FOR THOSE WHO WERE WORRIED

Friday night in the boonies, somewhere north of Missoula

About 10:00 p.m., with thirty miles yet to go on my loop drive before I get back to Missoula, an orange icon lights up on my dashboard.  I don’t even know what the light means.  It’s pitch black out here and very difficult to find a safe place to pull off on this two-lane road.  I drive on for about ten miles, hoping to find a place, like a gas station or minute market.

When I finally spot one, I pull in and get out my car manual to find out what the orange light means:  under-inflated tire. Of course it doesn’t tell me which tire. (Adam: here's an improvement option for Honda) I walk around the car, trying to determine which tire is the problem, and then walk inside to inquire if they have any air.

They don't have air.  A young man nearby overhears the conversation.  "I have something in my truck that will help you," he says.  "I'm parked at the bar next door, so I will be back in a minute."  With that he is gone.  In the meantime, I got back outside to my car.  A young woman comes by and says there is air at a gas station down the nearby side road.

When the young man returns, he has a tire gauge.  He checks the right rear tire and determines it is three or four pounds low.  I leave for the nearby gas station for air.

When I get to the gas station, I drive around the lot looking for the air hose, which I never find.  In the attached market, I see a man inside who is obviously closing the market for the night.  He is watching me as I drive around the station.  I stop at the door and get out.  He opens the door and inquires if he can help me.  I tell him my story.  He directs me to the nearby hose and says he will take care of my problem.

I leave the car running so we can tell when the dash light goes off. He walks around the car and determines the low tire in the left rear.  As soon as he puts some air in the light goes off, so we know that was the offending tire.  

I thank him and shake his hand.  "Always glad to help," he says.

I drive the last thirty miles with no incident and finally arrive at the B&B about 11:00.  That's the night I told you there was no blog and that I needed sleep.

The next morning, Saturday, I am up early with a plan to be out of Missoula by 7:00.  Breakfast at the B&B isn't until 8:30, so I stop by McDonald's for a biscuit -- a poor excuse for a biscuit, I might add.  As I pull out of McDonald's the orange light comes on again.  Putting air in the tire last night was evidently a temporary fix.

I locate the nearest Honda dealer on my nifty GPS system, thinking I will take it there since my car is new.  They don't open until 9:00 and they don't do service on Saturday.  I make a couple of calls to nearby service stations but they don't do tires.  I am on a street with lots of businesses so I start driving, looking for someplace that might fix my tire. Within a few miles I find a tire store that is open.  By now it is 7:30.  I go in, explain my problem, and the man says they really don't open until 8:00. "No problem," I say.  "I'll wait."

At 8:00 I explain my situation to the tire guy.  "I have a problem with the left rear tire and the light is coming on," I say, and explain what we did the night before.  "I'm going over Lolo Pass this morning and I want you to check all of my tires to make sure I am good to go." 

 "No problem," the guy says.

"And you're going to be an example of how nice the people are in Montana, aren't you?" I say, half kidding with him.

"Of course," he says.

They have me ready to go in less than an hour.  Turns out I had a small piece of metal in my tire. They removed the metal and plugged the tire.

"You're ready to go," the tire guy says.  "All your tires are good."

"What do I owe you?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says.

I thank him, shake his hand, and I am on my way by 9:00.