Yesterday we talked about running out of gas, something I've never done. However, plenty of you have. But, I have broken down. Many times. And the weirdest had to be back when I had the OG Lieberwagon, which to refresh your memories was a 1985 Pontiac Parisienne Safari station wagon with about 278,000 miles on it when it turned itself into a 7-cylinder. Before that however, I once got a flat tire.
On the way back from LeMons lady Murilee and I were discussing exactly how many times each of us had driven the I-5 between San Francisco and Los Angeles. I guesstimated about 200 and
she said about 300. Murilee is old. Anyhow, one time my tire popped and I pulled over near Buttonwillow to change it. No big whoop. Except that the jack was frozen. I could not get it out. A friendly CHP officer pulled over to help me. Nope, he couldn't free the jack either. So he pulled his out. Only thing was, despite the both of us standing on the tire iron at the same time (some 400+ pounds), we couldn't get the wheel off. All of the lugs were frozen. Which wouldn't of mattered anyhow, as the spare was long flat. I wound up having to get the big brown Pontiac flat bedded to somewhere near Mt. Pinos.
When we showed up at the garage, two interesting things happened. One was the discovery that when the tire shredded apart, me jamming on the brakes at around 85 mph caused enough weight to come down on the hub that the damn shafts bent. Or they were just old. The second was that I was a sad, poor college kid with no cash or credit card and I had to wait two hours until my pop showed up to bail me out. Anyhow, you?