I'm a little pressed for time and bandwidth, so I won't do anything as entertaining as Fred's proposed story line.
If I did, it would go more like:
After more than a month of driving chicken bus roads, where our typical day's average speed hovered around 20 to 30 kilometers per hour (12.5 - 18.6 mph), it was heaven to be on the Panamericana cruising along at a blistering 80 - 100 kph (49.7 - 62 mph).
We were so enamored with the smooth asphalt and warp speed we were able to more-or-less ignore the pervasive, endless-border-town creepiness of the Panamericana.
As I hummed along with the first music pumped out of the stereo in months, I plotted the hundreds of kilometers we'd make in the remaining hours of the day. I planned to drive deep into the night to make up for the many hours of errands and provisioning we expended before our departure.
My mental map was well up the coast toward our destination at a small coastal village for a GivingPictures project when my daydreams were shattered by an explosion from the rear of the Fuso.
I dropped off the throttle and gently applied the brakes, working our way onto the narrow shoulder. I had to wait for a break in the traffic before I could open the cab door and run back.
At my first safe opportunity, I sprinted down the left side of the truck. The outer duallie was good. I ran to the back and looked down, the inner one was OK too. I jumped over to the passenger side and there it was, the inner tire was shredded. Exploded. Disintegrated.
And there we were, with one multiple-patched spare and the other with a split sidewall, its patch nothing more than a symbolic statement that the tire could still hold air as long as no weight was placed on it.
I looked up and down the desolate stretch of the Panamericana. A bus roared by at 120+ kph, barely making a dent in the steady-state force 8 winds peppering me with sand.
I glanced to west, then held my arm out, palm inward. Four fingers between the horizon and the sun.
"We've got about an hour," I grimly said to Steph.
Her hazel eyes, windows to her moods, set into a determined gray and we went to work...
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S7.49688 W79.41186
First look.
Neither of us saw any road debris, so we think the tire just disintegrated. When the inner tire blew it took a chuck out of the tread of the outside tire, but we didn't have a spare to replace that one. We would need to crawl back to Trujillo and hope it stayed together until we got there.
What an exploding tire will do to a heavy gauge stainless steel fender liner.
The tire change.
The detail.
The promised land.
With real truck tires.
And even a pneumatic impact wrench, a rarity in our experience with tire shops in Peru.
They offered to brand our tires for fleet management / inventory control purposes.