Val Is a Bit Salty This Evening

I think that little Morton Salt girl has been following me around.

For the last couple of weeks, the good tire on T-Hoe's front passenger side has been losing air. Yeah. The good tire that Hick's hand-picked mechanic fixed way back when it wasn't broken, because Hick ASSUMED he knew which tire was needing air every other day. This one has not reached the stage that the other one was in. The Pony and I have not stopped for air. But I sensed a trend. First that tire was only a pound low. Then two. Then three. And yesterday morning it was SIX pounds lower than the left tire.

"You know, Pony, I can't believe our warning sensors have not told us about this tire discrepancy. Before, it would have been all over that difference."

"Well...you DO need to service the tire sensors, it says."

"Oh, yeah. That's right. And that little deflated tire symbol has been on for several months now. That's why I didn't notice. Anyway, it might just be the sensors. According to them, we have NO air in either of the back tires. I'll tell Dad. He can check the tires with his gauge. The front ones, anyway. Then he can air them with his compressor."

So I let it ride. At school, I would get out and look to see if the tire appeared low. Flat on one side. Nope. And in the garage each morning, it was not flat on the bottom like a snail stretched out under its shell. Yes. I let it ride. Until yesterday, when it was SIX pounds lower. But Hick took off for a special auction last evening, and left me flat and dry before I could mention it.

Friday, when I went to town for a few last-minute items for our Easter Eve feast, I heard a noise in the front end of T-Hoe. Not a good noise. It went a little something like this: snick-snick-snick-snick-snick. If I slowed down, it was snick---snick---snick---snick---snick. And if I went really fast (but still under the speed limit, of course) it went snick/snick/snick/snick/snick.

I was busy Saturday, and didn't get out Sunday. But on the way to school Monday, The Pony said, "Do you hear that?"

"Yeah. There's a noise in the front end. I forgot about it. I need to tell Dad so he can take it for a test drive." But again, Hick forsook me for the special auction.

This morning, while he was still captive in bed, tied down by his breather hose, I told him: "My right front tire has been losing air. It was SIX pounds down yesterday. You need to check them with your tire gauge. At least the front ones. So I know if it's really low, or just the sensor. And put some air in if it's low. Oh, and my car has been making a noise in the front end: 'snick-snick-snick-snick-snick.' I don't know what that could be."

"Okay. I'll take a look at it as I go out."

So all was right with the world. Until The Pony and I got into T-Hoe 40 minutes after Hick left.

"Huh. I don't think your dad put any air in my tire. Yeah. The sensor still says it's SIX pounds down. Darn him! He SAID he was going to check it as he left."

So we went on to school. Snick-snick-snick-snick-snick. I even told some of my tech school boys, "My car has been making a noise in the front end. Snick-snick-snick-snick-snick. Do you know what that could be?" Well of course they didn't. Any other imagined repair that might be necessary, they're right on it. Suggesting I do this or that. They know what I drive. But let a real problem pop up, and they're suddenly unable to tell me what to do. That's how it goes.

After school, we stopped by my sister the ex-mayor's wife's house to go through some more safe papers. Now we're down to just big bags of coins. We're like divers with a pirate treasure. That will have to wait until next week. As we left, the ex-mayor had come home, and he and Sis walked us out. Kind of like security escorting a shady character from the building. I was glad that T-Hoe looked presentable today. We had a heavy downpour that caused flash flooding and car washing.

The ex-mayor approached my car. I was afraid he might whip out a white glove. But instead, he said, "Hey, Val. You've got a big bolt in your tire."

And there it was.

Yes. I know T-Hoe's tread is threadbare. We're deciding on keeping him and getting tires, or trading him and leaving him roughshod. But in any case, that bolt should not be there. Sis was worried. "Do you have cell phone reception all the way home?" Because, you see, we live on the edge of civilization, apparently. And she was not so worried that she would drive us home. But still, it was touching, her concern.

I called Hick and told him the problem. He waited for me to bring T-Hoe home. Because, you see, the word of Val and Sis and the ex-mayor aren't good enough for Mr. Show-Me Hick. He waited by the garage and then ran in to take a look.

"I don't see anything. Pony? Where do you think it was?" Because even the word of a non-driving 17-year-old who rides in the back seat is superior to that of Val, Sis, and the ex-mayor.

"Um. In the tire. You can't see it from here." I backed up. The Pony pointed. "Right there! That big bolt."

"Oh. I guess you do need a plug."

"Did you even check my tires this morning?"

"No. I checked your oil. It was fine."

"The OIL? Why would you check the OIL?"

"Well, you said it was making a noise."

"But my tire was low! I can't believe you didn't check my tires."

Hick was in no mood to bicker. He kind of snarled at me and shoved my hand away when I offered him my keys. "I have keys!" I waited by the garage people door for him to back out. I admit that I shoved my sweet, sweet Juno away because she was too hyper and beggy. I feel bad for that now. She was my only comfort. But she took her wet silky fur back to her dog house. Hick was not leaving. He got out of T-Hoe and slammed the door.

"Give me your keys. I have the wrong one." Huh. I wonder how long he was going to wait before he admitted that. When he cleared the garage car door, I pushed the doorbell switch thingy that closes it from the inside of the garage.

An hour later, Hick was back with T-Hoe. He said the tire was fixed. He made a special trip down to my dark basement lair to tell me. Then he said, "I guess you know that you broke the spring when you closed the garage door."

Yeah. The spring I told him about last summer when he put a clamp on it and wouldn't take it off so I could get a new spring made at the garage door store.

Oh, little Morton Salt girl! I see you there, lurking in the workshop on the other side of my dark basement lair wall. Uh huh. What do you know about a bargain color laser printer that prints one picture of the dozen vital to The Pony's science fair project, then says OFFLINE?