Yesterday, we were on our way to church when we heard a loud bang. As hubby groaned and steered us to a stop, I knew we'd blown the rear tire we'd had to pump up before leaving home.
We were approx 20 km/12 miles from home and about the same from church. Hubby and the boys got out to take a look. Sure enough the sidewall had blown out of the tire.
I had been reading The Raven Saint by ML Tyndall while we were travelling so while hubby began the task of changing the tire in -21C/-6F weather - not including the horrific wind chill - I settled in the warm van and continued reading about romance on the high seas.
As I read, the van wobbled and moved as Nelson got on with the job. After a while, though, I was aware of a tapping sound coming from the open back so I got out to take a look.
He'd been able to drop the spare tire down but it was filled with ice and gravel which had hardened like cement and he was chipping away at it with a small hammer. He couldn't unhook the spare until he chipped it all out. After 15 mins or so of chipping, Nelson came in the van to warm up and the boys took over tapping away at the hard-packed donut.
When Nelson went back out, I thought the boys would come in to warm up. Nope, they decided to go walking out on the snow. Like they don't have enough back at our own 160 acres. Sheesh.
By the time the spare was installed, over an hour had passed. Since church would be out soon, we turned around and went back home.