Changing a Tire

I just recently got flat tire after leaving my car at work for the day. The extremely, cold -19 degree celcius (not counting the wind chill) day. My tire was completely flat as I was wanting to go home.

But, hey, I’m handy. My dad was a mechanic for years. I can change a tire. No problem. So I pulled out the jack and the handy-dandy spare tire that hangs out in the trunk awaiting its debut.

It was icy cold  and the tire wouldn’t budge. I pushed. Pulled. Kicked it with my foot. Nothing.  Ok, my dad was a mechanic but I’m not. I had to call him.  Note to self: if your tire is stuck, that’s rust . You have to hit the rubber tire part with a hammer or heavy object, and it will free up. And it did. Thanks, dad!

Driving home, I was thankful that this situation would be remedied soon. I didn’t drive my car until the day my father and I were going to meet with the new tire. Which coincidentally was the only day a client could meet me. No problem. I’ve got the spare on – I’ll do the meeting, then get the new tire right afterwards. What could go wrong?

After the client meeting, I hit the road to meet my father. On the way, I landed my little  spare tire in the biggest pothole on the road… and flattened it. My spare. The little donut of a tire that was there in case I got a flat tire was now a flat tire. Until this moment, it never occurred to me that it could go flat.

I am too far from a parking lot, coffee shop or warm place. My father agreed to get the tire and meet me. I was thankful even though I knew a lecture was coming.

With an hour or more to spare, sitting at the side of the road near the airport, there was nothing to do.  The phone calls I’d been meaning to make – I made them. The things I meant to check up on – done.

My car is now much cleaner. I also discovered that had I truly been stranded, there were a few pieces of frozen-by-the-Canadian-winter bread under my seat.

My father arrived with the tire…and the lecture about not driving on the spare. And I was thankful for both.