I was driving merrily up to Gone West on Friday, talking to my momma on the phone on the occasion of her birthday, and when I hung up the phone, I noticed a certain suspicious noise.
I am, by now, very familiar with the tire-problem noises of my car. That valve issue last fall has been resolved, but my tire went flat enough times back then that I recognize a problem when I hear it. I pulled off the highway in a suburb of Gone West known for its hoityness, and drove for miles without seeing anything resembling a fuel station. (It seemed nearly pointless to stop without a fuel station, since my dad tells me that my car is light enough to drive on a flat for a while without destroying the wheel, and I couldn't fill it up without the air at a station.)
After several miles, I finally ended up in downtown Hoity Town, where I stopped at a fuel station and found my tire still fully inflated. I checked the pressure of both rear tires, which were perfectly at 32 PSI, so I got back in my car, confused, and drove a little slower than normal the rest of the way to the K.s'.
My car, though, had a distinct... problem. It limped. Every time the wheels went around, it made a little lurch. When I drove slowly in traffic and sang along with a slow song, my voice oscillated and I warbled "ahAHahAHahAHahAH" on purpose just to hear it. (Warbled is possibly generous for my singing ability. This is my blog. On here, I have a fantastic singing voice.)
I almost forgot about my car's little limp, but right before I was going to head downtown the next morning, I recalled it and decided to figure it out before I hit the highway. I enlisted N. to the endeavor. He jogged alongside the car while I drove on their little road. Sure enough, still limping.
"Your tire," N. said when I parked it back in front of the shop, "is not a circle. It is shaped like an egg."
Perfect for Easter!
The lady at the tire place took one look and said, "You need a new tire. I wouldn't even have driven it here like that."
Well, thanks for that. That was helpful. Apparently the metal mesh in tires can separate due to potholes and such. Considering that I live in Pothole Central, with roads that literally have tracks out of which you sometimes cannot steer your car, I suppose that was inevitable, eventually.
I did not make it downtown, and I was considerably less endowed with money by the end of the afternoon.
After the tire fiasco, I met S. for a hike, and she asked me if I wanted a cat.
"I cannot afford a pet animal," I told her. "I have a pet car, and it's costing me too much already."
If only it would stop eating.
I am, by now, very familiar with the tire-problem noises of my car. That valve issue last fall has been resolved, but my tire went flat enough times back then that I recognize a problem when I hear it. I pulled off the highway in a suburb of Gone West known for its hoityness, and drove for miles without seeing anything resembling a fuel station. (It seemed nearly pointless to stop without a fuel station, since my dad tells me that my car is light enough to drive on a flat for a while without destroying the wheel, and I couldn't fill it up without the air at a station.)
After several miles, I finally ended up in downtown Hoity Town, where I stopped at a fuel station and found my tire still fully inflated. I checked the pressure of both rear tires, which were perfectly at 32 PSI, so I got back in my car, confused, and drove a little slower than normal the rest of the way to the K.s'.
My car, though, had a distinct... problem. It limped. Every time the wheels went around, it made a little lurch. When I drove slowly in traffic and sang along with a slow song, my voice oscillated and I warbled "ahAHahAHahAHahAH" on purpose just to hear it. (Warbled is possibly generous for my singing ability. This is my blog. On here, I have a fantastic singing voice.)
I almost forgot about my car's little limp, but right before I was going to head downtown the next morning, I recalled it and decided to figure it out before I hit the highway. I enlisted N. to the endeavor. He jogged alongside the car while I drove on their little road. Sure enough, still limping.
"Your tire," N. said when I parked it back in front of the shop, "is not a circle. It is shaped like an egg."
Perfect for Easter!
The lady at the tire place took one look and said, "You need a new tire. I wouldn't even have driven it here like that."
Well, thanks for that. That was helpful. Apparently the metal mesh in tires can separate due to potholes and such. Considering that I live in Pothole Central, with roads that literally have tracks out of which you sometimes cannot steer your car, I suppose that was inevitable, eventually.
I did not make it downtown, and I was considerably less endowed with money by the end of the afternoon.
After the tire fiasco, I met S. for a hike, and she asked me if I wanted a cat.
"I cannot afford a pet animal," I told her. "I have a pet car, and it's costing me too much already."
If only it would stop eating.
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