So I load up the kid and girlfriend to take a 90 mile drive to do some Christmas shopping, and take the kid to a Christmas lights show called Bentleyville. Gonna be a decent day I say to myself.
Until I get about an hour away from home, on a country road, and all of a sudden while cruising at 65, I hear a really fast "rap rap rap rap rap rap" sound from the right front of the vehicle. GREAT.
I get out to inspect, and I find this:
So I see a side road about 200 yards back, so I turn around to pull off the main road to change the tire. Pop the trunk, pull the stroller and sub, and... no jack. No breaker bar. It's on the bench in the garage. F*CK! So I walk to a house. Looks like a bigger house with a larger garage, so I think, "awesome, these guys for sure will have the tools." I knock on the door, and a nurse answers. It's a group home for mentally handicapped people. No tools in that big garage. So I get a scissor jack out of the nurse's minivan, and walk back to the car.
So now I have a way to jack up the car, but the tire iron is the wrong size. So I go back to the group home again, and after a bunch of digging, they come up with a 1/2" drive socket set. So I get to break the lug nuts loose with a 6" long ratchet (no easy task, mind you).
SO I put the 16" spare on (on which is a 10 year old tire ) and make the last 30 miles. No one in that town could help me with a damn tire. Unless I wanted to wait 3-4 hours. So I go to Sears to see if they will at least put a new tire on the spare. "If the size isn't listed on the door jamb, we won't." Well, the only size listed on the jamb is 235/50/17, which they can order, but dont' have in stock. And they would not touch the spare. F*cking pricks.
Had to drive all the way home on the spare too. It's at the shop now getting a new tire on the 17" AND the spare.
Until I get about an hour away from home, on a country road, and all of a sudden while cruising at 65, I hear a really fast "rap rap rap rap rap rap" sound from the right front of the vehicle. GREAT.
I get out to inspect, and I find this:
So I see a side road about 200 yards back, so I turn around to pull off the main road to change the tire. Pop the trunk, pull the stroller and sub, and... no jack. No breaker bar. It's on the bench in the garage. F*CK! So I walk to a house. Looks like a bigger house with a larger garage, so I think, "awesome, these guys for sure will have the tools." I knock on the door, and a nurse answers. It's a group home for mentally handicapped people. No tools in that big garage. So I get a scissor jack out of the nurse's minivan, and walk back to the car.
So now I have a way to jack up the car, but the tire iron is the wrong size. So I go back to the group home again, and after a bunch of digging, they come up with a 1/2" drive socket set. So I get to break the lug nuts loose with a 6" long ratchet (no easy task, mind you).
SO I put the 16" spare on (on which is a 10 year old tire ) and make the last 30 miles. No one in that town could help me with a damn tire. Unless I wanted to wait 3-4 hours. So I go to Sears to see if they will at least put a new tire on the spare. "If the size isn't listed on the door jamb, we won't." Well, the only size listed on the jamb is 235/50/17, which they can order, but dont' have in stock. And they would not touch the spare. F*cking pricks.
Had to drive all the way home on the spare too. It's at the shop now getting a new tire on the 17" AND the spare.