On Sunday, I was heading back from the farm, about three hours out of Perth, when I spotted a shredded tyre lying right across the road.
The entire rubber had disintegrated. I had to swerve around it like I was on a rally track. Thinking of the next poor soul barrelling down the highway, I pulled over and dragged it off to the side.
Not five minutes later—just a few kms up the road—I found the likely owners: an elderly couple pulled over with a flat on their dual-axle caravan, wrestling with a spare like it owed them money. Rain had turned the shoulder into a mud-pit, and the setup wasn’t exactly textbook. Being a firm believer in Karma (and a sucker for a roadside yarn), I pulled over to lend a hand.
That’s when I met Pat.
Pat, bless him, was a classic Aussie grandad: fiercely independent, stubborn as a mule, and not shy about it. He had a wheel brace in one hand and suspicion in the other. I offered to help—”Not for you,” I told him, “but for Karma. He’s watching, you know.”
He grunted. Not the warm, fuzzy kind. More the “Don’t touch my tools, mate” kind. Still, I hung around, made small talk with his wife Joy (who had a name that matched her energy), and tried not to get hit in the head with a flying wheel nut. Joy, sensing that Pat might chase me off with a torque wrench, diffused the tension with the universal peace offering: a hot cup of tea and homemade cake.
I accepted, naturally. Tea, cake, and awkward silence while Pat huffed and muttered under his breath about “young blokes thinking old fellas can’t handle a tyre.”
I stayed nearby, watching, sipping, waiting for a chance to sneak in some help. Eventually, I noticed he hadn’t wound the caravan high enough—the new tyre was never going to clear the bottom. I politely offered, “Mind if I take a look?” and before he could growl at me, I cranked the van up a few notches and the tyre slid on perfectly.
With a sideways glance and a grunt that might’ve been a reluctant “thanks,” Pat smirked. “Was just about to do that.” We chatted as he finished up. Turns out Pat had served over 30 years in the military—Korea, Vietnam, the lot. When I asked his age, he said, “Ninety-two.” I nearly dropped my tea.
Ninety-two, changing caravan tyres in the rain like it was nothing. I’d set out looking for Karma points, but ended up walking away inspired (and slightly full of cake).
To Pat and Joy—thank you for the tea, the laughs, and reminding me that legends don’t always wear capes. Sometimes they wear hoodies, wield wheel braces, and grunt their way into your heart.
