My November 1

Having been dropped off at the Motel 6 on Halloween by the lovely stranger named Sara, I awoke early on the 1st hoping to get back on the road as quickly as possible. Sara had left me with the business card of a man named Gary who was the owner and operator of Picture Rocks Road Tire and Rim and who had, while pretty well inebriated mind you, told me that he would pick me up in the morning.

He was a man of his word.

An hour after I called, Gary arrived at my hotel in his own decrepit little Ford pick-up (apparently, that's the official transportation of native Tucsonians) with my wheels, tires and rims, in the bed. This 60s-ish man with a long gray beard and a sun-pocked face hopped out, shook my hand, and said, "I've got bad news for you, Kelly." And then he showed me where my tires had completely blown out and, more disturbingly, where one of the rims was cracked.

As an aside, the guy lived about 50 minutes away. I suspect he'd immediately jumped into his truck after we spoke on the phone, stopped by my car on the way, pulled the wheels off in about 30 seconds, and met up with me at exactly the time we'd discussed. The guy was obviously skilled.

For the next 2 hours, Gary drove me around the city of Tucson to track down a new rim and 2 new tires. We even dropped by the Honda dealership to find out if, 1, the rim would be covered under my warranty ("are you kidding?" was basically the response) and, 2, if they had any of these items in stock ("Nope. We could order them, though, for $415 for the rim, $120/tire, and $450 for the tire pressure monitors." "Uh, no thanks."). Our first order of business was to tend to the rim. Gary thought it might be difficult to track down that size.

Why cars aren't designed with standard sizes is beyond me. I know car companies probably make quite a bit from replacement parts; but would it be so bad for business to decrease the variety a bit? Perhaps having the same size rims for both Honda Fits AND Civics? Just seems like it would be cheaper to mass produce these things in the same factories, rather than having a separate source for them.

The first rim shop that we stopped at didn't have it in stock. "That one's a hard one to find," the not-so-friendly owner told us. Meanwhile, the whole time we were there, Gary persisted to the guy, "you're going to help me out, right? All the business I send your way, I mean, you're going to give us a deal, right." Gary was really trying to look out for me. At the next shop, I purchased a pretty hideous black universal rim. This shop tried to sell me a tire for about $60 as well. Gary spoke for me, "no! No! That's alright! We'll get the tires elsewhere."

I should mention that between the hotel and shops, Gary, this crusty car mechanic 4 decades my senior, and I managed to build up a camaraderie. He really admired my traveling bug. Though he was living about a mile from where he grew up, he shared the same bug. He was a truck-driver for over a decade, and had lived all over the country. I guess there's just no place like home. Of course, the overarching conversation on the day was the election. Gary asked about my vote. "Well," I stammered, "I do really like McCain. I mean, as far as Republican candidates go, he's better than any other one that I've experienced in my short voting life." I was nervous. Gary's been around a while. He's white. He's lives out in the country. And, last and certainly not least, he's a native Arizonian. I really didn't want to offend this man on whom my future was now so dependent. "But, I've already voted, and I voted for Obama. My views are just far more aligned with his. And I think the country just needs new leadership." "That's good," Gary said, I've got to admit, I was hoping for Hillary; but either of them is better than McCain. McCain's an asshole."

It was at this point that I noticed the bumper stick on the rear window of Gary's truck that said "Fuck Bush."

Somehow, I had stumbled into the care of the country's only country bumpkin liberal.

Gary then took me to a tire shop, owned and operated by a pair of brothers that he'd apparently known since he was a kid. I found myself watching this man, likely in his 60s, wrestling with one of them, also likely around 50, in the parking lot. We got a couple of cheap tires, had them put on the rims, both the original and my new one that's going to be a blemish on my brand new until I either procure a new one or get the cracked one fixed, and hit the road again, headed back out to the National Park to my car. For their troubles and 2 tires, Gary's friends charged me $60.

On the way, I convinced Gary to let me buy him a tank of gas. "Oh, that's okay." "C'mon, Gary," I said, "you've been driving me around all morning and not working. It's the least I could do." "Well, maybe you can put $5-10 in." When we got to the station, I hopped out and grabbed the pump, and said, "it's just a tank of gas, let me take care of it." Gary sort of sank and said, "you sure?" Just as I always do at the gas station, I paid with my card at the pump, started it, and headed inside to use the bathroom and grab something to drink. When I got back out, I saw Gary stopping the pump. "$25," I said, "wow, must be a small tank." "Yep," he responded. Heading down the road, I noted that the tank was only at 3/4.

As swiftly as he'd removed them, Gary replaced my wheels, and I was ready to hit the road minutes after returning to the scene of the previous day's fiasco. "What do I owe ya, Gary?" I inquired. "Oh, let's say $25 for the service call." This guy had just picked me up from my hotel 50 minutes from his shop, driven me all around Tucson for several hours, and only wanted $25 for his services. I peered into my wallet. There were a few singles, a $5, and a few $20s. I grabbed 2 of the 20s and said, "I dont have a five. Here you go." "You sure?" he said, kind of ashamed to take the extra money. "Yeah. You've driven me all over town this morning, worked on my car, and missed out on whatever business you would've had at your shop in the meantime. As a matter of fact," I grabbed another $20. Gary backed up and threw out his hands, "no! No! No! That's completely unnecessary!"

Before he would leave, Gary made me start my car to be certain. He wished me luck, and drove off, heading back to his little tire business, set amongst the saguaro cacti of the national park surrounding his tiny little community.