The new tires were installed yesterday, and to demonstrate to the shop that I wasn’t a complete idiot, I came up with the recommended pressure 33 psi front, 30 rear without reference to the usual decal in the door, which for some reason isn’t in Gwendolyn’s door at all, but under the console lid. I was, however, unable to supply the torque for the lug nuts (85 ft/lb), and then the next question floored me: “Would you like these tires filled with nitrogen?”
Say what? Is there a Clean Air Alert today or something? “What’s the advantage?”
Some of these points were raised.
And inasmuch as I’d gone through an entire World Tour with a slow leak, which, once repaired, leaked faster, the pitch about better pressure retention proved persuasive.
It’s not like they’re having liquid nitrogen piped in from the Space Station at three hundred below or anything: apparently there are new gizmos which can separate the components of your garden-variety compressed air. And in reviewing the literature, I decided that it’s not that nitrogen itself is so wonderful; it’s that the oxygen (twenty percent or so of said air) is a pain in the belt.
Besides, Click and Clack make fun of the whole idea, so I figure the least I can do is give it a spin, as it were. And no, it doesn’t void the warranty.
As for the tires themselves, which for all I know could be filled up with vaporware and old campaign promises, well, it’s hard to make much of a judgment call after 25 miles, but they’re definitely less squirrelly than the BFGs they replaced. The noise seemed a bit high on some of Oklahoma City’s last-century asphalt, but they were weirdly quiet going over the Crosstown. The most obvious characteristic, though, is that rubbery smell that managed to fill up my garage in mere seconds and which I expect to linger for some time.