Spring Break '09

This isn't the coldest spring break ever (college breaks were in early March), but I expected warmer weather from April.

The girls and I went to Yorktown beach today for some sand play. Today's high is...(lemme check) 58 F, so it must've been about 50 when we arrived. Wind whipped little choppy waves onto the sand. Yorktown beach is man-made, and I'm a sand snob, so I'm a tiny bit snobby that the sand there is that man-moved gravelly quartzy stuff with heavy dust. The girls loved it regardless of the type of sand, and that was the goal. We brought Pots of Fun (thanks again, Grandma) and lots of tea sets. I packed some assorted animals (turtle, sheep, 2 ponies, 2 dinosaurs). The girls had strict instructions not to get wet or play in the wet sand. They more or less avoided both. We had a glorious, if chilly, morning playing tea party, chase, and "Oh, no, I have a huge growth on my leg!"

We took the Colonial Parkway back home, a wide scenic thoroughfare that connects the "Historic Triangle." We were listening to W-Bach and remarking that the particular piece was perfect for the day. A car just in front of me veered off to exit; I veered a little, too, as one would in a game of follow-the-leader...and I hit the curb a little. I know this is awful - but I did it.

It became clear within 10 seconds that we had a flat. Luckily, there are more scenic pull-offs on the Colonial Parkway than there are Exits on I-95, and we happened to be passing one at that very moment with our woppy tire. So, I pulled in, popped the trunk and began deciphering the myriad roadside emergency tools therein. The donut was easy to find. But, I swear, that car lacks nothing but flares. There may actually be flares hidden beneath the assortment of reflectored blockades (no kidding) and emergency lights. Anyway, I finally had to put in a call to Richie because in all the assortment of oily, mouldering roadside thingz, I had failed to find the jack. In the side compartment, said Richie.

So, with jack, donut, and L-shaped lugnut loosener in hand, I began to decide on the positioning and connectivity of the apparatus. I had just realized I lacked the jack handle, consulted Richie about the shape of the handle, found the jack handle, and was connecting the jack handle, when a red pickup pulled into the pulloff behind me. A stout, kindly man got out of the truck and asked if I needed help. Yes, thank you.

But I just have to say: I didn't REALLY need help. I just thought it stupid to refuse when this man (Hank) appeared to have lots of experience. After all, I was still monkeying with which way to loop on the jack handle. Hank was super nice and changed the tire in about four minutes. He cautioned me to go easy on the donut and get some air in it first thing. When I thanked Hank, he replied he hoped someone would stop to help his daughter if she had a flat. I suspect that Hank's daughter may not need help if she has a flat. Pete, if you're reading this, I didn't really NEED help, honest. I just looked like I did. My real problem is daydreaming on the Colonial Parkway.

Anyway, I couldn't have had a nicer flat tire. The weather was perfect, the girls were patient, and I had expert help. But I can't help but wonder, what do I need to do to look capable of handling a flat tire? Maybe not have a cell phone on my ear? Maybe wear jeans and button-down shirts instead of work-out pants and Hello Kitty hoodies? Maybe practice changing tires more than once a decade? So much for breaking stereotypes.