tyred?

I had a flat tyre yesterday.

Normally, a tyre change takes 20 minutes max. But no, not for my car.

It started out promising, I had the boot open and the standard tools at the ready, it wasn't raining, and I knew what to do. One problem, though. Low cars aren't exactly jack-friendly.

So here I am laying down on the damp driveway in a singlet and long pants, reaching under my car to twist the dial of the jack that in turn raises the car, inch by painful inch. My left arm's endurance isn't as good as my right's. So, I have to take constant breaks. Nevertheless, after what seems like 2 days, the car is propped up high enough to afford the removal of the offending tyre. New problem. The bolts are tighter than a virgin's arse, no matter how much I swear and grunt at them.

By now I have enlisted the help of a hammer, a table mat and a small spanner. The hammer turns out to be useless, just as the mat does since they were both part of the same genius plan of hammering the bolt-thingy around to loosen the nuts.

The small spanner was just an afterthough at first, but proved very handy later. It is around now that it starts to rain. The bolts still haven't budged. Time for some WD-40.

Another problem. The WD-40 bottle is practically empty and the nozzle is missing. But, being the stubborn bastard that I am, I found a way to administer generous amounts of the precious substance to each bolt.

Still no luck. It's raining, which is about the only thing keeping me from lashing out on the nearest fragile object.

I love the rain. So, I relent and make the perilous journey to the shed in darkness, only to find I need a torch to find what I'm looking for.

Shed Journery, Take 2; I have a torch and I find my objective. A cross-bar. This is man's genius at its best.

Back to the tyre. I scowl at the nuts and point menacingly, brandishing the cross-bar like a weapon of divine justice. Lightning cracks around me... ok maybe not. So, it's just me and the nuts. And some rain.

My Stubborn Resolve, pt II; The nuts didn't move. I'm pacing back and forth like a caged lion, willing the precious rust removing liquid to do its job. I kick the hubcap that was a bastard to get off anyway.

Taking a breath, I steel myself like the steel in my hand. I place the right fitting over the nut, keeping one bar at about 45 degrees. I pause for effect and then give it all I have. I swear the cross-bar was bending. I couldn't believe it.

But it wasn't.

No, it was the nut moving in all its stubborn glory in an anti-clockwise direction. Jubilation!

Jubilation! Pt II; The next bolt quickly folded after seeing its leader fall so helplessly. My superior muscle-power and relentless counter-clockwise pushing was too much for the evil hexagon.

Jubilation! Pt III; The nuts are falling like steel flies. Not one withstood my barrage of twists and grunting. About 5 minutes after the first nut fell, the remaining 3 were gone. The floodgates were open, and the tyre was free. But it doesn't end there. The tyre was flat. The new tyre was not. Hence, I had to raise the car more painful inches. Now though, I have to do it while lying in a gentle stream of slightly-dirty water. It's raining lightly still.

Time for the small spanner to shine in all its glory. Man's genius at its second best. Doggedly, I toil on, raising the car inch by precious inch, judging it to perfection. Give or take a millimeter.

Jubilation! Pt IV; The new tyre is on, my clothing is wet and muddy and my hands are dirty like a mechanics. I was ready for anything. Especially mad, passionate sex. So, naturally, I beat the hubcap back into place, tuck away all the tools and grin victoriously.

Reality. No sex involved.