By Laura Hines-Jurgens

We were driving to Utah through the Virgin River Gorge when suddenly, as the driver, I was confronted with the sound of a helicopter swooping down on the top of my car!

Wow! I come from the L.A. beach area where I’m accustomed to helicopters buzzing around all the time. But Whoa! this was wild, close and loud!

My sister, who is much more savvy about these things than I am, issued the stern demand, “Pull over to the side of the road! Way over.”

Well, I’m still thinking its a helicopter and its about to land in front of me any minute, when my sister’s insistent voice breaks through my line of thinking with, “We are experiencing a flat tire, Laura! Pull way off the road! We have to change the tire! Stop the car!”

What, no helicopter? A tire! That offensively loud, strident, whirring sound is a flat tire!

Now I’m adjusting to the ‘flat tire’ reality. So I have the vehicle ‘way over’ to the roadside and already my sister is investigating the contents of the trunk. Like an efficient automaton she’s out of the car and into the trunk. She’s on a search.

I’m still behind the wheel amazed that it was a tire instead of a helicopter.

My rear view window is indicating flying colors. Its my sister casting out the contents of her trunk. The stuff is followed by the trunk liner, then “Aha! the doughnut!”, she exclaimed with a smile, as she bounced the thing out of the trunk.

I almost made a comment about such an inappropriate name for a tire, but I kept my remarks to myself.

Continuing her investigation she located a drill, some screwdrivers and a bracelet she’d lost last Thanksgiving. Then under it all, the equipment to unscrew the tire lug nuts. All of this with generous helpings of various expletives.

I’m staying out of her way looking at the old tire. What a mess! It looked like the collapsed internal system of some Marvel comics monster! Later I learned it was the exhausted rim which tore itself away from this twisted system. In other words the tire got tired.

Here she comes ready to fix it. I move away as she bends to investigate the problem. More expletives. She talks to an imaginary expert and asks quite a few questions about the procedure. I knew it had to be an imaginary expert because I don’t know jack about cars. But that thought did jog an idea.

“Ah. . . Liz, what about, a jack?” I asked.

“Thats it!”, she exclaimed. and rushed around to the trunk.

Like a child looking for wherever Santa has hidden the gifts, she climbs into the trunk and begins a through exploration of the various compartments.

The sand was hot and I was trying to keep my feet from burning through my shoes, when I heard the sounds of success coming from the back end of the car.

“I found it! Now where does it go?”

“I’ll bet it comes with instructions,” I offered.

Sure enough, we found the itty-bitty words created for the 20-20 vision of an 18 year old.

“I can do this!”, she says confidently, and chooses an area concealed behind this frowzled and crumpled permanently retired wheel.

Being a by-stander with very hot feet, I’m thinking, ‘Hmm, we need help.’

I’m studying the beauty of the canyon colors, and suddenly the cavalry arrives!

A pick-up truck pulls over just ahead of us and out pour people in battle fatigues! I’m amazed, it is the cavalry!

Closer inspection and I discover them to be Corey Dalley and his Boy Scout troop #26, from Logandale, Nevada. More specifically two scouts, Austin Belcher and Taylor Shiozowa. Guys on their way to camp with enough supplies and provisions to stock and supply an army unit.

They were men on a mission. The mess we were in was discussed. They asked if we wanted their help, then went to work to remedy our problem.

The scout leader, fixed the jack in place, then clearly instructed his charges as to what was needed to remove the old tire. He demonstrated to his scouts how to partially unscrew the lug nuts on the flat tire, locate and use the thief-proof interlocking lug nut, secreted away in the glove box, elevate the car via the jack, remove the collapsed tire and substitute the donut replacement.

Each boy worked on each part of the project. As this was their first experience changing a tire (aged about 12), their leader was with them offering instructions all the way.

The boys finished by slowly releasing the jack, bringing down the car to where the tire touched the ground to tighten the lug nuts. They then continued to let down the jack.

Surprise! The car kept going down and down – obviously, no air in the donut tire!

Oh brother, now what!

Undaunted the scout master announced, “I have a compressor on my truck!”

How he found that compressor, in that truck, with all that stuff still beats me. But, there he was, attaching it to the donut. He showed the boys how to apply the proper amount of tire pressure, blew up the tire, and brought the job to its conclusion.

He advised us not to drive any faster than 50 M.P.H. on the donut tire until we came to a service place for replacement.

With that he turned to the boys and told them they would be getting a scout award for their service.

They followed us out of the canyons. We left the freeway at our exit, with lots of waves and smiles.

The tire change took about an hour. Time for us both to make a list, starting with thanking the universe for boy scouts and their leaders.

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