The Oil Change

Took mom’s car in for an oil change today.

Canadians are rather bossy I think: but they can be polite.

A young fellow patiently explained that my delay in getting the oil change was going to be a problem “Sludge builds up in the engine when you don’t change your oil regularly. It’s not good for the car.” I was a naughty senior citizen.

Then he went on to tell me about filters, gas mileage, flushing something or other out, transmission problems and not polluting the environment.

I could have told him it was Cambio de aceite in Spanish. I learned that driving through Mexico. I was a great oil changer, every five thousand kilometers on the nose! My old red Intrepid had been from Whitehorse in the Yukon Territory to Oaxaca in southern Mexico. I had some miles on that puppy!

And it wasn’t a build up of sludge that suddenly made it almost explode in the middle of the desert north of Saltillo. It was the fan belt! When it went, hot steam poured out of the engine to the point where I couldn’t see. I had no where to go either: the single lane highway had no shoulder and a four foot bank prevented me from parking anywhere but the middle of the highway. Eventually the Policia did call a truck that towed us back to the town a friend and I were trying to sneak out of.

The jeep did that in Oman too. No sludge build up, just a worn fan belt. I guess I am a slow learner. At least this time I could pull off and park under a tree: but it was almost a week before I found someone who both understood what I needed and had the tools and materials to help.

No problem getting oil changes in the Middle East though. There was a Jeep dealership in Muscat and the fellows spoke English. I just had to wait my turn after the Arabs: we do have a social order of things. But I waited, and always had clean oil. They tacked up my muffler too, after it fell off on the freeway between Al Sawati and Al Kuair.

But regular oil changes don’t help when the AC goes either. Vas and I travelled almost 400 K, skirting along the edge of Saudi Desert with the heat on, trying to keep the engine cool in the 40 plus degree temperatures on our way to Salalah. Good thing we had lots of water: to pour over our heads!

I figure tires are pretty important too. I was pregnant with Monte and had a big septic tank in the back of the truck when I experienced my first blow out. The trucks always had bald tires: I preferred to feed my family before I purchased good tires. But we paid the price: I was an excellent tire changer in my youth, and I know the value of a good jack.

And clean oil changes nothing when you have water in the gas tank. I was always changing fuel filters in one of our trucks. And if that didn’t stop the thing from chugging down the road, I would take out the air filter and vacuum it out. That seemed to help.

I know how to push-start a truck.

I can use jumper cables.

I can drive down a dry riverbed full of boulders with a Toyota Troopie filled with indigenous artists.

I know how to drive through a water hole or up a sand dune. I can handle a snow storm and know how to gear down slowly on black ice.

I know what a worn U-joint sounds like and how to drive 800 k over 9 mountain passes with no brakes.

I know how to change the oil in a lawn mower, a ¾ ton truck and how to mix gas for a chain saw.

I know oil is important. It has been a lot of years since I was sixteen and blew the engine in my VW Bug. “Oh THAT is what that little red light meant!” And a few years since I discovered that the weight of the oil counts too! Summer weight in winter, well.. the pistons went right through the cover on my Econoline Ford.

But like I say, that was a while ago. I know stuff now. I’m really glad the kid at the Mr Lube knows stuff too… That’s his job. I just wanted an oil change and to be left alone to play Suduko.

At least he was relatively polite.