I have never liked to drive at night. There are several reasons why – harder to see, glaring headlights, more potential for animal-related wrecks…but one of the biggest is that if something bad happens to the car, it’s much more difficult to get it fixed at night than it is during the day. This is especially the case when it’s a weekend night.

So last night I’m coming home from Boca Raton after seeing Kelly for the weekend. I realized when I left that I’d be making about half of the trip at night. This didn’t thrill me, but I had wanted to stay as long as I could in Boca. So I prepared myself for night driving.

My car’s right rear tire did not.

A little past Orlando, around 9:30, I hear a popping sound, and my truck immediately begins to vibrate. I was fortunate to be at an exit at the time, so I pulled off on its side and got out and looked. I didn’t see anything wrong with any of the tires – they all looked inflated. So I got back in and immediately smelled burned rubber. Could it be a belt? I started the truck again – no, couldn’t be a belt – and carefully drove towards the closest signs of civilization at about 30 miles per hour. I made it to a gas station and shut off the truck. A couple of people outside of the station talking watched as I got out.

Another examination of the tires revealed that the tread had come off of the right rear tire. This has happened to me in the past before; I’m not sure why I’ve had such bad luck with tires. Anyway, I set out to get my jack and everything out of the back of the truck. Of course, it was all underneath my luggage, backpack, golf clubs, Kelly’s golf clubs…this wouldn’t be such a big deal if my back wasn’t killing me. I’ve been in serious pain for about five days with my back now, and I knew that this wasn’t going to help.

I got everything out and got the tire jacked up, and proceeded to start removing the tire. The first nut was on there pretty tight. It took a good piece out of me to get it off, and my back was not feeling good at this point. I had a brainstorm and quickly made my way to the gas station, only to be met by the attendant at the door, a woman who appeared to be in her early twenties.

“Are you buyin’ somethin’?”

“Yeah, I want to get some WD-40.”

“Well, get it and go; I’m cashing out my register and closing up.”

No sympathy. I quickly located the WD-40 and paid. When I exited the store, I turned toward my car, only to find someone working on removing the rest of the nuts from the rim.

It’s a little unnerving when one sees this sight, even though he was just helping. Of course, with all of my stuff out there in the open, ripe for the taking, it was obvious that he only wanted to help. I thanked him, but said that he didn’t have to worry about it, and took over. He stayed and chatted with me while I worked, though. I sprayed the bolts, and got the tire off without too much of an effort. Getting the other tire, however, was another story. I had to get under the truck to do it. Recall that my back isn’t feeling particularly great anyway before all of this. I finally got the tire out. By this time, he had gone back to his own car and was talking with the other person. I assumed that they were waiting on the cashier girl to close out.

It took a big effort to get the tire onto the car. Between my back and the limited amount of light to see how the bolts lined up, it took five or six times before I got the tire on. I sprayed the bolts down with WD-40 again, and started tightening the nuts. The guy came back over, and commented that I was putting the nuts on backwards. Eh? “Yeah, I’m a mechanic. You need to put them on the other way or they might come undone.” Who was I to argue? So I took off the ones I’d already tightened and started over.

By this time, of course, my hands were completely covered in grease. I asked the man if he thought the girl would open the store back up so that I could wash my hands. He said, “Wait. I got some stuff in the trunk.” He’s a mechanic, of course, so I figure that whatever it is, it’s got to be good enough to cut grease. Sure enough, he had some soap in the trunk. He squeezed a liberal amount in my hands, then pointed me in the direction of a hose on the side of the building. The soap did the trick well enough for me to feel okay about touching all of my stuff when I put it back in the car, thankfully enough.

I thanked the man for his help, and gingerly got inside the truck. My back ached, I was tired. But at least I was on the road again. And I got home safely, if about 45 minutes later than when I’d planned.