That's a rhetorical question. Unless, of course, your answer is, "Hick."
Remember yesterday? When I told you about T-Hoe's right front tire that had 11 POUNDS of air in it Sunday? Needing 35? When I got in on Tuesday, that tire had 8 POUNDS of air!
"Oh, you silly T-Hoe," I might have said out loud, just him and me backing out of the garage. "It's just a bad sensor. We need to get that fixed."
My town trip was uneventful, though very late once again. At least the Gas Station Chicken Store stays open until 8:00 on weeknights. I got there around 4:45. Hick and The Pony were still in the city, Hick having undergone his medical procedure at 5:15 a.m., and The Pony on a quest to replace his broken phone on their way home.
I barely got back before they did. I had about 30 minutes to spare before A-Cad rolled into the garage. Upon entering the house, the first thing out of Hick's mouth was,
"You have a bolt in your tire."
"WHAT? The right front that was supposedly LOW?"
"No. The back right."
"The back right said it had 8 POUNDS of air in it today! But I know the sensors are switched, over the past 2-3 years, and the back tires are really the front tires."
"No. When we had the new tires put on a few months ago, Mick switched them."
"NOBODY TOLD ME! You mean I've really been driving to town on 8 POUNDS OF AIR?"
"I don't think it's THAT low."
"You didn't check the back tire pressure! You only checked the two front ones."
"Well, you said it was the front tire."
"Because the sensor said it was the BACK tire! And they've been switched for two years!"
"Anyway... I'll take it to Mick in the morning and have him fix the tire."
"You're not supposed to drive for three days!"
"The doctor said as long as I feel fine I can drive. They just put it on the standard discharge form."
"Are you taking it over to air it up now?"
"No. It will be fine."
"What if it's flat in the morning?"
"I'll carry over the little compressor."
"You're not supposed to lift anything!"
"I'll be fine."
"That's not a good idea."
"I'll drive it over to the BARn now."
"Dad! You shouldn't move that big compressor! Do you need me to help?"
"I don't have to move it. I just pull out my hose."
"Yeah. He did that Sunday."
So... Hick drove T-Hoe over to quench his thirst for air. I don't know how much will stay in there for the drive to town. It's only about 4 miles to Mick the Mechanic's garage. Hick sent me a picture of the problem.
Good thing Hick looked at T-Hoe's tires as he walked through the garage after his medical procedure and being up since 3:00 a.m. Good thing T-Hoe's tire ended up with the bolt exposed when I parked.
Now... who's stupider? VAL for KNOWING that low pressure in the right rear tire mean the RIGHT FRONT TIRE, as it had for over two years, since the last tire rotation? Or HICK, for not telling Val that he had the sensors switched back to the correct positions when he had Mick put on the new tires?
Not that it would affect your answer, but let the record show that Val can slice with a razor-sharp wit, and Hick never, ever, reads this blog...