Car tires don’t get much love. They spin. They get dirty. They age in silence. But they steal your grocery and your children and your ill-chosen ways and your high adventures. Four blacks in the unappreciated labor.
Rubber matters. Compound matters more. Plastic is a sticky substance, similar to gecko and it is quick to wear out. Hard rubber is stronger, and it is also more quick-moving. The trade-off can be observed whenever you are rained upon and your knuckles turn white.
Tread patterns tell stories. The water is removed by direct grooves. Zigzags talking of snow and slush. Large blocks indicate off-road grit and high level of hum in the highway. When you are fatigued, you are singing at 60 mph, that is no concert. That’s design talking back.
Size is not fashion. Bigger looks cool. Wider feels planted. But fuel economy sulks. Steering gets heavier. Your wallet sits on the pump. Balance beats bravado.
The pressure is a metamorphosis of characters. Tires that are underinflated are lazy and stupid. Jumpy and obstinate stuffed ones. The car appears as though it has overly drunk coffee. Low pressure on tire at low temperature. Heat lies.
Rotation sounds boring. It saves money. Most cars have worn out more on the front tires. Position exchange flattens out the scars. The fact of leaving and purchasing new tires early is also something to leave and purchase. Tires remember neglect.
Alignment matters. One of the artificial installations eats edges in a neurotic pastime. You won’t feel it at first. You’ll see it later. Feathered edges. Bald shoulders. Silent regret.
A reason why seasonal tires exist is because there is a reason. Summer tires, summer tires like warm and cold. Winter tires have snow cramplike bitters. All-seasons aim at indulging everyone and they do so most of the days. Plan the place you really drive and not where you would like to be driving.
Noise is personal. Some people don’t care. Others hear everything. Soundtrack is characterized by the pitch and the tread pattern. Percussion is given through road texture. An extravagance of leather-free seats can be made out to be a muted tire.
Age sneaks up. Good tread tires wear out as well. Rubber dries. God revelations are in form of laugh lines. Average criterion is normally six years. Sun accelerates the clock. Garages slow it down.
Punctures happen. Plugs can work. Patches work better. Sidewall damage is a hard no. That area flexes too much. Safety beats thrift here.
Stories stick. I had had a vibration, which I hunted weeks. New shocks. New brakes. The culprit? A tire with a shifted belt. There is not a need to have more than one or two bad apples to destroy the ride.
Talk to your tires. They respond to the sense of touch, to music and clothing. Listen early. Laugh when you can. And keep this in mind, and all the voyages begin with four little vows on the ground.