The hard truth about squishy tires

Columnist Jerry Nelson encounters a flat tire on his lawn mower, which prompts a reflection of the worst tire repair he did in his farming career.

A black flat rear tire on a lawn mower

There are few things that can elicit the exclamation, “Oh, shoot!” more dependably than discovering that you have a flat tire.

That expression – or at least a variation of it – escaped my lips recently when I decided to mow the lawn and found the mower with a flat tire.

It’s my own fault. I had ignored the mower all winter long; it no doubt felt slighted by my inattention and acted out by deflating one of its tires.

A flat tire doesn’t initially appear to be a huge problem. After all, the tire is only flat on one side.

However, we have all been there. We have all experienced the heartbreak of an unexpected flat tire (is there such a thing as a planned flat?) and endured the agony of shattered expectations. As the day is clearly not going to go as you had hoped.

I have learned some hard truths about squishy tires. One usually comes with a haywagon or a manure spreader develops when it’s in use, but never when the load bearing implement is empty.

Just as the spreader or haywagon is stuffed to the gills that is when one of its tires – pop!

Another certainty is that a flat will always occur at the most inopportune moment. For example, you may be rushing to get things done so that you can accompany your wife to the opera. A flat tire will let the air out of these plans, preventing you from nodding off as oddly dressed stage performers warble in a foreign tongue.

Darn the luck!

When we were newlyweds, my wife drove a Ford Pinto. Once a week or so, the Pinto would suddenly develop a flat tire as my wife drove to work. As a dutiful and loving husband, I would jack up the car, remove the offending rubber donut and take it to the tire shop. The tire would be re-inflated, but no leaks were ever found.

It didn’t take long to discern a pattern: the Pinto would get a flat whenever my wife traveled down a certain stretch of highway. After closer examination it was revealed that the highway had a sizable bump in the area where the Pinto’s tires would habitually become deflated.

The tire guy and I deduced that Pinto’s tires were so little that their beads would break when the car hit the bump at any high rate of speed.

I gave my wife a hard time about her lead foot. There were no more nettlesome flat tires after the highway’s speed limit was lowered by 10 mph.

However, the worst flat I ever experienced took place one fine autumn morning as I was zooming along on a township road in our combine. Things were going swimmingly when an explosion shook the cab.

The combine shuttered mightily and swung wildly to the right. I instinctively stood on the brakes. After the dust settled, I perceived that the combine was sitting crosswise to the road and was teetering precariously on the road’s shoulder.

As I struggled to gather my shattered wits, I espied a curious object. In the ditch sat one of the combine’s front tires. Attached to the tire’s rim was a final drive gearbox.

Our hired guy, Dave, had been following me with a grain truck.Dave met me as I scrambled down from the cab.

“Oh, wow, man! That was wild!” Dave exclaimed. “I saw the inner tube bulging out of the tire and everything!”

“Wait a minute!” I replied in exasperation, “You saw that the tube was bulging out of the tire? Why on earth didn’t you signal me or try to stop me?”

“I don’t know, man,” he replied. “I thought that you would, like, make it to the farm. I guess I was wrong.”

I was going to reply, “You thought?” but I knew the answer.

Dave and I discovered what a huge pain it is to jack up a 9-ton combine whose frame is resting on the ground and is perched precariously on the shoulder of the road.

As we worked, Dave would mutter, “It was crazy, man! You should have seen the gravel fly! It bet it was fun!”

The ordeal was anything but fun.

In addition to buying a new tire, I had to drive to a salvage yard to procure a final drive. There was also the small matter of straightening the inch-thick steel plate where the final drive bolted to the combine.

I shared this tale of flat tire woe with my wife later that evening.

“Maybe you were going too fast,” she said dryly. “I’ve heard that that can cause such things to happen.”

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