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Adventures with Fun Bob...

After Early Start, Trapped for Hours

While Waiting for Tow

The Washington Post
Saturday, May 26, 2007; B03

Editor's Note: One of the cardinal rules about Page Three is that no story ever, ever should be as long as the one below. (Unless it makes us laugh out loud.)

I left the office a little early the other day, hoping to get a jump on the traffic. I got out on I-66 and worked my way into the fast lane, which was only going about 50 mph. Somewhere just before Nutley Street (about four miles from the office), I noticed that my "Check Gauge" light was on -- this is the one that usually comes on when my fuel is getting low. When I looked at my fuel gauge, however, I had three-quarters of a tank. Hmmm? I did the manly thing and hit the plastic covering the gauge a couple of times to see if it might be stuck, but nothing happened. Then I noticed that the temperature gauge was pegged out on Hot, so I made a quick cross of four lanes of traffic to the right shoulder.

Cellphones are very helpful tools. I used mine to call AAA. The folks there said they would get someone right out; that it could be as long as 90 minutes, but it would probably be less than that. "Okay," I said to myself, ever the optimist, "I can live with 45 minutes during rush hour." About 45 minutes later, still no tow truck, but a Virginia state trooper pulled up behind me, lights flashing. He was a very nice guy. He asked what was wrong, I told him, and he offered to put a flare behind my vehicle. I thanked him for the kindness. He planted the flare and drove off. I called Jackie to whine and tell her my "progress" at getting home.

I leaned back in my seat and listened to NPR, gruesome stories about Iraq, Darfur, etc. I called AAA again. They said the truck should be there within a half-hour. It had now been about an hour. A little while later I was joined on the shoulder by a rescue vehicle and a firetruck, both with sirens blaring and lights flashing. One man got out of the emergency vehicle and came to my window. "Did you have a blowout or something?" he asked. I told him about my overheating problem, and he walked back to the firetruck behind me. I listened to some more NPR.

A minute or so later, a fireman knocked on my window. He asked, "Are you sure you didn't have a blowout?" Another fireman joined him and said, "That back tire is on fire! It looks like the flare set it on fire." I looked back and was shocked. The tire was directly below my gas tank (three-quarters full, remember?). He suggested that I pull the vehicle up a little bit, which I did without question and quickly. The firemen came back with a fire extinguisher and just about emptied it making sure the burning tire was extinguished.

We figured out that the nice state trooper's flare had become dislodged and rolled under my tire, proving once again that no act of kindness goes unpunished. All us men grinned, shuffled our feet and shook our heads a bit at this point. It was so stupid that I couldn't even get mad.

Another state trooper showed up a few minutes later. When I told him what happened, he joined us men in grinning and shuffling. It was a tender, bonding moment. A few minutes later, the original state trooper arrived, and the two troopers went off to the side for a conference. The firemen left, still grinning. The original trooper was not grinning. After a while, the second trooper came back to assure me that the flare had been set without an intention of setting my vehicle on fire. That seemed reasonable to me, and I wrote out a statement to that effect. The trooper who had set the flare came up and apologized. "I checked the flare when I set it. All I can guess is that it must have gotten blown off its base by a big truck," he said. "Yep," I said.

The troopers were joined by a vehicle-assistance guy, who offered to change my tire. I helped. We opened the back hatch and inserted the crispy tire. The troopers were still there after another 45 minutes, till finally they had to go to an accident. "If you have any more trouble, just call star 77 on your cell phone, and we'll come back," one said.

It was 6:30. More calls to AAA and more promises of the tow truck's imminent arrival. The vehicle assistance guy was getting antsy. At 7:15, another call to AAA. Okay, I'm annoyed and bored. Sick of stories about Iraq and Darfur. Even the "Nightly Business Report" doesn't distract me. I called Jackie to whine several times, and during every call a fireman, trooper or vehicle-assistance guy came up to talk, so I quit calling her. I just sat and stewed with a steaming tire in the rear.

Finally, at about 7:30, the tow truck arrived, picked up my vehicle, and we began the ride through still-heavy traffic to the repair shop. I dropped it off for diagnosis in the morning. "You might also check out that burnt tire in the back seat," I suggested.

I hopped a ride to the Metro and at about 9 p.m. met Jackie at our favorite sushi spot. It had been 4 1/2 hours since I left the office early to beat the traffic. I guess it didn't work out.

Postscript: Of course, the Ford dealer found a few more things to repair beyond the overheating and the fried tire. Did you know you must replace all the tires on an all-wheel-drive vehicle at once? The bill was $3,000.

-- Robert T. Van Hook, Washington, DC

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