One flat tire

I left the house this morning feeling pretty darned good about the day ahead.

It was snowing. I love the first snows of the season. These tiny little flakes that don't amount to anything don't really count as the first snow — at least not in my book. But it just gives a hint as to what is ahead. You can smell it in the air. You know it is just around the corner.

I am hoping for a lot of snow this year. I am a skier. I have always been a skier and I always will be a skier. I spent most of my teen years (up to 30 years old) hanging out and skiing at the local hill, ski club, ski team, then ski instructor. That smell of fresh air and snow gets in my head and starts my blood warming getting me excited for the new season. I love other winter sports, too. But we have had so little snow the past few years, I have not been able to enjoy them. My snowshoes are hanging in the porch so full of dust, they look one size larger. My x-country skies need a little wax and I will have to find my boots, but I just can't help wishing, hoping, dreaming of a white winter.

One of the best parts of changing seasons is when you switch around the drawers. You know, change the t-shirt and shorts drawers into the SWEATER drawers! It is like getting a whole new wardrobe without going to the mall! (Of course, going to the mall is still necessary for a few new fall/winter fashion essentials.

So this morning I put on an old favorite sweater not worn since last February. Found my scarf and gloves. Put on my fun down vest with the faux fur collar and I walked out of the house. I was even having a good hair day. I was on schedule. I had a full cup of coffee and ready to face the day.

As I backed out of the garage, I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. My Jeep just felt a bit sluggish. I backed out anyway. Maybe it was just cold. It was snowing, you know.

I started forward down the road. The poor little Jeep still felt a bit sluggish. Now, I am not a rocket scientist and I am certainly no mechanic. I know where the gas goes, and the washer fluid. I even know how to check the oil — not change it, just check it. I got a couple driveways down and just knew something wasn't right.

Sure enough, the right rear tire was flat. This is not good. It is 7:30 in the morning. It's snowing and I have a flat tire.

I figured if I could get back to the garage, I could use the compressor to fill the tire up and I could get to town to have it changed at Lingwalls Garage. Good plan.

Driving on a flat is not recommended. I know this. But it was less than 40 feet — give or take a few. So I get back to the garage, and realize, I know how to plug the compressor in. I see the on/off switch. But that is all I know. I have no clue how to run it. My husband has told me a couple of times, but that is one of those things I didn't really pay much attention to. I figured, I am smart enough to figure it out if I ever needed to know. And I did. Figure out how to run it. It was easy. I called my good neighbor, Larry, to help me out.

He filled up my tire and sent me on my way.

"Go straight to town and get that fixed," he said. "I don't know how long it will hold air, but I think you will make it to town."

Thanks, Larry.

So I get to Garrison, pull in front of Lingwalls Garage and to my horor, the lights are not on.

Ron Lingwall (Lingwalls Hardware) was out opening up his store for the day.

"I dont' know, Viv," he said. "I think they are closed for deer hunting. I would go down to Andersons. You should make it."

Great. Should.
Now I am hoping, wishing, dreaming I make it to Andersons — 17 miles down the road, give or take.

I did.

Two guys were swaping stories with the guy behind the counter when I walked in and just said, "Help?"

They all kind of chuckled a bit when I said I had a flat tire. Especially when they asked me if it was on the top or the bottom and I didn't know.

"It's the right rear," I said. I didn't know if that was the top or the bottom. But I soon figured it was just a joke because I am a girl.

Well the guy pulled the wheel off and found the spot where a sharp rock had sliced through the thick rubber on my less than 1-year-old tires. He sprayed the tire with something and I saw the slice bubble. "Hummmmm, that doesn't look good," I said. "I guess that's the top."

He laughed. We chatted. He fixed the tire, filled it with air and I was on my way.

Thanks Anderson's Garage!

My coffee was cold and I had to go to the restroom. But I had a new plug in my tire and it was holding air. It was still snowing. Still tiny flakes that wont amount to much. And I was back on the road.

I still feel good about the day. After all, I have on an old favorite sweater. And it is still a pretty good hair day.