What was that the Apostle Paul said? “Suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character and character, hope.” Well, in my case, I’m not so sure about perseverance or character development, but I certainly can attest to an increased HOPE - that is, a hope that I will never again have to change a flat tire on our truck!
It all started on our first drive out to live among the Gmz. During the last stretch of our 12 hour day, while driving through a small town well off the beaten path, someone alongside the road waved his arms to get my attention. Then, following his outstretched pointer, I knew exactly what the problem was, for I had seen that poor right front tire looking a bit discouraged at our last stop. Knowing we were close, we pressed on and arrived to our new home without a problem. Changing a tire? No sweat, after all I remember my dad crouching beside our Dodge minivan teaching me and my whole Cub Scout den the manly art of tire changing. I, being the teacher’s pet that night, took my turn and of course passed with flying colors. And now, drawing from that excellent training some 20 years earlier, I was soon heaving off the old and bolting on one of our two spares. Good as new!
“Gomistas,” as the tire shops are called here, are a dime a dozen along the main roads, but the closest one to our remote house is about 30 miles away. Nevertheless, we go to that city every few weeks and so at our first visit we stopped in at our first “gomista.” I watched in amazement as this guy began by hammering my wheel rim with a sledge-hammer. I assumed he knew what he was doing. Once he removed the steel ring, he popped out the rim and pulled out the tube (all tires are tubed here, though in the bigger cities tubeless is now an option). He inflated the tube and gave it a bath to find the hole. Then, cutting a patch out of some previous guy’s tube, he glued it on and hammered away to secure it tight! Then, before returning the repaired tube, together we inspected the inside of the tire – sure enough, the spike of a nail was poking through. You can’t expect any tire or tube to drive back the edge of a nail. It was just my dumb luck to run it over in the first place…or so I thought.
We returned home feeling good about having two spares again, only to discover another dead soldier the next morning – this time, the head of the nail was entirely visible from the outside. It would be another two weeks before we returned to the “gomista,” so we were thankful again for our second spare.
At first it was kinda funny, but it didn’t take long for funny to become downright ridiculous. Over the course of the first four months living out among the Gmz, we were haunted by six flat tires, two of which gave me the opportunity to entertain the whole town of Dibate with my one-man tire changing show (I should have put out a hat to collect tips). Then, in early January, my trip to Bahir Dar (recorded in the “God in our Midst” Blogs) chalked up an additional three flat tires in less than 28 hours (and the first time that I needed both spares). Nine flat tires in five months is more than annoying, considering that I probably do 20% of the driving that Larry does in his truck – yet Larry has never had a problem with nails. In fact, Larry, finds my predicament downright hilarious – “next time, don’t buy the magnetized tires!”
Well, having only once needed both of my spares, I felt we were doing ok, that is until our late April trip into Addis. I think I made a mistake by verbalizing my intention of buying new tires for the upcoming rainy season, so that on the old tires’ final voyage back to Addis Ababa, they went on strike! Well, maybe you could say that it was my fault. You see despite starting the trip with one of my spare tires out of service, we decided not to stop at the gomista in the first city. Why? Because Micah was sleeping and when making a long trip, there is no sense in waking a sleeping baby by stopping. And besides I still had another spare, right? Are we in agreement then? Ok, good, don’t change your mind on me half way through the 50 kilometer gravel stretch that lies between us and the next gomista.
Trouble started about 20 kilometers down this gravel road, when there was a loud popping sound and the “whack, whack, whack” of rubber hitting the inside wheel well. Pulling over, we assessed the situation to find that a portion of the tread on my front right tire had pulled off the steel bands inside. Just as I was digging out the jack to change it, up drove two guys I used to shoot buckets with when we lived in Addis. “Need any help?” they asked. “I don’t think so, we got a spare and should be good to make it to the next city.” They pulled away, and not long after, Andrea casually said, “Uh, you might want to look at the back right tire as well, it looks a little flat.” Sure enough, it wasn’t at full strength, but I tried not to worry about it. However, over the course of the time it took me to change the front tire, the rear tire had deflated significantly. Now, it was definitely a problem. With two flats and one half-exploded tire, I was left with only three good ones…which if you do the math, turns out to be one short of moving a truck!
After some deliberation, we came up with plan A. I removed the flattened rear tire and replaced it with the partially-exploded tire. Why? Because the inner tube had yet to be punctured, making it the only tire I had that could hold air (I doubt the Cub Scout manual would have recommended such action!). Exceeding my expectations, that mangled, deformed tire halved the distance to the next city before we were startled by a loud “BANG!” and immediately knew that one of those steel bands had suicidally turned inward on itself. Now, stuck with three-two-one (good tires, flat tires and completely totaled tire) it was time for plan B. About 10 minutes later, we flagged down a minibus who, at a mercilessly boosted fee ($2), agreed to take on only one additional passenger. We got away with two as Andrea and Micah jumped aboard and the driver threw one of our flat tires onto the roof. If she could get to the gomista in the city and then hitch a ride back, we would be all set. I and the two Gmz guys with me, worked on the other one using the air pump I had thankfully borrowed from Larry, but I wasn’t encouraged to see that it wasn’t holding much more than 20 psi. Nevertheless, we threw the tire on, gave it a few final puffs of air and tore off, going as fast as the road would safely allow us. Maybe it was the friction of the road heating and expanding the air inside, but much to my surprise, that tire held us for the remaining 15-kilometer stretch into the city. Surprisingly, we arrived at the gomista even before Andrea and Micah, whose minibus had been, unbeknownst to us, a wedding party that bumbled along casually, singing celebratory songs to the bride and groom.
After the gomista worked his magic, we put our best four tires back on and loaded up our one remaining spare. Behind schedule, we didn’t make our destination before nightfall and so spent the night in a tiny town along the way, thankful to be sleeping in a bed as opposed to five of us camping out in our stranded truck. The next day, we made it to Addis in good time, none the worse for it. At my first free morning, there I was in the Bridgestone tire dealer ready to fork over whatever they asked for anything that was round and smelled like new rubber. Unlike the States, such places don’t try to sell you unnecessary guarantees or service agreements, etc. But just in case, I thought to ask “How much for the non-magnetized option?” Had they been quick on their toes and crafty salesmen, I would have expected to hear “Oh, those are special and we happen to have just four left in the back storeroom. They can be sold to the one who will pay double.” Hmmm…tempting, but with such luxury look at all the fun I’d be missing out on!
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