Last night, out in the middle of goddamn nowhere (about 10 miles east of Paso Robles, on Hwy 46), the right-rear tire on our Accord blew. Must’ve run over something, cuz upon examination (after the Auto Club arrived with enough lights to see), the tire looked like Hugh Jackman had ripped the hell out of it.
There were some scary moments, what with traffic blasting out of the pitch blackness at ungodly speeds, spraying gravel and such. But after our AAA rescue (thank gawd for smartphones, good Verizon coverage, and GPS), we managed to hobble home safely some 60 miles on the dinky toy spare tire that’s been in the trunk since we bought the car umpteen years ago. You know, one of those tires you’re told not to use at speeds exceeding 50 mph.
We’ll be tire-shopping this afternoon.
Anyhoo, late last night, Deb and I realized it was exactly one year ago this month that we had our LAST roadside calamity. Same car. You might recall my story about hydroplaning in the rain and slamming into a guardrail on the northbound 101, just outside Gilroy.
Good times, good times.
We counted our blessings when the Gilroy fiasco happened last year.
We counted ’em again last night.
Getting stuck on a dark highway can be real ugly. But last night, it wasn’t.
I’ll say it again…
Believe in miracles.