Jacking up the tire was worth a try. It was too late to have a mechanic fix the leak, and if I took pressure off the wheel, perhaps enough air would remain by morning to allow me to drive to a tire shop instead of mounting the spare myself. Unfortunately, the wheel gave out a persistent hiss all evening, and by the next morning the tire was as soft as a marshmellow. Postponing labor this time hadn’t paid off, but after getting the spare in place, I realized I might as well resume plans to backpack North Cascade National Park’s Copper Ridge and worry about patching the punctured tire later. I felt guilty about leaving my Jeep sitting wounded in northern Washington for three days, but sometimes the itch to hit the trail overrides my sense of empathy.

My concerns about the Jeep mirror those that I have about my own aging body. For countless summers I have thrown myself into rough environments and precarious situations, and so far I’ve managed to avoid major injuries … no broken bones, scars or heavy bleeding. I have also miraculously kept the Jeep free of dents despite a decade of maneuvering down boulder-strewn mountain roads and through densely forested campsites. Both our physiques are dusty, but in stellar condition. It’s the internal parts that are wearing out.