A TIRING STORY

As I sit in the KOA in Rochester, Minnesota, I cannot help but mull over this tiring trip.

Before we embarked on our annual July trek, we ordered six new tires for our motorhome. They should arrive at the dealer about the time we return home. Since we are committed to purchasing six tires from the dealer, we hope there are no problems with the tires while we motor across Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota and Iowa.

That may or may not occur. As you will discover in reading this tiring story.

Yesterday we rode the final leg of the Sparta to Elroy Bicycle Trail in Wisconsin. About four miles north of Elroy, Ann’s rear bicycle tire blew out. Not only was there a hole in the inner tube, there was a hole in the tire. Walking was our only alternative mode of transportation. We walked our bicycles in the baking sun along a very dusty trail to Elroy, where we were told a repair shop awaited us.

Upon arriving in the less than thriving and micro-miniscule metropolis of Elroy, we discovered there was no bicycle repair shop. Ann, for reasons still unknown to me, chose to ride my bike back to the campsite near Wilton, about 10 ½ miles. I sat and visited with a pathologist I never knew before and still do not know. He, like me, was stranded in Elroy, a community I now believe to be steeped in boredom.

When Ann returned with the van, we drove 30 miles to Sparta and had her rear tire repaired. Later, we decided to have all four bicycles inner tubes replaced with a new and sturdier inner tube.

More tires now purchased.

With that ordeal behind us, we returned to our motorhome and enjoyed a peaceful evening before pulling out for Rochester, Minnesota.

Our leaving Wilton, Wisconsin was without incident. The trip along Wisconsin Route 131 was very scenic. And the ride on I-90 was smooth. But, I was starting to get hungry and asked Ann where the next rest area was located. She checked the map and advised it was a mere few minutes ahead.

We exited the interstate and drove into the rest area’s place marked for RV’s and trucks. Upon coming to a stop, I snapped a leash on Sasha for her bathroom break before our lunch. Ann opened the motorhome’s door and immediately said, “I smell rubber.”

We both walked to the back of the motorhome and saw smoke slowly rising from the front tires of our mini van. The once silver wheels were now a nice golden color. My plastic hubcaps slowly melted and ran down the side of the tires, reminiscent of molasses on a cool morning. The plastic valve stem caps were now nothing more than a black line dripping down my rims. One tire had a bulge and finally blew with a slow hiss of air escaping, as if to say, “Whew.” (I guess it was tired.)

We used our emergency road service to obtain a tow truck. Therefore, as I write this, our van is located about 100 miles from us. The shop cannot get to it until this Thursday.

I know we will need new brakes, new rotors and new tires. I can only hope that is all that I need. But, who knows as the shop owner said he can easily replace those items. The trouble will be trying to find why this happened.

With that, there is another tire to this story.

After we arrive in Forest City, Iowa we will need to rent a car and drive about 175 miles back to West Salem to retrieve our van.

That is why I chose to call this “A Tiring Story.”