Saturday. Took the Bimmer in for a new set of tires today. Yesterday I'd gone online and looked at reviews. The American Tire in Tigard seemed to be well-regarded.
When I went to their corporate web site and entered the details of my car, it gave me a single choice of selection, 195/65 Falkens.
So I call up the shop and their guy answers. I ask if they have those in stock. He says they don't. They'll have to get them from California, special order, and it will take until next Wednesday.
I tell him that's too long, that I need them sooner. I'm about to hang up, and he says "well, that's a speciality tire, you know. We can put 185's on that car, of course."
It turns out they have plenty of those kind, and I know that's what I have on the car right now. He seems to think I wanted 195's for a special reason. I tell him it's only because that was the sole option on their web site.
"Maybe the Obamacare people made the web site," I tell him. He laughs. We have a connection.
The next morning I pilot the Bimmer along the wet winding roads through the hills, then onto Barbur Boulevard until I get to Highway 99 in Tigard. The American Tire is along a wide stretch of 99 as it passes a bunch of strip malls, fast food outlets, and a Fred Meyer.
It's the exact image that people in Portland think of, when they use Tigard as a synonym for the kind of suburban commercial development that so many Portland residents have purposefully fled. My friend Adam has a particularly funny way of pronouncing "Tigard" in the provincial manner of locals.
But Tigard's exactly what I'm looking for today. The half dozen bays at American Tire are full with activity. I walk inside and talk to a young dude at the counter. Turns out he recognizes me from the phone call. He brings up the multiple options for my tires on the computer screen and shows it to me. I follow his suggestion and by the "best" option---a set of four Yokohamas. It comes to a little over four hundred bucks.
As I'm swiping my debit card, I mention that I'm glad to have a new set, especially since I don't have a spare anymore.
"It got stolen off my girlfriend's porch while we were on vacation," I tell him. I'd blown the tire hitting a curb on NE Glisan a couple months back and waiting to get a new set. The movers had taken it all the way across the other side of Portland, only to have it taken while I was in Hawaii. I'll have to get a new wheel before I can replace it, I tell him.
After I wrap up the initial business of payment, I give him my ignition key, and warn him that the interior door handle is tricky. "The interior is all busted up," I tell him. "But the engine is still amazing."
In reality I know I don't have to add that last part. Everyone loves the Bimmer. I almost start telling him about the time five years ago in Marieta, Ohio, when the car overheated in hot weather. It was pouring out steam as I limped into a gas station. I feared maybe the engine was shot. Literally within two minutes, as I was standing staring at the steam gushing out from the hood, some guy walks up and offers to buy the car from me for cash right on the spot. I'm glad I didn't take his offer.
I head out the front door of the tire place, planning on walking the short distance down 99 to a nearby Starbucks to kill time while they do the install.
While I'm still in earshot of the front door, I hear my name called. It's the guy I was talking to, leaning out the door. He says he call sell me a new wheel for seventy bucks, and he'll mount the best tire left on my car for free. I tell him that sounds like a great deal, so I go back inside and swipe my card again. It's a big load off my mind to have a spare again.
I go down to the Starbucks and write a blog entry (the previous one to this, about Por que no?), and then return after an hour. He sees me approaching and finds the paperwork for the job.
"You're all set," he says. It was pretty much as smooth as it could possibly go.
I go out to my car and see the brand new Yokohamas on it. On the front seat is the new spare. It turns out that he gave me a new tire for that, probably one of their cheaper 185's, instead of mounting one of the crappy ones on my car. Of course, as I mentioned to the guy, I'll still have replace the missing BMW emblem that fits in the center of the wheel. I'm sure I can get one online.
Driving back along Barbur I can feel the grip of the car on the pavement. I can't believe I was getting by on the old ones. The Bimmer leaps out in first gear like a lion. It feels as if the engine is rejuvenated, just from the increased acceleration from rest and the tightness on the road.
For those few miles, it's like having a brand new car---a freaking amazing one floating on a cloud. Everything about the car seems better. I'm pretty much the most satisfied guy in the world. It's one of those moments when can't think of anything else that I could possibly want, that money could buy.
No comments:
Post a Comment