Changing tires in the rain

by Barbara Cagle

When I was about seventeen years old, my father insisted I learn how to change a tire. Needless to say I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea but dutifully followed his directions. It wasn’t until many years later, after his death, that I was able to thank him for his insightful insistence that one of his five daughters know the details of such a task.
I still remember that cold and rainy December day in 1981 when my phone rang as I was getting my children ready for school. It was my mother and she had a problem. Since I lived close to where she had encountered a flat tire, and considering she was already very late for work, I agreed to come get her and take her to work as well as arranging to have the tire fixed.
After dropping her off, I went to a favorite local service station to inquire about having the tire fixed. Yes, they still had those back then but I can see why they soon became almost extinct. I couldn’t believe it! They wanted to charge almost fifty dollars to go fix the tire. Well, I’m a bit on the stubborn side so I decided I would put what my father had taught me to good use and save mom some cash.
I went to where the car was parked at the side of the road. Since I had had the foresight to get the keys from mother, I was able to get into the trunk and take out the tire, the jack and the jack handle. The rain was getting heavier as I struggled to lift the heavy tire out of the trunk in anticipation of replacing the one that was flat. I must have been a sight struggling with the heavy tire in the rain because I noticed several drivers smiling smugly as they passed me by.


With all my tools ready I now had to crawl part of the way under the rear bumper to find the little hole the jack needed to fit into. Once it was safely hooked onto the bumper I jacked up the car using my full body weight to raise it the last few inches but I had forgotten to loosen the lug nuts, so I had to put it back down part way, loosen the nuts and raise it again. Now, I had to get the flat off and as you may have guessed by now that couldn’t have been straight forward either. The lug nuts were on so tight I had to jump on the jack handle to break them loose. After struggling to lift off the flat tire and replace it with the spare, being sure to jump on the jack handle to tighten the lug nuts, I was finally able to return everything to the trunk.
In went the flat so that it could be repaired later. Then the jack nestled snugly into its hiding place to be followed by the jack handle. The jack handle! Where was it? Well, naturally! It had slid under the car so back on my knees to retrieve it. Finally the tire is repaired; I am soaked to the bone and look like I had just crawled home through the worst mud bog. Not wishing to embarrass mother at work I drove the car to her office, and locked it up in her regular parking place, slipping away without being seen. I knew she had an extra key in her purse so I called her when I got home to let her know the car was in the lot. But first, I had to walk the three blocks back to my car
By this time all I wanted was a nice hot bath and a nap before the kids got home from school. All in all I suppose I should thank my father for teaching me how to change a tire, especially since it made my mother so happy to have someone to take care of the problem and not have to spend so much to get a stranger to do it but sometimes I think I would have been much happier not knowing, even if knowing did make mom happy and save money in the long run. In the future, if I happen to have a flat, I think I will find some kind soul to help out, or perhaps the next flat I encounter I will be able to call on one of my sons. Time will tell as I haven’t encountered a flat tire since that day in 1981 when I came to the rescue of my mom.