Flat tire karma

On at least three occasions, I've been driving along - lost in my own head when I see some other driver, honking and waving.

What's your problem, buddy?

Then I'll see them pointing downward and mouthing a word. They'll start rolling down the window - and it's evident that this isn't road rage - they're genuinely trying to get something across to me.

So, I roll down the window.

"Hey, your tire's low!"

Snapped out of driving coma, I'd thumbs up and pull over and stare at the latest manifestation of neglecting my car.

The simple act of flagging me down saved me some dollars and possibly worse.
These people were nice.

I'd like to thank them - but, of course, they're just gone.

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It was this spirit of indebtedness that got me typing today - at home on Friday afternoon.

Rewind. 7:48 am. Taking the boy to day care.

I swing onto Hwy 51, southbound and I'm behind some guy in a sedan. His car is throwing a lot of white smoke, but this is a cold day and that's what cars do when they've just started up in cold weather.

Then I notice that sedan guy's car is smoking on the left, away from his tailpipe. I'm right behind him so I just keep watching his car. It looks like the smoke is coming from his wheel.

I look closer. It is. His car is leaning heavily towards his left rear tire. I see a chunk of rubber come off and roll onto the shoulder.

Sedan guy is blissfully unaware.

I'm coming up on my turn, so I pull into the left turn lane. Sedan guy is slowing up, still smoking - still clueless.

I'm just about pulling even with him, trying to think of what's the fastest way to tell him about his tire. I reach for the horn and-

-and I plow right into a Ford Focus in my left turn lane.

Ford goes forward to smack into a pickup. I turn to see the boy's okay. "What was that?!" he asks.

No airbags popped, so I can see our hood is pushed up like a bubble. The guy in the Ford gets out. I try to do the same and the damn door is jammed. I kick it open and ask if he's okay. He is. So's the driver of the truck.

Ford says "Wow, that was fast."

I start to ask what was fast when I see the cop. It's been less than thirty seconds since impact. Yeah, that was fast.

I fork over my drivers license, and get back in the car with the boy. He's good, just wondering what happened. "I want this car to move," he says. I explain as best I can.

He asks to hear Tchaikovsky, so I fire up the iPod. So long as he has music, he's good.

I stay in the car. No point talking with the other drivers. What would you say, anyway? The cop writes me a citation, and is generally a nice guy.

My front end is ruined - but the car will move. Never fails, does it - just yesterday Jen was telling me how nice this car rode. Kiss of death.

I call into work and tell them I won't be in. The car limps to day care, and I go home to deal with the insurance types.

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So here we are, at home. The car's off to the garage - no word on if it's totaled or not.

We're a one car family again.

Dammit.