I came back into Cranbrook Friday afternoon via Highway 93/95. Temperatures were pushing 40 degrees Celsius.
On the Strip at Willowbrook — one of the busiest intersections in town — sat an abandoned car, hood up, emergency flashers blinking away.
“Poor devil,” I said to myself as I went driving past. “There but for the grace of God, etc …”
You can guess what I’m going to say. A few hours later I was that poor devil.
Just as the 40 degree heat turns my blood into vapour before it can reach my brain, 40 degrees vaporizes the gasoline in in my fuel lines before it can reach my engine. And contrary to what you’ve heard people say, including me, you can’t run your car on fumes.
I vaguely remember incidents of vapour lock back when I drove cars made in the ‘70s — cars with carburetors. But fuel-injected cars can suffer from vapour lock too. Particularly, cars of the brand and vintage that I drive, according to the expert who filled me in on the issue in the HeidOut, hours later, as I sat there at the bar, head in my hands, trying to cool the blood in my brain back to liquid.
Vapour lock occurs when liquid fuel changes from liquid to gas while still in the fuel delivery system. This disrupts the operation of the fuel pump, causing loss of feed pressure to the carburetor or fuel injection system, resulting in loss of power or stalling. In my case on Friday, I stalled out as I was heading downhill on Victoria Avenue towards the 2nd Street North intersection — one of the busiest intersections in town.
I had been working my little car hard all day, driving around town from point to point, shutting it off and starting it up, not giving it a chance to cool down. Meanwhile, the temperatures continued to rise, the streets got hotter and hotter, and so did my little car’s engine.
I tried restarting my stalled car, shifting into neutral and turning the key as I coasted up to the red light at Victoria and 2nd Street North. I also tried restarting as I sat there, perfectly blocking the centre lane at the intersection. Cars pulled in behind me, and started to honk their horns as the light turned green.
They were polite enough honks, I must say. Gentle parp-parps to alert me the light was green, not the angry, aggressive honks one expects when the hot weather makes drivers so irritable.
But gentle or loud, there was nothing I could do. I stepped out of the car, my emergency flashers blinking away. Cars peeled out from behind and went around. Cars coming down the hill veered away into the other lane at the last second. It was pretty nerve-wracking, standing in the middle of a busy Cranbrook street, with limited visibility for the traffic coming down the hill behind me.
A car pulled up behind me. “Do you need a push?” the chap asked from the window. He left his car there in the middle lane, emergency flashers blinking away, and we pushed the car across the 2nd Street North intersection. I’m assuming the light was green. I didn’t look.
One thing about pushing your car at speed, leaning in the driver’s side door with one hand one steering wheel, is the moment comes when you have to jump into your moving car to guide it to the curb and apply brakes. That’s what I did, anyway. It takes no small degree of coordination, to jump into a moving car. I couldn’t help imagining slipping and sliding underneath the car. Jeepers!
Standing there on Victoria, hood up, emergency flashers blinking away, cars veering away at the last minute, I thought about my options. Calling a tow truck would seem to be the first step. But after a few minutes, I tried starting the car, and it did. I was able to creep into the Save-On parking lot, and I decided to see if I could limp home, this time down 4th Street North, then up 14th Avenue South.
I made it as far as 14th Avenue, by the Juniper Lanes. I died with the left hand signal light on. The driver behind me honked, then, at my gesture of helplessness, did a three point turn and sped off the way she came. Another car pulled up behind me, while at the same time a friend pulled over, seeing I was in automotive distress. The stranger behind me, my friend and I pushed the car onto 14th Avenue, into a precarious position near the corner.
I considered my options again. Unwilling to learn, I decided to continue to try to limp home. To make a long story short, I was able to make a tenuous progress down 14th, talking to myself all the way, until I died again, almost within sight of my driveway. I was however, able to coast around the corner of 2nd Street south and into a parking spot on 13th Avenue. It occurred to me that I had started to refer to my car “dying” as me “dying.” I was able to ponder the philosophical implications of that as I trudged home, soaked in sweat.
I picked up the car later, all cooled down, and it has run fine since, though I tend to baby it along. A couple of tankfuls of premium gas might help forestall (pun intended) the vapour lock, since it contains less alcohol to evaporate in the lines.
In any case, just another symptom of the long infernal summer of 2018.
I would like to thank the motorists who stopped to help me as I was stuck in the middle of the street. May your summers be vapour-lock free.