Flat tire

I was driving from NYC late on the night of 30 March when I ran over a construction plate on Ft. Washington Avenue. As soon as I did it, as soon as I heard that noise of the tire hitting the corner of the plate, which was raised about two inches, I knew the tire was gone. I cursed loudly. I was not paying attention, I was tired and distracted. But I got onto the bridge and drove as fast as I could, and just as I reached the other side, the noise began. I limped onto route 46 where I knew there was a gas station and pulled into it. I could not have driven another hundred yards. The tire was flat; amazing that it held enough air to get me over the bridge. I went into the station and asked if I could change the tire there; it wasn't a full service station, just a gas pumping one where what used to be the station is now a convenience store. There was a young man who didn't speak English, and the girl at the counter; she told me it was ok. I went out and started, and the young man came out and gestured that he would help. He began to loosen the bolts while I jacked up the car. Unfortunately, a customer came in for gas and he had to attend to that. By the time he was done I had changed the tire. But he did tighten the bolts, and I noticed he was careful about it. So I gave him $20. I felt I was such an idiot that I had to do something right.

My hands were filthy and they made the steering wheel dirty. The next morning I cleaned the steering wheel before touching it. A lot of dirt came off.

I hate getting flat tires. But it always happens, at least twice a year. I suppose it's because I drive so much. But can you imagine if I had not been able to cross the bridge? I guess I am lucky.