Highway Blowout!

Have you guys ever had a blowout on the highway? Now, I'm not talking about the kind where you suffer the after effects of eating Taco Bell, but rather the nerve-ratcheting, terrifying, car-shaking kind where a tire just blows.

Last weekend, I was zooming down the 8-laned highway to visit my daughter (usually just an hour's drive), bringing the car up to 70 mph. I was nearing the exit to a smaller highway, when my car starts shaking.

My first thought, of course, was "hmmm, we're having an earthquake." Then I thought, "wow, they really need to repave this stretch."

Soon enough, it became quite apparent that there was something wrong with my car. I think the people passing me, yelling, honking, and pointing at my tire was my first clue.

Okay, I know what you're supposed to do: pull over on the shoulder and change it (or call triple AAA). But there really wasn't a shoulder to speak of, no room to change it, and I didn't relish the idea of trying to change a tire with thousands of cars racing by me just inches away from my back.

So I did the next best thing: kept driving on it, attempting to make my exit that was within sight, just a quarter mile away. 

"C'mon," I muttered, "we can do it."

Everyone and their father (ESPECIALLY your fathers) will tell you that driving on a flat tire isn't the right solution because you'll ruin your wheel and perhaps do even more damage to the car. But I persisted.

The car rattled, shaking like a blender. Soon a constant thwapping sound seemed to be following me: thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap... Then...a very scary sizzling sound.

Something started to smell; something burning. Then the inevitable metal grinding into pavement sound came next. But here was my exit! So close, yet so far away.

People were shaking their heads, speeding by me, honking, using one-fingered salutes (you know, typical good citizens) while I had no recourse but to carry on, acting in my best oblivious Mister Magoo manner.

Finally...the exit!!! I felt like an idiot as I thwapped onto the exit and then had to wait at the light with a lot of cars in front and in back of me. My plan was just to fix the tire on the ramp (or just off of it) but then like a message from God, a sign beamed in the sunlight. "Discount Tire!" Huzzah! I figured, why not? It's only about a quarter mile away. Meanwhile people are still honking and pointing at my tire as I slowly ground my way toward my lucky break.

I thwapped my way into the Discount Tire parking lot. I just stopped the car, didn't bother with a parking spot. I raced into the store, hoping to get immediate relief, and...there was a line of about five people with tons more sitting around, clearly disgruntled.

When I finally got waited on, the clerk came out to take a look at my tire. And promptly laughed. "Wow," he said, "I can't believe you made it." The tire was nothing but tatters, the wheel resting on the tarmac. But the good news was he didn't think the wheel looked damaged and said I was lucky.

After waiting in the tire store for three hours, I didn't feel so lucky. But I resumed my journey. What normally took one hour took four hours.

Later, I was telling my daughter and her boyfriend of my harrowing experience. I felt validated when the boyfriend said, "Yeah, I would've done the same thing." 

So let this be a lesson to all of you. Your fathers were WRONG about driving on flat tires!

Speaking of making bone-headed decisions, have you guys read my Zach and Zora comical mystery series? Well, why not? Read about Zach, a very dumb but lovable male stripper, who does nothing but make bone-headed decisions which more often than not, makes him a murder suspect leading to his (usually) pregnant, sleuth sister to bail him out of trouble. Check 'em out here!