Raul Ascunce
As many of my loyal readers may recall, the wife and I traveled to St. Augustine, Florida, recently. While my column detailed the rich history and beauty of northeastern Florida, it did not share a particularly unfortunate experience … a flat tire.
Having safely arrived at our hotel in St. Augustine, we unpacked the car, checked in, rested and freshened up for dinner at a local restaurant. Upon arriving at the car we noticed that the rear passenger tire was flat. Some very colorful language transpired at this discovery.
My expertise in auto mechanics can be summed up in the sentence, “I know where the gas goes.”
Changing a flat tire is something I have never had to do because I have never had a flat tire. Seeing my poor tire all depressed and deflated was more than I could emotionally handle, so I called AAA to remove the injured tire and replace it with a tire the size of a donut.
“What is that?” I asked the AAA guy. “That’s not a tire, it’s a breakfast food. How am I supposed to drive to the nearest tire shop on a pastry?”
“The nearest tire shop is half a mile away. You might make it. Good luck.” And then he drove off leaving me staring at the flat tire in my trunk.
Skipping supper altogether, I headed to the tire store and actually made it a half hour before they closed. The manager took a quick look at the tire and said, “Here’s your problem. A screw penetrated your tire tread, easy fix. We’ll get to it first thing in the morning.”
“Great,” I said. “And save me that donut. I think I’ll have it for breakfast.”
The next morning I picked up my car. We did some major sightseeing of St. Augustine and retired early as we were leaving in the morning to head to the daughter’s house in Georgia.
We hit the road at 8 a.m. and by 9 a.m. the “low tire” light lit up the dashboard.
“What the heck?” I paraphrased to the wife. “They were supposed to have fixed that thing. I should have stuck with the dang donut (a dietary comment I make regularly).
Sure enough, the same tire was very low. So from Florida to Georgia, we stopped every two hours to find an air pump to re-inflate our tire.
We made it safely and immediately went to the same tire chain store for them to fix the tire correctly.
“I see what’s the problem here,” the manager said. “They didn’t seal the rim correctly. I’ll have you on the road in no time.”
Tired sealed, we went straight to the daughter’s house to spend a wonderful family weekend. Next morning: Flat tire!
I gave up. I went to another tire store and bought a new tire. Following a fun-filled weekend, we headed home.
And here’s the truly unbelievable ending to this story. The next morning after arriving home, I went into the garage and — you guessed it — flat tire. The brand new tire had a big old screw in it. What are the chances?
“Screw it,” I said. “I’m going for a donut.”
Raul Ascunce is a freelance columnist for the Sentinel-Tribune. He may be contacted at [email protected].
