Val Is NOT Full of Hot Air

I felt T-Hoe pulling to the right a little bit on my way to town Saturday. A check of the tire pressure sensors showed 28 pounds of pressure in the right front tire. Not a big deal. They need 35, I think. That's what the others showed, 35-36. I made a mental note to tell Hick, and to keep an eye on it.

 

Sunday was Father's Day. I was running late after our bonus cow episode. I'd promised Hick and The Pony that I'd make them deep dish Chef Boyardee pizza from the box mix. They love that bready crust. The unofficial start time of the meal prep was between 5:00 and 5:30, I told my sous chef, The Pony.

 

By the time I was ready to shower, it was 4:00. So I'd have to hustle to get to the Gas Station Chicken Store for my magical elixir. They've been closing at 5:00 on the weekend, due to the inability to hire competent and dependable cashiers. I knew I'd be leaving home by 4:30, and it takes 10 minute to get to town. Plus another 5 by the time I walk out to the garage and give my dogs a handful of dog food pellets.

I climbed into T-Hoe at 4:35. Still time! My heart was racing like a pole position NASCAR racer awaiting the "Gentlemen, start your engines!" command.

WAIT! What's THAT?

T-Hoe's dashboard had popped up the CHECK TIRE PRESSURE message! I did. It said 17 POUNDS in the right front tire! I could probably make it to town on that. The Gas Station Chicken Store has FREE AIR, you know. The steering seemed okay. Better than the day before, even. I made it to the end of the driveway, and about an eighth of a mile to our neighbor's driveway when I checked again. 11 POUNDS!

Nope! That wouldn't do. I turned around in their driveway and headed back home. Hick has a compressor in the BARn. I drove through the field and into the front yard. I knew Hick could see me if he'd opened the blinds. Which he hadn't. So I parked and honked. And HONKED! Jack was barking his fool head off. I talked to him a minute. Then resigned myself to a walk through the uneven lava rock garden that Hick has cultivated by the recycled brick sidewalk, including up-ended bricks as a border. I am not surefooted! I had to grab onto the wobbly unattached top of the concrete bird feeder nearby to get onto the lava rocks. And then to the brick sidewalk, and up the front steps with the handrail that is a flat 2x6 that can't really be gripped with a hand. 

I was hollering "HEY! LET ME IN!" at the front door. Which was, of course, locked. So I used my key on the recycled doorknob that Hick takes off because it jams, then puts back when the new one jams worse. After much jiggling, I got the door open.

There was Hick in his recliner, fiddling with his phone. 

"Hello."

"IS THAT ALL YOU CAN SAY??? I've been honking and hollering for you to come out! I have a flat tire. 11 POUNDS flat! I won't make it to town now. I'll have to get my soda at Orb K."

"You can make it. Let's see." Hick came out and looked at the tire. "That's not flat."

"It looks flat to ME! I'm not driving on 11 POUNDS of air!"

"Let's go over to the BARN and I'll put some in."

"Hop in and I'll drive you."

"I can walk."

Which meant that I drove behind Hick in T-Hoe, riding the brakes, as Hick ambled along in his camouflage CROCS. Once there, he had to enter through a side door, open the big door, and pull out his hose (heh, heh), stretching it as far as it would go. I drove closer. Hick checked my tire first with a mechanical tire pressure gauge. The kind you can get for a dollar.

"You have 38 pounds."

"Try that again."

"38."

"Well. I guess it's right. Check another tire."

"This one is 35."

"Okay. I guess it's just a bad sensor. Get in and I'll drive you back to the house."

"I can walk. I have to close up the BARn."

So off I went to town. Arriving at the Gas Station Chicken Store at 4:53. Magical elixir procured, I could breathe again. Even though I was (and still am) driving with that orange-colored FLAT TIRE symbol mocking me from the dashboard.

Good thing T-Hoe's clock is set 9 minutes fast...