Oh, for the love of the Jeep (and its tires)

I wasn’t going to write a column this week as I didn’t have much to say.
But then on my way to the school board meeting Monday night, I heard an obnoxious “clunk galunk crunk” when I pulled out of the alley behind work and on a prayer, I made it to Casey’s General Store on 13th Street and Hennepin, where I was left stranded with my 1989 Jeep and a deflated rear passenger tire.
OK, it was more than deflated. It was like a rubbery, deformed pancake, draped over the tarnished rim.
Yeah, like there was any chance of pumping air into that, I thought.
At this time, I was already running late for the 7 p.m. meeting due to a photo opportunity I had to cover at 6:45 p.m. and, in a panic, I made a call to the one person in Glencoe I could trust to “help” me.
I phoned our sports editor, Josh, for a ride to the meeting, and who, of course, chuckled when I blubbered about my luck and he said, “I’ll be right there.”
On the verge of tears, I ran into Casey’s and told the cashier I had a flat tire and asked if I could leave the Jeep there until further notice. The young employee looked at me distraught and said, “I’m not the manager.”
In a frenzy, I just told her I’d take care of it later, and waited in the parking lot for that familiar white Honda.
Josh pulled into Casey’s and the first words out of his mouth were, “How about a ride in a reliable vehicle?”
I laughed and then sternly said, “Just get to the meeting.”
 I walked into the meeting at 7:17 p.m., looking like a wet rat from standing in the rain, and I had a difficult time concentrating on the thrilling audit presentation, as I reviewed all the options for taking care of the Jeep in my head.
Of course, Grandma Genny was my first choice for a ride home, and then I thought about towing costs and if there was some way to get my Jeep from Casey’s to the nearest tire shop.
I contemplated calling my Uncle Steve to load the jalopy onto a trailer and I considered calling someone to carpool to work Tuesday morning so my Jeep could be repaired when I thought, “Alyssa, you idiot, you have a spare tire in the back. Just change it.”
It was the easiest solution, and in my driving career, I’ve had four flat tires to change, so I’m not sure why I didn’t think of that immediately.
After the school board meeting ended around 9 p.m., I asked Pat Fogarty for a ride to Casey’s so I could change my tire.
When I got to the parking lot, I got my jack, extension bar and lug wrench out from under the back seat. I remembered my hatch door was broken and so I climbed over that back seat to remove the spare tire from storage.
And then there I was, laying beneath the rear of my Jeep on the wet, oily cement, in my new fall coat, trying to get the jack neatly under the rear axle.
Of course, as I tried to fix the extension bar into the jack to hoist the Jeep, I bumped my head square on the hitch and cussed my luck.
I removed the hub cap and was impressed at how easily the first three lug nuts loosened. Then the fourth gave me quite a bit of trouble, and I positioned the lug wrench so that I could step onto it and use my whole body weight to loosen the lug nut.
After several tries and an instance of falling over after my shoe slipped off the wrench, I finally got it, but the fifth lug wouldn’t budge.
I tried and tried and kept watch for any burly men walking into Casey’s who could help me. I spotted a bearded man in flannel and thought, “Perfect!”
I ran into Casey’s, covered in grease and dirt, and said, “Could you please help me get this last lug nut off?”
“Of course!” the man said, and rushed out to help me.
Without trouble, he removed the last nut and proceeded to change the tire for me.
I asked him his name, and he said, “Gus,” and he continued, “See that white building down the block with the sign ‘Firestone Tires?’ I work there. We usually do farm tires, but can do this, too. When you get this repaired, tell Brent I sent you.”
I thanked him for his generosity and his help and offered to pay for his Casey’s purchase, but he said, “No, no, no. Just get home.”
Remember when I told you about the kind of coincidental luck I’m blessed with that my best friend Sarah donnes as “Al luck?”
Well, I immediately called Sarah to tell her about my flat tire and how lucky that the one guy who walked into Casey’s I asked for help happened to be a tire mechanic.
“Al luck” indeed, though, I wondered if it was a coincidence this morning when I read the bumper of a car which passed me on County Road 2: “Good Riddance: Junk Removal.”