Running on Low Tire Pressure

Yours truly and Lil' Red

Renting a car on Kauai, or anywhere in Hawaii, can drive you crazy. Especially now that you cannot rent a car on Kauai, or anywhere in Hawaii. Unless you've first spent 14-days in your room.

Try finding a room. Vacation rentals have been closed. Resorts are on hiatus. There may be a room available at Uncle Carl's in Kilauea. You could text him but he doesn't have a cell phone.

I've got a cell phone and and a room, but can't get off the island.

Two days ago we had our latest flight canceled. That's the second cancelation. We booked both departures with Alaska Airlines which has no further flights scheduled to leave Kauai.

The few airlines that are operating from any island take you to Honolulu first.

In an earlier blog I bragged about our rental car, affectionately known as "Lil' Red." It's a red Ford Fiesta with a black hatchback that would never be mistaken for a rental car.  It's actually a conversation starter.

"Is that a Ford Fiesta?" I was recently asked by a local surf dawg at Pavilions.

"Yes it is," I answered.

"I grew up with Ford Fiestas. They're great little cars. I think we had them because my dad was such a tight wad."

Case closed, as far as I'm concerned.

A couple of days ago when I slipped the key into the ignition an orange light beamed like a beacon from a screen on the dashboard.

"Tire Pressure Low." The three words pulsed like a blood pressure gauge reporting my vital numbers in fragmented digital light.

Better a car tire than a human heart.

I climbed out of Lil' Red and performed a quick scan, eyeing each of four tires. The front right appeared slightly low.

I drove to the nearest gas station in Princeville where you can get anything from a slice of pizza to five-gallon can of propane. There's also a coin-operated air and water station that had a hand-written sign on it: "Out of Order."

Back at the condo I found Barbara in a near state of early-stage suicide caused by her relationship with her uncooperative computer.

"I've got to get out of here!" she said, not so calmly.

We decided to head south.

"There's an air machine at the Shell Station in Kilauea," I said. "We can stop there and pump up the tire."

In Kilauea we found the same discouraging message at the air pump station: a hand-scrawled "Out of Order." Gas was being pumped but not air.

"I know there's a station in Kapaa where we can get air," I said confidently.

Kealia Beach

On the way to Kapaa we pulled into a parking lot at Kealia Beach, usually a windswept strand of sand on the island's east side. The wind was calm. The colors were as clear as blue and green can be. We found a beach buried in driftwood -- bleached pieces, remnants of forests from up the rivers that had tumbled and washed to the shore.

It was a gold mine for Barbara. She went to work gathering just-the-right pieces for a wreath she had in mind. I walked around with my hands in my pockets, kicking a few pieces of wood with my foot. I found a nice log to sit on. The only person around besides us was friendly fisherman who smiled and waved.

It's a small thing, but you feel good when a local islander smiles at you.

With Barbara's bag full of small pieces of driftwood, we headed on to Kapaa where the next air station was, you guessed it: "Out of Order."

We found the same thing in the big-little town of Lihue near the harbor and airport. We tried three gas stations. Each had air and water pumps that were not working. The orange light on our dashboard continued to be working.

Facing some sort of air-pressure conspiracy, we decided to check with Island Cars, the independent outfit that rented the car to us here in Lihue.

Speaking through a cloth mask, I explained the situation to them. Speaking through a cloth mask, the woman said we would need to leave Lil' Red there for a thorough mechanical safety check.

"You could go do something and come back in an hour," she said. An hour on the island can sometimes turn into two and-a-half hours.

"What are we going to do?" asked Barbara. "Everything is closed."

They offered us a choice of compacts to replace Lil' Red.

On our way back across the island in a nondescript grey Nissan Versa with a hatchback (I have to have a hatchback.), all we could talk about was Lil' Red's superior features. Especially the color.

"It goes with the red dirt." We agreed.