The first mishap of the trip. Long ago, I made a bargain with the Gods that I do not expect never to have car trouble, but that my car will break down at times and places where I can cope. Over the years, this arrangement has consistently worked.
West of Winslow, some unidentifiable but not very large object hit the side of my rear right wheel with a clunk, and the tire started to go flat. I got to a the next freeway exit where there was a Mobil station and some shade, and called AAA. It was mercifully not even too hot, since we were at high altitude and a breeze was blowing. The AAA guy arrived in due time, helped unload the trunk and dig out the donut, and put it on. Bobby and Miss Louise actually enjoyed roaming about in the shade and having drinks of water.
Back on our way, we got to Holbrook as planned on a Saturday night. It doesn't look as though anyplace that sells tires is open on Sunday, though, so we will stay a second night in Holbrook and get the tire Monday morning, cutting short our visit to another cousin in New Mexico.
Both Bobby and I are feeling the salubrious effect of the hot, dry climate on our joints. So much so that a second floor motel room is not much of a trial. I did not think to specify a ground floor room because my Best Western mindset involved elevators, somehow. However, if somebody else schelps our stuff up the stairs, I can get up without too much trouble.
Bobby stood at the bottom of the stairs, either daunted by the climb for his tiny arthritic body, or not being able to clearly see what we were doing. But when I said, "up, up, up," he bounced up ahead of me like a rabbit.
I am coming to understand why so many cousins ended up in the southwest.
I hope this is the last of your car troubles!
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