I’m in the process of downloading the pictures, but let me give a verbal introduction first.
This place is way out in the middle of nowhere. Also, that 509 Washington Avenue that’s listed on many websites, that’s not actually the refuge, it’s just where the main building is. That building is in the town of Anahuac, population around 2710. So, yes, I got lost, as usual. I can’t find my way out of a paper bag.
I then pull into a gas station and ask where the Wildlife Refuge is located. The nice Indian man, who was eating a sandwich, said it was about 15 miles away.
Great! So I start driving, following the rough directions the guy at the gas station gave me.
I pull up to this huge expanse of land, bayou, swamp, fields, etc. There’s a building there, but it’s empty, like internally, there was nothing in it. Then there’s a little shack and it says Welcome to Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge in faded marker. I guess I’m in the right place.
The place is deserted, no cars, no people, just lots of land and water, and birds! Oh yea, there were mosquitoes as big as birds too. Thank goodness I had the DEET.
I’m taking all kinds of bird pictures, hawks, ducks, spoonbills, geese?, and other types of waterfowl. It’s totally silent except for the birds. I love places like this, seriously.
After a few hours I start to swing back towards the main entrance. I step out of the car to scan for birds. Uh oh! My rear left tire is going flat, and fast. “No, No, No, this can’t be happening!” I’m out in the middle of nowhere.
I’m now starting to panic. This is like my worst nightmare. I could be waiting hours for anyone to find me. I call Leecy who is at the vet with Coco. I said I’ve got bad news. I’ve got a flat. I tell her I’m going to try and make it back to the main entrance and hang up. Not that she could hear me that well anyway, since the reception was pretty shakey.
Twenty minutes later I’m back at the main entrance. Time to start changing the tire. Uh, I’ve never changed the tire in this car, so I pull out the owner’s manual. I couldn’t find where the spare tire was supposed to be located. No problem, I start lifting the seats looking for the spare. It’s not there. I look under the car. The spare is not there either.
I see this plastic tab over the wheel well. It’s looks like I might be able to pull that and something will happen. “Success!” I found the spare. It’s about as big as a bike tire.
I change the tire. It looks awful small. It says on the outside not to drive over 50 miles an hour. Oh boy, this is not gonna be good. I’m not even sure it’s completely inflated, however, it’s not as flat as my main tire.
I take off, driving slowly. A few cars think I’m an old person and pass me since I am driving so slow. Then a construction guy steps out in the road and holds up a “STOP” sign. I roll down my window and ask how far to the nearest gas station. He tells me about 20 miles if I go the opposite way I am heading.
I decide just to keep going in the direction towards home. I-10 is 20 miles away, hopefully there will be some “tire-type” place closer to the highway.
I’m now getting ready to turn on to I-10 and see a gas station. I’ll head over there and try and put some air in my main tire to see if I can notice where it’s leaking, and also add a little to the spare. Seventy-five cents for air? Okay, I’ve got no choice. Fortunately I have a tire gauge. I check my spare tire. 30 psi. It’s supposed to be 60 psi. Good thing this gas station has air. I start filling my spare tire with air. My tire is getting lower. Huh? I check the tire pressure again. It’s now 25 psi. I push on the air pressure nozzle and it pushes out a spittoon’s worth of air. The damn thing is broken!
I call Leecy again and tell her I’m getting on I-10 somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. I get on the highway and start driving. I’m barely pushing 55 mph because I’m terrified now. Cars are just lapping me since I am driving so slow. I find another gas station and pull off. Only 50 cents for air this time. I deposit 50 cents and push the air nozzle. Nice and strong pressure. I just may make it. I fill up my spare to the recommended pressure, then decide to add air to my regular tire. As I’m adding air, I hear the dreaded “psssssssssss.” I roll the tire around and sure enough, there’s a piece of metal in my tire and the air is escaping as fast as I put it in. So much for just a freak tire leak for an unknown reason.
I get back on to I-10 and start driving again. I make it to Baytown, and notice a Honda dealership. I pull into the service station and ask if they can patch my tire. The service guy asks, how long I’ve got. I reply I live 50 miles away and just want to get home. He says they can only “plug” a tire, not “patch” it, and suggests I go to Discount Tire which is a couple miles away in the opposite direction. Off I go towards Discount Tire. After waiting in line for 15 minutes I tell the salesman I just need to have my tire patched so I can make it home. He tells me they can do it, but it will take about 1.5 hours. I said no problem, as long as you can fix it.
In the end, I got my tire patched and made it home. I’m really not liking my car anymore!
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