Gomma a Terra….What’s That?
Well, I didn’t know the meaning of these words either until two weeks ago. That’s when I learned how to say “flat tire” in Italian. And what an adventure Mary, Rosemary and I had with that “gomma a terre”!
We three, single, adventurous, high school friends embarked on a two week Italian escapade. We’d saved exploration of the south of the “boot”, from west to east, for the last leg. First to Sorrento, then east to Puglia and finally west again to end up in Rome where Rosemary and Mary would catch their flight home.
Such a simple, yet in retrospect, audacious itinerary. What could go wrong? Well, about four hours into our trip we discovered the answer. We met our nemesis as we sailed along with traffic down the right lane of the Autostrada A1 at about 100 km/hour (comfortably below the maximum 130 km/hr). I knew it was trouble as soon as I caught sight of it!
There, plopped square in the middle of our lane, was a large metal fragment about three or four feet long and six or eight inches wide and high! With seconds to react and no way to dodge it as racing traffic, surely exceeding the 130km/hr limit, streamed by alongside, I held my breath and drove over it. Instantly, we heard the pop and knew we’d blown a tire.
And then the adventure began! I’ll spare you the tedious details of connecting with an Italian insurance company and struggling to explain the situation in my limited Italian boosted by Google Translate. I’ll just share the highlights.
Our first stroke of luck involved Good Samaritans who met the same piece of “ferro” and unfortunately the same bad tire luck. After they’d changed their tire, they offered to change ours. Sadly, though I love my Panda for many reasons, the lack of a spare tire is not one of them. We had already tried the sole (laughable) option we’d discovered in my sparsely equipped trunk- a tire pump that also injected a sealant, a gooey white mess that was soon dripping like frosting all over our “gomma a terre”. When we peered under the car to investigate, we realized we had much more than a simple flat tire. We could only laugh . Thanks to the Good Samaritans who witnessed our folly, a tow truck was dispatched.
Yikes- more than your average “gomma a terre”
A very friendly Italian road maintenance crew in not one, not two, but three (?) trucks (who inexplicably seemed to be tasked not with clearing hazzards like huge pieces of metal from the road but rather removing the grass and weeds in the crack between the shoulder’s asphalt and sidewall) kept us entertained, offered us bottled water and more importantly provided a barrier from the never ending blur of tankers , trucks and cars that sped by.
An Italian road maintenance crew clearing vegetation along the edge of the shoulder
One guy in the crew was the liason between the driver of his truck and us. He confirmed that the incident was called into someone official and emphatically shared several times that the “polizia” would meet us at the exit. Mmm… I was just focused on getting a tow truck to show up and didn’t think too much about the polizia.
We were delighted that the tow truck materialized pretty much when promised. A mere 20 minutes after the call, definitely not on expected “Italian time”, a flat bed truck manuevered into the lane just ahead of us. What a relief to see the driver, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, wave to us as he got the truck into position.
Rosemary had been on the lookout in the fluorescent vest, one of the supplies in Fiat’s sparse emergency kit.
When the truck was in position, we hurried out to meet the driver. Incredulous, we hustled back into the car as he waved us to get in- to the car, about to be winched up the incline of the flatbed, and not into the cab of his truck.
“Really?, “ we asked each other ,”he seriously plans to have us ride in the car, on the flatbed???”
“This is nuts!”
And then we erupted. We barely heard the groaning of the cable over our laughter. We couldn’t stop. We’d look out the windows, see the ground get further and further away and dissolve into another fit as my little Panda inched up the incline. The final lurch, as the bed was lifted and leveled, was drowned out by our gales of laughter. We peeked out as the driver settled back behind the wheel.
“He’s not even going to block the wheels? Tie us down?You’ve got to be kidding!” Nope.
Anchored with a single hook to the flatbed truck, Rosemary, Mary and I had the ride of our lives! We barreled down the Autostrada in the Panda, on the back of a flatbed truck!
One of us would exclaim, “You just can’t make this stuff up!” and the laughs would start again. No sense being terrified!
Except maybe as the truck took a few fast turns exiting the highway, and we instinctively leaned into the turn and banished frightening visions of dangling off the side of the truck!
We had a bird’s eye view of our tow truck driver from the flatbed of his truck!
It was a bit unsettling to see that the polizia were , in fact, waiting for us when we pulled up to the exit of the Autostrada.
More unsettling was the request for our documents. I handed over the registration and my insurance forms. Mary with her purple provisional passport (another story) was nervous it would attract extra attention. I handed the officer Mary’s and Rosemary’s passports. My passport was in my suitcase- in the trunk. I offered a photo instead. The officer was adamant that he needed the original. Remember we are in my car, up on the top of a truck, speaking, through an open window down to the officer on the ground below. How could I get into the trunk?
The tow driver with barely a glance at us begins to lower the platform and down we went! “Oh, noooooo…..now we have to roll down this ramp!”
I retireved the passport, handed it over and took the summons the officer had written out. He explained there’s no fault but he needed me to write in great detail exactly what happened.
Eventually, after several amendments, the officer was satisfied with my written explanation. We piled back into the Panda and got cranked up onto the truck one last time for a final ride to a tire store. Thirty minutes and E150 later I had two new rear tires (you have to replace them in pairs, I knew). Mary had the “good” rear tire peeking out from a torn, green plastic bag as her backseat companion and we were off to Sorrento, a few hours behind schedule, but with a great story to share.
Only in Italy!