What's worse than a blown tire?

A blown tire on a rental car.

What's worse than that?

Blowing the spare an hour or two later.

After first flat...

ME: I put the spare on. Do you want me to take the car to one of your local offices?
RENTAL CAR LADY (after apparently thinking towns 163 miles away are "local"): You can drive up to 1,500 miles on the spare.
ME: Really?
HER: Yes, up to 1,500 miles. Just don't go faster than 65.
ME: I am returning the car in the morning anyway, so I'll just do that.
HER: Sir, I couldn't care less what you do.

OK, that last line was made-up. Anyway ... I trodded along in the slow lane (keeping it around 55-60) behind an 18-wheeler, which limited the line of sight. So I didn't see the staggeringly enormous pothole until it was too late

And boom went the spare (shown above).

Get towed to a Pep Boys (where I blog from now). My dad says, "I hope it's not the one I use. Those guys move at the speed of light. You can almost see their feet move."

I tell him where it is. After asking me to explain exactly where the cashier is in relation to the waiting area in relation to the truck flaps with the dancing women on them, he confirms our fears.

"That's the one. Bummer."

I almost stole my mother's car for this trip. Either I lucked out by not doing damage to it, or it being far better built that this damn Chevy Aveo that is under constant threat of being blown off the road would have meant it could have handled the impact.

Oh well. Next chapter of this story could be me fighting with the rental car folk as to who will pay for the tire.

I might have to pay cash, but they will pay with their souls, damn it!

Or something like that.

The Who better rock again tonight.