Page 79 - MN

79
went wrong you were doomed. Try to find an Austin-Healey mechanic in Boise, Idaho, or Helena, Montana. I got pretty good at the easy stuff--setting the points and changing plugs and replacing hoses. I could also tune the two SU carburetors by the sound they made. But that was about it.
One night I was driving over the pass between Oregon and California in the middle of a snowstorm and all the lights went out. No headlights, so I couldn't see a damn thing, and no taillights or brake lights, so if I slowed down no one was going to see me. A small, white car in a snow storm? Not a chance. I pulled over to the shoulder and drove through the storm, expecting any minute to be run over by an 18-wheeler. Ah, sports cars, always exciting.
The worst was in another blizzard when Brian and I were driving from Portland to Sun Valley. Before we set off we walked out to the car and found we had a flat tire. We figured we'd drive that afternoon and get it fixed when we stopped for the night. We set out and a blizzard hit us just outside of Pendleton, Oregon. Wind was blowing, the snow was coming down hard, and we were sliding all over the highway. We decided to put on the chains and that was a treat. Putting on chains in the dark in the middle of a blizzard was definitely not fun. Then we plunged on through the storm and bam, we got a flat tire. With a flat spare tire in the trunk. It was one of the rear tires so we had to take that chain off. More fun, jacking up a car in a blizzard, taking off a frozen, iced-up tire chain. Now we were driving on a flat tire and one with a chain, on the shoulder, doing about 10 miles an hour, trying to make it to the grand metropolis of Lime, Oregon.
We went a few miles and bam, the other rear tire went flat. Again, we jacked up the car and took off a frozen, iced-up chain. Fun. Now we were driving on two flat tires, weaving down the side of the highway, and finally we made it to Lime. It was late at night, everything closed, but we managed to wake up a motel manager and get a couple of rooms. The hot showers were blissful and so were the beds.
The next day people stared as we drove through the center of town on two flat tires and found a tire shop. The guy put the Healey up on a hoist and took off the wheels. He took a look at the tires and said, "Where the hell did you get these chains put on?"
We knew something was up and that telling the truth was definitely not an option. We mumbled something about a garage back towards Portland and he exclaimed, "Well, the idiots put the chains on inside out and the cleats ate through the tires! If I were you I'd head back there and raise hell!"
We assured him that we'd do just that and swore a bit about those dumb bastards who put on the chains. Luckily, he had a couple of tires that fit and put them on. Then he patched the spare and we drove out of town bitching about those dumb bastards who put on the chains at that mythical garage.