Tires as politics

 

A month or so ago, I bought those expensive, knubbly, macho-tread tires for the truck.  We needed them.  But they are proving to be the thin edge of a weird kind of wedge.

The slope at the end of the road that goes down to the shore is illegally steep and gravel-muddy.  It is a hard scrabble up and down – worse when wet and impassable with any kind of snow or ice.  Our old tires needed replacing anyway and I felt as if we needed better claws.  I bought BF Goodrich BIG BUTT GRABBERS (or something like that)….the kind that seem like they belong on WW2 jeeps or on trucks that work up north.  These tires bite!

And they give you a free ball-cap with them that you can wear backwards if you want.

Sally: “Wow!  I can’t believe it!  Consider those tires my Xmas present!”

“Yeah.  They are good, aren’t they?”

“I’ll say!  I beached the boat at the bottom of the hill and it was snowing and cold. I could hardly even see!  I hiked up the hill barely making it.  It was so slushy and wet.  Then I got the car and put ‘er in 4-wheel drive and crawled down the steep hill over the dug-out potholes and down to the beach.  I loaded the car and drove it backwards up the hill with the falling snow obscuring my vision.  But it went up like a cat!”

And that is how Sal managed to get all our stuff over to the other island the day before our departure.  She likes to pre-pack the car before we leave so that our departure in the morning is seamless.

We leave our car over on an adjacent island that has ferry access.  A neighbour gives us a lift over.  What with us and two dogs, it seems only considerate to spare them all the luggage and crap.  And in that way we just jump off with them hardly having to stop.

But, with my butt injury being exaggerated and exploited as fully as it is,  the loading job fell to Sal.  She is normally a bit hesitant about driving the hill in the snow. She thinks she may slide right into the sea.  When the tide is up in the winter months, it is a distinct possibility – one that has been proven in the past by overly brave and less-skilled drivers.  The conditions can be pretty extreme.

It is funny how the situation in which you live changes you.  I’d now like a bigger truck with bigger butt-grabbing tires.  I can now see the logic of a gun rack.  Having a barrel for fuel in the back makes sense, too.  I already wear big ol’ plaid shirt-jackets and heavy boots and I hardly ever shave.  I even play the harmonica a little – a little more if I have had a few drinks.  And I am glancing at banjos now and then, too.  Jeans, of course, are de rigeur and most of mine are ripped and stained.  Got two dogs, as well.  I may even add a twang to my speech and start spittin’.

I guess that is how pit bulls, tattoos and voting Republican happen…………..

But, in the meantime, the butt-grabbers are Sal’s Christmas present.  And mine?  She got us tickets to the Big Monster Truck rally, of course!!  Yee Haw!

 

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