This week I kept getting a warning when I start T-Hoe to check my left front tire pressure. I do. It's 26 pounds. Should be 35. I know that cold weather has an effect on tire inflation. By the time I get home from town, it's up to 29. The warning goes off. But it still should be 35. The right front tire has a couple more pounds than the left. I don't know about the back, because the sensors don't work. Surprise.
Anyhoo... We had a day in the upper 40s, and I told Farmer H he should put some air in my tires before the REALLY cold weather got here on Friday. He said he would. But then he wouldn't, when I reminded him on Thursday evening.
"It'll be fine. You won't be going anywhere."
"I will on Tuesday, maybe, if the roads get cleared. Or a couple days later. I don't want to drive on a flat tire."
"It won't be flat. I don't know if I have any air in the compressor."
The compressor that sits in the garage between T-Hoe and A-Cad, a shin-knocker out to get me if I walk down the middle to get something out of A-Cad, or get in when Farmer H backs in so I don't have to walk across the moss and the gravel on the carport to get in A-Cad for a trip. The compressor that Farmer H takes to the BARn to fill with air from his big compressor that he traded from a former neighbor.
"Well, I don't want to have a flat tire, or be trapped at home when I can get out."
"It'll be fine. If nothin' else, I'll drive it to town and put air in it."
"On FLAT TIRES?"
"They won't be flat, HM. They'll be fine."
So he sayeth, so it must be...
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