Again into the gulf of travel. Oh, woes unto me! I kid of course. I love travelling, but to Florida? Okay, do not judge me as swiftly as I judged Florida. I came to this wretched place on an errand for the parental unit. I would drive a car back home. That is 1,000 billion miles away. I am fairly sure that is as far as the Sun from the Earth times 10,000. Just saying.
I figured I would spice up the trip with a couple detours, you know, drive completely out of the way I needed to go. I would head to the capitol, Tallahassee. My goal was to have a looksie at a potential Graduate school there, and one other thing. I discovered that an old travel buddy would be there. Thus, I came to visit Card.
For those of you who do not know of Card and my antics, see Vietnam! our trips together are vivacious to say the least. A little tid bit of our previous sojourn together, Vietnam was a riot akin to a bar fight on the f'ing Makong. Like, really.
Even before our antics occurred, however, I needed to first make it to Tallahassee. I left Southwest Florida in a hurry, early, speeding down the by-ways, avoiding alligators (that did not really happen), looking desperately for I-75 by directions my mother gave me, good lord! I found it soon-ish and absolutely burned it North.
At this point, I can not in good conscience blame Floridians for their poor driving; I-75 is afterall, an interstate, and loads of terrible drivers populate that long-ass road. Regardless, I swooped, drivelled, spun, careened through thousands of mouth breathers at a clip of 80 mph, all while flipping through the constantly modulating radio signals. Oh, and the rain came down.
It happened once I had finally switched to the 2 laner, Highway 10. "What is that fog in the window?", I asked myself (I actually did). "That is no fog.", came the reply of pitter patter on my windshield, which grew into heavy rain fall.
As Mentioned above, I needed to constantly switch radio stations so as to avoid gospel and a seemingly ubiquitous assault of Contemporary Christian Music (CCM). A side note: how is it you can immediately distinguish CCM from literally any other genre even before the "music" starts playing? It is as though there is something in the static, the thrum humming, just before the righteous chord is struck. I suspect the holy ghost is to blame. Anyway.
I found myself on Highway 10 switching lanes, a few cars huddled around, the desolate treeline hugging both sides of the road, and me still flipping through radio channels. I was about 15 miles out from Tallahassee when I tuned into the local Classical station. Beethoven's 1st symphony was about to play - a piece (I suppose a symphony is not considered a 'song' per say). Just as the violins took the melody, my front, driver-side tire decides to explode.
The exchange between the woodwinds and strings continued as my car zigged. I am always astounded by what random thoughts present themselves during the heat of battle. At the time, i had one hand on the wheel and the other on my dick. Guys will understand. My brain leapt to life and I quickly switched off the radio. Thanks, Brain. I am unsure what the cars around me did, but I believe they freaked out. I wondered, or rather hoped, that my tire was not splitting in to, rubber spinning of the metal wheel in chunks like a semi's tire does. The thunderous growl and grinding sound, however, eclipsed all hope.
My car was not out of control but wanted to be. Pumping the breaks continually, for what seemed far too long, I nudged over to the road side. Finally, as the rain began to fall heavily, traffic increasing steadily, I stood slumped looking at the ruin. Wow. I had had a nightmare about this about 3 weeks ago. Having never changed a tire, and seeing how this car was nearly entirely new to me, I felt a swelling of fear.
Oddly enough, after my bad dream a few weeks prior, I had actually researched several survivial tactics online, one of which directly applied to this situation. If my parents instilled my siblings and I with paranoia, they did a good job on it this time. Among other things, I can find the North star, Polaris, and Southern Cross, if I were ever stranded in the ocean.
Nonetheless, I was in bullshit Florida, in the rain, with a wreck of a tire staring at me. I set to work. I removed the multitude of crap my mother had packed the trunk with, hurriedly, launching the stuffsinto the backseat. I wrenched the tire from its resting place and marvelled at the jack. Oops, you are supposed to loosen the lugnuts before jacking up the car.
I finished my task, drenched. Thankfully, a cop saw me and pulled over. He did not do much outside of standing beneath his umbrella watching me, but he did stop. Also, his flashy lights eased my fear of being trampled and crushed by out of control bastards. Good one on you, Florida highway police!
My dad had seen to it the car had a full tire rather than a spare. Score. Now, I sit in a cafe (as you do), and realise the adventure is not over. My mother had mentioned all 4 tires were originals, nearly 10 years old at this point. She jokingly said it would be aweful if exactly what happened occurred. Coincidence? Hexed? Jinxed? Is my mom a witch? No. She is paranoid, and so am I!
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