Oh, Phoebe!

That's the name of our van. Or, so it has been until fairly recently. She's been through a lot with us. Many long journeys, scorching heat and blistering cold, brake jobs and power-steering replacements, and in June she found her way down the mountain only to burn out her fuel pump. Her ticker is still going, though I'm not sure how much more she can bear. She has the sweats, according to our oil change man.

Phoebe has been having a bit of an identity crisis. No, she didn't win Extreme Makeover: Automotive Edition. Something far more sinister. She had her plates stolen. Gasp! I know! It's horrific! Her identity, taken from her in an instant. See, the only way we could tell her apart (besides that nice dent in the back door from a snowy day in Calgary), was her tell-tale license plate FBE-000. Phoebe. Can you see it? Well, now we have to pay more attention when parking somewhere a lot of other families may be parking. Her fob doesn't work so hot either these days - you need to be within about 20 feet for the doors to unlock and the lights to flash. It still baffles me how the panic button works from so far away though, unless that's the sound of someone actually trying to break in and steal Faith's wallet again... I should shut that off now.

Well, I'm here to tell you her latest tale. She made it all the way to Saskabush and back without any complaints, and returned to find winter in our driveway. I considered getting those things called "snow tires", but I've never done so in the past, and at her age I wonder if it's really worth it. Anyway, we were at church a few times yesterday between Sunday School, the worship service, drama practice, and a worship evening. Phoebe waited patiently for us during the day, and I took her out for the evening because she was already warm. Bonnie wasn't. (Bonnie is the car's name right now). On my way home from the evening worship I grew excited because I was going to have most of the evening with Faith.

As I passed a semi-truck my rear driver's side tire blew out. Immediately I threw on my 4-ways and slowed to a stop on the side of Highway 16. Ahead of me was another semi pulled over, and right next to me was the driver pushing a pair of his hissing and steaming dual tires through the snow. I hopped out and looked back to see steam rising in several locations in the ditch - pieces of his brake assembly were scattered all over. I went back to clear the highway of the glowing debris with my winter boots and realized exactly what had transpired. I jogged back to my vehicle and then jumped down into the ditch to speak with the driver and help him push his tires back to his rig. It was the neighborly thing to do, right?

We got the tires most of the way back to the truck and couldn't shove them up the incline (they were still hissing because of the heat they were producing). We wrapped a tie-down around them and the driver dragged them up onto the highway. And didn't stop. The tires rolled into the other lane of traffic, and I ran out to jerk the tie-down and bring them back with only seconds to spare before another semi breezed past. Instinctively I dove into the ditch. And then the driver stopped and got out. I'm sure he was wondering why I looked like a snowman. It was about -22 C. Not the nicest of weather to be playing in the snow.

As the abominable snowman I asked for his license and registration and tried to make out the muddied plates on the back of the trailer with only moderate success. I know he understood what I was saying even though his thick accent indicated he was not born in rural Canada. I told him that the debris from his incident had blown out my tire and that there was likely damage to my rim. He took a call at that point, so I pulled my phone out with my snow-drenched fingers and dialed AMA. While I was on hold, I asked again for his license and registration, to which he held up his pointer finger as if to say, "Wait a minute," and headed back toward his cab. I thought it wise to get my own from my vehicle, but as I was walking away I saw the trucker's tires rolled down into the ditch once again to rest up against a road sign. He hopped out to look at them, looked toward me, got into the cab, and pulled out into traffic.

That's right. Gone.

What.

A.

Jerk.

And I'm standing out in the cold on hold with AMA.

So I walked back to my vehicle to warm up for a few moments before pulling out my spare and jacking up my vehicle. Two teen boys pulled up at that point and offered to help. I refused the help through thanks and admiration, though I could have used it. I just needed to get my head around things before involving others. A minute passed and I hopped out to grab my jack to raise the weight off of the tire. After wrestling with the packaging one-handed (the phone was singing pleasant tunes to me in the other), I propped the van up slightly and pulled out all the storage in the back to find the crank to lower my spare tire. At this point an engaged couple pull up behind me and offer to help. Having their lights on the situation did improve things as it was by their light I was able to discern where the hole for the crank was in the bumper after reviewing the manual to determine its' whereabouts. He had the tire off in moments while I fished the crank in and proceeded to slowly lower the tire. What a pain. But once we dropped the spare out and fished the line through AMA remembered I existed and answered my call.

It was almost 20 minutes after I called initially that I got a response. They have been busier lately. However, by the time I was done describing what had occurred, my donut was in place, tightened, and my jack and blow-out were in the back of my van. The nice lady on the other end asked if I needed assistance as I thanked the couple for their aid and sent them on their way. I asked her to instead patch me through to the RCMP, which she kindly did and I made a report.

"Are you in any kind of danger, sir?"

"Not anymore. But have I got a story for you..."

I finished up my call after recounting what I had witnessed. They thanked me and I began driving. As I was passing below the nearby overpass, I saw red and blue's beaming above me on their way to investigate the scene. When I pulled into Spruce Grove I got a call from a blocked number which I assumed was the officer on the scene, so I pulled over and took her call. After hearing me recount the story once again she promised me she would go after the guy (who was likely not going terribly quickly unless he continued in his idiot ways) and wished me the best.

So today I went and got a used aluminum rim for my van and had a genuinely used tire put on it from a pick-your-part so Phoebe wouldn't feel so gimped. Poor girl. I hope things get better for her, but if her age and mileage are any indication, she might not be around much longer. Or God might just arrange for a catastrophic event to take her off our hands like he did our last van. You know. The stolen one that was involved in a high speed police chase the day we were to move to Caronport and totalled. Who knows? At the rate I've been filing police reports, I knew the constable I spoke to over the phone on a first-name basis.

- Mark