A Most Surreal Saturday

"I've never seen anything like that"

Usually, if my car is weaving out of its lane, it’s because I’m doing something I shouldn’t, like straining to reach an errant Tic Tac, or trying to scare a roadside drifter.

On this particular Friday, however, it felt like the alignment was off. I’d had the car inspected at the dealership the day before, so I called Joe, the service department manager. He said they hadn’t done anything that could cause any steering problems, and told me to bring it back in on Monday and they’d take a look.

The next morning was gorgeous. We still had about a week before we reached spring according to the calendar, but that was just a technicality. I was out running an errand, driving past lots of people jogging and walking dogs. The radio volume was up, the windows were down, and I was feeling great.

Then my car had a grand mal seizure. The shaking was sudden and severe, and when it stopped three or four seconds later, the car was off balance, and a hideous screech was coming from below.

Instinct kicked in, and I started to pull over to the side of the road, when through the windshield I saw my left-front tire rolling away at breakneck speed. It crossed three lanes of traffic unhindered as it barreled toward a jogger on the sidewalk. She leaped out of the way a second before it took her out, like a scene from American Gladiators on a NASCAR track.

My heart raced as I watched this unfold and tried to maneuver the car into a safe position on a patch of grass.

The tire now seemed to have gained sentience and a penchant for mayhem. It had taken on an ominous bounce as it continued on its path and looked like it had aimed for a house’s wooden fence that it crashed through more than 100 yards away.

At the precise moment I stopped the car, my phone rang. I was both jacked up on adrenaline and spaced out in shock, and couldn’t make sense of what was happening. For a second, in my head, the phone ringing and Mr. Tire’s Wild Ride were somehow connected, but I didn’t know how or why.

I finally pulled it together enough to accept the call, my hands trembling. It was the dog groomer calling to tell me she needed to cancel the appointment I had that afternoon.

“We’re closing the shop for the time being because of the coronavirus thing,” the woman said. “We’ll give you a call when we reopen so you can reschedule.”

“Uh…okay.”

Two words. That was all I could spit out. I knew what she said wasn’t good, but a looming pandemic took a backseat to more pressing problems.

I got out of the car and looked at my bare wheel, along with the deep scratch it had carved in the road. A couple passing by who’d witnessed the entire spectacle asked if I was okay.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I lied. “Thank you.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” the man said.

“Me neither,” I said.

I called the police and gave them the broad strokes of what happened; I didn’t want to spoil the fence-tastic grand finale. As I waited for them to arrive, a man in a bathrobe came out of the house next to where I’d stopped. He approached, asked if I was all right, and handed me a mug of coffee.

The last thing I needed was caffeine, but it was a thoughtful gesture and I didn’t want to be rude. Still, a cot and a sedative would have been more helpful.

“I never saw anything like that,” he said.

“Me neither,” I said.

“That tire just took off.”

“Yeah, it really did.”

“Wild,” he said in a tone of admiration, as if this were a stunt I’d orchestrated, or a cool game I’d invented. Tire Torpedo.

The police came and took my statement. One of them said he’d never seen anything like that before. It seemed we’d all reached a consensus on that point.

When the police left, I called a tow truck as I trudged down to the house that my tire had recently moved into. I had to break the news to some stranger that my Goodyear was causing a bad day for both of us.

I knocked on the front door. No answer. I knocked again, and a moment later the door slowly creaked open, but there was no one there.

“Hello?” I said.

I wondered if Thing from The Addams Family was hanging from the inside knob. Then a toddler wearing only a diaper came from behind the door. His face was smeared with food and snot. We stared at each other for a few seconds, he as confused by me as I was by him.

“Um, hi.” I said. “Is your mommy or daddy here?”

The child said nothing, turned, and walked away. That seemed about right.

In due time a man came to the door holding a baby, whose face was also dirty.

I explained what happened, apologized, and said I’d like to exchange insurance information.

Now, I’d normally never ask to come into someone’s home—I’m like a vampire; I need to be invited—but his current situation didn’t lend itself to writing things down, and my current situation didn’t lend itself to thinking straight, so ask I did.

The man showed me in, leading me into a scenario that up to that point I’d only seen on Hoarders. There was stuff everywhere. Boxes, papers, and garbage, on floors, furniture, and countertops. The suburban urchin who answered the door was running all over the place, screaming.

I was in a fever dream. “And then the tire grew wings and flew away and landed in someone’s yard and they had a toddler for a butler and they were hoarders, and…”

In retrospect, whatever was happening in that house was sad, but at the time, it was just the third act of the David Lynch movie I’d been teleported into.

The man, Craig, was kind and understanding about the damage. We got each other’s info, and he led me through the back door.

The tire’s rampage had finally been stopped by the fence on the other side of the yard, but not before it turned that section into splinters too. I felt proud of my little escapee. It had really given this jailbreak its all.

Had I not stopped by, I’m certain the tire would have gone unnoticed for years. The mess outside was an extension of the mess inside, just with more grass. I thanked Craig, propped up my tire, and wheeled on out of there.

It occurred to me then that the farthest I’d ever rolled a tire was from the trunk of a car to another point on that same car, and even that wasn’t exactly graceful. Trying to relocate one of these things 100 yards is like trying to get your friend home after his 10th shot of Jäegermeister. You just want to keep it moving straight enough and stop it from toppling over.

The tire’s return trip was much slower than its original one, but we made it, and I shoved it in the back of the car. A short while later, the tow truck showed up.

The driver did his thing with my three-wheeler, then I rode with him to the dealership, where I was going to have an uncomfortable conversation with Joe. I’d asked for a state inspection, not an attempted assassination.

As we pulled away, I asked the driver, “Have you ever seen anything like that?”

“Sure,” he said. ”It happens.”