Flat Tire
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Why is everyone driving so fast – so recklessly – aren’t they aware it’s windy? What is wrong with everybody? This is dangerous. Be careful! I am upset and wonder if they see me mouthing “idiots!” as they pass me on the bridge? I hold the steering wheel tight as I feel the car pulling to one side. “What a strong wind!” I mutter to myself and to my dog sleeping in her carrier beside me. “I hit heavy wind as I drove out here.” I tell a neighbour as I park my car in the garage. “Lucky you have a small car and it’s close to the ground.” She remarks. I agree and give it no further thought. But . . . while driving back to the city I feel the same pull - the same wind. Then it happens . . . the car shifts to the side and I suddenly hear thud, thud, and thud. I have a flat tire! Okay . . . now is the time to use my cell phone. “Stay calm.” I tell myself as I dial CAA. Luckily the battery is not dead and my payments are up to date. I am told to put my hazard lights on and to stay in the car; that someone will call me for particulars. They do. They are adamant I not get out of the car. I eventually see a truck pull up behind me; ignoring the instructions I climb out onto the busy highway. A guy gets out and checks the back of his truck. “Are you from CAA?” I ask. “No.” He answers without showing me any kind of concern. “I have a flat tire.” I shout, over the roar of heavy traffic whizzing by at way above the speed limit, I am sure. He continues to ignore me. Two women sitting in the cab of the truck yell out for him to lend me his cell phone. “It’s okay.” I answer. “I have one. Thank you.” I get back in my car and wait. I turn on the radio to distract myself. My dog sleeps. At least there is that; it would be awful if she too were nervous. A car – a Camry I think, passes and stops a short distance away; two well dressed men, one looks to be in his fifties, the other younger, get out of the car. They walk towards me, and in a foreign accent, offer to change the tire. By then, however, I have become paranoid and have decided to follow instructions; I lower the window a couple of inches and indicate I have a cell phone and have called for help. I feel vulnerable – I am scared. Why? What on earth would they want with an old lady and a dog? They smile graciously and I smile back but remain locked in the protection of my vehicle. They take off and I am somewhat relieved. But I am also alone on a very busy highway and I continue to wonder what will happen. It has begun to snow. Oh, no! That’s all I need . . . . An hour later (feels like a day) a tow truck arrives; a young man jumps out and tells me to move the car further onto the shoulder. I am convinced I will go into the ditch, but he is right, there is plenty of space. I get out to empty the stuff from the trunk of my car that has garment bags and suitcase and bags of food..... (I do not travel lightly --- remember?) The young man reaches in for the spare tire – the spare . . . is nothing but a tiny little wheel meant for a kid’s tricycle! He takes it out and orders me to get in the car and stay there! I am quiet and subdued as I climb back in the car; I watch him as he quickly switches the flat tired wheel for the tiny little ‘tricycle’ wheel. He is right about the danger- traffic whizzes by at an incredible speed - nothing but a whirr – a buzz - one car or truck after another. I am struggling with the idea that no one, except the well- dressed gentlemen, had stopped to offer help. Were they truly good Samaritans and did I remember to thank them I wonder? . . . The young man finishes his job, puts my luggage back in the car and hands me a paper to sign; he then tells me to keep my hazard lights on and to drive no faster than 80 kilometres an hour. He is good at what he does and I am very impressed. He leaves and I feel alone and vulnerable. I weave my way back onto the highway, lights flashing, the car feeling off-balance because of the tiny wheel, and drive ever so slowly towards the city. My kids have scolded me for not checking my tires: “Before you leave the house and especially before you head out of the city, mother!” They scold. They are right - I should have suspected a problem when I crossed the bridge? Why did I think it was only the wind?! I learned my lesson well. So well, in fact, I have driven the gas station attendant crazy asking him to check my tires every time I stop for gas. “You can tell.” He says. “Just by looking at your tires, you can tell they don’t need air.” “I know. I know.” I reply. “But did I mention I had a flat tire while on the autoroute alone with my little dog and it began to snow?. . .” He gives me a good natured smile and walks away shaking his head - he has heard my story before . . . over and over again.
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