Sure, I'll do a humble. I was going to post this anyway, but a humble is a solid guise.

This past weekend a few of us got together for old fashioned wolf pack times, looking for good times and maple syrup. It was my plan to leave Sunday morning, so I could spend the 4th evening with my family. That was my plan. It did not go so well. As I was leaving, driving down the long hill to the person's house we were staying at, I noticed that my car was shaking much more than it had been going up. I brushed it off as nothing more than the dirt road being crazy, and expected it to go away once I reached the pavement. That did not happen; quite the contrary: the shaking continued, and what's more, I heard a wop-flop-wop-flop sound coming below the car. Knowing this meant trouble, I quickly turned via 3 points, despite there being two yellow lines. After pulling in to a small parking lot, I saw the tire, or rather, what remained of it. The front wasn't in too much pain, but the back... oh, the back.

It was completely blown out, totally shredded, all the way destroyed, ruined beyond a shadow of a shadow of a doubt, mangled in the most vicious sense, torn apart like wrapping paper on the 25th, eaten up like a lean gazelle, wrecked, killed, decimated, devastated, gone, done, dead, ended, useless, dangerous, non-functional, impractical, a corpse, a frayed black scarf instead of a tire.

Having no service down at the base of the hill, I made it my purpose in life to head back to my host's house to use his phone to call AAA. And so I walked uphill for two miles, with the hot July sun keeping its eye on me.

"This is an adventure!" I exclaimed. "This is LIFE!!"

When I finally reached the top, sweaty, panting, and as red as the siren on Jack's truck, I recounted the events of the last forty-five minutes and calmly asked for a glass of water. We headed down, three men and a number of women. The men worked on getting the spare free from its ancient prison, while the women, I have been told, danced in the bed of a pickup truck.

So ends the tale of my first flat tire. It was eventually replaced, and I was able to get home on the highway at normal speeds. 70, 75. Sometimes 80.