Filling Time: TwinLife Empty-Nesting

I started driving a tractor when I was old enough to sit on my dad’s or grandfather’s lap and take the steering wheel. This skill came in handy when I was older and my dad “let” me mow our backyard – at least the easy, flat part of it. Perhaps because I proved myself capable of driving in a rectangle, my dad put me behind the wheel of his MG when I was 14. Our country road was the perfect place to teach me how to drive a real car (even before the legal age), and learning to drive a stick shift on that particular car meant I would be able to drive pretty much any vehicle I encountered (#iykyk). Maybe this is why I wasn’t overly concerned when I hopped on an 8-passenger plane on a flight home from a wedding in Maine, and the pilot told me I would be the designated co-pilot. I mean, I could start the MG on a hill without stalling. How hard could it be to land a plane?

My dad restored my mom’s 1962 Corvair for my 16th birthday. It had been waiting for some TLC, and in order to give what Ralph Nader called a “death trap” to his little girl, he fixed every safety issue called out in Unsafe at Any Speed. By the time he restored that car, he had plenty of practice keeping our family “fleet” alive. My parents often owned at least five cars, two of which would actually start on any given day. With two people working outside the home, the game of roulette was not always fun, but my dad learned a lot about engines over the years. By the time I got my license, we had cars that worked until they didn’t (the MG was notorious for this), cars that sat waiting for their day to come again (the 1964 Chevy is still a flower pot on my parents’ farm), and even a car that would only drive in reverse. My parents often inherited my Grandpa Joe’s vehicles at the end of their useful life – and yet they somehow squeezed a few more years out of them.

So I learned to drive on a 1972 MG; I spent my high school days behind the wheel of a 1962 Corvair; and I got a 1975 CJ5 Jeep (also restored by my dad) for my high school graduation. Despite the fact that the maintenance keeping these cars on the road for me to drive happened in our driveway or our garage for my entire life, I never learned how to change the oil or even a tire. When I turned 16, my parents handed me a AAA card and said to call someone else if I ran into trouble, not to try to fix it myself on the side of the road.

Given that both of “my” cars did not have fuel gauges that worked, and I wasn’t great about doing the math that told me when I needed to fill up, I did end up stranded a few times when I was a teen. My dad always saved me. It wasn’t until I was an adult and on my own that I needed to use that AAA card, and every time I’ve done so has been related to a tire problem.

My husband and I also have a fleet of cars. With the kids off at school, we have to rotate which car we drive so that none of them sit for too long, especially in the winter. Ironically, since we’ve been empty nesters, we have had more tire issues than in the last decade combined. We blew out a tire as we drove into town for my son’s family weekend in the fall. AAA to the rescue! Not too long after that, my husband lost one on his way to work. Then, when my daughter was home for spring break, she called to say that her indicator light was on and there was a huge screw in her tire. Run flat tires to the rescue!

I figured dealing with three different cars with three different tire issues in less than four months meant that we were in the clear for a while. Even so, as I got in the car to drive to see my son last week, I wondered whether I should check the tire pressure. I was leaving home, headed south to an appointment before I planned to get on the highway for a 5.5 hour ride. I didn’t get an indicator light, so I didn’t check.

And then…

As I got into the car after my appointment, I saw the dreaded yellow tire pressure light. I groaned and started planning my what-to-dos. The pressure was about 10 below the other tires, but I didn’t see a nail or anything in the tire, and it was still in drivable range – so I gambled. I headed toward the turnpike, hoping the nearest rest area was not too far away. I figured if all went south, at least I had my AAA card!

I made it to the rest stop, where I was pleasantly surprised to find free air! The tire and I had a nice talk about how it needed to keep itself inflated for the next 375 miles — and back again – and it listened.

Last week I spent 11 hours in the car, listening to podcasts and books and generally vegging in my own mind, as I travelled between my son’s school and my home. I also spent time visiting my son, wandering the campus, and listening to presentations by upper-level administrators about the future of the school and the opportunities available to students. The trip filled my heart – so much so that I almost forgot that it started with a tire-pressure warning. The drive was absolutely worth the time.