The Tire That Changed Everything: A Hilton Head Departure Tale

A cracked rim, a handful of detours, and the unexpected gifts of life on the road.

Our departure from Hilton Head Island didn’t exactly roll out as planned—literally.

We were packed up and ready to hit the road when it was noticed that one of the rear motorhome tires looked a little low. Whiskey checked the pressure, and all seemed fine, so we proceeded. Fortunately, we only made it around the corner to fuel up when Whiskey saw the inside rear tire was clearly low. That quick stop turned out to be a saving grace.

We unhooked the Jeep and made our way to a nearby tire and auto repair shop—practically a neighbor of the resort. Unfortunately, they were too busy to help us right away, so Whiskey threw on his trusty jumpsuit and started removing the wheel himself. That’s when "The Engineer"—our resort friend turned hero—showed up with an air compressor, and the kind of calm, mechanical smarts that really saved the day.

With The Engineer’s help and encouragement, we discovered the issue was more serious: either a broken valve stem or a cracked wheel—neither of which would be a same-day fix. So, back to the resort we went, extending our stay by (hopefully) just two nights. We parked in a new site and made the best of it with drinks at the beachside Tiki Hut. The unplanned extra night even allowed us to join friends for a spontaneous evening at Poseidon’s dueling pianos—an unexpected but much-appreciated fun night out after a stressful day.

The next morning, the mobile tire service arrived right on schedule. They replaced the valve stem, but when the tech sprayed soapy water on the area, bubbles told the truth: The Engineer had been right—the wheel rim was cracked. UGH.

Whiskey got on the phone immediately and tracked down an in-stock replacement wheel at a Mercedes-Benz Sprinter service center—two hours away. Off he went in the Jeep, returning later with the new wheel in hand. He removed the damaged one again and took it, along with the new rim, back to the local tire shop. They mounted the tire on the new rim, aired it up, and balanced it with weights. Victory!

Back at the resort, Whiskey installed the tire—thankfully with the help of a cordless impact driver loaned to us by another helpful neighbor (a friend of The Engineer's, of course). It really did take a village.

We’re grateful for the many hands (and tools) that helped us get back on the road. Most of all, I’m proud of Whiskey—his mechanical know-how, strength, and persistence carried us through, even when the unexpected threw a wrench in our plans (or a crack in our rim). Watch all of this in the video down at the bottom.

Life on the road isn't always smooth, but it sure is memorable. But there's more coming later.

Rerouting the Route

With the cracked wheel saga behind us and a new tire finally in place, it was time to hit the road again—only now with a totally different route. We had originally planned a relaxed, scenic trip north with three Harvest Hosts stays lined up. Unfortunately, those all had to be canceled. Time was no longer on our side.

Instead of four shorter travel days, we had to pivot to three longer hauls. Not ideal, but we were just grateful to be moving again on six solid wheels. We adjusted, we persevered, and we reminded ourselves that flexibility is the unofficial rule of RV travel.

One of the unexpected highlights of this rerouted journey was a night spent mooch-docking at T&S's house just outside of Richmond. We've stayed with them a few times over the years, and as always, they welcomed us at the last minute with true southern hospitality and open arms. This time, we not only had a peaceful overnight on their beautiful property, but they also sent us off the next morning with a bottle of Virginia wine and a horseradish plant for our garden—gifts that perfectly capture the flavor of friendship and local love. Sometimes the best stops are the unplanned ones.

From Richmond, we pressed on—determined, a little road-weary, and completely unaware that the most intense driving day was still ahead. As we climbed into the mountains of Pennsylvania, the wind picked up and didn’t let go. It wasn’t just gusty—it was violent. So strong, in fact, that when the wind hit the RV broadside, it shut down the cruise control.

It was a two-handed, white-knuckle drive for Wine while Whiskey was catching up on deferred paperwork. Hours of tight focus, gripping the wheel as the rig swayed through mountain passes. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t pretty. But it was impressive. And eventually, we made it through.

That night’s reward was a stay at a charming Harvest Hosts location: Orange County Distillery in New Hampton, NY. We parked on a grassy hillside overlooking a peaceful pond and the distillery’s old barn—such a serene contrast to the chaos of the road. As the wind settled, we wandered down to the barn where craft cocktails were being poured and a food truck was serving up delicious sandwiches. The whole scene—rustic, welcoming, and relaxed—made us feel right at home.

But the universe had one more twist in store.

After our lovely evening in the barn, we returned to the rig only to discover... we were locked out. No keys. Not in our pockets, not in the Jeep. Then we remembered: the magnetic key box.

Years ago, in a moment of smart RV planning, we’d tucked an extra set of keys in a magnetic case and stuck it underneath the rig—just in case. Well, now it was that case’s moment to shine.

Once again, Whiskey got down on the ground, contorted himself under the motorhome, and—hallelujah—the keys were still there! Crisis averted. No broken windows, no crawling through tight spaces. Just relief, laughter, and a gentle sunset as we settled into our cozy hillside spot, Bell playing happily nearby.

The final leg of our trip the next day was smooth sailing. We made a quick, strategic stop at the Danbury rest area in Connecticut—one of the few free RV dump stations in the region (a hidden gem for RVers—take note!). And from there, it was all easy miles.

As we rolled into our driveway in Wolfeboro, NH, we were greeted by blooming daffodils waving in the spring breeze.

And just when we thought the journey’s sweetness had come to an end, a local friend welcomed us home with the kind of gesture that reminds you what community really means—a homemade dinner and baguette ready to heat up, and a cheerful pot of daffodils for the kitchen windowsill. After days of tire drama, long hauls, and wild winds, that simple kindness felt like a feast for the soul.

Grateful for working tires. Grateful for good friends. Grateful for the keys under the rig. And most of all, grateful for safe travels. Home at last.