The Great Escape

Some of you may remember one of my previous posts, Be Prepared, you know, the one where I smugly told you about how I had a terrible puncture, blah blah, and how I carry all this stuff around, blah blah, and hence everything was fine.

The End.

Well, here's the thing.

The photo above is of the rear wheel on the other side of the same car, some years later. Last Sunday in fact. Another terrible puncture on a rear wheel. And yes, that is my brake disk glowing. Red hot. Had I not been busy putting the fire out you might have also seen a photo of the flames emerging from the pads. This was a few minutes and six bottles of mineral water poured over it later. and yes, and it's still *that* hot. And common sense won over my urge to Instagram the drama to my 12 followers.

Except this time it happened on a pitch black motorway, late evening. I was travelling in the outside lane at "outside lane" speeds and the inevitable thrum, vibration and then thumpa-thumpa-thumpa told me to get the hazard warning lights on fast and get over to the hard should really quickly.

And as I arrived there I realised it was a narrow hard shoulder, with a bank, soft verge, and I was getting increasingly unsettled by the lorries and coaches thundering past. Which at 15 miles an hour and on 3 wheels is a genuinely frightening place to be.

Knowing my rough location and hence my proximity to the next junction, I chose to gently make my way off the motorway, for my own safety, flashers on, on the hard shoulder.

It was the longest mile or so I think I have ever driven, and is up there with taking my first-born home from hospital as slow and steady drives to remember. Parents with 3 children or more will know that by 3+ you're basically pulling wheelies and doing handbrake turns on the way back from the maternity ward. But that, dear reader, is one for another blog.

Now, as you might expect, what of the remaining tyre managed to make it to the hard shoulder attached to the rim, despite my Driving Miss Daisy approach, was largely gone by the time I got to the slip road. The lack of contact with the road meant that (in a powerful, heavy rear-wheel drive car) the unencumbered wheel was just spinning out.

And this is where helpful Mr ABS arrived.

Yes, my car and various parts have a gender. That again is another blog.

So helpful Mr ABS, knowing the wheel is inexplicably spinning, decides to intervene. The things is, his intervention caused a little bit of heat in the brake disk and pads. Now when I say a little bit, I mean that the brake pads were on fire with flames licking outside the alloy wheel, and the brake disk glowing red hot by the time I stopped in a hotel car park, just off the junction.

Clearly a few years in the military and having three children prepares you for the little surprises in life, so I confidently strode out of the car, and around the flames to the boot (trunk, for American readers) to retrieve one of my two fire extinguishers that I routinely carry these days.

And this is where it went a little south.

The thing is, I know - *know* - they are in there somewhere, but when it came to it, when I really need a fire extinguisher, I couldn't find either one. That's couldn't find either fire fighting device while my car - my precious car - was on actual fire. Smoke, flames, heat, etc., not far from the fuel filler cap.

You can imagine at this point that the other people within a half mile radius learned some new and colourful language.

So, lots of water, lots of steam, a half hour waiting for everything to cool down, then some cranking and turning to jack the car and remove the wheel, then some more turning and cranking to get the space saver on (YES! YES! YES! a real - if dinky - wheel! Tyre weld is not good if there is no tyre left to weld), and I was back rolling, albeit somewhat gingerly and definitely slower, carefully observing the maximum speed of the trolley wheel holding up the back right corner of my vehicle. It's fair to say, there wasn't much left of the tyre.. and these were pukka Continentals, so not exactly cheap or low-quality tyres.

Life in the slow lane. Literally.

And I'll be honest, it's not a place I am happy. Being passed by articulated lorries (usually at or within the speed limit) or coaches (usually at or over their speed limit!) was really scary. The HGV drivers were courteous and gave me plenty of space. But still..

There were the moments of amusement (temporary speed limit at road works - no need to slow down - woo!) and frustration (leaving temporary speed limit at road works and not being able to boot it - boo!).

And there are things for which I am thankful in this episode:

Travelling out of hours. Had it happened in the morning rush hour, the motorway would have been full and it would have been a nightmare. I had to get from lane 3 to the hard shoulder sharpish. 

The laziness and inattentiveness of the hotel reception staff in whose car park I had littered my vehicle. Despite the glow from the disk, flames from the pads and large amounts of steam created when I squirted the area with water, they managed to not ask if I was ok, and, better, not call the fire brigade. That might have been embarrassing. Lord help me had I actually needed help though.

My laziness. Not unpacking bottles of water from the rear foot well meant there were 6 or so litres to use when required. Like when I could't find a fire extinguisher. Or two, in point of fact.

God bless the Mercedes-Benz old-school tool roll. There when you need it and an amazing array of things you never realised you needed until you find you need them.

Knowing the location of the locking wheel nut. I hope I don't have to explain this one..

No rain. It could only have been made more miserable had it been peeing down while changing the wheel.

And then heavy rain. Nature's coolant. When you need it. Like when I'd changed the wheel and was safely tucked behind the wheel with the heater on, and was worried about what was going on behind me. I took comfort from the heavy spray keeping everything nice and cool back there.

And I was reminded that I need to stop travelling in shorts, t-shirt and Crocs. It was ruddy freezing that night. I know, it's winter, duh.

But it does all go to show that however well prepared you might think you are, having all the kit, having a process, testing it, knowing what to do, sometimes just simply isn't enough.

Sometimes you just have to react, and quickly; think, assess, decide, act. When things are not as expected, it's time to "improvise, adapt, overcome".

And with my Clint Eastwood quote (Heartbreak Ridge, for the curious), I'll leave it there. And go find those ruddy fire extinguishers..