Kindness in Wolfs Clothing - Years ago, back in University I owned a 1978 Chevrolet Nova. It was the 90s. Nirvana, the Smashing Pumpkins, Midnight Oil in the tape-deck. The car was Candy-Apple red. A muscle car as far as anyone knew. Although it only had a straight-six cylinder engine. It had guts, but you couldn't "lay rubber” or anything. Everyone loved this car. it was old, it was cool, it was fun. I had an old black rotary phone that sat on the hump that separated the driver and front passenger. Under that hump was the automatic transmission.

It was 1992, so having a car phone was not impossible, but it was financially unlikely for me. But when you pull up to a traffic light and roll down your window to offer a land-line to the car in the next lane because "it's for you." It's a skit, people loved it.

Anyway I loved that car and I drove it for the length of time I was in school. Up and down the major highways from Waterloo to Parry Sound (Cottage Country) by way of Toronto for holidays and work in the summer. I often had little issues with it, mainly, I could solve those on my own as I had some training in high school and I worked at a marina in the summer months.

One December though, I was coming South from my parents on my way back to school, I was maybe 40 minutes into the 3 hour tour. It was cold, very cold - 25 C,that's -13 F for you American friends. The windshield started to fog up from inside the vehicle, almost instantly,I was blinded.

I limped the American steel to the side of the road, put her in park. Still running I could see the a green liquid splashing onto the floor of the passengers side. Smelling the sickeningly sweet coolant as it spewed from God knows where. I could taste it. I killed the engine and it became very quiet. The quiet gave me space to think. I had tools, but I didn't really know what the problem was. I got out and popped the hood,stared into the void that cradled the smoldering motor.

I had only been outside the car for a minute when another car pulled up behind me. Snow crunching under its tires, almost squeaking at these temperatures. Out of the car stepped a man not much older than myself. He was wearing a hockey jacket that read Sudbury Wolves. My expereince with hockey players was not favourable. Most of that was based on my dealings with the Parry Sound Junior C club. A bunch of assholes, save a couple. This guy was on an OHL team,one step away from majors.

He asked what was up. I explained what I knew. He played for the Wolves of Sudbury a couple hours north, but he was a mechanic in the city the rest of the time. Here, that meant Toronto. He knew what he was doing. Very methodical. Together we gathered our tools. He surmised after a while that the heater-core in the interior of the car had blown. The hot coolant that heats the inside of the car was now spilling into it. He said he could re-route the coolant back into the engine by bypassing the core,I'd be mobile, but with no heat.

We worked together and this only took maybe twenty minutes. I couldn't believe I might get out of this cold and off this highway so quickly. He was very pleasant. I offered him some money I had, and said I could get more at the next stop. He wouldn't take anything. He asked me to help someone out sometime instead. I said, I would. That Wolf followed me all the way to the city, as he neared his exit he pulled up along side of me and waved, good luck.

Part II:

Almost a year later I was driving the Super Nova in the opposite direction. I was going across the 401, a busy part of the trans-Canada highway, between Waterloo and Toronto. It was November, it has snowed, but now it was slushy. Between the Guelph turn-off at highway 6 and the city of Toronto I passed a Chrysler K-car pulled off to the shoulder of the multi-lane highway. The K-car was an affordable car forged in the fires of revenge by some engineer with a sense of humour. I blew by at speed, seeing two middle aged people in theater-dress surveying their own predicament. I could see the familiar coolant pooling under the engine compartment,that steam boiling up as quickly as the drivers arms.

I hit the brakes and put the Nova in reverse,one back-up light still working. I offered to take a look, as they explained that they were on their way to her brothers theatrical debut in the city. Death of a Salesman, he was Willy Loman. I crawled under the car and could see right away that the element for the block heater had become loosened and had fallen out. The manufacturer uses this cavity in the process of casting the block,they close it up with a metal plug and a press. In Canada we often punch that plug out and replace it with a heating element to heat the oil, so that when the temperatures drop we can still turn over the otherwise frozen engine.

Feeling ambitious and maybe filled with a sense of duty we all piled into the Nova, heat, since restored and headed to Canadian Tire to seek out a new block heater. Truth be told, these people couldn't believe I was derailing my trip to "maybe” be able to help them. I was full of hope. We got to "the Tire” in Guelph and it was a bust, no element in stock.

Back on our farm we often fixed things without the proper parts. Our tractor operated with the radiator of an old derelict car for the back half of a summer once,my mothers idea and repair. So, in the store we went out of automotive and into plumbing. I eyeballed a couple of drain-plugs, threaded so that they would expand when tightened. With these and some pre-mixed coolant we set off.

The first plug I tried fit like a glove, once tightened I was confident it would hold. We topped up the fluid and re-lit the car. She hugged me, he and I shook hands. They were off and in time to make the show if they skipped dinner. I was covered in shit and as happy as a clam. She said "I was praying to God for help when you pulled over.”

They offered me money, as I had offered the Wolf. I said "this is a better story if I don't take it, and I love stories.” I got back in the Nova and put it in drive. I could see in the rear-view mirror he was frantically waving. I waited as he ran up to the window, I rolled it down,he was clenching a fist-full of beef jerky like a bunch of loose wind-shield wipers. "We make these he said.” "Thank you”

I followed them to the city, and at their exit I pulled up to them and waved good luck.