On the Road

Today has been a day of roadside stops, auto repair shops, and life lessons. It’s already clear from the red plastic tape on my taillight that I’m not the best of drivers, so none of this is really surprising. About four weeks ago, Liz and I were driving up the Pennsylvania turnpike and stopped for gas. One fella in the cluster of locals informed me that we might want to take the car across the back lot to the air pump. Sure enough, the back right tire was a bit puddled. I’ve never had a flat tire while driving, but everyone had always said that it feels so different that I’ll surely know.

We drove to the air pump, but more drastic measures were called for. We dutifully unloaded our suitcases from the trunk to get the to spare, the jack, and the lug nut wrench. Liz and I are pretty savvy; of course we could change this tire. I gripped the wrench, and the only thing that gave was the flesh on my palm. Liz is probably stronger (read: she could kick my butt if she ever decided to), but no go. The first lesson is that you can have all the technically proper tools and a theoretical knowledge, but just not have enough muscle or mass to accomplish a goal. Even standing on it got us nothing, though admittedly, we didn’t try standing on it at the same time. That’s because fella from the gas station came rolling over on his four-wheeler. He didn’t ask us if we needed help, or even why we thought it a good idea to drive around in a flat tire without being able to change it. He rolled up the huge garage door, grabbed a long tube pump thing that took care of the lug nuts in seconds, identified the problem as a leaky valve, replaced it, put the tire back on, and stepped back (It may be that the lesson is that you can do anything if you have the really powerful tools). Eight minutes, eight dollars, and forty-eight cents, and we were on our way again.

Last Friday, as I packed the car to leave New Jersey, mom noticed that the front right tire was low. No worries, I headed off to fill it up at the gas station on the way out of town. In the pouring rain. And over the course of the weekend again, in my driveway in Annapolis, at the battlefield parking lot in Gettysburg, at the Carusos’ in Walkersville, again in my driveway, at BWI airport this morning, on the side of I-97 (a very kind woman with Obama and Choose Civility bumper stickers stopped to check on me), on the side of I-70, and in a parking lot in downtown Frederick. But, I made it to my mechanic in Frederick, who fixed the leaky valve (seeing a pattern yet?), changed my oil, and sent me on my way. Heading back to Annapolis, I drove over a seam in the bridge, and experienced the “so different” feeling that everyone had always insisted upon. Kind of a mild explosion noise, lots of rumbling, and pulling to the right, like my car was asking to stop on the shoulder. So we did. My little cigarette-lighter powered compressor can’t do a thing for exploded tire with threads exposed. The second lesson is that you just can’t pump air into problems that need to be fixed, because they just get worse.

This time, I didn’t bother to stand on the lug wrench, I just called #77, gave the nice man my location, described my car as purpley-blue (he liked that), and unloaded the trunk again. Before I got the spare out, another fella pulled up, walking past me to the tire as I explained that the highway patrol was already dispatched. I was mollified to see that he couldn’t pull the lug wrench with just his hands and had to stand on it too. Successful, he speedily changed the tire while telling me about the time he drove an hour to his wife, who was stranded with a flat, and no one had stopped for her at all, and about how he’d seen me from the other direction and turned around at the next exit. He was determined not the stand by and let that happen again, and I was grateful for his help.

I drove home, called Merchant’s Tire and Auto at my roommate’s suggestion, got an immediate appointment, and was fitted with a new tire in less than an hour. The most practical lesson deals with the pattern of right side valves leaking, and I hope I’ve learned it. The purpley-blue car is now parked a healthy eight inches from the curb.