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Death of a Volvo

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Miscellany

Published: 09 June 2015

Hits: 3209

• Temporary Foreign Workers,
• Volvo,
• Tim Hortons,
• Airdrie,
• RCMP,

Now this happened last year and it's taken me this long to write about. Not the pain, just my general lack of organizational skills.

One of those 40 below nights and I'm off driving my favorite car, a 1990 Sky Blue Volvo, 240 DL. You know what they look like, there's still a surprising number of them around. I had owned it for maybe 2 years, put on 130K+ km, sitting at a little above 300, 000 KM, this Volvo had a long life ahead of it. Or so I thought.

Driving, 40 below, and the car loses all power, a desperate rattling under the hood, the timing belt has gone. And it's a cold winters night, 40 below, and so I pull off at an exit (steering, no power), and manage to glide all the way into the Tim Hortons parking lot in Airdrie.

This is a miracle. Of all the places my car could have died, remote and distant roads, to die and glide into here, on this winteriest of nights, this is the favor of God bestowed upon his favorite chariot.

Not enough power to glide fully into a parking stall, my car is parallel to the drive through corridor, not ideal, but who's complaining? It's 40 below outside, I have too much to be grateful for...

I call the AMA. It's been a few years since I've used it, time to get my money's worth. And they assure me that they'll have it towed ("BERT AND JACKS!" I tell them, I'll tell you about Canadian Tire another time...), the weather, it's keeping them busy, they won't be there until after midnight.

Meanwhile I pop into Tim Horton's, apologize for my car, order a coffee, and explain to the clerk that my car is indisposed, it will be picked up and towed in the wee hours of the morning. The clerk nods and asks me if I'd like cream in my coffee. I explain again about the car, and the clerk smiles confusedly and points to the donuts. I ask to speak to the manager. 

Patient, I'm nothing if not patient. 

And I explain again that my car has died, inconveniently for them, in their parking lot, but it will be picked up by the AMA, wee hours, I won't be here, and I ask for a piece of paper so I can leave them my phone number. The manager, she doesn't speak English either. No one here does. Eventually she understands, or pretends to, and grabbing a piece of thermal fax paper pretends to write down my phone number. Except that I can see that it's thermal fax paper and the ink isn't sticking to it at all, but she smiles at me as if to say "look, I'm doing what you asked...." and I'm filled with despair, how many employees here, all Temporary Foreign Workers, and not a single one can speak English. 

There's nothing more I can do, I return to Calgary by taxi and contemplate my next move.

The next day the AMA calls me to tell me they couldn't make it to the car on time, it's proximity to the drive through lane meant the RCMP called the only other towing company in town to have it removed. Not the AMA. You don't block a drive through donut window without paying the price, and although they could have driven around the Volvo in any number of ways the fact that was in the way of their midnight stampede for donuts, well, that was enough.

I go to get the car released, $200, another $200 to have it towed to Bert and Jacks, another hook up and towing fee for the unrequested tow in Airdrie ... I'm not so impressed. They let me know when it's dropped off. I'm in for over $500 so far, they look sympathetic, sure seems like a lot for an unsolicited tow because the AMA was late, but, hey, they've got the car now...them's the brakes...I wonder if they buy the cops their donuts or if it's a commissioned system...

Now to Bert and Jacks, but it's a Sunday, they're closed. And I make it by on Monday, and they're closed as well, and after a few days I realize that, after over 40 years in business, they've finally folded, only 2 days before, the fate of an honest mechanic, and the owner of the lot, the landlord, comes round and tells me to get my car off his property, somewhat kindly, but the pressure's on.

Taking apart the car, torque wrenches, the help of well intentioned roommates dropping screws on the ground, moving alternators, belts, eventually to discover that it's not the timing belt, it's the cam-shaft sprocket, shattered into a dozen pieces, and there's no place left to tow this, and so it's to the wreckers.

If I'd known a trustworthy mechanic I would have had it towed there, whatever the price, but a trustworthy and competent mechanic is like an honest politician or an ethical lawyer, I'd only ever known these ones, and they were now out of business, $500 into the funeral I empty the boot and say goodbye to what was, without a doubt, the best car I'd ever owned.

DIY Brakes

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Miscellany

Published: 05 June 2015

Hits: 3294

• Canadian Tire,
• Murder,
• Swindle,
• Fraud,
• Criminal Negligence,
• Abortionists,

Now it was time for me to return to Nelson for the Advanced Placer Course, only the car had been developing some issues. Trifling issues, like the brakes making loud squalling noises when I drove and not responding - however slightly - when I applied pressure. This was a bad thing, I needed to change the brakes, only I didn't have the $200-$400 to pay somebody to do it. 

And I postponed, parked the car, avoided, procrastinated, until finally there was no postponing any further, Wednesday, time to leave, so I watched the requisite youtube videos and purchased the brake pads ($30.00, the cheapest, remembering a Bukowski novel in which he's trying to sort the deluxe brakes from the generic brakes and he asks "What's the difference?" and he's told none, only price..), another $20 for a C-Clamp and 13 mm wrench, and I'm off.

I'm paranoid, this brake changing, if it doesn't solve my problems I'm hooped. It'll be the bus to Nelson for the course, and a nightmare getting to work. And I'm a bit worried about not having the car on blocks, but I jack it up and make it steady, double check, and get it done. I've seen cars come down on people, I don't want to be that idiot. The pads are completely worn out, only 3 remaining, all together they don't measure an inch in thickness, one of them is vanished entirely and only the metal spring has been stopping me. 

The whole job takes me 45 minutes and costs, with tools, $50. And they're working fine. Perfectly. I drive around, high mountain roads, not a sound, not a whisper, I'd forgotten what it was like, how easy was that and who pays mechanics $200 or more to do this? Bloody hell.

When I finally get back from the course - brakes working perfectly, I notice I've developed a small antifreeze leak, which - when my next day off arises, I'll fix, in all certainty it's a rad hose, leaky or loose, but I notice a curious symmetry in the events that remind me of a time when I took my car in to be fixed for a leaky rad hose and ended up (or so I was told) getting my brakes done, by "professional mechanics" at Canadian Tire, and it cost me - I'm not joking - $3000.00. 

Think fraud, laugh, I know, that is a separate post, I merely wished to observe that having spent almost $3000 at Canadian Tire my rad hose was not fixed, my brakes (no observable problem, but I took their word) apparently were, and so I spent $3000 on a job I didn't need done and probably wasn't done, when I could have fixed my brakes myself for $50 and left the rad hose as leaky as they did. But I'll fix my own rad hose this time, thank you very much, and when I'm in a slightly more venomous mood I'll tell you all - tell the world - about the time I was swindled, defrauded, and out - and - out robbed by the Hunterhorn Canadian Tire, and provide all the necessary receipts and evidence for you to make up your own minds. But that's a different post.

N***, Rats and Crocodiles

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Dreams

Published: 04 June 2015

Hits: 2436

• N***,
• Crocodiles,
• lizards,
• shrews,
• amusement park,

Garage saling and I run into N, flea market of sorts, we're amiable enough, civil, and I'm trying to find a moment to chat with her but things keep interrupting. A vendor has things to show me, some great high end 60's stuff, cufflinks, ashtrays, he got them down the road, he's getting my opinion and I'm telling him that there always be a market for high end 60's stuff, he's telling me if I'm interested he'll let me know where he got it, there's more, I'm not that interested...

N*** is packing up, we're not finding time to chat, connect, and the dream is changing...

All around the city there are badlands...a smaller city, like a Disneyland or amusement park, smaller even than that, and the "mayor" (??) has decided to add some wildlife, letting loose some crocodiles and little shrews, they're everywhere, only now a girl is complaining that one of the crocodiles has bitten her leg, and the restaurants are trying to deal with the shrews, and I'm laughing at the mayor, what a brilliant idea to let loose rat/shrews in restaurants, he's a little young and inexperienced, I go with the girl to find the crocodile that bit her...

It's in the bottom of a narrow canyon, badlands type, we cross it over a short footbridge, can't see it down there, but they're everywhere...

Evening, I'm approaching a tree, going to round up some of the lizards, only there's a crocodile in the tree, well camouflaged, he snaps at my arm, various lizards now begin raising their frills and hissing at me, I'm not getting near this tree...

(Exhausted, back to the 12 hour work days, leg/knee rebelling against this sort of abuse. 58 days, more or less, left.)