NO GOING BACK

Back in the late 90s, I drove a car with no reverse. For one year. I didn’t plan to. It just kind of happened and I let it.

It was the Monday after Superbowl Sunday 1998. Early morning and I was driving my 1987 Honda Prelude to the Clarkson GO station. Just a couple of minutes after I left home, I was making a left turn onto Upper Middle Rd in Oakville when I heard a loud popping sound emanating from the engine. I could still drive, but the engine was now revving much higher.

After driving a short distance, as the engine wailed, I realized, “this isn’t good,” so, I turned right off the next street and decided to head back; unsure if the car would even make it home. Attempting to make a three-point turn proved impossible because I discovered that the car did not have reverse.

I cursed out loud, “fuckin’ damn shit!” Never one to be mechanically inclined, even I could conclude I had tranny problems. Not problems with transvestites, but my transmission was pooched. All I could think of on the short ride home was, “please car don’t die in the middle of the road” and “how much is the going to cost to fix?”.

I still lived at home, but was attending university full time, working only part-time; with little savings and car dependant living in the suburbs.

The following day, I drove to a mechanic to get it checked, bracing for the worst. Obviously, a car is not your health, but being so reliant on one I felt the nerves of someone awaiting test results. The diagnosis was bad. The fourth gear on my automatic transmission was gone along with reverse.

The cost to replace the transmission was in the thousands of dollars; far more than this 11-year-old car with high mileage was worth. Between driving to school, work and socializing, public transit wasn’t even on my radar. I decided to shop for a used car. In the meantime, I could still drive this car. Afterall, it still went forward, and they say in life to always look forward.

I searched for used cars in the newspaper (it was still early days of the internet) and I picked up a copy of the Auto Trader magazine which came out on Thursdays. I quickly realized that anything decent was out of my price range and was reluctant to get into debt since I was still months away from graduating. Any car that was only a couple of thousand dollars was old, had high clicks and bound to have problems sooner or later. The fear of buying a lemon soured me.

So, I decided to drive this no reverse automobile as long as I could figuring it would probably die soon forcing my hand to find a reasonable replacement. Little did I think I’d be driving like this for nearly an entire year. But I did and lived to tell the story.

Aside from the car revving super high, oh, and the no reverse thing, it was safe and got me from point A to point B reliably. Surprisingly, having a car with no ability to back up wasn’t as difficult as you might think. I only found myself in a bind maybe half a dozen to 10 times throughout the whole year.

First, my mom’s house has a driveway with a gentle slope. Backing up involved putting the car in neutral, coasting down backwards and then promptly putting it in drive. At the school parking lot, I would look for a spot that I didn’t need to reverse out of, even if it meant parking further away. The odd time I would find a spot that had a car in front of me and just hoped it would be gone once I was done with classes. Luckily it usually was. Other times it wasn’t. I would have to put the car in neutral and push the car a few feet until I had clearance to drive away.

When the school year was done, I worked full-time downtown at a hotel. I would take the GO train on weekdays following the same parking lot protocol. On weekends I’d drive to work using the right lane on the highway. The engine would sound like a sewing machine about to blow because of the lack of a higher gear. Ah, fun memories.

There was the time we had a substantial snowfall and backing out of the driveway was not possible. My brother helped by finding a fallen tree branch, as I sat in the car, he shoved the piece of wood under the front bumper and hoisted it up until the car got some traction and slowly slide backwards.

On another occasion, I was on a first date and we went to a watch a movie near Bloor and Runnymede in Toronto. I didn’t dare mention to her that my automobile had no reverse. I pulled into the crowded parking lot and could not find any spots that I could drive into without another car blocking my exit. I nervously drove around as she pointed out, “there’s a spot, there’s another one.” I finally had no choice but to park, hoping the car in front would be gone once the movie was over. I don’t recall the movie because I was too busy worrying that the car in front of mine would still be there and I would have to embarrassingly explain my no reverse ride on a first date. Quite the impression. Mercifully, there was no car in front, and I was able to drive away. Phew!

One time on a Friday night, I was driving to Toronto with a friend, searching for parking on a side street. I realized too late that it was dead end. As it dawned on my friend that we had no way to turnaround the look on his face was priceless as he yelled out, “ahhh, fuck!” Knowing that he’d be getting out to help me push the car. We had a good laugh. Thanks, buddy.

Months dragged on and the mileage racked up on the Honda, which was otherwise driving fine. Other than changing the oil I didn’t spend a dollar on maintenance. Just waiting for it die.

Once when I was washing the care. Not sure why, I guess I still had some pride. My nephew, Mathew, who was seven at the time was riding his bike around. When he returned to the house, he started to lose his balance and his handlebar dragged the entire length of the passenger side leaving a huge scratch. I looked up to see his little face horrified at the damage he accidentally caused. He thought I’d be mad. I took one look at the scratch and shrugged, “Oh, whatever. I don’t care. Don’t worry about it.” Then we laughed.

Another no reverse setback was in a parking lot across from Sheridan College in Oakville, which I was attending. Unable to park in my usual manner, I pulled in and crossed my fingers that the car in front would be gone when I returned. Not this time. But I was wasn’t fazed. I had become a pro at minor setbacks. Except this time the car was on a slight incline and I could not push it over the hump to leave. After several minutes of trying in vain I had no choice but to wait till the car left. I sat in my car cursing myself for my stupidity for driving a vehicle with no fucking reverse, telling myself that I had to buy another car. It was about 30 minutes before the offending car finally left.

But then I would go about my life, driving and not needing to back up the car most of the time.

Seasons changed and the car eventually developed other ailments. Going though a drive thru in the winter, I put down the power window to collect my food, but then it wouldn’t go back up. I drove home freezing with the window down the whole way. It did go back up when I got home, but I was hesitant to put it down ever again.

The problems kept mounting. On Christmas Eve, while having dinner with family at my mom’s house, the car’s horn went off involuntarily. Just one loud continuous wail. We went outside in a panic and took the fuse out to stop the incessant blaring and put the fuse back thinking we had solved the problem.

Later, in the middle of the night there was a knock on the door. From the police. The horn had gone off again and a neighbour had called the cops. I went outside in my robe in the dark and still groggy from just being awoken and I couldn’t find the fuse to pull out. I explained the situation to the officer, and he said I had to do something. I decided to drive to a high school a block away and just leave it there. The cruisier followed me to drop of the crying beast and drove me back home. If neighbours had been looking out their window, they would have saw me get out the back of a cruiser in my robe at three o’clock early Christmas morning. What a site.

The next morning, I retrieved my car; the horn still blaring like a wounded animal. In the light of day, I was finally able to find the fuse and make the horn stop. In a cruel twist, the fuse that operated the horn was the same one for the rear brake lights. Fearful the horn would go off again I weighed my options and decided I need brake lights more, so days later got my brother to use bolt cutters to remove the horn.

Now driving with no horn even I realized this was unsafe. The final straw was when the front brakes started deteriorating; to the point of metal on metal grinding when I applied the brakes.

Approaching one year of this driving predicament I finally had some money saved and for my own safety and the safety of others I shopped for a used car, buying a 1994 Ford Probe GT, picking it up on the Friday before Superbowl Sunday. That’s when I started the habit of always reversing the car when I park. Amazingly, I got $100 for the beat-up Honda from a junkyard.

Driving the Probe felt like driving a brand-new car to me. Proper brakes, power windows that worked, a functioning horn and an automatic transmission with all the gears. Including reverse.