tombéd en panne

According to my very exaggeratory co-worker,  the rumour goes as follows: The Ville de Montreal used to shell-out for each citizen to get their char’s suspension fixed once per hiver due having frappéd a gros nid-de-poule.  Since this was obviously just another racket of the most (un)organized of crime around, this rule, made-up, official-or-otherwise, was shut down.

Now, my Char is a Champ and only the most deepest and gnarliest of nid-de-poules can even front.  Well, last week it happened, I hit one of those bottomless fuckers at about 100km/h.  I thought the Volv had won another bout, but little did i know, i was slow-leakin’.

It was only a week later, driving into the hinterland at 22h with the car packed full of skis, boards, bahn-mi and dudes named Pat that something was amiss.   Steering seemed off.  Pulled over and found one tire was only holding 10lbs.   Pumped er back up au-gratis courtesy of the Flying-J and continued.  No more than 60kms later, the swerve was back and we found ourselves stranded in Manseau, hanging out in an 1960’s ESSO with some old-time gas bros.  Their station is open 24 hours but they explained it doesn’t show up on the GPS, they don’t get much traffic.  They like it that way.  They each had their own office.

Now the plan was to get to our destination by about 11, have a few brews, setup a parking-lot camp and get a good night’s sleep.    Obviously our plan was running off the rails.  A quick call to CAA, some more hanging out at Esso, and our savior Alain arrived.

Now this guy was a pro.  Gros camion.  Cranking the old-school QC tunes. Coup-Longueuil en argent qui brille comme un loup.  One look at the wheel and he donned his hammer and went to town.  The story is a bit longer, and does involve driving a few hundred km on a doughnut, but he basically fixed it right there.  Merci Alain, t’es un champ !

Car camping

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