—a van, surrounded by rubberneckers like myself, was smoking like a chimney (or a mafia boss) in front of the Library! I was on my way from an acting class with the brilliant Peter Kjenaas at the Kung Fu Studio to the Chatterpillar toy store to buy my mother a gift for her birthday party (in two hours) when I saw a pillar of smoke rising from the dirt lot between the Western Village Hotel and former Church of the Greater Mountain Pentecostals.

After a short reunion with a friend's dad whom I haven't seen in a few months (ain't Frazier wonderful?), I got to the bottom of why a 1991 Econoline van burst into flames and drew curious townspeople, policemen, and fire trucks to the scene. Captain Kirksey of Station 57 along with his small but efficient crew of faithful firemen put the fire out with, get this—foam! Not water! Ain't technology wonderful?

Kirksey informed me that a man, woman, and dog were traveling to Reno, Nevada, when they realized that the frantic pointing and flailing of people in other cars was not new-age dancing, but an indication that something was awry with their van. After figuring out the issue (the van they were driving being on fire), they promptly pulled into the lot (don't ask me how they ended up facing towards the road) and hopped out, narrowly escaping the flames that quickly engulfed their vehicle. While keeping the travelers' names anonymous, Kirksey further explained that the fire was certainly not an error on the operators part—as far as he could tell, it could have happened to anyone. He believed that the electrical wiring near the center was simply betrayed by it's age and decrepitness. “It's just an old car,” he declared, his heavy boots just outside the foam-covered area (which had completely dissolved when I checked again today). “They made it out safely before the van really lit up.” Upon inspection of the vehicles surroundings, I was pleased to discover that the travelers had acted against instinct once they pulled over, leaving their two bicycles from the trunk in the van rather than risk being in mid-bike-rescue when the fire reached the gas tank.

Chatterpillar owner, Peter Bogdanoff, gave the story as he saw it from his bird's eye view through the window of his business next to Tecuya Feed. He described a small fire, smoke, and a non-explosive burst of flames following each other within the course of a few minutes. “I suppose the excitement was nice,” he conceded as he finished wrapping the game I finally chose for my mom. “I'm just glad everyone was okay.” With that encouraging thought in my mind, I thanked him, left his brilliantly colorful store (having narrowly resisted the temptation to buy legos for myself), and bounced across the blacktop in the post-sunset darkness to my 1991 Lexus. Truthfully, I was a bit nervous driving home...something about another vehicle from '91 having some kind of problem...oh well—a birthday party comes but once a year! I drove home, sniffing for smoke and watching for sparks all the way, popped in the door with my wrapped and labeled gift in hand and watched Momma's eyes light up as she thanked me for the wonderful birthday gift I had obviously planned so far ahead for. Ain't procrastination wonderful?