There are bad days. And then there are even worse days. Today fell into the latter category. As in Near Death Trauma type bad day. Combined with having to go to the airport to get a militant Puerto Rican.I don't know if I'm going to muster the energy to stay up til 8 to watch El Presidente give his last State of the Union speech. Last based on assuming, of course, that he does not stage a coup near the end of his term and declare himself President for Life.
So, I needed to be at the airport by 2 to get the aforementioned Puerto Rican. About 11am I decided to go back to Oakland Park. It's about 3 miles from here. I was driving, singing along with Pink about what I could do with my hand tonight, when suddenly my van started making a horrible noise. And shuddering. I quickly pulled off the road into a parking lot.
Flat tire.
No problem. I've had a flat tire before. In Death Valley, back in 1994. Same vehicle. I really hate to shop for cars. I recollect the same problem that time. As in we could not figure out how to get the spare tire loose from the thing that held it to the underside of the van. Luckily that time I was traveling with a group of 6, two of whom were in another van. Their spare fit mine. So, no problem, we drove the 5 miles to where we were staying that night, Stovepipe Wells, and then the next day got the tire fixed in Bishop, California, where Lulu found us a great place to have lunch. Yes. Lulu was along on this trip.
So, what to do. I'm stranded, I can't get my spare. But I did have my bike. So, I got the bike out and head back here where I could get another car. The only route back to here is through this zone called Boca Raton. Boca Raton being an extreme high crime area with gangs and random murders. The pedaling was being real difficult and then I realized my rear bike tire was low. I pedaled now in fear of an eminent bike tire flat. I make it back here to find the other car would not start. After fiddling with the ignition it finally ignited. Then I drove back to the van and took off the tire.
I was running out of time to get to the airport. I called one of the Puerto Rican's other friends to see if she could run to the airport. She couldn't.
So, I get to the tire store. Bought 2 new tires. The tire guy put the new tire on the rim. I headed back to the van, certain it would be stripped to total nakedness due to the bad area it was stranded in. But it wasn't.
I got the new tire back on the van. Now I had a new problem. I had 2 vehicles. I did not want to leave one behind. I called for help and got another driver. It was now coming up on 2pm. I'd not had lunch. I was dirty. I had grease on my hands. I should have been at the airport.
And then the phone rang. It was the Puerto Rican, already on the ground, waiting. I told her it would be a half hour. She didn't seem too annoyed. And she seemed relatively sober.
I was finally on my way to the airport, had dodged the possible much worse outcome of having a tire blow out at freeway speeds where I could easily have lost control and ended up toasted in a fiery multi-car accident. Little did I know, as I drove onto the airport property, that I was heading towards an even bigger, toasty, fiery, blowout.
I got to Terminal C, drove to Arrivals, easily parked and saw the Puerto Rican standing on the sidewalk waiting to be picked up, talking on her phone.
So, I'm thinking this has all worked out well. I walk across the street, certain she has seen me. I walk up to her. She pays no attention to me. Her luggage with wheels is sitting next to her. So, I wheel off with it and head to the van. Certain she'd see me. I look back after I cross the street and she is still just talking away.
I put her luggage in the van and as I slam the door shut I hear an eruption of screaming "help, police, I've been robbed". A couple of women next to her were laughing and pointing at me. And that's when the Puerto Rican got real loud. And it was all in Spanish.
She got mad at Arnold Swarzenegger once for saying that Puerto Rican's were angry people with bad tempers. I told her, uh, you are angry people with bad tempers. And she goes, well, that may be true but he shouldn't be saying it.
Anyway, those were the two explosive events in my day in Texas this fine January day, both violent, both life threatening and both likely preventable with better maintenance and attention to details.
Flat tire.
No problem. I've had a flat tire before. In Death Valley, back in 1994. Same vehicle. I really hate to shop for cars. I recollect the same problem that time. As in we could not figure out how to get the spare tire loose from the thing that held it to the underside of the van. Luckily that time I was traveling with a group of 6, two of whom were in another van. Their spare fit mine. So, no problem, we drove the 5 miles to where we were staying that night, Stovepipe Wells, and then the next day got the tire fixed in Bishop, California, where Lulu found us a great place to have lunch. Yes. Lulu was along on this trip.So, what to do. I'm stranded, I can't get my spare. But I did have my bike. So, I got the bike out and head back here where I could get another car. The only route back to here is through this zone called Boca Raton. Boca Raton being an extreme high crime area with gangs and random murders. The pedaling was being real difficult and then I realized my rear bike tire was low. I pedaled now in fear of an eminent bike tire flat. I make it back here to find the other car would not start. After fiddling with the ignition it finally ignited. Then I drove back to the van and took off the tire.
I was running out of time to get to the airport. I called one of the Puerto Rican's other friends to see if she could run to the airport. She couldn't.
So, I get to the tire store. Bought 2 new tires. The tire guy put the new tire on the rim. I headed back to the van, certain it would be stripped to total nakedness due to the bad area it was stranded in. But it wasn't.
I got the new tire back on the van. Now I had a new problem. I had 2 vehicles. I did not want to leave one behind. I called for help and got another driver. It was now coming up on 2pm. I'd not had lunch. I was dirty. I had grease on my hands. I should have been at the airport.
And then the phone rang. It was the Puerto Rican, already on the ground, waiting. I told her it would be a half hour. She didn't seem too annoyed. And she seemed relatively sober.
I was finally on my way to the airport, had dodged the possible much worse outcome of having a tire blow out at freeway speeds where I could easily have lost control and ended up toasted in a fiery multi-car accident. Little did I know, as I drove onto the airport property, that I was heading towards an even bigger, toasty, fiery, blowout.
I got to Terminal C, drove to Arrivals, easily parked and saw the Puerto Rican standing on the sidewalk waiting to be picked up, talking on her phone.
So, I'm thinking this has all worked out well. I walk across the street, certain she has seen me. I walk up to her. She pays no attention to me. Her luggage with wheels is sitting next to her. So, I wheel off with it and head to the van. Certain she'd see me. I look back after I cross the street and she is still just talking away.
I put her luggage in the van and as I slam the door shut I hear an eruption of screaming "help, police, I've been robbed". A couple of women next to her were laughing and pointing at me. And that's when the Puerto Rican got real loud. And it was all in Spanish.
She got mad at Arnold Swarzenegger once for saying that Puerto Rican's were angry people with bad tempers. I told her, uh, you are angry people with bad tempers. And she goes, well, that may be true but he shouldn't be saying it.
Anyway, those were the two explosive events in my day in Texas this fine January day, both violent, both life threatening and both likely preventable with better maintenance and attention to details.
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