Day tripper

I've been trying to recreate the unusual series of events that led to my spending nearly two hours traveling roughly 15 miles (parts of it more than once) before 10:30 this morning. As far as I can recall, my thought processes ran something like this:

I'm traveling down a busy state highway in my van when suddenly there's a sound like the end of the world and steering gets difficult. Flat tire? Better pull over, but where? The shoulder is narrow and beyond the shoulder is the river. I limp around a curve and see just ahead beside the highway a chiropractor's office. I've never stopped to think why a chiropractor might have located his office roughly midway between two blink-or-you'll-miss-'em little towns, but right now I'm grateful for his parking lot. Sure enough, the left front tire is defunct, but fortunately I'm only about 8 miles from home. Now all I need is a phone.

Why would a chiropractor's office be closed on Fridays? Does back pain get a three-day weekend? No answer at the door nor at any of the houses in easy walking distance. Is everyone at work or are they just afraid to open their doors to a stranger who looks frighteningly like an English professor? Are they afraid I'll correct their grammar? I could wait here for hours before anyone wonders where I've gone, so I'd better start hoofing it--but which way?

If I go downriver, I know there's a gas station within maybe two miles--but a big chunk of the trip is straight up a steep hill. If I go back upriver, the nearest little hamlet is a good five miles, but it's all level ground--and maybe I'll find someone at home at one of the few houses along the highway. Upriver it is, then.

You know, it was just two days ago, as I was driving some young people to the Big City for serious shopping, that I commented on how common flat tires were in my childhood and how rarely I encounter them today.Now here I am hiking along a busy state highway in the summer heat because I would rather not change my own flat. I suspect that even WonderWoman could not loosen a lug nut that has been tightened by the resident lug-nut-tightener, and besides, the spare tire is located in some mysterious rust-intensive area under the car and I'm not dressed for lying supine on dirty asphalt. Kind of a bad time to be wearing white pants.

Plenty of traffic on the road. Walking along the edge of a busy highway is not nearly so restful as strolling along our meandering country road. I hear a woodpecker nearby but I can't take my eyes off the road long enough to ask it if it has a cell phone. No luck at any of the houses. Where is everyone? Probably safely ensconced in cars whizzing past at 55 mph. Three Chrysler minivans driving in tight formation: is that an omen? Of what? A few drivers wave in a friendly manner, but if they're so friendly, why am I still walking?

I reckon I've walked about a mile and a half (and later I confirm this estimation) when finally I see a sign of life: a man with a hoe working in the healthiest looking garden I've seen this season. Surely someone capable of producing cabbages that big this early in the year would be acquainted with modern technology. I'm just about to cross the highway to accost him when a woman in biker shorts goes zipping past on a touring bike. "Want a lift?" she calls out, jokingly. Immediately I lift my hand to my ear in the universal gesture signifying "telephone." She stops and pulls out a cell phone. Rescued at last!

My knight in shining armor is just stepping out of the shower when I call, so it takes him a little while to get to the van, time I spend walking aerobically back downstream. The next phase in my whole-body workout involves cranking up the jack (quarter turn, quarter turn, switch, quarter turn, quarter turn, switch, repeat) and loosening and then tightening lugnuts. Tools are inexplicably missing and the bracket that holds the spare tire is a bit cranky, but eventually I'm on the road again, ready to start the day just a few hours later than expected--and with the dirtiest hands I've ever seen. Where is the nearest rest room? Time to head downriver again, but this time I'm not making the trip on foot.