957:43
She and I had decided on a sapphire black 2009 Ford Focus TDCi hatchback. Two litre turbo diesel engine, six speed semi-automatic. There was nothing wrong with Big Red, apart from a slightly sagging rear bumper typical of Falcons of that age, but I found the Focus at a good price and I decided it was time to trade.
So we find my hero (me) in the XR8 driving south down the Princes Highway to pick up the new car, three hours of Big Red ownership remaining. It was 9am Saturday 24 April, I was listening to Charles Manson's Lie: The Love & Terror Cult, and I had just overtaken a fruit truck who flashed his lights at me.
"Fucking truck driver full of amphetamines", I thought.
Then he beeped his horn. I ignored this attempt at auditory interference into the dignified roar of the V8 and "Look At Your Game, Girl" and kept going.
Five minutes later, a semi trailer flashed his lights at me, and I knew something was up.
I sort of realised what the problem was immediately, in retrospect. I glided over to the breakdown, hazards on, out of the car, my hitherto immaculate big red Falcon which had only 300km of business left with my stewardship until I traded it in, and went around the back to see what the truck drivers were seeing. The rear bumper had detached from the right hand side of the car, and was hanging just off the road. Damage on the body and missing bits of the bumper clearly indicated that the bumper was banging off the road and into the side of the car. It was messy, shit dangling everywhere and evidence of continuous thumping, like me watching a rerun of Titanic on television.
I drove the car veeeeerryyyyyy slowly to the next town, bumper flying around enthusiastically, where I assessed the situation. Couldn't pull off the left side, couldn't reattach the right side. Two pins held the bumper to the skirts; one was missing, the other loose. So I drove to the service station, bought a roll of masking tape, and masked my bumper back to the side of the car with half a roll. And got back on the highway.
You get very creative in this situation; you watch for black cars to overtake you so you might try to catch the reflection of the arse end of your car in the reflection of their doors, and see if the tape is holding. Also it was a long weekend, and the highway was crawling with police, and for once I was relieved when they passed me, because if they didn't pull me over, it was obviously still in place.
Three hours is a long time to wait anxiously for two bucks worth of tape to give up and to contemplate how a wrecked rear end might affect your trade in value, but I have been around cars for a long time and my old man was in the taxi industry and my gut feeling was that they wouldn't give a toss. I dragged the salesman out to look at my car before I signed on the dotted line. He lifted up his sunnies, bent down to look at the reamins of my bumper, stood up, put his sunnies back on and said "Mate, nothing here makes me give a shit", and we did the deal.
Oh, two minutes before Batemans Bay and South Coast Ford where I bought the car, there is a bridge. Before I hit the bridge, the campervan behind me flashed his lights at me. I had checked the bumper maybe five minutes earlier and it was fine, so I drew the obvious conclusion: Holy shit, the tape has caught fire from the exhaust pipe. I pulled over and not only was the car not on fire, but the bumper was holding on fine. You know what happened there, right? Fucking truck driver in a campervan on holidays, full of amphetamines.
So we find my hero (me) in the XR8 driving south down the Princes Highway to pick up the new car, three hours of Big Red ownership remaining. It was 9am Saturday 24 April, I was listening to Charles Manson's Lie: The Love & Terror Cult, and I had just overtaken a fruit truck who flashed his lights at me.
"Fucking truck driver full of amphetamines", I thought.
Then he beeped his horn. I ignored this attempt at auditory interference into the dignified roar of the V8 and "Look At Your Game, Girl" and kept going.
Five minutes later, a semi trailer flashed his lights at me, and I knew something was up.
I sort of realised what the problem was immediately, in retrospect. I glided over to the breakdown, hazards on, out of the car, my hitherto immaculate big red Falcon which had only 300km of business left with my stewardship until I traded it in, and went around the back to see what the truck drivers were seeing. The rear bumper had detached from the right hand side of the car, and was hanging just off the road. Damage on the body and missing bits of the bumper clearly indicated that the bumper was banging off the road and into the side of the car. It was messy, shit dangling everywhere and evidence of continuous thumping, like me watching a rerun of Titanic on television.
I drove the car veeeeerryyyyyy slowly to the next town, bumper flying around enthusiastically, where I assessed the situation. Couldn't pull off the left side, couldn't reattach the right side. Two pins held the bumper to the skirts; one was missing, the other loose. So I drove to the service station, bought a roll of masking tape, and masked my bumper back to the side of the car with half a roll. And got back on the highway.
You get very creative in this situation; you watch for black cars to overtake you so you might try to catch the reflection of the arse end of your car in the reflection of their doors, and see if the tape is holding. Also it was a long weekend, and the highway was crawling with police, and for once I was relieved when they passed me, because if they didn't pull me over, it was obviously still in place.
Three hours is a long time to wait anxiously for two bucks worth of tape to give up and to contemplate how a wrecked rear end might affect your trade in value, but I have been around cars for a long time and my old man was in the taxi industry and my gut feeling was that they wouldn't give a toss. I dragged the salesman out to look at my car before I signed on the dotted line. He lifted up his sunnies, bent down to look at the reamins of my bumper, stood up, put his sunnies back on and said "Mate, nothing here makes me give a shit", and we did the deal.
Oh, two minutes before Batemans Bay and South Coast Ford where I bought the car, there is a bridge. Before I hit the bridge, the campervan behind me flashed his lights at me. I had checked the bumper maybe five minutes earlier and it was fine, so I drew the obvious conclusion: Holy shit, the tape has caught fire from the exhaust pipe. I pulled over and not only was the car not on fire, but the bumper was holding on fine. You know what happened there, right? Fucking truck driver in a campervan on holidays, full of amphetamines.