PART ONE
Freedom Machine
When I embarked on my career as a touring musician in 2010 it was obvious that the car I owned with my then partner, Michael, wasn’t up for the challenge. We were driving a 1986 Toyota Corolla that we’d recently purchased from an elderly lady who’d bought it new and used it for commutes to church and the grocery store. The car was rusty and trusty with around 20,000 kms – a real time capsule that we named Gentle. “GENTLE!” was what we’d yell when someone slammed a door or rolled a window down too aggressively.
To supply me with a sexier ride, Michael did extensive research into vehicles and he came up with two options: a Toyota Matrix and a Subaru Outback. The latter was around $30K to purchase. The former was a more achievable $12K.
The car needed to transport an upright bass and though the Matrix could fit a bass, there was room for little else.
In a series of events that I’ve forgotten, we were made aware of a Yamaha Silent Bass that a friend of a friend was selling. I committed to buying this bizarre instrument for Beth on an interest free loan so that I could go with a 2006 Matrix for sale in Moose Jaw: $11K, automatic transmission, no accidents, power locks/windows, AC, winter tires on rims, aftermarket remote starter and 16,000 kilometers on the engine.
This sweet little ride became my home. My freedom machine. Gravel roads and freeways, tours and family functions. Everywhere you could go, I went. The car travelled to the west coast more times than I recall and as far south as Portland on two occasions. To Nashville. To Montreal, Toronto, Detroit and to Chicago where Beth and I were certain we were going to run out of gas and be stranded in a maze of concrete overpasses.
Let’s pause for a highlight from a 2012 tour:
The Matrix, occasionally referred to as Patsy, was a unassuming workhorse with a surprising amount of cargo space. When Beth, Jeremy and I toured, we packed the silent bass and amp, a keyboard, a Bose L1 model 2 sound system with a subwoofer, an acoustic guitar, three people with their bags, merchandise and a cooler to boot. Maybe sometimes we also brought a banjo?
I also took it on a number of adventures when I was touring alone and when my schedule didn’t allow me to travel with Blake. Many hours of podcasts were consumed.
Over time, lore of a manufacturer’s glitch came to my attention. Rumour had it that the odometers of the Toyota Matrix, Toyota Corolla and Pontiac Vibe ceased to accumulate kilometers after the 299,999 mark.
It became my goal to reach “29 and holding”.
PART TWO
Auto Hygiene
Of course, there were repairs and maintenance.
In 2014 I rear-ended a lady while I was distracted by memorizing lyrics. It was raining and I slide into her SUV in slow motion with my brakes fully engaged. Her bumper was unaffected. My hood was crunched. I recall telling people that I thought I could punch someone harder than I hit her. I paid my deductible and did the repairs.
In the summer of 2018 a wheel bearing was few hundred kilometers away from causing an accident before it was dutifully attended to by my surrogate dad, Bill Laing. He deemed it an advance wedding present. For the record, I’m still cheesed off about that one. I had two shops look at it after I voiced concerns and both assured me there was nothing to worry about.
A few winters ago I took it to the shop for an oil change. When I arrived to pick it up, my go-to guy said, “Bad news. Your head gasket is cracked.”
“No it’s not.”
Pause. “Um. Yes it is?”
“No, it’s not, Rob. I didn’t drop my car off to be told that the head gasket is gone. I dropped it off for an oil change. A repair to the head gasket surely exceeds the worth of the car.”
We agreed to disagree on the health of the engine, but settled on keeping an eye on things. The fellas in the shop cleaned up the evidence of the leaks. At the next service call we’d assess how much oil had escaped.
Afterwards, I talked to my Uncle Allen about it. He asked how much it cost to repair and what the severity of the problem was. Then he gave his diagnosis.
“So… you’re telling me that it costs three grand to fix, that your car is worth three grand, and that the worst thing that might be happening right now is that you leak some oil, but you don’t think that’s happening?”
“Yes.”
“You can buy a lot of oil with three thousand dollars.”
At my car’s next visit to the garage for routine maintenance, Rob returned my keys and while he was printing up the bill he asked me if I’d used an oil seal product.
“Nope,” I responded.
“Huh. There was no oil on the engine at all. It was totally clean.”
“I told you the head gasket was fine.”
“Do you find that your oil levels are decreasing?” he continued.
“Well yeah,” I said. He perked up. “Every time I go out to start my car I check the damn oil and have to wipe the dipstick on a towel.”
Six months later, at my seasonal check-up, Rob suggested that perhaps the different types of metal in the engine were heating and cooling at mismatched rates in the winter, thus causing small amounts of oil to escape. We parted ways mutually satisfied. He was happy with the explanation. I was happy that my denial was effective.
PART THREE
Bad News
At the end of July I took the Matrix into a muffler shop to have a repair done. A small break in the exhaust had caused my little station wagon to sing like a stock car. It was sure fun to drive around, but not a great longterm choice.
The repair was estimated to be worth $160. I dropped the car off and went home. That afternoon the muffler shop called.
“Hi, is this Melanie?’
“Yup.”
“OK, yeah… got some bad news.”
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