Sunday, June 23, 2013


At my age, a flat tire is a goddamned hassle. Two flat tires on one car at the same time is damned near a fucking catastrophe. It happened to me once before, and I thought that would do it for a lifetime.

This morning my wife left for church in her Mazda, and was back within five minutes to report both the front and rear tires on the passenger side were flat. So began my latest Sunday morning adventure, but I'm getting too old for this shit.

I hauled out my air compressor and was able to get the front tire inflated to about 30 psi. The rear tire wouldn't hold any air at all; after ten minutes, the pressure was still zero psi. I had to locate the emergency spare and the jack and change the tire. In the time that took, the front tire went flat again. Shit.

I finally got the Mazda to a point where there was a wheel that would roll at each corner, and we headed for a service bay at the nearest Walmart. The dealership that sold me the set of tires, with road hazard warranties, is closed on Sunday. I hoped the punctured front tire (the slow leak) could be patched at least enough to keep the tire inflated for 36 hours. That, plus the spare on the rear, would get me to the dealership where the warranties were in effect Monday morning.

It took more than three hours all told, with about 45 minutes of heavy lifting, but I got a break. The shop patched the slow leak for ten bucks, so I didn't need to buy a new tire at Wally World. That's as close to luck as I can expect when I'm having one of those days. 

No comments:

Post a Comment


Dedicated to Jim Ferguson. If you don't know who Jim Ferguson is, you (a) haven't seen The Missouri Breaks, or (b) have an inadequate ability to fully assimilate movie trivia.