The Saddest Day . . . Part Five

Was it karma . . . or a curse?

After halting all traffic on the I-15 for about five minutes, I was finally able to weasel my way over to the right side shoulder. Ignoring the slice of pizza that was plastered to my windshield, I immediately jumped out of my car to examine the situation. My beautiful "new" BFG 35 inch tire was now just a sad, lifeless shell barely hanging on the rim. I wanted to cry, but now was not the time. The Highway Patrol car had just pulled up behind me. She was one of the nicest police officers I have ever had to deal with. I've had my fair share of nasty police officers so to be dealing with a nice one was a pleasantry I hadn't expected.

It didn't take long for us to get my spare tire off the mount and loosen the lug nuts on the demolished one. However, we had a major problem, I didn't have a high-lift jack. I was mentally kicking myself at that moment. I spend money on numerous useless items, why was it so hard for me to drop $60 on a stupid high-lift jack? And it didn't help the that nice officer insisted on giving me a ten minute lecture about the importance of a high-lift jack. Then the officer got a call on her radio and asked if I would be okay to figure this out all by myself. Of course I said yes, so eager to stop the lecture, and she left me there, just like she said she would but after she left I felt a little sorry for myself, like who the heck is going to help me now. Of course I could always call AAA, but I really didn't want to. I wanted to just switch out the tires and get back on the road, I had hungry people waiting for me and only 2 decent pizzas left.

Luckily, a nice young cowboy in a green pick-up stopped to offer his assistance. He loosened the already loose lug nuts and then asked me where my jack was. I told him that all I had was the dinky little thing that came with the Jeep. He then told me "you know, you really should by a high-lift jack". Which immediately made me feel like a complete jerk. I bet this 20-year old cowboy wouldn't be caught dead in a big jeep without a high-lift jack. He looked like the "always be prepared" type to me. I bet he was an eagle scout 5 times over. But he was still very nice and got out his own jack and tried to lift the car with it. Sadly though, his jack was still too small. So I said thanks for trying and he packed up his stuff and left.

I didn't know what else to do and I was bound and determined not to call AAA so I called my little brother, Mark and told him to bring his floor jack. It would probably only take him 20 minutes to get here, I thought to myself. So I went to the passenger seat where the pizza was and I ate a slice. Don't worry, it wasn't the one on the windshield, nope, I left that one there. Every five minutes or so someone would stop and ask if I was okay and I'd tell them, yes thanks, my brother is on the way. Then after 45 minutes and 3 slices of pizza, another man showed up. I told him the same thing "I'm fine, my brother is on the way . . . yada yada yada" but he was insistent on helping. I couldn't exactly say no, so I let him help.

The first thing he asked me? You guessed it . . . where is my high-lift jack? That conversation turned into another lecture. I know, I deserved it.

He tried my dinky little jack even though I told him we had just tried and it didn't work. But once again, he was insistent. About 15 minutes later, my brother showed up with his big floor jack and he worked with the guy to get the spare put on. It worked like magic. Five minutes later I was ready to get back on the road.

I pulled out on the freeway and was only going to be an hour and a half late. No big deal. I was about to turn my iPod back on when the car next to me started honking their horn and yelled at me that my brake was still on. I looked down and saw that, no, it wasn't. Then I smelled it. Burning tires are one of the grossest smells out there - I hate it! So, I immediately pulled back on to the shoulder and, Mark, who was behind me also pulled over. The spare tire that my brother had just put on had about a 1/4 inch groove etched into the inside of it. I am really surprised that it hadn't burst. Man, am I lucky or what! I didn't dare drive it though. So I finally broke down and called AAA.

Which led to this:

Seeing Hank up on that tow truck was so extremely sad.

Seriously one of the saddest days of my life.

The End.

. . . but not really

A couple of days later I took back the stupid Big Foot tire that I gave to Jarred aka The Best Brother-In-Law in the whole world. He didn't care for it too much anyway, and really can you blame him? So for now good ol' Hank is running on a potpourri of tires. Hopefully we'll get him some new ones in a few months. :)


okay - now it's the end.