The child reported that her tire pressure was down around 20 psi on her Mustang. I asked what her tires were rated for and she didn’t know.
I decided at that moment that with 3 cars, two bicycles, a motorcycle and a child who was unlikely to check her tires with any regularity, it was time to buy a small compressor for the garage.
I brought the small unit out to the car and tried to read what pressure these high-performance tires require. Between the shade of the driveway and my 50 year old vision-corrected eyes, I just couldn’t read the tiny %&%#$ print on the side of the tires.
A shot of ice cold dispair ran through my veins as I remembered the exact moment and location when my dad had the same problem with this Mazda. I remember feeling sad for him that he was having difficult seeing something that was so easy for me with my 30 year-old eyes.
On the plus side, my AARP card came this week, so there’s that. I am officially in the club. They taught me the secret handshake, but, well… you know. Forgot.