Back in June, prior to departing to the Lake District for a
holiday, I discovered that the tyres on my car were coming to the end of their
safe life, so I bought four new ones which I felt was a good idea bearing in
mind the travelling I was about to do.
Saturday, half way through my holiday, found me negotiating
the infamous "Hardknott Pass", which links two of the Lake District
Dales. It's not for the faint-hearted and although I safely made my way to the
summit, on the way back down I misjudged a bend and ripped open one of my brand
new tyres on a piece of Cumbrian granite. The following day saw a visit to
Workington for a replacement.
This morning I was doing nothing more outlandish than
heading to Horsham for a bit of shopping. I'm feeling better after what has
been a difficult few weeks of colds and vaccination reactions and was really
looking forward to a browse around the shops.
Driving along a country lane I've driven many times before,
and keeping to my side of the road in order to avoid an oncoming vehicle, I
suddenly found where the local council had been trimming their highways budget.
A whole chunk of tarmac about six feet long and one foot wide was missing. My
front near-side wheel went into this and the serrated edge of the remaining
tarmac ripped it open. It went off with such a bang that some golfers from the
nearby golf course came over to make sure I was okay.
I was fine but sadly the same could not be said for the
tyre. So out of the four new tyres in June, only two now survive. That's after about
3000 miles on the clock.
But my difficulties were just beginning. Having assured the
golfers that I would be okay, I quickly discovered the realities of the modern
air-powered nut spinners that these tyre shops use. Back in June, it had been a
close run thing as to whether or not I could actually change the tyre as the
damn things were on so tight it took all I could muster to shift them. Now,
back in the homelands of West Sussex, it proved impossible. What was worse I
was starting to damage the looking wheel bolts key. So, I had to do something
I've never done in over 45 years of driving – I called the AA…….
Thankfully I was in a spot where there was some mobile
coverage (you wouldn't believe the dead spots we have around here and so close
to major towns). Of course I had to deal with the (sadly) expected
misgendering on the phone. Having given my name and membership number, the operator asked
who I he actually was speaking to. This is the usual reaction when the voice doesn't
meet their perceptions of what it should be. I wasn't in the mood for this and
so promptly told him he WAS speaking to Mrs Grove, even if my voice didn't
match his expectations. He seemed to accept that well and the rest of the call
proceeded okay until I got the “Thank you Sir” at the end. I just replied
“MADAM!” and got an apology.
Having been given a lead time of 90 minutes it was good to
see the breakdown van turn up in half that time. I really didn't think he was
going to be able to crack the key problem and I had visions of seeing my car being taken home on
the back of a breakdown vehicle. But he persevered and in the end I'm not sure
who was the more relieved when the awkward bolt finally moved. From then it was a
quick job to fit the spare tyre, do the paperwork and be on my way.
Sadly
though, the day was over as far as shopping was concerned. The priority was to
get a replacement tyre and that took up was little time I had left. Then of
course there is the matter of sorting out a claim against the council. I'm not
letting this go and made sure I took photos of the damaged road and my ruined
tyre. I've also got to sort out what to do about the remaining locking wheel
bolts. The priority is to free off all the wheel bolts on the car and do them
up to a level where I know I’ll be able to undo them. Then there is the matter
of deciding whether or notto keep the locking wheel bolts. I've had problems in the past with the key failing
and causing trouble. I can’t help feeling there must be a more reliable
alternative.
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| The damage to the tyre. As well as the main cut near the rim, There is a smaller one above the lettering. Both would have been fatal to the tyre. |
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| The Offending Road Damage. The photo doesn't give the full impression of how deep the rut is. In fact it was about six inches deep and I felt the car fall into it before the tyre burst. My stranded car is at the top of the photo. |
When, as a transitioning woman, you find yourself in
situations that are new and something you’re not used to, it can be
rather intimidating. Today was full of such events and gives you cause to
consider how it went and more importantly, how you yourself coped. The
situation with the AA calls centre I've already mentioned and I was happy with
my reaction. I've reached the situation now when at the slightest sign of
confusion or misgendering I tell them firmly who I am, even if my voice doesn't
match their expectations. That usually does the trick. But it can be wearing.
The AA mechanic who attended the call was no problem.
However, as we conversed I was left with the impression the he was talking to
me as if to a man. Perhaps that was just me and in the end it’s difficult to know
how to react, so long as there is no obvious misgendering.
At the tyre shop again, I was treated well. When it came to
paying I was shown the computer screen with both my old and new identities on
it and nicely asked to confirm which one I wished to use.
The most interesting about today was that it confirmed in me
that I can deal with a wide range of situations. I've been aware of this as the
first year of my transition has proceeded and today confirmed this. It’s been a
bad year in many respects, at a time when it should have been the complete
opposite. In fact it’s been rather draining and left me with many fears for the
future.
There are times when in my darkest moments I think of giving up the whole thing. It's not a realistic reaction I know, but at times it's hard to deal with. I just wish I could re-kindle that feeling of optimism I enjoyed when I set out on this path.
