An open letter to Automobile manufacturers in the Australian market:

Dear stockholders, directors, owners, and designers (you know who you are),

What did you do?  What happened?

Australian cars used to be cool.  Used to be.  the monaro, the valiant, the XB coupe.

Today's list is all about front wheel drive hatches, with the odd front wheel drive sedan thrown in.  Or about big fuel drinking four door sixes that are too heavy, too thirsty, and too expensive to appeal to the average fun seeking driver.

Hatches.  Hate em.  The bubble back to me is ugly, and four doors?  Why the Hell would I want four doors?  I do not encourage passengers.  They only distract me from driving.  Or complain.  I don't want to hear it.  If I had four doors, I'd have to have a 1000w stereo system so I couldn't hear em go on and on about shit I don't to hear.  And certainly there is no new car being made with a stereo that will do this for a reasonable price.

So basic design is going down the toilet.

What about the necessary?  Car pundits are claiming the manual transmission is on its way out.  What?  Sports autos are autos.  It took me years before I learnt the stick.  I can only say now that I wish I had done it years ago.  The control.  The thrill.  The working of gears.  Twenty years of driving autos was 20 years denying myself the true driving experience.  I will admit I was idiot.  I wasted 20 years of my life driving automatics when I could have been having fun.  Ignorance breeds stupidity.  I hope you all know how to drive manuals.  If you don't, learn.  And flappy paddles on the wheel don't precisely replace the stick.  Even the Top Gear guys have said that.

The rear wheel drives are dying off.  What?  You want to make cheap cars, but you kill the rear wheel drive.  Chrysler went back to the rear wheel drive for one simple fact.  Its cheaper to make.  Additionally, much of Australia doesn't suffer from ice and snow, conditions which can, admittedly, challenge a rear drive wheel train.

Where are the coupes?  All over Japan, North America, you can get a coupe.  In Australia?  They are there, but they're rare.  And the bulk of them are crap.  Also, "coupe styled hatches" (Barina Spark, Civic, Veloster)  are NOT coupes.  They are hatches.  Stop wasting money on advertising that claims otherwise.  That money could be better spent bringing real coupes into the market.  I might be calling a spade a spade, but how stupid do you really think we are?  A coupe has a proper boot.  A coupe is impractical, but that's sort of the point.  Impractical sells.  Look at the Mazda MX5.

Okay, so maybe I'm insane.  Maybe the Australian market doesn't like coupes.  Or maybe you've biased the marketing.  Maybe its just been cheaper for you not bother with the coupes in the Australian market.

Kudos to Subaru and Toyota for developing the BRZ/86.  But the price, over 30k?

Would it be so expensive to send some Altima or Accord Coupes down here?  They are as common as blades of grass in other markets.  But they aren't sold here.

You guys can save us. Please.  It can be done.  Lest Australia be cursed forevermore with the eyesore that is the hatchback.  It doesn't have to be difficult, unless you make it so.

I know that my next car will likely be used, because a good coupe I can afford isn't available in Australia new, and the truth is, I don't  expect it to change.  By the way, I'm 42, and my perferred body style remains the coupe, it's been that since I was 14.  It'll be that way until I'm dead.

Yours,

Torggil





 

A Driving History 14: The 89 Honda Prelude

That's my car.  All the right lines in all the right places.  Add a sports exhaust and sub for a doof and that's my car.

She generates 100kw (144hp) from a 2.0 litre fourpot, 0-100kph (0-60mph) in about 9 secs on a 5 speed manual.  The car is surprising comfortable for me to drive, now that I'm used to the stick, I don't like driving automatics anymore.  There was a time in my life when I believed I could achieve as much or more control of a car in an automatic.  I know now this to be complete and utter bullshit. Just quietly, manufacturers, don't ditch the stick.  Somehow it makes driving real.  She has 381000 kms on the clock, and still runs strong.  Given her 23 years of age, the coupe has a few small problems- but nothing that has thus far interfered with its drivability- except for a fuel pump that shit itself and died.

There are 2 very particular things about this car.  Back in 87, when the gen 3 prelude was introduced to the market, it accomplished something amazing.  In the slalom, it defeated all comers, including supercars.

It also something that no other car has: fully mechanical 4 wheel steering.  Other front wheel drives have 4 wheel steering, but only this generation prelude has fully mechanical 4 wheel steering.

Recently, this car made the top 25 Japanese collectible cars list.

Why do I say that?  So I can claim I drive a collectible car.  As war marked as she surely is.

So when I roar up in town, I do feel a little like Peter Falk's Columbo- The car is a beat up, and I'm in fashionably rumpled pants (too damn hot for a rumpled raincoat).

I love this car, in case that's somehow not clear.

Even for a car of this age, it handles beautifully.  I take this regularly on the Gillies highway.  This pass in 20km long and loaded with hairpins, blind corners and other challenges.  There's also three distinct passing sections.

Put this car on the downhill and its truly superb.  The uphill, however, does demonstrate its lack of power.

I bought this car down Brisbane way.  I flew down with The Wife, got picked up at the airport by the sellers mom, driven to the car, test drove it (took The Wife's word for it being a good car) and promptly bought it on the spot.  Drove it all the way back.  The Wife had to do most of the driving though.  I wasn't confident or even competent with a stick.

But we enjoyed the car.  And the Drive.  After the fire, I had moved into a rental in town and parked it on the street.. Some cocksucker came along and kicked the rear fender of my car by the gas tank access,  put a big ass dent in it, cracked the paint, the whole nine yards.

I called the cops, made them come out and attend the scene.  They basically told me there was nothing they could do.  Whatever.

If I should ever learn who, I'll willingly put one more dent in my car.  I have yet, after all, to get the body work done.  Today, she needs some significant exterior cosmetic work done.  There's also niggling electric issues for the accessories.

But I turn the key.  She starts up.  And she's fun as hell to drive.  This is my favourite car on my list to date.

But I do recognise that I will have to replace it.  When the lawsuit settles, I'm giving myself up to $15000 to buy.  Even though this is years away, I'm already looking.

You know my driving history.  What do you think I might buy?  Should someone actually pick the one of three cars I'm seriously considering, I'll send you keys to my car.  I'll get it cut and mail it to you.  Just to be clear.  You don't win the car.  You win a key.  To guess, leave a comment.

A Driving History 13: The Audi 80

She was a good car.  I bought her sight unseen or test driven in Cairns for $6990, total cost for sundry fees about $7200.

Powered by a delightful 2.8 V6 with power everything, I was very surprised at the interior space in the car, especially head room.  Only the stereo sucked.

I drove her for about 6 months, all up.  And like the VS Commodore wagon (see part 12) it was in my life just long enough to see me move from Charters Towers to where I live now.  A move that, given everything The Wife and I have gone through since the move, was probably a mistake.

One thing I did do with it was transport about 5 cats 500km.  You know what cats are like in the car, I was worried that I'd have to put up with them howling and carrying on for the entire 6 hours. That didn't happen.  They were agitated for the first half hour or so.  But after that, they must have got bored, because they all went to sleep, waking only to see why I was stopping the car- for food, fuel or bathroom.  Of course, they were very happy to be out of the car and the cage when we arrived at the new home.

It was a pleasure to drive on the road, however.  The front wheel drive gave it enough traction, and it had a bit of kick to it, despite the weight of the car.

Then, one day in May, I was on my way to work.  I use a side road from the main highway because the road is in better nick than the highway itself, but coming to the main highway, there was a yield sign.  As I approached I saw a car, bit of a ways back, coming up to the intersection.

Knowing how fast I go when I use the highway, I made the decision to stop and wait for it.  Sadly, the Rav4 behind me decided not to stop and promptly plowed into the back of my car.

While waiting for the cops and the tow truck to come, she did at least have the good grace to apologize.  Insurance details were exchanged and so the brief life the Audi had with me came to an end.

It was shipped to a local bodyshop where the insurance gurus decided that it was a write off.

They gave me $7500 for it.  I actually made $300.

A few months later, I saw a guy uptown.  He also owned an Audi 80.  Apparently his son crashed the front of it, and knowing mine was rear ended, (one of the joys- and I use that term loosely- of small town living) he wanted to know what happened to my car as the front end was fine. Because the insurance company bought the wreck, I told him he'd have to start tracing it from the body shop.

I don't think he ever did find out what happened to it.  I haven't seen his silver Audi uptown for a long time.

Not much of a story, but then I didn't have the car that long.

Coming soon:  A Driving History 14: the 89 Honda Prelude- and that will bring us up to date.

My Baby Came Home Today

She's back.  My Baby's Back!

She went away for 2 weeks,  Shacked up with some stranger, who apparently spent the whole time inside her.  I'm surprised the stranger would even have her, given she's been around the block a few times- I oughta know- but then, that's what the stranger does.

To make matters worse, the thing is going to cost me $700!

I am, of course, talking about my beloved car.  It has taken 2 weeks of questions, diagnoses and experimentation to figure out exactly why the fuel pump wasn't getting consistent power.

My mechanic- a clever, smart assed bastard who I absolutely admire and respect- spent the time cleaning up the fuel tank, checking the pump, and most importantly, repairing the power relay.

Given the age of the old girl- 23 years- and the mileage 376,000 km (235,000 miles), things like this are going to start to go wrong.  I know I'm coming to a crossroads with it.  Do I actually start repairing it?  Do I actually start getting the cosmetic work done?  Or do I replace it?

At least as much as I loved the Diplomat- a car lives on in the memories of all who rode in her- I love this car.  It's a  blast to drive.  She's not fast (0 to 100 kph in about 9 secs), but the thing can corner, tight, and all without having to engage in a drift.

I don't particularly want to replace it.  The car is too much fun.

But at the moment, I can't afford to repair it, either.

But, its home.  And have I missed it.

Welcome home.

VS Commodore Wagon: A Driving History pt 12

She was big.  She was comfortable.  And, she was my "converted coupe".  To get the car roadworthy, I had to remove the backseat because I couldn't find a specific part for her.

Lowered, she was powered by 5L V8 with cold air induction and 3.5inch exhaust.  The car rumbled down the road.  To buy her, I had to go to Bundaberg.  Not that I minded.  Bundaberg.  Home of the famous distillery, and where I had my first taste of that nectar of the Gods, Bundy Royale liquor, a chocolate/coffee masterpiece.

The story with this occurred shortly after the purchase.  She did only cost $5000.  But she was also high mileage.  That didn't bother me.  She looked good.  Heavy tinted windows.  Fancy mags.  It was okay.  But the owner was trying to fit a rear differential to the car when I got there.  And given that it delayed my return journey, I probably should have walked away from the car, right there.  But, I didn't.  The car did get fitted, and the paperowrk was filed, and I drove home.

The Wife and I were not long out of of Bundy, when I picked up a tail.

"Uh-oh," I said, and as she turned to look at me,"Coppers."

"Are you speeding?"  I wonder what she was trying to say about my driving.

"No.  just under the limit."  Actually, I was surprised too.

The followed for a time.  And then, because of the loudness of the car, the tinted windows, and it being lowered, the coppers proably thought, "Hotrod.  Its not legal."

Their blue and reds started flashing in my rearview mirror.  Sure as a bear shits in the woods, (maybe I should now say a roo shits in the outback) they wanted me to stop.

I pulled off the road and into a parking lot of some kind, for a park I think.  I was careful not to rev the engine.  I wasn't sure it would pass a noise test, and didn't want to give them any more fuel for the fire they trying to light.  I wasn't far from Yellow Glen- these were small town coppers.  You know how they are. 

They walked over to the car.  I rolled down my window.  The face of the one on my side did a double take- I'm grey haired and older, not a young hoon.

"Can I help you, officer?"

Well, I'll say this, having made the decision, they were determined to find something wrong with the car.  Out came a light meter.  They put that to the tint.  It passed.  They ran hands over the tyre tread.  It passed.  They checked the interior, it passed.  Ran a noise test, the car passed (I was a little surprised at that, but I certainly wasn't going to argue).

About a half hour went by, of these tests, in the hot January sun.  They couldn't find anything wrong.  They let me go.

It was a hot drive home.  The air-con didn't work.  But the car made it.

For the short time I had the car, I enjoyed driving it.  I brought it up from Charters Towers when we first bought this place.  It was useful during the move, even if my driveway tore the crap out of my bodykit.  But I had a job that required me to drive 1100km per week.  The wagon cost me, at the time (it would be more now) $35/day.  I switched over to the Audi 80 (next installment) which I had for even less time.  But the car was still useful until the fire.

I was lucky.  where it was parked, it actually didn't take too much damage.  But the key for it was destroyed, and the body kit melted.  I sold it to a bloke for $1000 cash not long after the fire.  I needed the money and I couldn't prove that it ran.

Cars, Cars, Cars

Day three A to Z must be the letter C.  And C, if you've been following my Blog, must be for cars.

As you can see from my driving history, cars must be important to me.  I've had 13 vehicles in a driving history that only spans 18 years.  Thats a different car every 14 months.  There are only 3 cars left to talk about, the VS Commodore SS wagon, the Audi 80, and the Honda Prelude.

Each and every car I've bought is because of how I'd look in the shop window, driving it.  They've all had their faults.  They've all had their pluses.

My passion for cars did lead me into a sales job.  I moved 22 cars in 13 weeks, and got the sack anyways.  It really should be 23 cars.  I sold a V8 SS ute- and I know he wouldn't have bought it unless I had given it a few revs- but because my name didn't end up being on the paperwork- he went to the sales manager to sign the papers- I got fuck all credit for the sale. 

But I'm not bitter.

For me, its the rush when the engine catches.  That knowledge that right at that instant, I can go where I want to.  I can get there when I want to.  Cars define freedom for me.  Yes, license fees, fuel costs, maintainance, rego, and insurance all cost money, but freedom, ironically, isn't free.  I'll pay the price, because the illusion is worth it.

Sure, if it has tits or tyres it'll keep ya broke (just ask The Wife) but both are fun to ride.  And similarly, both are worth it.

Like marriage, I've been to forced to make tough decisions with cars.  Do I buy gas or vodka?  Do I go to the mountains or get an oil change?  Life is about decisions, and not always are they in favour of the car.  Sometimes I want that bottle of vodka.  After all, I live with The Wife.

Of all these cars, which one was the best one I've ever owned?

Well, each has had its own merits.  The Blazer was the right vehicle for the job- at least for that trip to Mountain Park.  But it handled like the Diplomat (with fuel consumption to match) but I think the Diplomat had more ready power.  The Diplomat was the first vehicle to be in my name- and so is the sentimental favourite.  The most modern car was the Nissan (okay I know the commodore is a later model, but Nissan seems more modern somehow) with features like heated steering wheel, and seats, electric sunroof, and an engine that is quicker off the mark.  It also holds my land speed record, yet that isn't enough to make it my favourite.

My favourite car isn't the most modern.  My favourite isn't the biggest or the sentimental.  My favourite is actually the Honda Prelude.  Its not the quickest, but it is the oldest (date of manufacture to date of purchase). 

Why?

Its a manual.  A proper five speed, and the four wheel steering makes it handle.  The car is insane in the corners.  That makes the Prelude the most fun.  But with over 371000 kms on the clock, the car is on its way out.

So, ultimately, what am I going to replace it with?

It will be another 5speed.  It will be another sports car (my apologies to The Wife).  I'm thinking something made by Nissan.

Don't worry.  I'll let you know.

Black Betty: A Driving History part 11, 2004 *supercharged* Commodore

We call her "Black Betty".  After many years of denial, I'm now gonna fess up.  I bought this particular commodore for 1 reason.

She's supercharged.  I spoke about that feeling of power that I get everytime I start a car (see the very first Driving History post- the 87 Lebaron).  Well, this car gave me that rush, more powerful than on that first drive.

Acceleration wise, she's pretty quick.  185kw of pure power.  But when you're already doing 100, and there's a big assed road train in front you, maybe driven by my stepson, just plant your foot.  The power is intense as you sink into your seat, blasting past the three trailers and prime mover like they were standing still.  That's what I'm talking about.  Power.  Speed.  Driving taken to the next level.

There were a couple of issues with this car.  The first is, blinded by the power, I proabably paid about $2000 too much for it.  The second, this wonderful engine is married to a 4speed auto.  But then, at the time, I was still fumbling with the intracacies of driving a manual (see a Driving History, the TX5), so the Auto was the probably the best option.

Do I have any really good stories about it?  Well, I have one.  But I wasn't there, it was the fault of The Wife.

Both The Wife and I work 55km from where we live.  There are a number of routes one take to get to work.  Including a short cut.  This short cut will knock 10kms off that, if the road is up to standard, and you don't go too fast.  The Wife used to take this road alot with lines like "Its not that bad," or "The council has just graded the road."

Then one day, she went to work, a little early. And she decided to take the short cut.  Only she was in the habit, as one gets into when one knows the road, of taking it a bit fast.  The commute usually takes about 40 minutes.  But an hour later she hadn't arrived at work.  I had no clue what was going on, because that route has no mobile coverage.

The wife went rocketing down that road, and obviously hit a rock or something because (as we found out later) she punctured the tranny pan.  She said she "heard a big bang" and the car kept going a short distance, then stopped.  She had to wait an hour and a half to get a ride to the nearest town (no mobile coverage, and no one uses the road).  I think she was lucky to have waited only an hour and a half.

The repair cost $400, the tow was extra.  The impact site looked like someone had put a big calibre bullet just above the pan.  And fortunately, the car's computer stopped the car before any damage was done to the transmission itself.

I'm sure it must have given her a fright, but, she still uses the road, though not as often.

A Driving History Interlude: The Rental, 2007 Dodge Magnum (AKA: The Time I Tried to Kill the Wife)

Christmas 2006.  I'd been in Australia for 3 years, and it was time to go back to back to Canada.  With a little help from step daughter, The Wife and I packed for a three week stint in Canada.

For me, as you well know, being mobile is important to me as I had already 8 vehicles in 13 years- or a different car every 18 months.  So we packed off to the rental outfit.  They had one of these.  Now this is a pretty cool vehicle, I have to say.  And nothing like the Chryslers we have access to in Australia.  (We only get the crappy ones like Journeys and Calibres). Decent power.  Good ride.  Heaps of cargo room.  I just failed to take two very important things into account when I saw this car.  One: There wasn't quite enough leg room in the front and 2: more importantly, it was rear wheel drive.

Anyways, Christmas and New Years passed, and one day The Wife tells me that my brother had been making noise.  See, we couldn't really afford to stay at a hotel so we were staying at his place.  I think we were cramping his style.  So I briefly planned this road trip.  I should have learned something in all my years of driving in Canadian Winter.  I should have learned from my Rear Wheel drive experiences in Edmonton, what with sand bags in the boot of the diplomat and tbird.  I should have learned from driving back from Vancouver in January, because, you know what?  We were going to the mountains.  Living in the tropics for 3 years must have given me a bit of winter amnesia.

The day started out okay, if a bit late.  We left about noon, 2 or three hours later than I actually intended.  Daylight is critical here, because in January there might 7 hours total of daylight.  And our first stop was near Nordegg.  This old mining town is about 3 and half  hours away from Edmonton, in the high foothills of the Rockies.  It was going to be great.  We went to get pictures of a frozen waterfall.  And it remains a very special place to me.

The trouble is, we got to the falls just on dusk.  We should have stayed the night in Nordegg, or even Rocky, but I wanted to see the falls that day.  The Wife goes looking for her sunglasses, expensive sunglasses that I got her for the trip.  An interesting distraction, and comes important later.

Now, the turnoff to the falls is located about 10km out of town, and its another 7 or 8 km down a gravel road.  In the sunlight, the snow was actually melting here, the day was sightly warmer here then back in Edmonton.  In order to reach the falls, you have to drive down a steep descent for an 8 or 900 meter section of road, and as I said, we arrived just on dusk.  At the top of the hill, there more than a few vehicles parked.  It looked like a good day for the equestrian set up.

We drove down the hill to take some photos of the falls and walk around for a while, enjoying the winter.  As the sky darkened we knew it was time to go back up the hill.

One problem.

That slightly melting snow from earlier had turned to slightly frozen ice, only I didn't realize this.  We got in the car and off I drove up the hill.  Only, about half way up, the car lost traction.  And it started sliding a bit.  The rear end wouldn't quite stay stable so it was fishtailing a bit.  To keep the car from slamming into the trees or going off the side of the road, I had to stop applying power.  I would immediately lose any remaining forward momentum, and the car would stop.

So, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again.  So I did. Four or five times I tried, but I found that I was actually starting to lose ground.  Around about this time, The Wife starts going off.  How its been a horrible trip so far.  How she can't find her sunglasses.  It was around this point that with my typical wisdom and timing I asked her if she would get in the cargo bay of wagon.  You see, I didn't have any sandbags handy, and I thought more traction would be the key.

She didn't take kindly to that.  I think she may have thought I was referring to her as a bag.  She stormed out of the car and up the hill.  She was so pissed off in fact, it's a wonder the snow wasn't melting off the road from heat of her anger.

Well, I tried again, and with success eluding me, and leaving the back end of the car off the road with the bumper lovingly nestled against a tree, I decided I'd better go after her.

I walked up the hill to the equestrian park.  It was now almost completely dark, and the temperature was still dropping.  It was probably -5 or -6 centigrade.  All the vehicles were gone.

Except one.

I called and called her, thinking surely she hasn't tried the road to the highway.   She came out of the toilet, only fear had replaced anger.  We were completely alone, and there was no guarantee that anyone was coming for that remaining truck.. As psychotic as I've always felt it is, people do winter camp.  It was cold, especially for an Australian who's lived all her life in the tropics.

It wasn't so bad, at least until wind started picking up.

For the first time in my life I was confronted with a very real situation.  How to survive the cold?  I knew that we would have to get out of the wind, but we couldn't go back to the car because our one ticket out of the area was parked at the top of the hill.  I was starting to think about lighting a fire, and then realizing that I had quit smoking at the time and didn't even have a lighter.

Things weren't looking very good.  I said we'd better get out of the wind and started walking back to the toilet, the only real wind break we had when I heard noise coming from the trees.

The owners of the truck were finally coming back.  As they were loading their gear into the vehicle I came over to beg a ride to Nordegg from them.  The Wife was more embarrassed than I.  I think I was just glad they came back to the truck.  They drove us to town, and dropped us the town's one restaurant and motel.  They had a vacancy so I booked a room and asked them who I could call to get a tow.  It would have to be an outfit in Rocky Mountain House, 90 km distant.  I made the call and we had dinner while we waited.

The Wife went back to the room, and I went with the truck driver.  He put chains on his truck before going down the hill.  It took about 2 hours, but I got the car back to town and was relieved of about $400.  I liked the guy, so I had a beer with him.  All in all, I was away about 3 hours.  When I got back to the room, Lois was relieved to see me, so relieved in fact, she started yelling at me.  Upset that I had been back 1/2 an hour without telling her.  I told her I thought she would have been sleeping.  Truthfully, I didn't think I wanted her spending time with a hunky tow truck driver that rode in on a white truck and saved the day.

She still talks about the day as the one where I tried to kill her.  It couldn't be though.  I would never create a situation to kill her that would endanger my own life as well.  It wasn't deliberate.  It was far too stupid a situation for it to be deliberate.

We did, eventually, find her sunglasses, but only after buying a replacement pair of Bohle's in Banff from an Australian for $180.  I think Banff is the second largest colony of Australians outside of Australia.

We stayed a few nights in Canmore, drove to Emerald Lake in Yoho, visited Lake Louise, and even took a pregnant woman and her boyfriend across the Alberta BC border.  It was an amazing trip, and I made no further attempts on my wife's life.

A Driving History: Notes

You should know, because my Driving History saga is one of the most popular reads on my blog, that my Driving History only has 5 more vehicles.  They are, in order:

Interlude: The Dodge Magnum Rental- I forgot that this car comes before the supercharged Commodore.  I only drove it for 3 weeks on a trip back to Canada, and its one of the best stories.

2004 supercharged Commodore:  I Still own this car.

1995 VS Commodore SS Wagon: the purchase of an idiot

1995 Audi 80- Death of a car- the only Australian car I had that doesn't have a photo- I'll pull one from the net.

1989 Honda Prelude: I still own this car

That said.  It is likely that I'll be replacing the prelude this year or next,  she seems to be on her way out.  Maybe I'll ask my readers to take a vote.

It is a real shame that I don't have more vehicles to offer.

On a side note, I've had over 500 hits on my blog.  Thank you very much for being apart of things so far. 

April A to Z starts in about 10 days, and I hope you are looking forward to reading my works as much as I'm looking foward to the challenge.

A Driving History 10: The 2003 Holden One Tonner

This was a good ute.  Check it out folks,you won't see one like this in Canada.  Half car, half tray back pickup.  A beautiful looking machine.  Powered by a 3.8L V6, 4 speed auto, and a more leg room in the car than in any vehicle I've ever been in.  Complete with bullbar and tow bar.

There are a couple of stories regarding this one, beginning with its purchase.  The Ford longreach was pissing me off because I could never run the AC.  I became as tired of that as I was tired of the endless 38 centigrade days, 8 months of the year.  So one day, I drove to the big smoke to look at cars.  They had a 2003 one tonner, with 52,000ks on it, on the lot.  So I thought I'd have a look.

I liked it, and at the time, The Wife said,"If you must own a two door, buy a ute." 

Well, a ute wasn't something I wanted.  Because if you own one, you have friends, but the trouble is, they're always moving.  I would have preferred a coupe.  But a ute like this is a 2 seater, so at least it doesn't encourage passengers. 

Anyways, I went to the big smoke.  And I test drove a couple of utes, including a manual  which I promptly stalled in an intersection, in the city.  Had to get the stepson to drive it back to the dealership.  Anyways, I wanted to buy it.  and they quoted me over $27000.  No towbar.  No bullbar.  They didn't want to put that on the car, so I walked away.

The dealership called me as I drove from the city, trying to convince me to buy.  I turned em down flat.  When we got home, I did what all responsible car buyers do.  I got on the internet.

I'll be damned if there wasn't a red one for sale in Brisbane, complete with bullbar and tow bar.  Price?  $22990.  Kms? 53000.  A savings of over $4000.  I essentially purchased it sight unseen.  One problem, they wanted the Ford ute as a trade in.  I had to drive to Brisbane.  1500kms away.

Naturally, this was January, the wet season.  The stepson and I decided to go.  We drove to Brisabne starting at 6am.  We drove through Ayr and Home Hill, and promptly stopped at Yellow Gin Creek, it was way over.  It held us up for four hours.  We only made it as far as Childers.  We got to Brisbane the following day.  We spent it hanging out with The Wife's ex.  He and I get along alright, so it wasn't a big deal.  It was the day after Australia day.  I closed the deal on the ute on that day.  Saturday, it was time to come home.  I had to be in Ayr because The Wife's brother was being married that Sunday.  We started at 4am.  1500kms later, we arrived in Ayr.  It was 10pm that night, AC on all the way.

The Wife was pleased with that ute.  The cat, not so much.

The first year I owned it, I discovered a flaw with utes, that is to say, for cat owners.  I had this grey cat, and he used to be the first to greet me when I come home from work.  One morning, I went to work.  Naturally, I took the ute.  Unbeknownst to me, the cat was asleep in the tray.  I got half way to work when the cat appeared in my review mirror. Then he disappeared.  I slammed on the brakes and pulled over immediately.

But he wasn't on the road.  I couldn't find him at all.  I worked out that he must have fallen through the gap between the tray and the cab.  I was as worried as all get out.  I looked for him as long as I could.  Calling him.  He never came.

For three days I walked to the corner where he disappeared, calling him the whole time.  I never saw him.

The morning of the fourth day, I woke in the wee hours to find him kneading my chest, purring.  He had come home.  He was uninjured.

Next Driving History: The 2004 Supercharged Commodore.

A Driving History 9: The '92 Ford Telstar TX5

I'm ashamed to admit it, but this isn't the first Ford I've owned.  The Falcon ute was also a Ford.

This car marks the first manual I ever bought though it was actually bought as Lois's car..  It was a good little car.  Had great lines, and an extremely peppy 2.6L v6.  It was quick off the mark and would handle 110 in third gear.

It was so quick, in fact, that Lois got a speeding ticket in it.  This ticket remains the only one that I've known about that she has had in the entire time I've known her.  She got nicked doing 70 in a 50 zone.  I can't gloat too much though, I once got 3 tickets in one year, all in different cars.

We lived on a college campus for a while, and this college had a road that had virtually no traffic on it for many weeks per year.  I used to practice driving the car up and down the road, getting used to starts, and gear changes.  I thought I had it down, so I actually drove the car one day.  On the road.

I live in Queensland, and you need a special license to drive a manual automobile.  You can have an automatic license or an open license.  I'd only driven automatics in Canada, but because my provincial license had no such designation, when I moved to Queensland, I was given an open license. bwahahahaha! Score one for me!

So anyways, I had to go get Lois from somewhere up town, so I got in the TX5 and drove it.  And I wasn't doing too bad, driving out on the street.  I picked her up and was driving home.  As I turned off Gill street, a police cruiser got behind me.

Because I wasn't completely proficient at driving the stick, I got a bit nervous.  I was a bit worried.  Then Lois says," There's a police car behind us.  Don't do anything stupid."  (Why is it that when people say that to me, it guarantees the stupidity?)

I thought, yeah thanks for that.  And I tensed up even more.

And then we got to a stop sign. so far so good.  I didn't stall it pulling up, and put the stick back in first.  Still the police sat right behind me.  And then it was time to go.

I popped the clutch.  The front tyre squealed, and the coppers put on their blue and reds.

I pulled up to the side of the road, and promptly stalled it.  The police came up and asked for my license and checked the registration.  Lois turned 3 shades of red in embarrassment.  I hastily explained to the police that it was my first time driving a manual in Australia.  They gave my license back, along with a warning, and a suggestion.  I should let my wife drive the rest of the way home.  Which I did.

She chucked shit on me about it for a week.

We traded in the car when it started spending more time at the auto electrician's that it was on the road.  Mechanically, the car was fine.  But the electrics all over the car became a constant issue.

Next time:  The 2003 Holden One Tonner

A Driving History 8: The Falcon Longreach Ute

There it is (actual photograph).  The Ford Falcon Longreach Ute.  Bought sight unseen by me before I moved to Australia.  Ran off a straight 6 DOHC 4.0L engine.  And yes, it looks very much like a earlier Ford Ranchero.  In Australia, the coupe ute has never disappeared.  This was a good car, but as with all cars, there is a story or two regarding it. When I purchased it, it had nearly 300,000ks on it.

There were a couple of things I did like about this car.  One was it's nearly 1000kg carrying capacity.  The other thing I loved about it was its bullbar.  I have never seen a bullbar before or since that looks as good on any vehicle.   It's almost a work of art.

Anyways, I bought it sight unseen.  The Wife had driven it and reckoned it was good to go, and since it passed a roadworthy, I decided to make the purchase.

I boarded the plane in Edmonton to emigrate to Australia on Jan 29th.  The temperature that morning was -42 at the airport.  That's blood freezing cold. 

Conversely, when I touched down in Australia, the temperature was 38C.  This was a shock.  It was HOT.

Anyways the wife picks me up, and as I get in the Ute, I'm thinking, this is a pretty nice car.  The bullbar caught my eye straight up.  I really liked it.  But, I had to have the AC on.  It was too damn hot for Canadian sensibilities.

Well, we've got the air con cranked up and we're driving it out of the city, and The Wife says to me, "What'dya think?"

I'm looking all around the car, snooping in the glove compartment, etc, when I glance across at the dashboard," It's a pretty nice car," I said,"But does it always run that Hot?"

The Wife swore.  We pulled to the side of the highway.  And the car was boiling over, and I'm not dressed for the heat of North Queensland.

We had to arrange a tow.  As the car pissed all over the pavement, we waited over an hour for a tow truck.  The ute was taken back into town.  We had to get the entire system flushed out, and a rebuilt radiator.  We got a ride home (120km away) by the stepdaughter.  She had to come pick us up.

I discovered that the AC would set the engine temperature up, particularly if the speeds were low to moderate.  You could watch the temperature gauge rise if the car was even stopped at a light.  The condition was chronic and I was quoted by the AC man that it would be very expensive to repair.

I went to my wedding in it, armpit rings and all.

I drove it like that for a while.  I had the ute about 2 years.  For the entire time I owned it, I could see the stain it made on the pavement every time I drove into Townsville.

The Blazer part 2: Encounters in America

This is the second major event in the Blazer.  It took place on the second trip- the big one, that went around Canada and America.  10,000 kms in three weeks.  Edmonton to Columbus, Ohio and back.

Ostensibly we were going for a Lycos chat meet, so that's why we went to Columbus.  But the meet isn't the story.

We drove into Saskatchewan so that I could visit Batouche National Historic Park.  This place represents one of the key event in Western Canadian History- the Riel Rebellion of 1885.  I'd never been there, so The Wife and I went there in early August as part of the trip.  After enjoying the site, we we drove to Buffalo Pound Provincial Park, a beautiful lake and area for the night.  This is just outside Moose Jaw.

And now that you have the background, we can begin our story.

We left Buffalo Pound at about 8am.

We crossed the border in 2003, At the time of the Mad Cow Crisis, and so, the border guards took all my beef.  They weren't going to let The Wife in because they thought her entry visa had expired- but there was still a month or more to go.  I had to argue with them to keep my case of beer.  11 bottles (I'd had one the night before) of Big Rock's Grasshopper wheat ale.  Beautiful to drink.  They did, eventually, let her in.

And so, we drove on.  The goal that day was ambitious.  To the Black Hills of South Dakota.  I thought we could visit Deadwood and Mt. Rushmore.  That meant crossing 2 states and part of one province.

It was a long drive.

We made it to Sturgis that day.,  Driving into town about 8pm, only to discover it was the height of the annual Biker Rally.  The town was bursting at the seems with bikers from all over.  There must have been 50,000 bikers in the area.  Only, they weren't just in Sturgis.  They were everywhere.  Crawling through the town every hotel, campground and motel had no vacancy signs.  And I had already been on the road 12 hours.  I stuck out like a sore thumb.  A blue Chevy Blazer riding high in amongst the motorcycles.

The Wife pipes up," Be very careful, hun.  You hit one of them bikes and we're roadkill."

I was already exhausted but that comment made me nervous.  With no where to stay in Sturgis, we drove through.  On to Deadwood.  But everywhere was full to bursting and I'm not sure I wanted to camp anywhere near there, and ruled camping out.  It was going to be a Hotel or Motel.  I was tired, stressed and nervous.  The Wife, after all, was right.

And the Hills, 9, 10, 11pm at night were swarming with bikers roaming in packs.

We crossed into Wyoming that night, about 11pm.  We had crossed two full states and entered a third.  15 hours or more on the road.  And then we saw a motel in Newcastle.  The No Vacancy sign was not lit.  I decided to pull in

We got a room, only because 5 minutes before we pulled in there was a cancellation.

Driving around the bikers is easier during the day, and we did see Mt Rushmore, though the crowds were huge that day.  I think Bikers are a very patriotic lot.

We also had breakfast in Custer.

Driving out of the Black Hills, I felt lucky to be heading away- while no where near fast enough- unscathed.  I could also finally hear my truck over the roar of the bikes- and it was loud.  Very loud.

When we got to St Louis, Missouri, I decided to get it checked. When I went to pick up the truck the repairman says to me,"Is that a Canadian truck?"

I said,"Yeah, drove it from Canada a couple days ago."

He says," I though so.  I took it onto the Freeway and got up to 75, but everyone was blowing their horns and passing me. The Speed limit here is 75 MILES per hour.  I had to get it over 140 to keep up with traffic."

The exhaust pipe had snapped just behind the engine.

It made it all the way to Columbus and back.  On the drive back, we went north into Ontario and around Lake Superior.  When we stopped for the night just over the Manitoba border, we were treated to a very spectacular display of Northern Lights.  It awed The Wife, and me.  I had seen em before, but not that bright.

The following January, I sold the blazer to my brother for $500 less that I paid for it, and moved to Australia.

Next time in A Driving History: The Ford Falcon Longreach Ute, my first Australian Car.

Driving History 7: My last owned Canadian Car, the 93 Blazer part one

As it must happen, all cars get sold.  I sold the Maxima for two very important reasons.  The first is I had decided to emigrate from Canada.  The second is that I wanted to do a major road trip that summer- my final one as a resident of North America.  It would involve 10,000 km in about three weeks, and involved a round trip to Columbus, Ohio.  Putting the kms on the maxima would have lowered its value.  Besides, I wanted something that could carry more stuff.  I found one of these for around the $3000 mark.  Had a few miles on it, but she'd be right.

The Wife- though we weren't married yet, flies up from Australia and its time for the proving drive.  3000km through the wilds of British Columbia.

We started camping with Q at Cadomin.  It was on our way so we thought we'd begin there.  Then we spent the day driving around Jasper National Park, checking out Mt. Edith Clavell in particular.  It was the climb up the road that I began to realize something was wrong.  The Engine temperature began to climb, well above normal.  As I recall we had to stop part way up the hill for a brief time to let it cool down.  I thought it was a one off, it had never done it before.  And I didn't worry about it.

But things like this have a way of biting one in the ass, especially if one ignores the root cause.

That same trip, a thousand more kms down the road, we were driving down the length of the Okanagan Valley, reaching Osoyoos.  We saw this sign, complete with Union Jack, Real British fish and chips.  We thought, righto, sounds good.  So we had a meal there., got back in the car and started the big climb up the mountain on the Crowsnest.

That's when it bit us.  Or more accurately, thats when it bit my wife.  The engine temperature began climbing.

It reached a critical level and I had to pull off the road to wait until it cooled.  Only the fish and chips had run their course through the Wife's system.  It wanted out.  Now.

Only this mountainside didn't offer much in the way concealment.  I was doing everything I could to bring the temp down more quickly, I had popped the hood and was trying to fan the engine- she hadn't boiled over, but it was very close.  It still took time.  She was enduring the urge, I have no idea how, and about 1/2 to 45 minutes later I started the car, and we continued up the hill.

We made it to the top of the mountain with out stopping, and began to come down the hill.  The engine, once the load off it, cooled quickly, but we did pull up at the first roadside rest area.  The wife jumped out the car and ran for the women's.

I got out and walked to the men's.  I heard a scream.  I turned just as she came stalking towards me.  "Someone shit all over the floor in there."

I opened the door to the men's.  It was reasonably clean.  "Use this one."  She hesitated, but it wasn't for long.    I waited.

We only went as far as the first campground that day.  We pulled off, found a site backing onto a creek and pitched camp.  We stayed there 4 days, but it was a great place.  Absolutely lovely place to rest.

We did eventually find out what was wrong with the truck.   We made it to Grand Forks where the car was looked at and the radiator was power washed- apparently there was a extreme collection of dead bugs and debris on the face of the radiator.

Next Time:  Part 2:  Encounters in America

Driving History 6: Transition, 2002 Nissan Maxima SE

I have been trying to avoid writing about this car. not because of the stats.  3.5L v6 generating 265hp, a 0-100kph time of 7.5sec or so.  Leather seats, heated steering wheel, 6 cd in dash stereo with sub, all tied to 4 speed auto transmission.  The car was a very enjoyable ride.  

No thats not the reason.

It was the time in my life and the events that coincided with its ownership.

We bought the car 2001, and it was one of the first Maxima SEs of that year sold in Edmonton. I remember sitting in a restaurant having dinner with Shelley, my wife and watching some people come over to the car to check it out.  I remember saying to her that it was cool to own a car like that, where people will walk out of their way to have a look, but I also remember saying that its a shallow thing, that feeling.  Yet, it did indeed feel good.

About 6 months after we bought it, Shelley, my lover for 11 years and wife for 2.5, passed away.  She died of a heart attack.  If there is anyone who doubts a life can change in a single heartbeat, I can tell you mine did.

So within these memories is a sadness I don't revisit very often- and thats why I wanted to avoid writing about it.  But its on the list, and therefore must be mentioned.

While sadness is a dominating emotion in the memories, there are some good ones as well.

My second wife- known as "the wife" (I've spoke about her before- an amazing, beautiful and strong woman) visited me in Canada from Australia for the first time when we were dating, and we took on some good road trips in it.  I remember cruising around Lake Abraham with a bit of Tim Horton's magic hanging out of my mouth (I'd show you the picture, but it was destroyed in a house fire in 2009) and her laughing in the passenger seat.  

I also remember her driving it for the first time in Canada.  We were coming back from Jasper and we stopped in Hinton for a bite to eat.  I was buggered as I was driving all day, so she said she'd take the wheel.  We pulled out of the parking lot and onto the service road.  So far so good, right?  She asks," How am I doing?"

I replied,"You're doing great, only you might want to be on the other side of the road."  It was a service road, and fortunately, there were no cars coming.

The car also holds my land speed record.  It was the summer of 2002 and I was on my way to Cadomin to hang with Q.  Traffic was very light on the Yellowhead that day, and I decided to see what 265hp felt like at speed.  After clearing the city, I nailed the accelerator.  The car obediently leapt forward,  and the needle climbed.  120, 140, 160, 180,- I took it to 195kph.  I was going fast, nearly twice as fast as the other traffic on my side of the highway.  But I still wasn't passing many cars.  As I said, that normally busy highway wasn't that day.

I backed off the hammer at 195, and let the car coast down to legal, chickening out before I got to the 200 mark.  The car handled it with a serenity that the Diplomat just didn't have, and there was still more in the engine.

I shoulda broke 200.

A Driving History 5- The 87 Cutlass, The Cab

It was 1998, and I needed a job, so I went and got a taxi license.  I went to work for Checker Cabs, and then I followed the advice of my brother, and arranged a rent agreement with the owner.  I think it was $45/shift.  I worked nights, four days a week.

It was an 86 or 87 Cutlass.  It was my first time driving a propane powered vehicle, and it did seem cheaper to run, but of course that was in Canada.  I used to proudly proclaim it was the oldest car in Checker's fleet.

I have alot of little stories in that car.  Some good, some bad.  A couple times I felt threatened.  Sometimes I'd help someone out.  It was uplifting, and depressing.

A stripper once flashed me her breasts.  I'd get offers of blowjobs for rides (never took them up on it).  I'd give the odd free ride out if someone had a particularly sad story to tell me- I did that once for an abused woman who was on her way to the shelter, for example.

I remember getting one ride from Whyte ave to over by the Coliseum, he was being severely unkind, verbally abusive I thought, to his date.  I dispensed with the small talk and kept my silence, not liking this guy.  I do remember him saying that he liked a driver that kept his mouth shut.  Didn't help my tip, but.

There was a time, also over by Fort Rd where I dropped three guys off, but not before one of them made a comment about robbing me.  They threw the money at me and left, much to my relief.  The nights did eventually blur into one another, and as I got to know the job better, I did get into something of a routine.

I have this one story that would impact me in a small way for the rest of my life to date, though.  I had picked up this fare on the northside and had to drop him off downtown.  It wasn't a particularly big fare, but he got to talking about his favourite cigars.

They were Honduran Punches.  Big thick cigars.  As he enjoyed one in the back seat, he said, " (Winston) Churchill used to smoke these.  He had a little debating trick he used to do.  He would shove a very thin wire down the centre of the cigar before the debate.  As he engaged his opponent, he would smoke the cigar.  The ash got longer and longer, but it wouldn't fall of the thing no matter how it was moved.  By the end of the debate, many of his opponents were far more interested in the ash and when was finally going to fall off than in his words.  As they lost the thread of his argument, Churchill would move in for the kill. "

When he got out of the cab, he gave me one, as a tip.  It was a $20 cigar.  And I enjoyed it when I smoked it, after my shift.  Its funny, though.  I have since smoked Jamaican, Cuban, and Costa Rican cigars to name a few, but I still, to this day, prefer the Honduran cigars.

I quit driving cab on the winter 0f '99.  A cab driver in Edmonton was getting beat up or killed every week.  My wife and I decided the job was too dangerous.  I went back to school, eventually earning a Bachelor degree in business management.

To an extent, though, I miss the job.  There were some things about it I enjoyed very much.

The 95 Legacy Part 2

The first snow fall of winter.  Its the one time of year when one really shouldn't drive anywhere.  It seems as though the previous six months has allowed people to forget the rather important differences between summer and winter driving.  This is a basic truth repeated year after year in Edmonton.

I'm not sure why they don't just declare it a holiday. but they don't.  So the endless cycle of fender benders and stupid manoeuvres continues year after year.  One can just about open a window and listen to the sounds of cars hitting each other and declare, "Yeah, sounds like the first snow of the season."

If the previous sounds contemptuous, it shouldn't, because the following story indicates that I am not immune to that peculiar form of Alzheimer's.

November 3rd, 1996.  I remember because it was my mother's birthday.  That year I decided I'd do something completely different.  I took my mother to a concert.  Sarah McLachlan, my perosnal favourite was playing at the Myer Horowitz, and I since she is one awesome singer, I thought I'd take my mom out.  And its not like she is heavy metal.

The day was fine, I think the temperature was either just above or at freezing most of the day, but by early evening snow had begun to fall, and as the temperature usually does at night, it began to get cold.  To complicate matters, it also began to snow.

The trip out to pick my mom up and drive her out there was fine, largely because the street held enough heat to melt the snow, and we enjoyed the concert.

The trip back was different.  I believe the temperature had fallen below -15 and all that lovely water on the road turned to ice.  The gravel trucks were out as I dropped her off, but they were primarily graveling intersections.  I didn't think much of it, because I wasn't having any issues in the Subaru with traction.  I moderated my speed a little.

I dropped my mother off, and then had another 1/2 hour or more drive to my home.

"Drive Carefully," she said.

"It'll be all right, I'm in a Subaru," I declared, secure in the knowledge that I was driving one of the safest cars on the road, and drove off.

The orange glow from the streetlights reflected off the falling snow, casting the drive home in a strange but beautiful glow that only occurs in winter.  I drove back into the city.  I kept the car at 5 or 10 kph under the speed limit, but the Subaru still wasn't having any traction issues.  I wasn't worried at all.

I was at the the top of Groat Road, 111ave by Westmount shopping centre when I experienced a warning.  The car slipped very slightly as I accelerated away as the light turned green.  I didn't think much of it, though.  I was in a Subaru.

For those of you who don't know, that end of Groat Rd is windy, twisty road that descends to the river valley, southbound.

I drove away from the lights.  Doing close to the speed limit, before slowing to 50kph as I entered the first turn.  The car held true, and didn't slide, but I realized I was going too fast.  50 was about twice as fast as the other cars going.  I applied the brakes.

Oh, shit. The car ain't stopping.  Fortunately the road has two lanes in either direction, and fortunately the other lane was clear.  I steered into the clear lane.  And passed those two.  I cleared the next corner, with no response from the braking system.  Another pair of cars were in my lane, but I was in front of the other two, so I put the car back in the other lane.

I went past those guys.

Two more cars in this lane.  Shit!  If anything I was going faster than I been before.  The Brakes were not responding.  I realized that I had to stop the car before I hurt someone.  I cranked the wheel, hard.  The car responded and jumped the curb and slammed into a fence.

I don't know why the airbags didn't go off, I was retrained only by my seatbelt.

I remember blinking at the steering wheel, breathing heavy.  Then I started to shake.

I got out of the car and lit a smoke, checking the damage.  When I saw the hole I put in the front bumper, I thought for sure Shelley was going to kill me.  At least my mother wasn't with me this time.

A car had pulled up. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I said, still vibrating,  'Thank you."

He just shook his head and drove off.  I flicked my cigarette into a snowbank and got back into the car.  It started up and I backed it carefully onto the sidewalk, then put the car in drive and got back on the road.

I was still shaking when I got home, but apart from the body damage, the car was fine.  Shelley was just happy I had survived.  For the rest of the time we owned the car, we never got that bumper fixed.

At highway speed, especially in a crosswind, that bumper used to give a mid frequency whistle that, because it only did it in certain conditions, used to make me think something was wrong with the motor.  When I hear that sound these days, I remember the car.

The Moral of this story?

Ice is Ice. Its properties don't change over the summer.  Drive accordingly.

A Driving History: Part 4- The 95 Legacy part 1

Six months too early to buy the outback, we bought the Subaru Legacy Wagon (Liberty for my Australian friends).  The photo is even the right colour- taupe.  Or brown if you prefer.

Leather seats, heated steering wheel, sunroof, am/fm/cd/cassette stereo, and all made with that quality Subaru engineering.

This was a great car, even if it was a little underpowered.  I believe in 96 they upped the hp from about 145 to 160 by improving air intake, amongst other things.  When I was on the highway I had to pick my time pass carefully as I would have to time the oncoming traffic so I could drop back a bit, and then run up behind the vehicle I wanted pass while the oncoming car was still approaching.  Then time it so when the oncoming cleared I could swing out and go around without losing much time.

All of the safety systems, the all wheel drive, airbags, etc weighed the car down, so it wasn't the fastest off the line in the summer.  In the winter, though, I could beat nearly everything off the line.  The car always seemed to have grip, well, except for a couple of times.

The first time I ever had a problem with that car was the very first winter we bought it.  It was late December, and Shelley and I were wondering what we were going to do for New Year's Day.  I think it was about 11pm at night.  Then she had this brilliant idea.  Let's go to Vancounver for New years.  She had friend down there we could stay with, and I said, Why not?    For you Australians, Edmonton to Vancouver is like driving from Mackay to Brisbane.  So we packed and left that night.  Must have been after midnight when we got on the road.

The trip down was essentially uneventful (apart from this monster Moose the headlights got a glimpse of on the side of the road in Jasper National Park).  We had a great time there.  The weather was superb, with daytime temps of nearly 10 degrees and nighttime lows of zero.  A good time was had by all, and so a couple days later, we drove back.

When we left, the day was typical Vancouver, warm, a little wet, and nothing to worry about.  And the trip to Kamloops was fine.  The temp dropped a little as we headed inland, being about 2 degrees there.  It was the Kamloops to Jasper leg that trough a few wrenches into the works.  The temperature as we left Kamloops was obviously changing.  A light fog had settled in, and the road had become a little slippery.  I remember not so far out of the city we passed a car that gone down the mountainside.  We could see the tracks.  And then a little while later a light snowfall began.

We turned on the wipers to keep the moisture off the windscreen to discover the driverside wiper no longer worked.  The snow wasn't heavy, so we continued.  As we climbed a little higher into the mountains, the temperature got colder, and the moisture began to freeze on the roadway.  I reduced my driving speed from 100kph to about 85, as a precaution to the conditions.  But I truly wasn't worried I was in a Subaru!

But then I came around this bend in the road, and it must have been just tight enough because the back end let go and I found the car pointing down the mountainside.  I thought... that's bad... so I spun the wheel the opposite direction (mercifully the front tires had traction) I quickly tapped the brakes, discovering they were useless on the ice.  The car was then pointed up the hill and I headed for the hillside, still doing 75 to 80, but as I approached the plowed snow that marked the shoulder of the road, I cranked the wheel in the opposite direction.  The back end swung again, putting the rear tires into that snow, kicking up a huge wave of white snow a surfer could have rode.  It  also reduced my speed from 75 or so to 30.

I got the traction back in an instant.  With control of the vehicle assured, and with out stopping, I  drove on, but I never took the car above seventy after that.  But the snow came down harder, and we had to do something about the wiper, so came across this town, and I drove down the hill hoping to find someone who could help.

Of course, the Town's service station was closed, but I did find this old biker dude.  We went to his place, and we swapped wiper motors.  Got the driver's side wiper going again.  We climbed back up the highway and pressed on.  It was dusk, and it was getting colder.  The snow was beginning to fall in earnest.  We began actively looking for a motel because the driving conditions were real bad, but every motel on the road seemed to be full, so on we pressed.

The Temperature got lower.  The night got Darker.  My Speed go slower.

By 8pm the only other vehicles that were on the road besides us were the big trucks.  They don't stop for anything.  They were probably shocked to see us on the Yellowhead.  It was 6 hours since we left Kamloops, and we were not yet even at the merger of hwy 16 and hwy 5.  I was tired, and worried with all the snow, but determination had set in.  I knew we weren't going to get home that day.  I'd settled on Jasper, and by the Gods I was going to get there.

Whiteknuckling the steering wheel for the last 3 hours and driving on the highway at speeds of 50- 60 kph, we arrived in Jasper town.  A trip that usually takes about four hours took us over nine

When we left Kamloops the temperature was 1 degree.  When we hit Jasper, the temperature was -32.  We had so much ice packed into the wheel wells, every bump between Jasper and Edmonton sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard.  2 nights in a heated underground garage wasn't enough to melt it.  When we took the car in for the warranty repair on the wiper, they hosed the wheel wells with warm water.

So.  What's the moral of the story?

Want to drive from Edmonton to Vancouver and back in December?

Don't.

A Driving History: Interlude- The Shitvette

I know what you're thinking.  HE never owned one of those.

You're right.  I didn't.  But I did drive one of those.  Once.

This is a mid eighties Pontiac Acadian, and with the snow and dirt hanging off it, its also pretty much as I remember it, although, its missing the front airdam.  This car is even the right colour- black.

I'm not 100% sure of the timeline here.  I know it was around this time that I begged my brother- the owner- to give me a driving lesson in it.  This car marked my first attempt to drive a manual.

The lesson was brief.  My brother, it turned out, didn't have the patience to sit through more than 20 minutes of someone grinding the gears in that car.  It takes more than 20 minutes to gain the coordination necessary to properly drive a stick for most people, and longer for uncoordinated me, but after a couple of frustrating manoeuvres, we called it quits.  Probably just in time too, before he ripped my head off, or before I ripped the gears to shit...

But the lesson isn't the real story.   The Real Story is the trip he and I took to Cadomin.

It must have been the summer of 1996.  I'm pretty sure it was before Shelley's first heart attack, but it was also after I owned the Diplomat.   I know it took place during the June, July and August we were getting our condo renovated.  It wasn't long after we moved into the apartment that James (the infamous brother) and I decided that it was time to drink piss up the bush for a weekend.  So we gathered our supplies.

I remember waiting for him to show up in the foyer of the apartment building, with all my gear.  He was late.  I wanted to get there with plenty of daylight left, but I think it was neared noon or 1pm when he finally rolled up in that car.  The ass end of it was loaded and already low to the ground as he drove it under the awning.  I'm thinking, where the hell am I gonna put my supplies?  To be fair, James brought most of the supplies, but we were still missing some key personal supplies for me... including Vodka, Beer (not the "beer" my brother drinks) and cigarettes, because in those days I loved to smoke ciggies in front of a fire.

The suspension groaned, as my brother stepped out of the car.   I'm looking at him- a bit angry (he was late), and gesturing at the full back end of the car.

James smiled.  "Don't worry, there's heaps of room in there." and opened the back end.  I leapt back, fearing the hatch would spring forth its contents like an open can of rubber snakes, but it didn't.  He spent about 20 minutes repacking the car.  We agreed that leaving any beer behind wasn't an option (Blasphemy!), and he somehow found the room.

The ass end of the car sank even lower.

Now my brother and I both weighed in excess of 200lbs in those days, though I think at that time he was marginally lighter than me, and after we forced slammed the hatch shut, we got into the car, and the suspension groaned loudly in complaint.

James started the car and we drove away, back end scraping over the curb as we entered the street proper.  My fiance watched us drive away, and she always swore that the back end of the car rested less than half a Coke can's height off the ground.  We were lucky the suspension handled it at all.

Needless to say, the trip back was easier as most of the beer had been consumed.  The ass end of the car had considerably more clearance.  Space was still issue, though, as we had to contend with the empties.

It was a good weekend.

A Driving History Part Three- Torggil Gets a T-Bird

Looking back on it now, I am actually embarrassed I owned it.  Yeah it was a 1980 Ford Thunderbird.  It looked a lot like this...

Only it was in a pretty sorry state.  The biggest story with this car is the purchase itself.

I think it was the end of winter, late Feb or Early March, and I had given up on the Diplomat (radiator fluid in the oil pan.  NOT good).  And decided after much thought to scrap the car.  Still my budget to replace it was small, maybe $400.

Where was I going to find a car for $400?

It was then my finance drew my eyes to the local paper.  The Classified ad read Police Car Auction this weekend!  And I thought, cool.  I've never done that before.

The morning wasn't too bad, there were signs of thaw on the ground as I stepped in a slushy pothole getting out of the car.   I was looking forward to the wonders of the yard, and I had about 1/2 an hour to wander the 30 or forty vehicles on site for auction that day.

I admit, I was nervous, I was excited.  I had never been to an auction before.

And then I walked in through the gate after registering as a bidder.  Wreck after wreck lay in their isolated spots, and I started to worry a bit, then a couple of gems became visible as I walked down the rows.  There was an 86 monte carlo, top of the range on the lot.  It looked to be in excellent condition and I was interested in bidding but the car sold for well over $5000 as I remember.  I also remember speaking to the previous owner.  He'd flogged it out anyways.  Told me he got stacks of tickets in it.

There was  also a really cool motorbike, a crotch rocket.  And there were a few other vehicles.  As I said, some more recognizable than others.  There was also an old 1980 Tbird.

I didn't think much of it.  At least one of its tires was flat, and the headlight covers were half open, giving the car a sleepy look.  The seats had been torn to bits, and the abandoned vehicle sticker was still on the glass.

The auction started.  The auctioneer was on the back of a pickup that stopped at each lot for bidding.  So we started walking.  The auction started with a couple of wrecks that sold for the minimum bid ($140 I think) to a local wrecking yard.  The first decent car came up and it sold for more than $400.  I started to worry.  A couple of more vehicles went by and I was wondering if I'd get anything useful, and it was time to bid on the tbird.  I remember saying to my fiance that I didn't really want it.

She gave me one of her looks...  "But its a T-Bird..."

I thought, "For fuck's sake..."  The auctioneer said  $150 looking for 160..

I raised my card.  I didn't want to pay too much for it.  I thought that $160 may have already been too much...

They got a 170 and 180 bid.  Shelley nudged me.  I raised my card...$190.  Okay.  I bought it for $240 plus auction fees.

So what kind of car was it?

Well, it ran.  It ran in great billowing clouds of smoke and burning oil.  The engine leaked so bad when it was running I refused to take it out of town.  The interior was ratshit.  The seats had been cut open as if someone had been looking for something.  The interior roof lining was half off, and before I drove it off the police lot I ripped it out completely.  I had to get my mate Rob to tighten some shit up underneath the car before I could even take it anywhere.

I was shocked when this smoking, smelly thing passed the insurance inspection.

I also enjoyed driving it.  It didn't even smell that bad if you were moving fast enough to keep the air under the car.  It didn't have a huge engine, but I reckon  it would do 0-100kph in about 10 secs (the diplomat did the same in about 13.5) and it could out corner the diplomat as well.

I got two years and change out of the diplomat.  The Tbird got hit 9 months after I bought it.  As my employment situation changed shortly after that, I didn't bother to immediately replace it.  In fact, It would be many years before my name appeared on a pink slip.  I was, however, driving my fiance's car.