Stranded and now what?!
Headed out to last years con, I took a Mini Cooper (that'll be a detail to recall in a bit). In the middle of nowhere passing through a small town deep in Georgia almost to Florida, I get a low tire indicator. No biggie I hope, so I pull into the next gas station and air the tire up. Off I go again. Within 5 minutes on comes the light again. Argh. Well now I have to get a new tire, but its nothing catastrophic.
The plan was to get to the next exit and gas station, fill the tire again and find the nearest tire shop. Part of that plan was executed...part.
I arrive, get more change for the air machine and start to fill it again.
I've been around cars so I'm not ignorant to how they work along with tools. If you don't happen to know, when you air a tire that little brass rod that pops out has a row of numbers on it, telling you how much pressure is in your tire (PSI). Your tire will say on the wall of it how much air it takes (again, in PSI). The gauge really isn't difficult to read, its just numbers.
Problem is, when the gauge is broken and you don't know it, bad shit happens. And no, you can't just eyeball it.
So I'm pumping air and stopping intermittently to check the PSI. All was reading low still. Then - a slow, gradual buildup of a whistle. Immediately I stop and thank GOD I had my glasses on.
BAM.
The tire blew up in my face and sounded like a round from a 12 gauge going off. I don't remember my exact reaction but it was somewhere between shock and laughter. I sigh, and think well time to put the spare on. I open the trunk and start to move the monstrous table, pile of straps, and leather sleepsacks out of the way to get to the spare.
Then it hits me that Minis don't have a spare, just as the young clerk runs outside to see if I needed help, thinking a gun went off.
With my trunk open.
There I am standing and looking like Dexter with a full on murder kit in my trunk, in small town Georgia. This isn't awkward at all. I just kept on as if what was behind me, wasn't behind me.
I thanked him for the offer and he went back inside. At that point I'm expecting a deputy to show up and want to search my car for a body, but I'm also trying to think how the hell I'm going to get to FL now, with a tire BLOWN to pieces, no spare, and night falling soon. I'd resigned myself to the likelihood that I'd be sleeping in my car and probably having to cancel my first couple shoots until I got a tow to a tire shop in the morning. But I went ahead and started calling to see if there was a service station anywhere nearby. What I ended up getting ahold of was a guy who offers the perfect service for my situation but it wasn't cheap. Dude comes, takes my wheel and heads to his garage, changes the tire, and off I go - all at the low low price (sarcasm) of 500 dollars. He was a nice guy and I didnt have much choice so it ended up being worth it, but still.
There went 500 dollars out of my con trip last year. Here's to smoother sailing in the future
The plan was to get to the next exit and gas station, fill the tire again and find the nearest tire shop. Part of that plan was executed...part.
I arrive, get more change for the air machine and start to fill it again.
I've been around cars so I'm not ignorant to how they work along with tools. If you don't happen to know, when you air a tire that little brass rod that pops out has a row of numbers on it, telling you how much pressure is in your tire (PSI). Your tire will say on the wall of it how much air it takes (again, in PSI). The gauge really isn't difficult to read, its just numbers.
Problem is, when the gauge is broken and you don't know it, bad shit happens. And no, you can't just eyeball it.
So I'm pumping air and stopping intermittently to check the PSI. All was reading low still. Then - a slow, gradual buildup of a whistle. Immediately I stop and thank GOD I had my glasses on.
BAM.
The tire blew up in my face and sounded like a round from a 12 gauge going off. I don't remember my exact reaction but it was somewhere between shock and laughter. I sigh, and think well time to put the spare on. I open the trunk and start to move the monstrous table, pile of straps, and leather sleepsacks out of the way to get to the spare.
Then it hits me that Minis don't have a spare, just as the young clerk runs outside to see if I needed help, thinking a gun went off.
With my trunk open.
There I am standing and looking like Dexter with a full on murder kit in my trunk, in small town Georgia. This isn't awkward at all. I just kept on as if what was behind me, wasn't behind me.
I thanked him for the offer and he went back inside. At that point I'm expecting a deputy to show up and want to search my car for a body, but I'm also trying to think how the hell I'm going to get to FL now, with a tire BLOWN to pieces, no spare, and night falling soon. I'd resigned myself to the likelihood that I'd be sleeping in my car and probably having to cancel my first couple shoots until I got a tow to a tire shop in the morning. But I went ahead and started calling to see if there was a service station anywhere nearby. What I ended up getting ahold of was a guy who offers the perfect service for my situation but it wasn't cheap. Dude comes, takes my wheel and heads to his garage, changes the tire, and off I go - all at the low low price (sarcasm) of 500 dollars. He was a nice guy and I didnt have much choice so it ended up being worth it, but still.
There went 500 dollars out of my con trip last year. Here's to smoother sailing in the future
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