Might have to get the weasel piss

Nakusp or nothing in the short doomed search for used tire. No luck here and we hit the gravel with four round tires and a can of foam. Spare tire in a can. And optimism. Mostly that.

The temptation was powerful to just get the can and go. Like we're gonna find a used tire in Nakusp. Tammy said zero. The chance of that. I lobbied for a little more positivity and she upped it to two per cent.

We had a fine breakfast on a rough wooden patio where you order inside and they pass your food through a window if you want to sit in the morning sun. Wandered the main street, the local take on a farmers market off one side, through a couple stores. We forgot about the tire for an hour and a half. Completely forgot about the bookstore. The other reason we came to town.

So, the search began at Kal Tire - where we assumed it would also end - confirming what we'd already taken for granted. Nakusp is a shitty place to find a used tire. For a decent price. Cause they had one, actually. Eighty bucks. Nearly new. Plus mounting and balancing, of course. No thanks.

But. "There's another guy. just up the road on the right."

Thanks. So this can't be over quite yet? Got motions to go through. Or it won't be a legitimate foam can. So we drove up the road to Excel Tire Centres.

235 R75 15? Memorized that a long time ago.

"Nope. But check out O'Brien's next door. He should be able to help you out."

Auto wrecker. Follow him out back and we dig through a pile of tires. There's one that's close. Close enough, O'Brien figures.

"Best if you put it on the front."

How much is that worth? Twenty bucks. Things are looking up.

But wait. This is going to be a thorough search, including tires still holding up bashed-in vehicles.

"There's some, but they're bald and they're all flat. Wonder why he wiped out."

We move on.

The last vehicle is a Nissan Pathfinder with four nice-looking 235 R75 15s. All round but one. The one that's flat on the bottom is also the tire that's easiest to access in the crowded little compound though, and for this excellent reason, O'Brien, if that is in fact who I'm hanging out with, isn't prepared to give up on it quite so easily. A man after my own heart.

O'Brien doesn't mount tires of course. I'm expecting this (I've bought a lot of used tires). Auto wreckers never do.

"It's just a bead leak. Take it back over to Excel and have him check it out. If it's no good, come back and we'll get another one off."

This tire is exactly the right size, not just close. And it's a better tire than the last one. And O'Brien is going to have to take it off the Nissan. And I'm here in the first place cause I'm cheap. How much is this one worth?

"Oh, I guess that'd be 20 bucks too."

Cool. I help him take it off. Help with the last lug nut, that is. It won't turn, O'Brien says, because it's not "capsulated." Or maybe because it is capsulated, I can't remember. So I bounce my weight on the other end of the wheel wrench, accomplishes nothing for a while.

"Might have to get get the weasel piss," O'Brien observes.

WD40, I guess. I bounce harder. It goes.

It's late morning now. Sun hot on my back. We should be hiking but right now we're buyin' tires.

There's a back door from O'Brien's yard into the Excel shop.

"Just go around the front of the tent." One of those tarp-and-pole portable carport things.

I pack the crumpled, muddy tire in through the the back and the tire guy sets to busting it off the rim while I move the truck back around from O'Brien's. By the time I return he's identified that the tire does indeed have a hole in it. He's fixed it in fact. I can hear the cash register racking up. Once it's pressured up, though, he decides he can't, in good concscience, let me take the tire. Too cracked. Actually, he doesn't write it off immediately but asks if I'm planning on only using it as a spare. Nope. That's one of my tires. No good then. Back I go.

O'Brien responds to the bad news with two words. "Of course." I'm not sure what that means but he still seems to be in a good mood.

No capsulation issues this time and he jacks the Pathfinder back up with the homemade forklift. Good tire for sure this time. Thanks again. I can roll this one over to Excel. It's round.

"Do you want that balanced?"

Yep. I want to spend more money. But tires are supposed to be balanced. And finally. Do I want him to throw that on for me. What the hell. I'd planned to do it myself, but now I just want to get going.

It's on in minutes and I'm in the tiny office waiting for the final damage. Installed, balanced, changed out for the spare. Oh, and don't forget fixing the hole in the first crap tire. Somebody's gonna have to pay for that.

Very faux formal. Jolly guy.

"That will be 13 dollars and 37 cents, sir."

We're driving toward the Arrow Park Ferry and the Saddle Mountain trailhead beyond. All balanced and mounted and just generally fucking equipped. For 33 dollars and 37 cents.

Among it's many other charms, never doubt that Nakusp is one damn fine place to pick up a used tire.