How I Survived a Car Fire

I always wanted to make the news, but not like this.

The Hamilton Spectator wrote on June 24, 2016:

“Two lanes of the Fort Erie-bound QEW were shut down Friday around 5 p.m. after a car caught fire near Bartlett Avenue in Grimsby.

Ontario Provincial Police and the Grimsby Fire Department responded, with firefighters dousing the flames.

Both lanes re-opened before 6 p.m.”

Here’s the real story:

I had been working in Waterloo, training for a new communications job.  It had been two weeks since I had been home, as I was living out of my parents’ house in Guelph versus commuting. My vehicle, a 1998 Chrylser Interpid (or “Intepid” as I called it, because someone stole the “R”), was a hand-me-down from my grandfather, via my mother, after my sister decided it was not the car for her. My first car was a 1996 Pontiac Grand Am, nicknamed “Piece O’Shyte” for being a stubborn Irishman who wouldn’t let the windows go up. It died when the brakes went driving along highway 406, so my luck with cars was not great I would say.

I was blind to Intepid’s issues, as I would have to drive from St. Catharines to the Brantford campus every day after I returned from my trip. The car was large and luxurious. My grandfather treated his cars better than his grandkids and tended to them more often. The seats were roomy and I felt like I was riding a cloud in a Nintendo video game. My land yacht was a new reprieve for my tush after a long day.  Any worries I had about Intepid would be extinguished following the day’s event.

On Sunday, June 26, I was leaving for Las Vegas to celebrate my 30^th birthday with my husband and two friends. The weekend before we had a family celebration in Guelph and I had used my free evenings to prepare, including exchanging my birthday earnings for U.S. currency. Everything was packed in my car, and my car was to transport all of us to Pearson airport. But Intepid had other plans.

The drive home proved smooth, considering the consistent bottle-necking at the QEW and the Red Hill Valley Parkway. My windows were up to help keep me cool. Intepid’s air conditioning was as monstrous as the car itself. Las Vegas was also scheduled for a heat wave, so I needed all the cool air I could get. I sang along to my Spice Girls CD while sailing towards St. Catharines.

Just as I went under the Christie and Ontario Street overpasses, my car started to smoke. My first thought was it being exhaust of the vehicle in front of me. However, the smoke poured in through my vents, clouding my vision. I swiftly moved over to the side, hoping it was just overheated, and a quick rest would calm her down.

Scenarios and questions swirled in my head: Intepid had a troublesome transmission, but I had that looked at before leaving Guelph the night before by my dad’s mechanic. I had filled it up with fuel, but how could that possibly start the fire in the hood? Maybe I was overdue for an oil change?

My first instinct was to get everything out of the car – luggage, clothing, my U.S. money, my grandfather’s old straw hat that sat in the rear window. I retrieved everything and moved it about 30 metres away from the car. Cars started to slow down as the smoke rose.

Two roadside saviors pulled over with their tow trucks. Rick and Jackson dashed out with their fire extinguishers and tried to unlatch the hood. Rick reached down but yanked his hand back – the latch was too hot to touch.

“Looks like you’re going to have to let your car die,” said Rick.

“I’ll call the fire department,” said Jackson.

I first called my insurance company. Then I called my boyfriend. Then I called my parents.

“Just calling to let you know that the car is dead,” I said. “She caught fire on the highway and the fire department is coming to put it out.”

“Well, what do you want us to do? We’re in Halifax,” my dad said. He hung up the phone after telling me he has no more cars to sell me.

Cars where snail crawling along the QEW on both sides to see the smoke plume from under the hood. The flames started to creep out from underneath. I kneeled down to get a view as Rick and Jackson circled the vehicle in amazement. 

The OPP arrived on the scene, followed closely by the Grimsby fire department. I stood behind the car, now 43 metres away, safeguarding my possessions. The officer approached Rick and Jackson, who pointed at me as I darted my eyes back to the ground. I did not want to make eye contact with the drivers going by and feel guilt for delaying their start to a weekend. Office Noname slowly moved over to get my information, asked a few questions about what happened, look me once over to see what trouble I could cause, then walked away.

The fire department navigated the traffic congestion to give room to Intepid's over-the-top exit. The windows shattered and the tires popped from the heat. An award-winning performance if I had ever seen one. It took the fire team all of five minutes to douse the flames, not before someone snapped a picture and sent it to the Hamilton Spectator for the above report. I stood idly by as the squad car and fire truck cleared away, alone next to the deceased.

Rick loaded Intepid onto his flatbed and helped me into his cab. He drove me to Beamsville to meet Phil. I had called him, who was already tipped off about my incident when he received several calls and Facebook messages asking, “Did I see Ron on the side of the road next to a flaming car?” We stuffed all my possessions, with Grandpa’s hat on my head, and headed home. 

I did not say goodbye to Intepid – she made her choice, and I refused to enable her bad behaviour.

That evening, over cocktails at Gord’s Place in downtown St. Catharines (Phil drove), I told the tale that was making headlines as it should have been told. Nothing about me had been extinguished in this process. My survival instincts burns strong to this day. The new story could have been a very different one, of which I would never have read.

My new car, Tony Mazda, has served me for nine years now. He is not without his faults, sharing his inability to lower or raise windows with his predecessor. My grandfather's straw hat sits in Tony to serve as a reminder that when life gets tough and it feels like the world is burning around me, if I can survive a car fire, I can survive anything.