The Flat that bit Back

Usually when Ryan and I drive back to Taylor from Minnesota, we have a fun, uneventful drive in which we listen to music, eat junk food, and drive comfortably from the inside of Ryan’s car..

Tonight was an exception.

About four hours into the trip, we took a stop in Tomah, Wisconsin, a small, wayside city in the middle of nowhere. After filling up the car, we grabbed a bite to eat at Subway. We pulled out of the restaurant and resumed the trip by getting on I94. Nearly the moment we pulled onto the freeway, the car started making a sound that was not unlike a muffled banshee screaming at the top of the lungs, thumping it’s head against the wall repeatedly. Quite frightened by this ridiculous racket, Ryan pulled the wobbling car off to the side of the interstate so we could inspect the source of this noise.

One thing that’s not quite as frightening as it looks is this: semi trucks on the free way. When watching from a distance, they lumber down the freeway in a calm, relaxed sort of manner. When standing four feet from the freeway, the massive trucks are quite intimidating. More on this later.

When a lull in the traffic came, Ryan and I stepped out onto the freeway and inspected the car . At first, we couldn’t find the source, but then it became obvious. Between the original “popping” of the tire and the time it took us to pull off the road, this poor, rubber doughnut was shredded.

Pondering our predicament, we realized there were a few “of courses” to be addressed. Of course, Wisconsin, being very close to Minnesota, was quite chilly (negative 4 degrees, to be exact(negative 8 with windchill)). Of course neither Ryan nor I had ANY experience changing a tire. Of course we were right of the freeway, playing chicken with semis. Of course we had no winter clothes. Of course.

Re-convening inside the car, we grabbed our phones and called our respective fathers for advice in changing tires. After chatting with Mr. Gates for a few minutes about the overall process, we decided to incrementally change the tire by calling.. fixing.. calling.. fixing.. until the tire was changed. Once again hauling our under-dressed butts out of the car, we realized the ferocity of the aforementioned trucks. Crouching four feet from the rood with nothing but a travel-size socket-wrench to defend yourself with, you start to feel pretty pathetic when staring down the grill of a 65 mile an hour 18 wheeler with flames painted up the hood. Nevertheless we loosened the bolts on the tire (climbed inside the car and called for the next step), jacked the car up (climbed inside the car and called for the next step), and attempted to remove the ruined tire.

Yes. I said attempted for a reason.

We couldn’t get that tire to save our lives. We shoved, banged, kicked, pounded, and punched to no avail. Just as we realized that it wasn’t coming off, a man that worked at a local shop named Steve pulled in behind us to see if we needed help. Informing him that we couldn’t get the tire off the car, he came up, pulled a couple times, sighed, turned to us, and said in a wonderfully Wisconsonian accent, “Well she’s not coming off..” Being a car guy, he informed us that we would end up needing a tow truck; he gave us a few numbers to try, including his, should we needed more help.

Reaching once more for our phones, we started calling every tow truck company within a reasonable distance. The first four companies we called were either closed or unable to come to our assistance. Until, finally, the last company we called was able to send someone to us.

After about twenty minutes of waiting, a large, flatbed tow truck pulled up, and situated itself in front of the car. As soon as the truck was in position, a short, white-haired man stepped out, and immediately went to work. No “Hello.” No “How’s it going?” No nothing. He just started picking up the car. The first thing he asked us was “Key’s in the car?” when he went to move the car a little bit closer to the truck. With little to do, he sent us into the cab of his tow truck to wait for him to finish. Awkwardly, we sat there, pondering aloud how “weird” this whole experience was.

The man raised the car up into the air, and balanced it properly on the back of the truck. He hopped into his tow-truck, popped it in gear, and we rumbled off down the highway. Ten minutes of a roaring engine and frightfully awkward conversation and reprimand later, we arrived at our destination: his shop.

We disembarked the vehicle, and the man asked us how we’d be paying. We asked if we could pay by credit card, but he responded, informing us that would not be possible. Cash was our only option. He then proceeded to tell us about our extremely large bill, and gave us his car keys and directions to the nearest ATM. Dazed into a stupor about how ridiculous this whole situation was, we clambered into this man’s freaky, smokey, DVD filled van and drove down the street to the nearest gas station. About this time, we realized how scary this situation really was. This man picked us up on the side of the road, never asked us who we were, plopped us in a van, told us to pick up a large amount of cash money, and kept all of our worldly possessions behind with him. On top of all that, he was extremely creep.

When we got back, he was finished, we dolled out a massive amount of money, hopped into our car, backed out of the garage, waited for the door to close, and desperately searched through our belongings and made sure that nothing was missing. Thankfully, nothing was.

Apart from the creepiness of the whole situation, it was a good experience.

Ryan and I learned how to:

- change a tire

- survive in the icy cold

- call a tow truck

- pick up massive amounts of cash in the middle of nowhere

- and search all our stuff in a few minutes flat

If you only take one thing from this: please don’t get a flat in Tomah, Wisconson.