Still, he picked up the pace quite a bit - ten miles under the speed limit, which was reasonable. Problem is, he didn't see the tree. Nor did I.
The tree wasn't massive. It was more of a sapling with attitude. Even so, go over that at 45 mph, you're going to feel it. For a wonder, neither of us blew a tire or broke anything important.
I made it home with no further problems.
Saturday we stayed in all day (save for an early morning trip to the grocery store). Fear was cancelled due to utter crap weather.
Sunday was considerably less rainy. Fear was a go. I checked my car - tires still full, nothing leaking from the undercarriage - and proceeded to head for the Faire site. About three or four miles out, I noticed my car was pulling to the right a bit. Then - *kathunkkathunkkathunk* The front right tire went. Fortunately, there was no one behind me. I pulled off to the side of the road, backed a bit and pulled off onto a nearby side road. Flashers on, I got out of the car and pulled out my cell phone. No. Freakin'. Reception.
Off I went, trotting down the main road in hopes that I would find an area in which I could make a call. If nothing else, I'd walk home. Relief was mine when I managed to get through to Don. Turns out it was a spotty connection, though. He heard the first part, that I had a flat. Then, I tried to tell him where I was. He couldn't hear. We spent a few minutes with him saying, "Where are you?" over and over as I tried to tell him - with increasing frustration and volume - ending with, "JUST DRIVE!"
heh. Apparently that came through loud and clear. But really - there is only one route to the Faire from our house. How hard could I be to find?
As I waited on the main road, ready to flag him down, a car pulled up beside me. "Kelly?" I turned to see the lovely and aptly named DarkAngel and her man. They helped me get the tire change going before Don found us. Upon inspection of my vehicle, we noticed that the back right rim was bent, too, and that tire was likely to meet the same fate as that of the front. We put the donut tire on and drove it directly to the tire dealer in town. While Don left the key and a note, I tried to call people to tell them I wouldn't be at the show. I left two messages; Don called the office and had someone there promise to track Chris down to tell him and, in turn, the ladies.
We were already downtown, so I took my husband out to dinner.
The tire guys called me back today. It wasn't too bad, all told. One new tire, beating out both rims and a realignment. I ran the 2.5 miles into town (the tire guys seemed amused by this; "Means I don't have to work out later!") in a cold, grey drizzle.
Moya is mended and back in my driveway and all is (mostly) well.
One more thing, for the record. I am not proud of this, but here it is: I can't change a tire. I know how to change one. I just can not physically do it. It is not for lack of trying. I am a moderately intelligent and fairly capable woman. This is just one of those things that I can't do. *facepalm* Lame, eh?