This is my car. My car with the spare on it. Because yesterday, at some point, I drove over what appears to be a giant staple. This was not good for my tire.
Flat tires are an annual ritual of "spring"’ around here (I put that in quotes because it’s supposed to snow a foot tomorrow). The roads rut and they dump rocky fill into the ruts, and a sharp rock can do you in–or if it’s not that, it’s debris from the huge melting piles, which is probably what I’ve got. (the sharp rock is so last year. Or yesterday, which is when Rob got his flat.)
Anyway, flat, discovered in town. So I drive to my friend Suzi’s because I know she will help, and she and I are back there clearing out the back and yanking out the jack and the spare while her teenaged daughter offers to go get us her drivers manual, and then her husband, who grew up working in his dad’s auto shop, pulls up, takes one look at us and says, hell, come in and have a drink. I’m calling AAA.
So we did, and now I’m waiting for my tire repair, and then I will go home, load up the car with stuff and kids, and head to Lake Placid for the final hockey tournament of the season. Wish us luck!
sent from my iPhone