So after a very long day of working and driving, I awake early as is my habit (read, no alarm clock) and feeling refreshed. I move out onto the highway nice and early. Traffic is light and I am hoping to make Columbia, South Carolina by lunch time. This should be an easy run.
HA!
Shortly after turning west on I-26 near Bowman, SC I hear a loud explosion and suddenly the right side of the RV starts bouncing violently. I know instantly what has happened, and I come of the throttle. Blowout on my right front tire. I also know that I can’t brake instantly as there is a great deal of tractor trailer traffic all around me and we are all going 70 mph or better. I try and hold my line steady and keep the RV moving straight down the highway. There is an overpass ahead and it’s probably not a good idea to head for the shoulder just yet.
I hit the emergency flashers and start to ease over. I check my mirrors and the five trucks around me are all maneuvering and jockeying for position to avoid contact with me and each other. I bring the RV to a stop in the grass as they all pass by safely. God bless Truckers!
Booger! No, not swearing here. The first person I get to meet today is Sergeant Booker of the South Carolina Highway Patrol. I swear he said Booger, but I check the silver name tag on his chest, and it said Booker. The Sergeant was good enough to look in on me and was glad to know that help was on its way. He was a bit agitated though that I had been there for almost an hour and no one else had stopped by. I think some Troopers were going to get an ear full. Thanks for stopping by Sergeant!!!
Buzzard of NASCAR fame!
Buzzard! Buzzard is a young, wiry and amazingly strong individual. The hair is trimmed but disheveled and he has a wisp of a goatee. Buzzard is the driver who responded to my call to AAA for road service. He works for a truck tire shop and arrives in just a little over an hour with a replacement steering tire. Buzzard is efficient and good at what he does. The tire with the huge hole in the sidewall is gone and the new one back on the truck in short order. Just like NASCAR. Buzzard asks me, “Cash or Credit?” and that is the longest conversation we have between us. Information exchanged, payment made, and Buzzard accelerates back onto the highway and quickly melts into traffic. Thank you, Buzzard!
While Buzzard is busy making like a pit crew, Trooper Jackson stops by. The trooper is a big ole boy. Probably 6’2″ or better and nearly as wide at the chest. I’d bet nobody ever messes with Trooper Jackson. Except maybe Sergeant Booker. We discuss holiday traffic, the Gamecocks’ game the night before (it was ugly) and the best source of BnG (Biscuits and Gravy for the un-initiated).
Gamecocks is the nickname of the University of South Carolina nearby in Columbia, SC. A Gamecock is an Ass-Kicking Chicken.
Back on the road, I pass three more vehicles on the shoulder with law enforcement escorts. One or two of these look to me like flat tires as well.
BAM!!! Blowout number two of the day. Right side rear on the inside. Fortunately, I have tandems on the back axle, so the outside tire keeps me afloat long enough to find a safe spot to land which is fortunate, as I am in a construction zone. I come up on a rest area that is closed but has sufficient space on the ramp for me to get off the highway safely. After a quick evaluation I decide it’s time for new tires. I search the internet and find that Giant Tires is just down the highway several miles. I think that I can limp there on just one tire, so off I go.
Jimmy works at Giant Tires. When I pull in, I realize that they mean GIANT tires. Jimmy is wearing his Georgia Bulldogs polo and running a forklift moving tires bigger than my Volkswagen around the yard. He looks at my rig, tells me they don’t really carry nothing that puny and suggests I go to the auto shop on the other side of the overpass.
Johnny is another big fella. He runs the auto shop and has two customers in the lobby. One is standing there holding two brand new fishing poles. The other older gentleman is telling him where to find the best fishing in the way only a southerner can tell you how to find good fishing. I want to go!
Unfortunately, Johnny does carry anything that big in tires and I might want to check with Jimmy up at Giant Tires. Good idea Johnny but been there already. Any other suggestions?
And so begins the ten-minute conversation about Discount Tires. Not so much the business, but how to get there without using the interstate. Well, you could get there by going around the airport, but no, that would take forever. Well, the highway route would take him way out of the way, maybe he should just cut through town. They decide to send me through town.
So go down by “The K-Mart” and make a right (it was a left) and go down as far as the stop sign. Or is that a traffic light right there. I am pretty sure it’s a traffic light now because if it were a stop sign, you’d never get out of there. Well go to the traffic light or the stop sign, whichever it is and make a left. You know, I think it’s a traffic light because a stop sign would be impossible to make that left. Anyway, go on down the highway quite a ways and it will be right there on your right (it was on the left). When you cut through town though you’d better watch your speed cause with that big rig you’re driving they’ll figure you for a rich feller and pull you over for speeding just a sitting at the traffic light.
Chip Owen! Okay, I am not making these names up. Chip is the mechanic who is going to change the other five tires on the RV. Chip is not much bigger than I am, but obviously spent the better part of his life changing truck tires as he is a strong son of a gun. Chip hasn’t shaved since church last Sunday and speaks with a very deep southern drawl. Chip and I discuss the merits of Creek (or crick as he calls it) Cooled Beer, mountain fishing and hanging out with Hillbillies (again, his phrase).
My favorite story was about his Grandpappy who kept bottles of water in the freezer, so he always had something icy cold to drink. The ones with the red caps were about half full of shine so didn’t freeze right up and were always ready to drink and icy cold.
One Sunday after church the preacher comes by for supper . . . Pap had to carry him home and put him to bed.
Chip is good at what he does and has all five tires swapped out in just a couple of hours. Seven hours after my first blowout I am ready to get back on the road. I start to think about asking directions back to the interstate. I decide to get there by dead reckoning. Even if I get lost it might be a time saver. I find my way to I-77 and am headed north in earnest once again. Traffic is not as bad as I had hoped, but I am tired. I make it to Bluefield, VA and find a nice quiet spot in a rest area for a night of rest. I actually sleep four hours which is the most time I have spent in any one place since leaving work the day before.
I was Tire(d)!