My Trip… Or Lack Thereof, to Indian Hills
Alright, let me tell you about this plan I had involving Indian Hills Country Club down in Tuscaloosa. Wasn’t even about golf, not really my thing, you know? I was supposed to meet up with an old buddy there. We hadn’t seen each other in ages, and he suggested it. Said it was quiet, easy place to grab a drink and catch up.
So, I marked it on my calendar. Made sure the car had gas the day before, picked out a decent shirt, the whole routine. Felt kind of organized for once. The plan was simple: drive down, find him probably near the clubhouse or whatever they call it, sit for an hour or two, then head back. Easy peasy.
Woke up that morning, feeling pretty good. Grabbed my keys, walked outside, and bam. Flat tire. Not just low, I mean pancake flat. You gotta be kidding me. Of all days, right? I stared at it for a good minute, just couldn’t believe it. My whole simple plan just went poof.
First thing, gotta find the spare. Dug through the trunk, moved a bunch of junk I forgot was even in there. Found the donut tire, looked okay. Then the jack. Wrestled that thing out. Took me forever to figure out the right spot to put it under the car, always feels sketchy doing that. Got the car lifted, sweating already. Then loosening the lug nuts, man, those things were tight. Had to jump on the wrench a bit.
Finally got the flat off, put the donut on. Tightened everything up as best I could. By the time I lowered the car and threw the flat tire in the trunk, I checked the time. Way too late. No way I was making it down to Tuscaloosa and back in any reasonable time, especially not on a donut tire you’re not supposed to drive fast or far on.
So, I called my buddy. Explained the whole tire situation. He laughed, said no problem, we’d reschedule. But you know, it just stuck with me. How you can have this simple little plan, just meeting someone at a place like Indian Hills Country Club, and then life throws a flat tire at you.
- Had the plan.
- Got ready.
- Walked out to a surprise.
- Spent the morning changing a tire.
- Plan scrapped.
Never did make it to Indian Hills that day, or since, actually. We ended up just doing a phone call later that week. It’s funny, now whenever I hear “Tuscaloosa” or think about country clubs, I don’t picture golf greens. I picture my driveway, that busted jack, and a really, really flat tire. Just goes to show, doesn’t it?
