Once I was leaving Montreal I realized the car worked well on the highways. Canada is mostly highway, I told myself, as long as I can manage its idle in the cities, it should be fine. I reverted to the technique I’d used before I’d installed the new throttle body. I let the car idle at a light for a bit and then revved the engine slightly. That kept the car thinking it was underway, and prevented it from switching something in the throttle that made it run so rough.
So far, I had two aspects of driving to manage, above those of my peers. The revving and making sure I didn’t overuse or overheat the brakes, just in case they clamped up and left me on the side of the road with an inert mass of useless metal.
My friends in Ottawa live south of the city, so I didn’t need to go into town. Instead I found their place, went for a walk to see their new house they take possession of by the time I come back in a few weeks, and interacted with the kids. They have three children, and they are a delightful handful. I was up late and up early, and all too soon I was on my way to Toronto, by way of Hamilton.
I left Ottawa early, managed the car’s vicissitudes, and soon was on the 401 and 403 in the huge sprawl that is the Greater Toronto Area. I went to visit my sister in Hamilton first, since her work shift allowed her to be home earlier than my Toronto people, and after taking her to dinner I went back to Toronto. I noticed when my sister and I walked past the car that my temporary fix to the gas tank strap, a hanger I had straightened and then wired into place so the tank wouldn’t fall off, was hanging loosely, so I imagined my friend’s yard in Toronto and worked on it the next day.
The car handled the freeways fine, and I was even getting optimistic about the trip west. I spent time with my Mississauga people, and drove into town to see some of my city friends. that was the first time the brakes made themselves known. I was nearly to my friend’s place, when, perhaps responding to my overly zealous use of brake in the unfamiliar streets, my front right brake seized. That was the problem that inspired all the brake work in the spring.
I pulled over momentarily, thought about it a bit, and then kept driving around the corner where I could park. Soon I was enjoying their company the car was a distant aggravation. I mentioned its problems to my friends, and they were horrified that I was going to drive back to Mississauga in a car that I would have to be careful about braking. “There is always something,” I told them blithely, “and it’s manageable.”
