Barcelona Breakdown

BARCELONA -- I can't think of many worse places to have breakdown than the tunnel of a major city highway. During afternoon rush hour. On the day of major sporting event. Where you don't speak the language. I am sure there are worse places - I just can't think of any at the moment.

Toni had tunnel vision waiting for the tow truck

But there we were - a blow out in the dead middle depths of some critical underground traffic artery as we left Barcelona. Scraps of tire blowing off into the on coming lane, sending motorists swerving and honking (many presumably  heading to the Barcelona- AC Milan soccer match, which despite being a pre-season game had the town fully energized). Cars and the ever present motor scooter whizzing by within inches of our door. The sweet smell of gas and diesel exhaust rising up through the air...

We pulled over in the non-existent breakdown lane in a panic, not knowing what we would do even if something similar happened in the US (but at least we'd be able to explain our position to potential rescuers - something we quickly realized we were unable to do a the moment when we looked at "Mitch" our GPS and he only returned a blank, tunnel-hazed look at us). My first oxygen-deprived thoughts turned to Chilean mine workers...OK, I'll spare the dramatics. But is was fairly hairy for about two and half minutes. Then, in an unbelievable departure from Southern European inefficiency - while we were still on the (remarkably still functioning) phone to Gary and Karen to explain our predicament - a highway service crew appeared, calmly picked up the tire scraps in on-coming traffic, shut down our lane, and called for a tow truck.

Less than ten minutes later the flat bed had deposited the fully loaded vehicle (including wife, kids, dog and luggage - I rode shotgun with the non English speaking driver cuz I had never been in a big flat bed tow truck before..except for that time I put gas in a diesel car in France three year ago, but I digress) at the other end of the tunnel at a gas station.

Our heroes

The boys in the rescue truck followed to make sure we could take care of ourselves from there, which of course we could not. The 20 Euro tip in the tunnel (despite their insistances that this was a free service provided by the local authorities) paid off. As me and the driver of the rescue truck debated over where and how to find someone to take us the rest of the way to a solution to our problem - a conversation that included a phone call to the local BMW dealer, a radio dispatch to Spanish Highway Department HQ, and several text exchanges with Karen - the guy's partner calmly located the spare tire of the car in the trunk. After unloading all the luggage to get at the spare, the Spanish dudes quickly changed the tire in the baking heat, while the ugly (but appreciative) Americans sipped iced tea and ate chocolate bars (we eased our guilt by slipping them another 50 for the extra effort). In short order, we were on our way, less than an hour delayed in total.

Another disaster avoided, plus a new found appreciation for the efficiency and service of the Spanish highway department..and somewhere a lesson learned, but don't ask me what it is.