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This past weekend my wife, daughter and I took a three-day
vacation to a cabin my parents have on Lake Sylvia northwest of the
Twin Cities. As we were traveling along Highway 52 between Fountain and
Chatfield, I remembered a trip I had made “Up North” in a friend’s
pick-up some years back that proved to be more than a little exciting.
My Grandmother Warner had passed away earlier that year, and I was
given some of her furniture and appliances. I had a pickup, but no
topper. And it’s difficult to know what type of weather one might run
into on a 500 mile round trip.
One of my golfing buddies had a newer Ford pickup with an eight-foot
box and a topper. He agreed to let me use the truck. Dick had just had
new tires put on the pickup.
As I neared Preston on Highway 52, I noticed a slight vibration in the
front end of Dick’s truck. I made a mental note to let him know about
the problem when I returned his truck, figuring the front end needed
realigning.
I was just finishing my second cup of coffee and about to descend the
first steep valley between Fountain and Chatfield when the vibration
got more intense. I decided I’d better stop in Chatfield and have the
front end looked at. Something just wasn’t right and I really didn’t
want to have major troubles traveling around the Twin Cities or worse
yet, 250 miles away from home. So I slowed down a bit and noticed a
small car right behind me.
There really aren’t too many good places for vehicles to pass once you
get into the hilly section of Highway 52 between Fountain and
Chatfield. I worked my way out of the first valley with the little car
on my back bumper and started down into the second valley that was
formed by the Root River. As I rounded the first curve into the valley,
the front end of the truck started vibrating violently. I decided once
I got to the bottom of the valley, I’d better pull over and check
things out.
As the highway straightens out at the bottom of the valley, I let off
the gas, put on my blinker and was about to start braking. There
weren’t any more cars coming toward me and the little car was starting
to pass. Suddenly the entire truck shook and I heard a loud bang. I
looked out my window on the left and saw a wheel and tire rolling down
the road parallel to me at the same speed. The little car was passing
me when the wheel came off my vehicle. It was bouncing right in front
of this Plymouth Horizon with four little old ladies in it. Their eyes
were as big as saucers; their mouths were wide open. I couldn’t
tell if they were screaming, because I was screaming so loud.
The left corner of the truck gently dropped and when it did a blazing
trail of sparks came shooting up past my window. Apparently the rotor
was bottoming out against the pavement, creating the impressive
fireworks display. The left front corner bounced up, then dropped down
a second time. The fireworks started up again. The drag from the rotor
grinding against the pavement started slowing me down. I didn’t dare
touch the brakes for fear of flipping the truck.
The ladies in the Plymouth put on the brakes, too. The bouncing tire
didn’t, however. Luckily, there were no oncoming cars. The tire
was bouncing right down the middle of the oncoming lane straight as an
arrow. Friction had slowed the truck down enough to keep the left front
end on the pavement. I guided the pickup onto the shoulder and was
completely off the traffic lane when the vehicle came to a grinding
halt.
I looked up ahead and saw the bouncing tire disappear off the shoulder
of the highway. I was shaking uncontrollably. I turned off the truck.
For a moment I didn’t move. I really didn’t know what to do. Then the
Plymouth with the four little old ladies pulled up alongside the truck.
Four pairs of eyes stared at me as they slowly pulled around the truck
and then stopped on the shoulder in front of me.
I got out of the truck, looked back at the deep white gouge that
extended for several hundred yards behind the pickup and then inspected
the hub and rotor. The rotor had been ground off like a half moon. The
lug bolts were all there. None had been snapped off.
I walked up to the ladies in the Plymouth. They had their windows rolled down.
“Are you alright?” the first one asked. I replied that I was fine. The
next one said, “It was just like in the movies!” The lady driving
the car exclaimed, “You should have a medal for keeping the truck on
the road.” I tried to laugh, but I was shaking so badly, all I could do
was titter.
I figured I had better find the wheel and tire. I walked for nearly a
half mile to where I’d seen the tire disappear. The highway curved to
the right and the banked curve served as a perfect launching ramp for
the tire. It had jumped a fence, crossed a small dry wash and ended up
within a few yards of the Root River.
The hubcap was still connected to the rim and as I rolled it up toward
the highway, I heard the lug nuts rolling around inside the
hubcap.
I mounted the wheel back on the pickup, tightened the lug nuts extra
tight and slowly drove back home It really wasn’t until I got back to
Canton and had a tall cool one to calm me down that I finally was able
to laugh about what had just happened.
The little blue-haired lady was right. It was just like in the movies.
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