Tire Faith
By Jeannine Patané • May 2004

     Wyoming was a good pit stop to eat a hefty steak and eggs breakfast after driving a few thousand miles from Alaska to cowboy country. There were a few thousand more miles to go to New York, so I needed to fuel my belly with a chunk of meat as big as my torso. Living on fluids and light snacks is great to keep driver’s constipation to a minimum, but my stomach was beginning to growl for protein. I found a small family diner that served the biggest steak and eggs breakfast I ever saw, and the cook and waitress were entertained to see a petite woman put everything on my plate into my mouth.
     With a satisfied belly, my next concern for the rest of the road trip was to check the tire pressure and the tread wear on my car’s tires. I pulled up to an air pump at a convenience store to service and inspect my tires. When I got to the rear left tire, it looked very worn. I ran my hand over the tread and felt some fibers popping out. The tire wasn’t going to make it to the East Coast. I had to find a tire shop right away.
     A local business owner gave directions to a reputable tire shop. The shop was nearby, but when I arrived, it was closed for the rest of the day. It was Saturday afternoon and the shop wouldn’t open again until Monday morning. Sleeping in a store’s parking lot for the weekend wasn’t on my adventure list, so I headed back to the same friendly man who gave me the first referral. He advised me of a few more shops down the road.
     The last tire shop I went to was the only shop that had the right size tires for my car. It was a brief wait for the tires to get mounted onto their rims, so the salesman, Victor, and I were open to conversation in the waiting area. We discussed world events and what God should do about the people on this planet. Another customer came in the shop and took Victor’s attention for a short time. When he and I resumed conversation, Victor wanted to know if I’d like to purchase the $5.99 warranty per tire. If I ever have a problem with a tire, their service people would come out wherever I was and change the tire on the spot. I didn’t like the idea of taking the fun out of changing my own flat tires. Flat tires can be a good reality check.
     How I handle a flat tire is the way I handle my other problems in life. I am handed a situation, and I have to deal with it the best I know how. By purchasing a warranty, I’d spend extra money for false security for an unlikely event. I’d rather change a flat tire myself immediately instead of waiting helplessly for someone to find me for my $5.99 worth of tire support. I stated to Victor, “I have faith you choose and sell a quality product and the tires will get me a few thousand miles to the East Coast.” I did not doubt Victor’s quality of service or the product he sold; therefore I did not purchase the warranty.
     It wasn’t long before my car was out of the shop and I was back on the road. My concerns for my hungry belly and worn tires were taken care of. I enjoy the meditative sound of new rolling rubber humming along the highway, as I let out a belch from breakfast and look out into cowboy country.