I was glad it was still dark as I pulled into the driveway after driving husband to the airport for an ugly-early-morning flight.
I was feeling naughty and the cover of darkness was an added bonus.
This naughty feeling had nothing to do with husband being away, of course.
As I dropped Garry at the airport, he had said: “Yikes! The safety is expired on this truck. I completely forgot!”
Our 2010 GMC Sierra pickup truck does not get driven much when we’re busy with work and travel.
It was no wonder the safety inspection sticker had expired.
My first thought, once I had crept home under police radar with expired safety sticker, was for my errand list, extensive after being away for weeks and heading out again in a few days.
My second thought was my column. I had been suffering from writer’s block due to a work schedule that was so crazy I could barely drive the vehicles I had been assigned, much less focus on a story.
‘Finally!’ I had thought, when I knew I’d have a couple of days at home in a row. ‘Time to drive and think about my press vehicle.’ And get over the tormenting writer’s block.
Alas, the driveway, except for the illegal pickup truck, was empty. No press vehicle. What would I drive? I eagerly opened the garage.
Who wouldn’t always be looking for an excuse to fire up the 2004 Porsche 911 or the 1995 BMW 540i? The two black beauties wait silently for a day when their owners have enough time to take them for a spin.
Paranoid, with the Sierra’s expired sticker front of mind, I checked the German stablemates. Double darn, expired licence plates on both. I was officially stranded. No cars.
I considered my options.
What about a ride-hailing service? Neither ride-hailing nor car-sharing will spring me from my trap though. Halifax has not yet opened the floodgates to that tsunami.
The discussion on whether this will happen continues both in regional council chambers, among taxi drivers and citizens.
Oh well, I could always use public transit, which I haven’t done in years. Between trying to decipher bus routes and timing, I figure I would be running around non-stop for 24 hours to complete my errand list.
A good ol’ taxicab would be a fine answer to my dilemma but I would have to keep the cab waiting everywhere I stopped around town, meter ticking.
What about the bicycle in the shed? Its two flat tires looked more deflated than I felt.
A motorcycle? I don't have one and, even if I did, I wouldn’t know how to drive it thanks to a five-year stint of procrastination on my vow to take a motorcycle course. I do have the flashy Sym Mio ‘Fashion Style’ 50 cc scooter but, thanks to more of my procrastinating, I don’t have a helmet.
Meanwhile, husband Garry and a friend were hurtling toward me from Toronto, driving two perfectly good press vehicles to add to our depleted fleet, a 2019 Ford Expedition and a 2019 Volkswagen Jetta GLI (with a yummy six-speed manual transmission).
They wouldn’t arrive until the end of the day tomorrow. What the heck was I supposed to do?
Wheel-less, I felt trapped, stranded, less than whole, like the becalmed sailor in Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner — ‘Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink’ — except my mournful tune was ‘Vehicles, vehicles everywhere nor any one to drive’.
Then the phone call: “Your tester for next week is ready for pick up at the Toyota dealership.”
Across town, the 2019 RAV4 AWD Trail version had arrived. Never mind all those city errands, I could go anywhere with this all-wheel drive baby.
I was somewhat sad to no longer have an excuse to stay holed up in my cozy house with the rain pouring outside and a cup of tea in my hand. I still had to get to the RAV4 on the other side of town, though.
I would have to use a mode of transport I had forgotten about. My two feet.
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