Stranger Freedom (or, My Flat in Bismarck)
Around noon as the sun was finally beating the cold of the morning, my front driver's side tire popped. Now, I've never experienced driving with a flat before, and it wasn't the first possibility to pop in my head, but just as a friend had once assured, "if you get a flat tire, you'll know immediately something is wrong." The dashboard went haywire as I pulled over.
The next hour went like this: lying to AAA, calling my father to ask him to lie to AAA, realizing that plan will end in being fined for AAA fraud, getting my name into the family plan, and calling AAA and telling the truth.
"Hello, this is Henry how may I help you today?"
"Well, Henry, I need to ask you a favor: I have a request for road service suspended, which is in my father's account number, and that was just getting too complicated. Can you change the request to under my number?"
"Hmm, well, can I ask you whether you are at the vehicle?"
"Yes, I am!"
"Well, alright then, I suppose I can do that for you, but only for you."
"Thank you Henry!"
"But it has to be our little secret, ok?"
"Deal."
"Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"No, that was it, thank you so much, have a great day!"
"I hope you have a better day."
A few minutes later I was outside unscrewing the spare from beneath the trunk when Mike showed up. A simple, kind man of few words, he set about helping me before he called to verify my membership. I paced around the van and glimpsed peeks of his worn hands gripping the tire iron, knuckles strained against the resisting rust, and I pretended not to hear him gasp with each rotation. The spare, once on, looked like a pitiful understudy burdened by lack of pressure.
Ten minutes later I strolled into Tires Plus of Bismarck. I caught the gaze of an older man with margarine-yellow hair slicked back like a plastic ribbon, who was standing at a podium and made no effort to welcome me. To his left, two younger men and two computers were waiting at the counter. Jason and Jonas stood alert as I talked back and forth to each, making eye contact from one to the other.
"Hi, I called about twenty minutes ago, I got a flat tire and hoped I would be able to get a new one today."
"Yeah, we can help you with that." Jason responded.
"Oh phew! I was worried no one would be open today, thank you guys so much."
"We are the only place open today."
And as Jonas took over my case and I joked about getting all weather radials on sale, Jason watched me, like there'd be a test on it later. I set my keys on the counter, walked outside, sat on the curb to make a call. When I stood and slipped my phone into my pocket, Jason walked out the door into the bright Dakota sun.
"Let's see if we can figure out what tire you need, and I'll check availability." We walked slowly around my vehicle. I pointed to the sagging spare and noted that it would be kind of them to inflate that one. Jason turned, a look of mirth about his smoke stained, ovular face.
"Oh you think that tire needs air?" He shook his head. "Yeah, maybe just a little,"
"So what brings you to Bismarck all the way from Massachusetts?"
"I'm picking up a friend who moved to Montana from Massachusetts a few years ago. I told her if she ever wanted to move back east, I'd pick her up. So here I am in the family van, ready to fill it up and drive back."
"Why would anyone want to leave Massachusetts? There are so many trees!" Jason was obsessed with trees. Whenever he planned a trip, destinations with lots of trees held some serious sway. Whether he was going to be ATV-ing somewhere or taking his bike out somewhere- he's crazy about off-roading, he said- the places he went and the roads he took with the most trees were the favorites he mentioned. Thus, with an eager, nostalgic flare, he started talking about biking to Massachusetts, and the lush forest roads of the southeast.
After he stubbed out his cigarette we walked inside and he informed Jonas the size of the tire. I filled half a styrofoam cup with coffee. I meandered. Jason found me. "Got enough coffee for you?"
"Yeah, but I shouldn't have any more, I don't like to drink coffee after noon, keep it working like it's supposed to, you know." Again that mirthful shock.
"What? I need it all day long, I can't tell you how much coffee I drink. Pots."
"Yeah, my brother is the same way. He can drink coffee after dinner. I can't do that, I'll be awake til 4. This" I pointed at my cup, still a quarter full of the old, burnt brew "is dangerous. I don't know when I'll get to sleep tonight."
At that the conversation lost slack and he wandered off.
Jonas and Jason turned to the workshop and I entertained myself around the strip mall for an hour. At my return, Jason wanted me to see Gary, who was working on my tire. He escorted me to the back, where a guy who wore that look of stressed concern so many mechanics like to wear around young women, said to me "well, we got the new one on but the others are looking pretty bad, too." I brushed it off, used to fear mongering.
Back at the waiting room it occurred to me this could happen three more times during the road trip. I found Jason:
"What do you think about the other tires?"
"They're cupped, you have four different tires on that van." My brow furrows to take in this interesting information.
"Hmm. What does cupped mean?"
He pointed at a handy illustration on the wall of tires with chunks of tread missing in different places. "The tread is wearing out in different places and at different stages because the tires are all different. You're going to start feeling the vibrations of the road."
"Will they last another 3,000 miles?"
"Yes. But the vibrations are going to drive you nuts."
"Well I can handle nuts over another three hundred dollars."
So I sat down and took up reading, or looking at, a Parade magazine. Jason walked over. I kept my eyes on the magazine. He shifted his weight from left to right, then walked away.
I read about a few celebrities and their troubles, let my mind wander to all the people I needed to call, wondered what the weather would be like for camping around the Montana border that night. Should I drive all night along 90 with the truckers? Would I miss the Painted Canyons? Then Jason's shoes appeared next to a picture of Kristen Stewart looking stoned. This time he said:
"Sara, do you want us to put that tire back in under the car or just slide it into the trunk where it was?"
"Uh, can you please put it back under the car? I would but it's a little rough with all the rusted bolts."
He casually extended his arm, took ahold my bicep, "yeah, I think we can take care of that."
"Hey, I'm ripped, you don't even know!" I retorted at a decibel over my inside voice. He stepped back in mock threat, then doubled over, his head dangled by his waist, ears just inches from that coffee cup in his hand.
"Ripped, she says! hah! Oh the boys are gonna love that one."
And then he walked to the counter, "you hear that? she's ripped!" I walked to the counter.
"Dude! I just walked over 2,000 miles, you better believe I'm ripped." He looked at me, and asked
"Driving? I'd, I'd believe that." And I tell him-
"I don't think I've driven as far as I've walked, recently. I've been hiking for six months, I did the Appalachian Trail. I am ripped."
"I believe you must be!" And with that a shift, closer to familiar.
Jonas reached out his hand to shake: "I don't think I could do that. I'd like to shake your hand."
Baffled and flattered, I blustered "oh there are shelters and privies along the way, it's impossible to get lost on, too."
"Well, maybe I could do that."
Jason turned to me, determined: "next time you do something like that, I would love that, next time you do something, you call here and you ask for me and I'm going to come with you."
"Sure."
Then he talked about walking down from St. Louis through the wilderness, about two and a half weeks, doing a couple hundred miles, living off of the earth, no trails, just hunting and living in the wilderness. And I could tell it made him real happy to think about that. And he said that if he could, he would do that all the time. Just build himself a house in the middle of nowhere, enjoy the deafening silence. I was impressed and smiled big, but we'd lost Jonas, so after some comments on the agreeable nature of quiet, I walked back to the waiting area, sat down and went mum.
A few minutes later he was back.
"Do you like country?" I didn't know whether he meant music or the area, so I asked and it was music. And I thought okay, gotta play this careful, because he wants me to like country, I can tell that.
"Well, not really, I like the older stuff."
"You don't? I'd of thought you would like bluegrass at least."
"Oh, I do, I thought you meant, like, uh, Big and Rich. I very much like bluegrass, and the old standards like Willie Nelson."
"Yeah? That's great." Despite how smoothly the rest of the conversation went, I couldn't stop myself from wondering why he would ask such a question, settled on his regimented method of eliminating women from being a future Mrs. Jason as the only possibility. Or maybe he was bored and making conversation. He continued:
"I grew up in western Missouri in the Mark Twain Wilderness. Every day, I sat on the porch with my mother and my grandmother, and we would play bluegrass together, every day, all afternoon."
"What instruments do you play?" With that question a smile.
"I played the banjo, the door-bow, the piano, the ukelele, slide guitar, and fiddle."
"Wow! What's a door-bow?" He told me. I don't remember. Something about a slide guitar is sitting, a door-bow is standing, fixed to a door. Or something entirely different.
He must have the best memories of those musical afternoons; I could see this far-off glint in his eyes when he thought about it. It was very neat, I got a little glimpse. And of course I was impressed. We talked about bluegrass, and I told him about the concerts I missed on the trail, the places with bluegrass sessions every weekend or the concerts I walked by. He described how much he'd like that cabin in the woods. I told him it sounded lonely, he told me he doesn't get lonely. And there was safety in this disclosure, something freeing in knowing we wouldn't see each other again. Lying, even embellishing, served no purpose. By talking, we knew ourselves. The freedom we have when we meet someone, who is disconnected from everything else in our lives, and we're able to be completely ourselves, is this stranger freedom. With the people we love the most, sometimes we wish we had that stranger freedom.
As I walked to the van, he opened the door of Tires Plus and reminded me to bring him along, on my next adventure.
Once out of town, I watched the exits change from developed to "No Services," and realized my misfortune was perfectly timed: just an hour later my day would likely have ended at a hotel in the middle of wheat fields. And I wouldn't have met the stranger. So it was a good day, despite the flat tire.
The next hour went like this: lying to AAA, calling my father to ask him to lie to AAA, realizing that plan will end in being fined for AAA fraud, getting my name into the family plan, and calling AAA and telling the truth.
"Hello, this is Henry how may I help you today?"
"Well, Henry, I need to ask you a favor: I have a request for road service suspended, which is in my father's account number, and that was just getting too complicated. Can you change the request to under my number?"
"Hmm, well, can I ask you whether you are at the vehicle?"
"Yes, I am!"
"Well, alright then, I suppose I can do that for you, but only for you."
"Thank you Henry!"
"But it has to be our little secret, ok?"
"Deal."
"Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"No, that was it, thank you so much, have a great day!"
"I hope you have a better day."
A few minutes later I was outside unscrewing the spare from beneath the trunk when Mike showed up. A simple, kind man of few words, he set about helping me before he called to verify my membership. I paced around the van and glimpsed peeks of his worn hands gripping the tire iron, knuckles strained against the resisting rust, and I pretended not to hear him gasp with each rotation. The spare, once on, looked like a pitiful understudy burdened by lack of pressure.
Ten minutes later I strolled into Tires Plus of Bismarck. I caught the gaze of an older man with margarine-yellow hair slicked back like a plastic ribbon, who was standing at a podium and made no effort to welcome me. To his left, two younger men and two computers were waiting at the counter. Jason and Jonas stood alert as I talked back and forth to each, making eye contact from one to the other.
"Hi, I called about twenty minutes ago, I got a flat tire and hoped I would be able to get a new one today."
"Yeah, we can help you with that." Jason responded.
"Oh phew! I was worried no one would be open today, thank you guys so much."
"We are the only place open today."
And as Jonas took over my case and I joked about getting all weather radials on sale, Jason watched me, like there'd be a test on it later. I set my keys on the counter, walked outside, sat on the curb to make a call. When I stood and slipped my phone into my pocket, Jason walked out the door into the bright Dakota sun.
"Let's see if we can figure out what tire you need, and I'll check availability." We walked slowly around my vehicle. I pointed to the sagging spare and noted that it would be kind of them to inflate that one. Jason turned, a look of mirth about his smoke stained, ovular face.
"Oh you think that tire needs air?" He shook his head. "Yeah, maybe just a little,"
"So what brings you to Bismarck all the way from Massachusetts?"
"I'm picking up a friend who moved to Montana from Massachusetts a few years ago. I told her if she ever wanted to move back east, I'd pick her up. So here I am in the family van, ready to fill it up and drive back."
"Why would anyone want to leave Massachusetts? There are so many trees!" Jason was obsessed with trees. Whenever he planned a trip, destinations with lots of trees held some serious sway. Whether he was going to be ATV-ing somewhere or taking his bike out somewhere- he's crazy about off-roading, he said- the places he went and the roads he took with the most trees were the favorites he mentioned. Thus, with an eager, nostalgic flare, he started talking about biking to Massachusetts, and the lush forest roads of the southeast.
After he stubbed out his cigarette we walked inside and he informed Jonas the size of the tire. I filled half a styrofoam cup with coffee. I meandered. Jason found me. "Got enough coffee for you?"
"Yeah, but I shouldn't have any more, I don't like to drink coffee after noon, keep it working like it's supposed to, you know." Again that mirthful shock.
"What? I need it all day long, I can't tell you how much coffee I drink. Pots."
"Yeah, my brother is the same way. He can drink coffee after dinner. I can't do that, I'll be awake til 4. This" I pointed at my cup, still a quarter full of the old, burnt brew "is dangerous. I don't know when I'll get to sleep tonight."
At that the conversation lost slack and he wandered off.
Jonas and Jason turned to the workshop and I entertained myself around the strip mall for an hour. At my return, Jason wanted me to see Gary, who was working on my tire. He escorted me to the back, where a guy who wore that look of stressed concern so many mechanics like to wear around young women, said to me "well, we got the new one on but the others are looking pretty bad, too." I brushed it off, used to fear mongering.
Back at the waiting room it occurred to me this could happen three more times during the road trip. I found Jason:
"What do you think about the other tires?"
"They're cupped, you have four different tires on that van." My brow furrows to take in this interesting information.
"Hmm. What does cupped mean?"
He pointed at a handy illustration on the wall of tires with chunks of tread missing in different places. "The tread is wearing out in different places and at different stages because the tires are all different. You're going to start feeling the vibrations of the road."
"Will they last another 3,000 miles?"
"Yes. But the vibrations are going to drive you nuts."
"Well I can handle nuts over another three hundred dollars."
So I sat down and took up reading, or looking at, a Parade magazine. Jason walked over. I kept my eyes on the magazine. He shifted his weight from left to right, then walked away.
I read about a few celebrities and their troubles, let my mind wander to all the people I needed to call, wondered what the weather would be like for camping around the Montana border that night. Should I drive all night along 90 with the truckers? Would I miss the Painted Canyons? Then Jason's shoes appeared next to a picture of Kristen Stewart looking stoned. This time he said:
"Sara, do you want us to put that tire back in under the car or just slide it into the trunk where it was?"
"Uh, can you please put it back under the car? I would but it's a little rough with all the rusted bolts."
He casually extended his arm, took ahold my bicep, "yeah, I think we can take care of that."
"Hey, I'm ripped, you don't even know!" I retorted at a decibel over my inside voice. He stepped back in mock threat, then doubled over, his head dangled by his waist, ears just inches from that coffee cup in his hand.
"Ripped, she says! hah! Oh the boys are gonna love that one."
And then he walked to the counter, "you hear that? she's ripped!" I walked to the counter.
"Dude! I just walked over 2,000 miles, you better believe I'm ripped." He looked at me, and asked
"Driving? I'd, I'd believe that." And I tell him-
"I don't think I've driven as far as I've walked, recently. I've been hiking for six months, I did the Appalachian Trail. I am ripped."
"I believe you must be!" And with that a shift, closer to familiar.
Jonas reached out his hand to shake: "I don't think I could do that. I'd like to shake your hand."
Baffled and flattered, I blustered "oh there are shelters and privies along the way, it's impossible to get lost on, too."
"Well, maybe I could do that."
Jason turned to me, determined: "next time you do something like that, I would love that, next time you do something, you call here and you ask for me and I'm going to come with you."
"Sure."
Then he talked about walking down from St. Louis through the wilderness, about two and a half weeks, doing a couple hundred miles, living off of the earth, no trails, just hunting and living in the wilderness. And I could tell it made him real happy to think about that. And he said that if he could, he would do that all the time. Just build himself a house in the middle of nowhere, enjoy the deafening silence. I was impressed and smiled big, but we'd lost Jonas, so after some comments on the agreeable nature of quiet, I walked back to the waiting area, sat down and went mum.
A few minutes later he was back.
"Do you like country?" I didn't know whether he meant music or the area, so I asked and it was music. And I thought okay, gotta play this careful, because he wants me to like country, I can tell that.
"Well, not really, I like the older stuff."
"You don't? I'd of thought you would like bluegrass at least."
"Oh, I do, I thought you meant, like, uh, Big and Rich. I very much like bluegrass, and the old standards like Willie Nelson."
"Yeah? That's great." Despite how smoothly the rest of the conversation went, I couldn't stop myself from wondering why he would ask such a question, settled on his regimented method of eliminating women from being a future Mrs. Jason as the only possibility. Or maybe he was bored and making conversation. He continued:
"I grew up in western Missouri in the Mark Twain Wilderness. Every day, I sat on the porch with my mother and my grandmother, and we would play bluegrass together, every day, all afternoon."
"What instruments do you play?" With that question a smile.
"I played the banjo, the door-bow, the piano, the ukelele, slide guitar, and fiddle."
"Wow! What's a door-bow?" He told me. I don't remember. Something about a slide guitar is sitting, a door-bow is standing, fixed to a door. Or something entirely different.
He must have the best memories of those musical afternoons; I could see this far-off glint in his eyes when he thought about it. It was very neat, I got a little glimpse. And of course I was impressed. We talked about bluegrass, and I told him about the concerts I missed on the trail, the places with bluegrass sessions every weekend or the concerts I walked by. He described how much he'd like that cabin in the woods. I told him it sounded lonely, he told me he doesn't get lonely. And there was safety in this disclosure, something freeing in knowing we wouldn't see each other again. Lying, even embellishing, served no purpose. By talking, we knew ourselves. The freedom we have when we meet someone, who is disconnected from everything else in our lives, and we're able to be completely ourselves, is this stranger freedom. With the people we love the most, sometimes we wish we had that stranger freedom.
As I walked to the van, he opened the door of Tires Plus and reminded me to bring him along, on my next adventure.
Once out of town, I watched the exits change from developed to "No Services," and realized my misfortune was perfectly timed: just an hour later my day would likely have ended at a hotel in the middle of wheat fields. And I wouldn't have met the stranger. So it was a good day, despite the flat tire.
posted by Sara Haxby at
12:53 PM
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