Flat-out nuisance

So, last month I went on a road trip, my first in a year and a half. The genealogist in me had been wanting to dip a toe in the conference waters, and when I heard about the New England Regional Genealogy Consortium's biennial meeting in Providence, Rhode Island, I took the plunge and registered for it, beating the early-bird discount deadline by only an hour. In the ensuing weeks, I made hotel reservations, plotted my route, packed my bags, and checked the tires and fluids in my Scion xB. I was more than a bit taken aback to discover that the right-side tires, far from being underinflated, were pumped up to about 45 (front) and 50 (rear) psi. They should be about 35 psi. I hadn't touched those tires since I had the car inspected back in September! I bled off the excess and made a mental note to have some sharp words with my Scion service manager.

Finally, I set off for Rhode Island. The two-day trip out was relatively uneventful, aside from intermittent rain storms the first day and a bit of sticker shock at the gas pumps. I don't think I even got lost more than once or twice. Yes, I have GPS, using the Google Maps app on my iPhone. I don't think it likes me. But that's another story. This one is about tires.

I had picked a hotel a few miles out of downtown Providence (I'm allergic to $169/night hotels, and that's at the "special conference rate"!) and checked in on a Wednesday night. Thursday morning I found my way to the parking garage in downtown Providence, and with no idea how to get most expeditiously to the conference center, I picked a parking place at random, exited the garage, and eyeballed my way to the conference center. Come to find out, if I had just gone up the stairs one floor, there was an exit from the garage directly into the conference center!

Well, I enjoyed a number of presentations on Thursday, albeit with aching feet (the Food Court in the nearby Mall was a formidable hike away), and found my way out to the parking garage (this time without taking the "scenic route") and back to the hotel without getting lost. Friday was pretty much a repeat, apart from missing a turn going into Providence and having to go around a few blocks, and this time I knew enough not to go outside the garage to get to the conference center. I left at the end of the day, missed another turn and got that sorted out, and in due course arrived back at my hotel.

That's when everything went sort of pear-shaped. I nearly drove past the entrance and made a sharp right turn into the parking lot... but apparently, not sharp enough. I heard a loud bang, followed by a thup thup thup, and as I pulled into a parking space, I noticed a new and unfamiliar light shining on my dashboard, similar to the one at left. Astute readers will recognize this as the TPMS, or Tire Pressure Monitor System, warning light. I had never seen it before, but I did recognize trouble when I saw it.

My left front tire was quite, quite flat (about like the one at right). Apparently when I turned in, the tire went up on the edge of the curb and then dropped off, slicing the sidewall. I wish I had thought to take a photo of it, but I almost never do. Oh, yes, I've had flat tires before – in fact, the Tire Gods (I think the chief one is Vulcan) smote me with flats no less than four times between 2006 and 2009. The last was a brand new tire that had been on the car for exactly one week. That was the only time I thought to take a photo. All four flats were on my previous car, a 2002 PT Cruiser that I ditched in 2011 when the transmission decided to up and die. That explains why I hadn't seen a TPMS warning light before; I don't even know if it had been invented in 2002, but the Cruiser sure as heck didn't have one.

As it happens, all four of the previous flats had also occurred within five miles of home. Heck, the last one actually went flat sitting in my driveway. I do belong to a motor club (AARP's), and had made use of it all four times. But my car, like most these days, doesn't have a "real" spare tire, so even if I called them to put the "donut" spare on, I still had to get a new tire... in a strange city... with a conference I was still supposed to be at by 9 AM the next day. It was now around 7 PM.

I went into the hotel lobby and told the people at the desk what had happened. The young man looked up online and found a tire dealer that was less than a mile down the road from the hotel. Then he offered to put the "donut" spare on for me so I could go to the tire dealer first thing in the morning. Well, what the heck... it saved me from having to wait around the lobby for AARP to send someone out (that can take quite a while). I thanked him profusely and went up to my room.

The next morning I set off down the road to find that Firestone tire dealer. I had the street number, and it should have been on my right. I passed something where the signs said "Auto Parts" and "Mufflers", but I saw no trace of Firestone. When I realized I was well past the purported address, I looked for a place to turn around, and pulled off in the first likely-looking parking lot. I was about to back around and get back on the street, when it dawned on me that it was the parking lot of a car dealer. To be precise, a Scion dealer. And their service department was open... To hell with the phantom Firestone dealer; I parked the car and went in. Yes, they could replace my tire. Yes, they could do it right away. The whole thing took less than 30 minutes; I knew the sensor would be reset correctly; and they didn't even charge for labor. I was never so happy not to find the place I was looking for.

I missed the first session of the day, but made it through the rest of the day and the close of the conference. And when I went back to the hotel that night, I was very, very careful how I drove into the parking lot.