This topic reminds me of a tire plugging experience I has about 50 years ago. Nothing tragic or dangerous, just a few minutes of brushing up next to fellow human being that I still regard as a true artist in his chosen field.
I’m the early ‘70’s I was driving my Triumph Spitfire across southern Oklahoma, going from Norman to Fort Sill to visit a pal who was stationed there.
The car was about 5 years old, but still dead-on reliable. I had just driven it cross-country in a huge loop, going from Oklahoma to Seattle, down the coast to San Diego, then back to Oklahoma. All that distance in a tiny car with a great gal as my companion in adventure. Only one mishap was when I hit a pot hole and damaged the front left wheel bearing. It was a great little car.
Back to the tire plugging. When I noticed the flat front tire I pulled over to a very conveniently situated gas station.
The mechanic who was working there told me to hang on while he got his tools.
He located the leak (from a nail) with a cup of water he had tossed on the tire, and then had me back up slightly so the tire was oriented to his satisfaction. He laid out his tools on a shop towel next to the tire. In a manner like a surgeon would be doing, all the while chewing on a dead cigar.
His only remark to me was, “…how much air….” I told him 30 psi, then he did what to me seemed like magic or a well choreographed ballet.
Right there by the gas pumps he aired up tire, with one hand on the sidewall, so as to gauge how much air it was holding. After he was satisfied with the tire pressure, and with all the graceful moves of a dancer, he pulled out the nail and put in the prepared plug in one smooth motion. It happened so fast I didn’t even hear any air escaping. The guy was an artist, plain and simple. I’m sure I hadn’t been in the gas station more than 3 minutes total.
He charged me $0.50.
Z