Rubber isn’t a pleasant smell. I’ve decided I don’t like it.
On the way to work yesterday, I heard a loud pop while driving on the freeway. Within 10 seconds, my tire warning light came on. I couldn’t make it to an exit but was able to safely pull to the shoulder.
This woman has changed plenty of tires; but never on this car. I carefully unpacked all of the brilliantly clean and functional tools that would get me on the road again, only to be startled by the manly voice of a Utah Highway Patrol officer. Yes, it is the one and only time in my life I’ve been thrilled to see one of those.
Try as he might, he couldn’t get the “locked” lug nuts off. We tore the car apart looking for the key. None. I sent him on his way. Forty minutes later, I had struck out with the dealer and the tire shop. Their solution? The key should be there; you’ll have to tow the vehicle so we can get your tire off.
UDOT Dave
Luckily, before I had finalized my towing arrangements, UDOT Dave pulled up, unloaded his lust inspiring set of tools, and found a way to get my tire off, and changed. I wished I had a pot of hot chocolate in my car so I could pour him a cup.
But now for the worst part of the day. Not having a flat tire, but sitting in the tire shop, surrounded by the smell of both cheap and expensive rubber, being told that all my tires are shot. The year old tires apparently were all very over inflated during my last oil change, and are almost bald.
I don’t like the small of rubber.
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