Flat tires

Had a flat tire in a rental car this weekend. I don't drive in Istanbul and miss it, so I took Friday and Monday off and headed to Croatia and rented this tiny little red VW known as an UP! for four days.

The morning of the second day, I realized my tire had gone flat after a run to the beach. It was a pretty convenient flat, all things considered. There was no rush, and I just changed it out in the hotel parking lot. I had a hard time with the lugnuts, but some litterbug trashed a used carton of oil nearby, so I was able to Macgyver them loose (used a flower to apply it) and changed the tire. Fortunately it was a full-size spare and I just headed to the next destination and got the nail pulled and tire plugged for about $7. Done.

Even though it was completely unexpected, it was a pretty low-key flat. I've had at least one that was easier, when I was on the highway in front of my parents house. I'd been on my way from the house to meet my mom and realized the tire was flat. I pulled over to change it -- didn't want to ride the rim back up the road to their house -- and two guys stopped and, before I could say much, changed it in about three minutes and drove off. They'd said they were on their way home from work, which had to have been a NASCAR pit crew somewhere.

The most inconvenient flat I've had was an early 20something, as a passenger in a car with my sister's friend Terri as we were headed around Jacksonville on our way down to visit my sister in Melbourne. We had a blowout, but Terri handled it well. We were in the left-hand lane of 295 in heavy Friday evening traffic.

We had a shit-ton of stuff in the car -- an '83 Tercel -- and, as I calmly started unloading it to get to the spare, Terri, the pretty mid-20something blonde, was flipping out, saying, "I don't understand it! Guys always stop for me!"

All in all, I feel like I've been pretty darn lucky with flat tires.

 

I drive about 50,000 miles a year commuting, so I get one to two flats every year. It got so routine, I just buy an extra wheel for every car I buy and mount a full-sized tire on it and put it in my trunk. No donuts for me anymore. I can just change it out and keep running on it and get a new tire to put on the extra wheel.

The worst place? Downtown Akron, Ohio. I hit a wicked pot hole on 77 and pulled over at the next exit to check my car for damage. I pull into a parking lot and I'm not in a place I should be. Luckily, it's the afternoon. I've got a flat. A guy I can only assume was on heroin walked over to me and offered to help me. I'm in a suit. This guy is covered in dirt and he's mumbling to himself. I'm stuck there. So I go about changing out my tire and call AAA just so I'd have someone there to identify my body if this guy decides to hit me with the four-way lug wrench and take my car and the $4,000 worth of camera equipment, IPad and laptop hidden under a Cleveland Browns stadium blanket in the back seat of my car.

As I'm changing it, the guy starts talking to his girlfriend, gets very angry and suddenly spikes his flip phone into the ground. It shatters into a million pieces. He comes over and as I'm struggling to get a lug nut off, crouches down next to me and says, "You got any WD-40? You need WD-40. And when you're done, could you give me a ride over to my girlfriend's house? It's just a block away. You know how women are."

I'm pretty handy. I build engines at an auto plant as a side hustle. But I swear to God I could've worked for an Indy team in that moment, that's how fast I changed out that tire.

 

So, did you give him a ride, or what?

 

(Paul Harvey voice)

And that mumbling man turned out to be.....Bob Dylan.

 

When I was between colleges in the late '70s I worked as a manager at an Exxon station at the edge of a shopping center parking lot next to a car wash. There was no garage or mechanics at the station, but without fail about 3-4 cars a day would pull up on flat tires needing a change, so I made a little side business of changing flats for tips, even investing in a sweet hydraulic jack.

 

When I was in high school, I never had a set of new tires on my car (1971 Dodge Dart), so I was always buying used tires when one of mine would go flat. I could change a flat in five minutes or less and be back on the road -- to await another flat tire.

 

Changing flats and mounting tires was part of the daily fun at Happy Jack's Natco. Sometimes it was easy money, sometimes a PITFA.

One kinda funny thing was that almost every single person who was not visibly disabled to some extent, felt obligated to stand there and explain how they'd just as soon change the tire themselves, but they "didn't have time" or were "late for a work appointment" or some such shit, and felt obligated/ entitled to stand there and offer play-by-play advice on how to do it.

 

How in the hell did a 10-year-old nuclear physicist end up changing tires?

 

About three years ago, the Birmingham News moved across downtown to a downsized building with a pitiful stub of a parking lot. Mostly I worked nights when there was space available. But when I had to work during the day, I and others with the rank of peon were expected to use the lot across the street.

That lot was next to a burned down, half-demolished building and had never been properly cleared of debris. After my third flat in several months, I took to parking in the good lot day or night and daring someone to complain. Never heard a peep.

 

Fixed flats until I was about 25; by then it was AAA, that's what I'm paying for. Thereafter, usually able to see slow leak so get changed before it is inoperable.

Worst was once got a flat changed started driving about 5 blocks away, noticed some funny sound got out and damn if the idiot forgot to tighten the lugnuts, tire nearly fell off.

I don't want a blowout so I'm usually on it in terms of inspecting tires and making sure they are inflated and not bald. Tires are like shoes, the better , the better the ride.

 

A few months ago I left work about 2:30 a.m. on a Friday to begin the 50-mile drive home. Tire pressure light comes on, so I stop to check and put air in it. As usual, it's about 4 pounds too low, probably from the temperature, so I go to fill it up.
When I put the air hose on the valve stem, I put a little too much pressure on it and sheared the damn thing right off. The tire bled out in about 10 seconds.

So I emptied the trunk and pulled out the spare. Dad showed me how to do it when I was a teenager, so the knowledge is in my brain but the actual skills are not. I think I've changed one tire in my life, and that was almost 20 years ago. I've also never used the jack on this car, which if you're not familiar with your jack it can be like solving a Rubik's Cube with mittens on.
As I'm sitting there reading the manual, trying to figure out how to put the jack together, a guy and his wife roll up and ask if I need help. Amazingly, he's one of our carriers. I say sure, and he goes into his trunk, pulls out a small pump jack, and changes the tire in about four minutes while wearing a grin like the Dad from "A Christmas Story" when they got their flat tire.
I give the guy $20 -- I think he would've been fine getting nothing, just to show off and practice his skills -- pack up the trunk and get on my way.
I never once thought to check to see if there was air in the donut tire.
I drove 50 miles, at 55 mph, back home without incident. The next day I'm looking at the donut and notice it looks flat, and sure enough it's empty. No or barely any reading on the gauge. Figuring I'd gotten it that far, I drove it another mile to the nearest gas station and filled it up.
Somehow, some way, I think I drove 50 miles on three wheels. Never had any issues with the wheel during or after.

 

Waiting for someone to mention that.