Zeke's Flat Tires

You read that right: flat tires. It's not about any particular flats which me Uncle John who we call Zeke had in his lifetime, although he had his share. More than his share, he might argue. But this is about potential flats.

Any sharp object can cause a flat: a screw, a nail, even a small bolt under the right speed and angle can imbed itself into a tread. Ask a math nerd. However it happens, a few miles down the road and you're on the shoulder fighting to break lug nuts loose, lamenting your poor luck. You didn't, you couldn't even see when it happened. But you would find the dread nail and curse it.

Again, this isn't about real life flats but possible ones. I can't tell you how many times we'd be walking to and from the old barn to one of our satellite garages and Zeke's eyes would zero in on an object laying in the alley as though he were Iron Man seeing with the ultra sensitive sight of his metal suit. He pick up that vile nail and hold it out for you to see, right in front of your eyeballs. "That's a flat!" he would proclaim with scorn.

He was, of course, right. For all the actual flats we dealt with, it was best to get all the potential ones out of the way. 

Air Tight Argument

I had a flat in Indianapolis yesterday. C'est la vie. Life can be worse. After a bit of hassle I was safely home by around 6.

After attaching the spare I happened to spot a Discount Tire within two blocks. Might as well give them a shot at repairing the old tire, which appeared undamaged other than a very obvious nail. I suspect that may have been the culprit.

A fellow came out to inspect it. "I can't fix that. It's too flat to take air." he claimed.

What? A tire too flat to take air? But aren't all tires too flat to take air at some point then? When you put a new tire on the rim, it's flat. Completely flat. Yet they can put air in it.

Am I missing something?

I drove off, and found a mom and pop tire place which repaired the old tire. And having committed it to memory, I won't ever patronize that other place.

Marty is board

The title today is a bit of a pun. Please, let me explain.

I took my walk early this morning, then jumped in my new old van and went to the Shop to get a few things done. About 7:30 I decided to come home and check my email. Yes, I can check it on my phone (we don't have internet otherwise at the old barn) but the screen is so small and my fingers so fat that I can respond to emails better on my home computer. 

Hopping behind the wheel and starting the van, I hadn't gotten up to 10 miles an hour when I heard a rhythmic flit-flit-flit sound coming from my rear passenger's side. So of course I pulled over as even I know a bad sound when I hear it, and wouldn't ya know, there was screw in my tire. But to be fair, it was conveniently holding a piece of board onto the tread.

There were extra scratches along the wheel well, but that's okay. They blend into the existing scratches, so no harm done. As the tire didn't seem to be losing air, I drove it a block and left it by my brother's house. Me brother Phil is pretty handy about patching tires, he really is. I even left the board in place so that he could see where to fix the tire. And I figure with what wood is worth these days, the board will be enough to pay for the repair.

My only worry is that Phil will see this blog first and not to come to work, knowing what's in store for him.