I drove down to the end of the block and knew something was wrong. Another flat tire. I turned around and drove slowly home.
I had blown a tire a month ago but my friendly local tire dealer fixed it. For ten dollars.
So the day after this latest incident I took my sorry-looking band of rubber off the car, dropped it in the trunk of our other car and headed for my friendly local tire dealer.
However, as I pulled into the shop, something seemed different. Sure enough, I had taken a wrong turn and ended up at a different shop. No problem, I thought. I’m sure they can fix it.
A young man came out to have a look at the tire and it seemed when he saw it he might fall over from shock.
“I can’t do anything with this tire,” he said. “My God, it’s like paper. There’s nothing for me to work with.”
Then he checked it over more carefully and said, “It’s eleven years old.” I never knew tires had dates on them. He showed me where it indicated the tire was made in 2007.
I am not an expert at guessing ages but I estimated this young man might have been eight or nine when the tire was fabricated and he was still in elementary school.
“Sorry,” he said. “Oh, that’s alright,” I comforted him. He genuinely seemed like he felt badly for me. “I’ll be getting my snows on in a week or two.”
So, I left, kind of downhearted, and drove by my friendly local tire dealer, the one I would have gone to if I had any idea where in the world I am at any given time.
“What the heck,” I thought. I pulled in. An older fella, maybe in his 50s, came out and looked at the tire. “Think you can save it?” I asked. “We’ll see what we can do,” was the reply.
I phoned the next day. “Your tire’s all ready,” I was told. “You can pick it up any time.” A few minutes later, I did.
The man from the day before showed me where they had patched a hole. I shelled out another ten dollars, picked up a great 2019 calendar for free and came away with what I think is some sort of life lesson. Not sure what it is. Maybe something about age, experience, etc.
But I will readily admit: An eleven-year-old tire deserves a rest.
©2018 Jim Hagarty
