by Tim Falconer
Evans and I stepped out of the office and into a large space crammed with cars, and he proudly showed off some of the gems, including a 1965 Buick Riviera, a 1985 Ferrari Mondial and a 2006 BMW Z4M Coupe. One of the most popular cars with the members is the 1967 Citroën DS Pallas; Evans opened the door and insisted I sit in it. I sank into the leather seat and marvelled at how comfortable it was.
“Man, it’s so luxurious, I could sleep in here,” I exclaimed.
“They don’t make them like they used to, as they say,” he boasted. “You could go all the way across the States in that, couldn’t you?”
If I had, I’m sure I would have stayed on the road a lot longer.
I HAD NO COMPLAINTS about my Maxima, though. I spent a few snowy days in Vancouver with my friend Grahame Arnould, who is a cartoonist. He then joined me on the drive through the mountains to Calgary. Grahame wanted to hook up with a red-headed Pilates instructor in Nelson, B.C., and that wasn’t too much of a detour so I said sure. But the morning we were to leave, we awoke to a travel advisory for the main highway, so we took an alternative route to Hope, crawled along an icy road for the first part of the day and lost so much time that we never made it to Nelson. Instead, we spent the night chatting with Norm the ex-con bartender at the Hot L Saloon in the tiny border town of Midway. The next day, it was getting dark by the time we reached Fernie; hearing reports of blowing snow in the Crowsnest Pass, we decided to spend the night. In the morning, we cleared several inches of snow off the car and left town despite a travel advisory. In Calgary, I did a night on the town with Blake O’Brien, a friend who runs his old Mercedes station wagon on cooking fat, and predictably enough, my start the next morning was later than I’d planned. For the rest of the trip I was on my own, trying to get back to Toronto safely but quickly.
The snow seemed to blow constantly on the Trans-Canada Highway. Sometimes it wisped across in straight lines; sometimes it swirled across in a ghostly dance. The white road ahead was disconcerting, but it was bare underneath. After dark, though, the blowing snow made the visibility poor, so I tried to limit my driving to daylight hours and stayed a night in Swift Current. After I crossed from Saskatchewan into Manitoba, the sky cleared and I saw a rainbow, but it was soon snowing again. And it had been bitterly cold for days.
From Winnipeg, I headed south to North Dakota, past Fargo, through Minnesota to Eau Claire, Wisconsin. I woke up to more snow on the car and drove through flurries and blowing snow for about an hour before it cleared up. I started to make good time. Driving past Chicago was a hassle, but I was beginning to think I’d make it home late that night. Once I reached Michigan, though, the skies filled with dark clouds, and soon I faced more flurries and then heavy snow. I drove past several collisions, including an SUV upside down in the ditch, and by 5 p.m. reluctantly conceded that I’d be spending one more night in a hotel.
The next day, nine and a half weeks after I started, I arrived home. My car had made it. In fact, the dead battery in Bridgeport, California, was the only mechanical problem I’d encountered during the 14,992 kilometres through seventeen states and five provinces. A few weeks later, though, my mechanic Gord Donley suggested I start saving up for my next car because the fuel and break lines were rusting badly. He figured I might get another winter or two out of it, but six months, almost to the day, after I returned from my road trip, he pronounced my wheels dead. Well, he didn’t so much say the car was dead as recommend euthanasia. It was early in June when I dropped it off, but when I checked my messages later in the day, it wasn’t his usual, “Your car is ready.” Instead, I heard, “Please give me a call.” Donley said the brake line was leaking and he wouldn’t even let me drive it home. Fixing it would cost two thousand dollars and the car wasn’t worth that much; although it had only 176,255 kilometres on the odometer, it also had oil and coolant leaks and busted air conditioning.
I was bummed, naturally. I had no wheels. But there was more to it than that: it had been my first ride, and though I’d never given it a name and or lost my virginity in the back seat, I’d had some good times in it. I’d done a road trip to the Maritimes, travelled to Maine and back and enjoyed my great adventure to California in it. As the day wore on and the news sunk in, my melancholy grew.
Somehow I’d driven across the continent and back and my love–hate relationship with the automobile had only deepened. I knew that on both a personal level (my finances) and a global one (the environment), I should just join AutoShare, but possessing my own car now seemed even more crucial. I wasn’t going to kid myself that a car would bless me with status, power or freedom, but I still wanted one. Sure enough, at the end of summer, I bought a Sunlight Silver Mazda3 with manual transmission, cup holders and an iPod jack. I rationalize my decision by saying my ride isn’t too bad on gas, and since it’s small and new, I’ve at least reduced my emissions.
That doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty. I do. I’ve seen and heard more than enough to understand how the car is hurting our planet, our communities and ourselves. I also realize that whatever other lofty meaning we imbue our automobiles with, they really are just appliances. The problem isn’t that we own cars but that we subsidize them, design cities for them and build our lives around them. We drive too much. So while my sporty sedan is great fun and I can’t wait to go on another good long road trip, I won’t be putting many miles on it. I am still a committed pedestrian.
Appendix
Car Song Playlist
NO MATTER WHAT the audio system is, music rarely sounds better than when it’s cranked up during a road trip with friends. And automobiles never seem more full of promise—more essential—than in the lyrics of a good song about a beloved set of wheels, driving or the road. And there are a lot of them.
I aimed to craft a killer playlist of ca tunes, but that’s no easy task, especially since I wanted them all to fit on an eighty-minute CD, a limit that turned out to be quite painful. I ended up cutting a lot of tracks I didn’t want to lose. That caveat aside, here is an annotated version of my completely idiosyncratic playlist of the most indispensable car songs:
“Rocket 88”
JACKIE BRENSTON & HIS DELTA CATS (1951)
This may be the first rock ’n’ roll song. Even if it isn’t, it’s a classic about cars, boozing and cruising. (Ike Turner’s Kings of Rhythm actually made the recording, but since Brenston, normally the group’s saxophone player, did the singing, the band used the Delta Cats moniker.)
“No Particular Place to Go”
CHUCK BERRY (1964)
Although Berry, who worked on an auto-body assembly line, recorded several noteworthy car songs, including “Maybelline,” “No Money Down” and “You Can’t Catch Me,” I’ve chosen this rocker about a guy and a girl “cruising and playing the radio.” They park but the girl has a “safety belt that wouldn’t budge.”
“Little Red Corvette”
PRINCE, 1999 (1983)
Sure, using a car as a metaphor for a woman is nothing new, but this funky pop song is Prince at his best.
“Low Rider”
WAR, WHY CAN’T WE BE FRIENDS? (1975)
This Latin-rock take on lowrider culture is hard to resist.
“Little Deuce Coupe”
THE BEACH BOYS, SURFER GIRL (1963)
No car-song playlist would be complete without the Beach Boys. Although the great American pop band has plenty of automobile-related material to choose from—“Fun, Fun, Fun” and “409” would also have been fine selections—I’ve chosen this hot rod ode because of the stunning vocal arrangement.
“Driving Sideways”
AIMEE MANN, BACHELOR NO. 2 (2000)
A lovely song about travelling with a woman who won’t navigate because she’s afraid she’ll be wrong. A metaphor for a doomed relationship.
“Brand New Cadillac”
THE CLASH, LONDON CALLING (1979)
Although Vince Taylor wrote this song, the Clash recorded the definitive version. A great tune from what may b
e the greatest rock ’n’ roll album of all time, so of course it’s going to make this list.
“Roadrunner”
THE MODERN LOVERS, THE MODERN LOVERS (1976)
This infectious garage rock anthem is about avoiding loneliness by listening to the radio and driving fast in Massachusetts. “Radio on!”
“The Passenger”
IGGY POP, LUST FOR LIFE (1977)
My playlist includes more songs from the 1970s than any other decade. Perhaps that’s because I was a teenager back then and not because the era was the high-water mark for car music. Still, this popular proto-punk song about cruising around at night, when the city is asleep and the stars are out and “everything looks good,” is an obvious choice.
“Autobahn”
KRAFTWERK, AUTOBAHN (1974)
An improbable hit on both sides of the Atlantic, this hypnotic bit of electronic pop—complete with cars zooming by, squealing tires and other road sounds—captures the exhilarating monotony of long-distance highway driving. The fact that most English-speaking listeners misheard the song’s oft-repeated line “Fahren fahren fahren auf der Autobahn” as “Fun, fun, fun on the autobahn” only makes it better. (Fahren means driving in German.) There are various versions available, ranging from three minutes to nearly twenty-three minutes in length— I’ve chosen the nine-and-a-half-minute one so this playlist will be burnable on a CD.
“Radar Love”
GOLDEN EARRING, MOONTAN (1973)
Widely considered the best driving song of all time—just try sticking to the speed limit while this song blasts from the car stereo. Just try.
“Crosstown Traffic”
JIMI HENDRIX, ELECTRIC LADYLAND (1968)
Cars as sexual metaphor again—this time from one of rock’s most revered guitarists. The narrator, who will only drive ninety miles an hour, compares a “hard to get through to” woman to heavy traffic because she is slowing him down.
“Old Blue Car”
PETER CASE, PETER CASE (1986)
Although it earned a Grammy Award nomination, this song from Case’s solo debut is perhaps the least known on this playlist. But everyone can relate to what it’s about: he and his friends pile into an old car that will take them anywhere they want to go.
“Long May You Run”
THE STILLS-YOUNG BAND, THE STILLS-YOUNG BAND (1976)
Today, Neil Young is a devoted car collector. But back in 1965 (not in 1962 as the song suggests) he had to abandon his beloved first car—an old hearse nicknamed Mort—after it broke down near Blind River, a small town in Northern Ontario. This is his elegy to Mort.
“Passenger Side”
WILCO, A.M. (1995)
A whimsical alt-country ballad about a driver who has lost his licence and must rely on his friends to drive him around. The wasted passenger doesn’t like riding shotgun—or that his equally wasted designated driver is swerving all over the road.
“Windfall”
SON VOLT, TRACE (1995)
The narrator of this alt-country anthem sure loves the road trip he’s on. I’m particularly fond of the part where he finds an all-night AM radio station from Louisiana that reminds him of 1963 and “sounds like heaven.”
“This Year”
THE MOUNTAIN GOATS, THE SUNSET TREE (2005)
This song is not about cars; it’s about a seventeen-year-old kid determined to survive one more year with his abusive stepfather. But I’ve included it here because songwriter John Darnielle does such a masterful job of using the car as a narrative vehicle. On Saturday morning, he finds freedom by getting in the car and driving away, fast. He gets drunk, plays video games and then meets his girlfriend (they are, he sings, “twin high maintenance machines”). The car, stuck in second gear, screams as he turns into the driveway when he arrives home at dusk to face another inevitable ugly confrontation with his stepfather.
“(Looking for) The Heart of Saturday Night”
TOM WAITS, THE HEART OF SATURDAY NIGHT (1974)
I’m tempted to pick “Ol’ 55,” from Waits’s Closing Time album, but I’m going with this tender, melancholic ballad about cruising around on a Saturday night in an Oldsmobile.
“Racing in the Streets”
BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN, DARKNESS ON THE EDGE OF TOWN (1978)
Given that The Boss grew up in New Jersey, it’s no surprise that cars make appearances in many of his songs, but this one from the last of his four great albums is my pick as the best of the genre. Springsteen often masks dark lyrics with rousing music, but this is no rocker; it’s a slow, seven-minute masterpiece and an unabashedly poignant portrayal of adult despair and what a car can really mean to someone. Springsteen’s working-class characters rarely see cars as simply freedom or adolescent salvation despite all their talk about promised lands: the man wooing the porch-bound Mary in “Thunder Road” knows any redemption from their loneliness that he and his car can offer will be only temporary and the cruising kids in “Born to Run” have nowhere to hide on the broken hero–jammed highways. But the narrator in “Racing in the Streets” is past even that; for him, the car represents survival. Unlike other men his age—most of whom have given up and started slowly dying—when he’s finished working at his dreary job he goes out and races his souped-up 1969 Chevy for money. His aging girlfriend wallows in her shattered dreams and even when he says he’ll drive her to the sea to wash away their sins, it’s hard to sense any optimism about it. His car and his ability to beat other drivers are all he has left.
Acknowledgments
MY ROAD TRIP wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun without my fellow travellers: Chris Goldie (who also read the first draft), Scott Tomenson, David Johnston (my great agent), Mike Harper (who was beyond generous with his car knowledge), Carmen Merrifield (see below) and Grahame Arnould.
Several people invited me into their homes just when I began to dread hotels: Margot Hartford and Pieter Leezenberg in San Francisco, Bruce and Diana Spencer in San Jose, Amy and James Spach in Los Angeles, Terry and Beth Drayton in Seattle, Grahame Arnould in Vancouver and Blake O’Brien in Calgary. Later, Nicky Falconer and Steve Baker hosted me in London.
I’m indebted to a number of people who helped me write this book. Thanks to my ever-patient editor Helen Reeves, who also had the idea, and to Diane Turbide, for suggesting I could pull it off. Ian Pearson and Matthew Church read the first draft, and their advice proved invaluable. Brian Banks assigned a magazine piece about my road trip, which meant a little money and made sure I didn’t wait until I arrived home to start writing. Researchers Wendy Glauser in Toronto, Dawn Makinson in Buenos Aires and James Fontanella in London made my life so much easier. Wendy also transcribed for me, as did Heather Stonehouse and Gabriela D’Angelo, who also translated. Copy editor Tara Tovell challenged my ideas and the way I expressed them. And production editor Sandra Tooze made sure it all got done on time. Any errors are, of course, mine alone.
Special thanks to my mom and my four sisters and to all my friends who, against all odds, continue to put up with me.
Finally, thanks to the astonishing Carmen Merrifield for twenty-five years of love and indulgence.
Tim Falconer
Toronto
January 2008
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