At 3:58 p.m., I smelled the burning rubber before I saw it. Thick, blue smoke rushed in through the open car windows. It took me a few seconds to work through the confusion of what was happening (the tire blew out) and what my next move should be, in a car with my six-year old daughter on an interstate cordoned down to one lane in rural Pennsylvania. Looking in my rearview mirror, I saw the traffic behind me had backed off to give me clearance, and I slowly maneuvered through the orange barrels to my right separating the lanes and stopped the car as far into the unused lane as I could.

“Stay in the car,” I said to my daughter as I grabbed my cell phone and dialed my roadside assistance plan. While I rummaged through my trunk for the jack and tire iron, I suffered through their automated system, scheduled a tow truck, and the representative asked me if I’d like to take a short survey at the end of the call, even though she knew I was on a busy interstate with a flat tire. I said, in a fake sweet voice, “Hello…I’m on the side of the road with a flat tire. I do not want to take the survey.” Realization of her foolishness crept into her voice and I felt a little bad (but not that bad).

I got my spare tire out and got to work loosening the lug nuts and jacking up the rear driver’s side of the car. Cars whizzed by me, no doubt gawking at the spectacle of a young woman in her tank top and jeans hastily changing her tire in the hot midday sun, but I never looked up from my work. I prayed no one would stop to help because I felt pretty sure I had this under control and didn’t want the added pressure of being appropriately grateful under stress. After I got the spare tire on & unwound the jack, I surveyed a piece of lower door trim that the flying rubber had knocked only half-loose. It was detached at the rear and attached at the front still. It would drag on the road if I drove like that. I tried to undo the front bolt. No luck. I stared at the trim intently, silently demanding that it provide me the answer. I foraged through the trunk and car looking for something I could use to tie the trim from the bolt hole and attach to something in the car. Gianna ruefully lamented it was too bad we didn’t have any tape. I smiled condescendingly at the cute but ridiculous solution and said that yes, it was too bad…until I realized that I did have a tape gun with heavy duty packing tape in my trunk from putting up Life After Hate posters awhile back. I grinned at Gianna and informed her she was a genius and silently thanked the universe for giving me kids that are smarter than me even when I don’t realize it, and for giving me the kind of nature that I never take things out of my trunk and into the house when I should.

I wrapped the clear tape vertically around the piece of trim, positioned it, and fed the tape up into the car and affixed it to the leather seat. I then shut the door on it and hoped it would hold. It was surprisingly inconspicuous, and looked stable, but how long can tape really hold a piece of trim onto a car as it travels 65 mph over bumps in the road?

At 4:24 p.m., I called to cancel that tow truck after all. I pulled carefully back into the left lane and plodded cautiously toward the next exit, 8 miles away. I checked my GPS for tire repair locations, chanting Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo for one to be open at this time on a Saturday. The first one I called was closed. The second one I called was open for another 30 minutes but didn’t have my size tire. The owner recommended I call a place called LMR tires in Bellefonte. He urged me to call them quickly, as he was unsure of their hours, but he said they would definitely have my tire. I called and went straight through to voice mail. This was not looking promising, but I felt incredibly calm. We kept chanting and drove to LMR tires according to my GPS’ directions anyhow. I pulled up to the building, obviously closed, and decided what my next step would be. Sharing the same parking entrance and lot was a gas station. In this small of a town, surely the people in the gas station would know how to reach the owners of the tire shop. Gianna and I hopped out of the car, strode across the lot, and waited for our turn to speak to one of the young people at the counter.

“Hi…we had an emergency with our tire and are a long way from home, and a long way from where we’re going. Do you know how to get ahold of the people from LMR Tires to see if someone can come in?” The young man with fashionably long brown curls over his eyes told me to hold on as he disappeared into the back room. He came back on his cell phone and explained he was calling his girlfriend who knew a person from the tire shop and she was calling him. Gianna and I, in a very relaxed manner, used the bathroom while we waited, grabbed some snacks and water, and headed back to the register to see if the young man had any news for us. There was a man in line who pointed my direction and said, “Are you the one having the tire problem?” I smiled and said, “How did you know?” He said he worked for the tire shop, had just happened to stop for gas when he saw me walk across and into the gas station. He told me not to worry and that he would call the owner and get someone over with the keys to the place so they could fix me up and get us going. As we paid for our fruit salad and Lunchable, he made a call on his phone. We breathed easily and then sat outside in a shaded dining area while we waited.

When the man came out of the gas station, I introduced myself and my daughter and learned his name was Jeff. He said someone named Jason was on his way to get us into the shop and do the work and that he’d wait over by the tire shop. Jason got there ten minutes later and assessed the situation with the car. I gave him the destroyed original tire from my trunk and showed him where we taped the trim. He quietly smiled and reserved whatever he was thinking. It was a matter of 30 minutes, at most, before Jason and Jeff were ringing me up for the new tire, at a price that was surprisingly competitive. If they’d had more than just the one tire of my size, I’d have replaced the other three right then, too. They escorted us out to the car, Jeff giving my daughter and me handfuls of his Easter candy, Jason giving me a look of genuine concern and an advisory to drive carefully as I pulled away.

It was 6:06p.m. by now. Two hours, ninety-five dollars, and two new friends later, my daughter and I were safely resuming our trip and were to make it without further incident to Wisconsin and a few days later I made it safely on my own back to New York. I fondly waved at Bellefonte as I passed by it on I-80 East this time.

The tape held the door trim the whole time. This was an interesting lesson in faith…in believing steadfastly, even foolishly, that an impossible situation will become possible again if you roll up your sleeves, get to work, and keep taking the next steps… faith in the basic human goodness of the people in the small town of Bellefonte and a little tire shop called LMR Tires…faith in the “foolish” solutions of a helpful, un-jaded six year old girl named Gianna Faith…and faith in tape.

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