Tire, the answer is tire.
Welcome to the adventure of DeeDee Debris where I unfortunately document the bad luck Mrs McMike has with keeping air in all four of her tires.
Thursday afternoon right as I’m leaving work, she texts me with “I made it to the dentist, but someone didn’t stop in the parking lot, and I had to swerve to miss them. I hit a curb and got a flat. I need a ride home.”
Shit. We’re no stranger to flats with her cars, this one stings a little since the car has 4,600 miles on it. Four thousand, six hundred miles.
Since the dentist’s office was on the way home from work, and she has a spare, I stopped by and changed the tire on my way home.
This was the curb she hit. From what she said, it sounds like someone blew the stop sign to the left, and she sawed at the wheel to avoid them. She didn’t see the island, and hit it close to dead-on, which explains how there is so little curb rash on the wheel.
I was expecting the worst, but the wheel was saved. Might see if I can find some touch-up paint if the rash on the lip still bothers me in a month.
I found a matching OEM tire locally and had it installed that night. I’m hoping we won’t need an alignment, but I’ll take it in anyways and see what it looks like.
We also bought road hazard insurance for the single tire. My fear is that I might not be able to remember which one has the warranty the next time she gets a flat. With all the tires being similar and all, I might get it mixed up.