The shimmy in my dad's old Chevrolet Blazer started ever so slightly perhaps yesterday or the day before. I'm not really sure when I had a gut feeling that something funny was afoot.
Like a medical malady that comes on slow, the Blazer's problem developed in a way that cheated the mind out of a sense of certainty.
The Blazer has never been a smooth ride. The engine rumbles, and it drives like
chuck wagon. It's an old car that has seen a lot of miles and adventures.
The problem grew slightly worse as yesterday progressed, but certainty didn't come until the worst possible moment: with my two young boys in the car while heading home last night on the busy and dangerous Texas 105 between Beaumont and Sour Lake.
The ride grew rougher, as if the vehicle had cinder blocks for tires.
Traveling at the minimum speed limit, we made it home. I checked the back tires, which looked fine - but I hoped one would go flat overnight, quickly defining the problem.
I didn't have to wait long.
Within 30 minutes, the back driver's side tire went pancake flat.
This morning, after putting on the spare, I checked the bad tire. There were no noticeable nails, screws or other
impalements.
I ran my finger along the tire, and something poked back, drawing blood. It was a strand off an inside belt. I then found two holes, hidden by flaps of rubber, that I could insert a finger into. The tire was coming apart from the inside, a very bad thing.
If you've ever had a sudden tire blowout, you understand what I mean. A few years ago, when Curt was a toddler and Luke was in his mommy's tummy, we were going 70 mph on a Houston freeway when the same back tire on my Nissan Pathfinder exploded with such force that it dislocated part of the bumper. That sickening here-we-go feeling ensued as the white-knuckle struggle began to control the vehicle and ease it off the highway. This is how
SUVs flips in this situation.
Luckily, in the case of the Blazer, given to me last year after my father died, the tire didn't explode or even go a little flat while driving. How this happened is a mystery. Considering the tire's gaping holes, how did it manage to hold air long enough to make it home? There wasn't anything sharp to run over in the driveway at the last minute.
I'd like to think my dad, whom my kids call
Pawpaw, extended a meaty hand from the heavens and held that damned tire together long enough to get the babies home.
It's an explanation that perhaps trumps one involving a terrible tire, with holes big enough to run a pencil through, managing to hold air for miles and then going flat in under 30 minutes while parked.
Who knows?
