The very next day we go to pick up my car. Dad and I got out there, and I drove my car off the lot. The feeling of freedom and independence was immediate and life-changing. Suddenly there were no walls, borders, restrictions or rules. I moved out of my house about 3 weeks later and only lived in South Florida for about another month before deciding that I missed NY too much to stay.
I didn't tell a soul. I packed up my few belongings into the car and at 17, I started the drive up I-95 to NY. About 8 hours into the drive, I hear what sounded to my ears like an explosion. I had no idea what happened, but I suddenly had little control over my car. I guide it slowly over to the side of I-95 and come to a stop. My right front tire had blown. Here I was, 17 years old, in South Georgia, on I-95, at dusk. With a blown tire. I don't even know if I have a spare. Ok, I thought to myself, this is NOT a big deal. I know what a tire looks like and I know what a jack looks like and I can do this. I am praying that nobody stops to help. My fear was being murdered by ax. At 4'9" and about 85 pounds, I could hardly rely on my ass-kicking abilities.
I open my trunk and was so happy to see a spare tire in there that I almost started to cry. What I didn't see was a jack. I do, however, see this other weird looking metal accordion looking thing. Perhaps this was the tool? I didn't know. I get the tire out of the trunk and was probably more proud of that little accomplishment than I should have been and I bring it over to the front of the car. How hard could it be? Take one tire off, put the new tire on, and be back on the road to NY, right? RIGHT! I know that beneath a hubcap are the bolts that hold the tire on. But apparently I was lacking the tool specific to taking this particular hubcap off the tire. So I proceed to start beating and prying the hubcap off the tire with the tire iron. I am beating and bending and prying for about 45 minutes before I finally got the thing off. I then slowly began to figure out this weird jack-like tool and began the daunting process of cranking the car up off the road. Every time I cranked, my knuckles scrapped the ground and I simply lacked the power to do this right. After an hour or so, bleeding and defeated, I sat on the ground next to my car and cried in the dark.
As a 17 year old, you can only imagine the terrifying thoughts that were going through my head. After about 15 minutes or so, my pity-party came to an end and I managed to not only get the car the rest of the way off the ground, but I managed to get the new tire on the car.
I drove the rest of the way to NY without stopping. I was scared to death that my tire was going to fall off. The next morning, exhausted and hungry, I drove directly into Bob Maher's autobody shop. He was one of my dad's best friends and I wanted him to check my tire. Turns out I had done everything right. It was my first test as an adult and it was a good one. And I passed.
That car became a home for both me and my best friend, Cindi. We spent more time in that car than we did in either of our houses. I kept that car until I went into the military in September of 1990. I probably had that car for less time than I did any other car I owned, but I will always remember it and it will always have a special place in my heart. Probably Cindi's heart too. She actually LIVED in that car during her moments of homelessness. HA!
