Jitterbug Tires

Jitterbugging.

It felt like the front end of my truck was dancing along the highway and not in step with anything.

The faster I drove the more pronounced the skipping became. Even at slow speeds there was an anti-rhythmic thump.

Since a road trip was in the plans, I didn’t want to get a few miles from nowhere with a problem that could have been solved before leaving home. I did the grown-up thing and headed for the shop.

Every tire I’ve owned in the last fifty years has come from same family-owned store near the Atlanta Airport.

They don’t just sell tires, and I’m dealing with the fourth generation of the same family.

They keep a large jar of things they’ve dug out of tires, and I’ve contributed a couple of them.

My father started driving when few roads, even national highways, were paved. He spoke of driving on US 41 when it was a dirt road and was a well-used trail before it gained a highway number.

The bane of early motorists was that the roads had been used for horse-drawn vehicles and were full of thrown horseshoe nails.

It was expected to stop every mile or two and repair a “puncture.”

My dad always carried two tube patch kits and a manual bicycle air pump in the trunk of his car but never used them.

In pictures of early cars, it is easy to see that the wheels were wooden with a steel outer band like a wagon wheel. The steel band was called a “tire,” and it helped keep the wheel from coming apart and made it easier to repair the wheel. The steel was more durable than wood and lasted a long time.

There was a flourishing industry of wheel-wrights who made wooden wheels and blacksmiths who could replace the steel tire.

People didn’t expect their tires to last very long, and when a tire salesman wandered into the local store and offered the proprietor the chance to sell tires that would run for three thousand miles, he was asked to leave.

Radial tires came along. Customers could expect tires to last thousands of miles. My father found a knowledgeable man in Warren Culpepper, who worked in sales at the Sears store. He only drove on tires he bought from Mr. Culpepper.

Just as my father was Mr. Culpepper ‘s loyal customer, I’ve been a loyal customer of Boyd Tire near the airport.

I don’t mind naming them because they earned my business long ago.

It is a pity more businesses don’t.

joenphillips@yahoo.com