Somewhere on 49 S between Camp Shelby and Wiggins I heard a thumping sound for a second...followed by a flopping sound...then a grinding sound.
It's a horrible sound anytime you've got a steering wheel in your hand but on 49 it's particularly dreadful. It's the main highway between Jackson and The Coast...and it has no shoulder. I ground along, the pit in my stomach getting bigger, until I came to a little bridge with just enough room to pull the car over on level ground with about 2 foot between it and the highway.
First I had to find the jack...which turned out to 8" tall...who the...the car is barely 8" off the ground when the tires are inflated. So between packs of cars screaming by at 70 miles an hour...I would dash out and try to find a place to put the jack. It was my left front tire...which in the U.S. puts it right out there in traffic. Just I had finally found a place to jam the jack in, a very nice couple pulled up behind me with a scissor jack and we got it knocked out.
I would have gotten the car jacked up and would've gotten tire off without BUT, I would never in a million years have gotten the spare off if they hadn't been there. It involved a rod with a square end, a tiny hidden hole and a cable. All I can say is thank God they showed up. I'd probably still be there now propped up under a pine, gnawin' on a piece of frozen chicken, throwin' rocks at cars.
There was a Kangaroo station just up the road...I pulled in to get air in the spare and change my britches. They were filthy. Once a gain, my glamorous life on the road had me half-naked in a public restroom.
