That was last Saturday night, the 9th. The next day we had Thanksgiving dinner at my sister's place. Her husband's brothers were in town as usual, and everyone had a nice time. I didn't get to see my brother or his family this weekend, though, for obvious reasons. The next day we visited my niece and nephew and played a board game with them. They enjoyed it, but for some reason it would have taken three years to finish that game and Rose was almost asleep at the table.

The drama didn't happen until the following day. Rose and I took off to Ottawa because we wanted to see a particular bookstore. The alignment was even worse this time, and there was more vibrating. We hooked up with CJ for lunch while we were there. Upon leaving, 96 kilometres from Montreal near Hawkesbury, Ontario, we turned a curve in the road and KAPOW! The front right tire explodes. I pull over to the side. Of course, I had no idea how to change a tire. Because it was the right tire and the shoulder was sloped and gravel, we thought it was smart to turn the car around and put the tire on the paved shoulder, four feet from highway traffic coming around a curve. I know, it was S-M-R-T.

Rose got on the phone with her mechanic father and talked me through the procedure. The screwdriver thing that came with the car was too big to turn the nuts without some serious jiggery. Twice I was able to start lifting the car up with the jack, and twice it fell because I didn't know exactly where to put the jack. The third time the damn thing snapped in two. On to Plan B, which was to hail down some help. In a few minutes a Puerto Rican-type woman stops to lend us her jack. She knew how to use it, too. I thought we were saved right then, but an OPP officer (like a state trooper, but much more reasonable, I'm told) pulls up and gives us shit for being so damn stupid. He immediately shoos the woman away, orders us to get in the car and pull off to the side, closer to the ditch. After checking my license and so on, he called us a tow truck and ordered us in the car. This was the last thing I wanted, but at least I knew we would be in good hands. By the way, he looked at the remaining front tire and said that the car should never have been rented to us. He said that Hertz owes us money for the towing and repairs at least. If they gave us problems, he would have charged them with putting an unsafe car on the road. The mechanic guy agreed.

About 45 minutes later, Rose and I were in a Vankleek Hill garage. Peter the mechanic (ugly as sin, with the requisite dodgy eye), naturally didn't have the exact tire that fits, and it was by then too late to go get any. He called Hertz to ask them what they wanted to do. If I could cover the expenses for towing and repair (Peter had to make do with smaller tires), Hertz would issue me a cheque. I couldn't really complain. Almost 90 minutes later, the job was finished. Rose and I took off like bats out of hell, and in my haste I think I left my camera there. Damn. We stopped off at Pointe Claire's Toys-R-Us to pick up some presents for Julie's daughter (it's her fifth birthday on Tuesday) and made it back to the rental place five minutes to closing. They were closed. We had to pay for another day.

I went back the next day and simply explained the situation. They agreed to pay for the repairs, and they also agreed to take off the last two days of the rental. Sweet, although I will personally inspect the car I am to rent a few hours beforehand to avoid future problems.