How I Survived a Car Fire

Originally written on October 7, 2024 for a writing class.

I always wanted to make the news, but not like this.

The Hamilton Spectator wrote on June 24, 2016:

“Two lanes of the Fort Erie-bound QEW were shut down Friday around 5 p.m. after a car caught fire near Bartlett Avenue in Grimsby.

Ontario Provincial Police and the Grimsby Fire Department responded, with firefighters dousing the flames.

Both lanes re-opened before 6 p.m.”

Here’s the real story:

I had been working in Waterloo, training for my new job as a communications assistant at the Wilfrid Laurier University Students’ Union. It had been two weeks since I had been home, as I was living out of my parents’ house in Guelph versus commuting. My vehicle, a 1998 Chrylser Interpid (or “Intepid” as I called it, because someone stole the “R”), was a hand-me-down from my grandfather, via my mother, after my sister decided it was not the car for her. My car before that was a 1996 Pontiac Grand Am, nicknamed “Piece O’Shyte” for being a stubborn Irishman who wouldn’t let the windows go up, so my luck with cars was not great I would say. I was blind to Intepid’s issues, as I would have to drive from St. Catharines to the Brantford campus every day after I returned from my trip, but that worry would be extinguished following the day’s event.

On Sunday, June 26, I was leaving for Las Vegas with my husband and two friends to celebrate my 30^th birthday. The weekend before we had a family celebration in Guelph and I had used my free evenings to prepare, including exchanging my birthday earnings for U.S. currency. Everything was packed in my car, and my car was to transport all of us to Pearson airport. But Intepid had other plans.

Just as I was passing under the Christie and Ontario Street overpasses, my car started to smoke. At first I thought it was the exhaust of the vehicle in front of me, but I quickly realized it was my car as smoke started coming in through the heating vents. I swiftly moved over to the side, hoping it was just overheated and a quick rest would calm her down.

Scenarios and questions swirled in my head: Intepid had a troublesome transmission, but I had that looked at before leaving Guelph the night before by my dad’s mechanic. I had filled it up with fuel, but how could that possibly start the fire in the hood? Maybe I was overdue for an oil change?

My first instinct was to get everything out of the car – luggage, clothing, my U.S. money, my grandfather’s old straw hat that sat in the rear window. I retrieved everything and moved it about 30 metres away from the car. Cars started to slow down as the smoke rose.

On the other side of the smoking hood were two tow-truck operators, Rick and Jackson, both trying to open the hood to extinguish the flame. Rick reached down but the metal latch was too hot to grasp.

“Looks like you’re going to have to let your car die,” said Rick.

“I’ll call the fire department,” said Jackson.

I called my insurance company.

Within 10 minutes, the OPP had arrived on scene to check out for any foul play. When he approached Rick and Jackson, they pointed at me, as I stood by my personal items and looked at the ground. I did not want to make eye contact with the drivers going by and feel guilty for delaying their start to a weekend. He slowly moved over to get my information, ask a few questions about what happened, look me once over to see what trouble I could cause, then walked away. The fire department navigated the traffic congestion to relieve Intepid of its burning pain, which was now a roaring inferno with billowing black smoke soaring above the halted traffic. In the five minutes it took for the team to put out the flames, a photo was taken without me visibly in it - thankfully!

Once the car was cleared for removal, Rick kindly helped me to a pick-up spot in Beamsville to meet Phil, my now husband. I had called him, but he was already tipped off about my incident when he received several calls and Facebook messages asking, “Did I see Ron on the side of the road next to a flaming car?” and was on his way to meet me at the rest stop. We stuffed all my possessions into the front of Rick's cab, with Grandpa’s hat on my head, and headed out. I did not say goodbye to Intepid – she made her choice, and I refused to enable her bad behaviour.

That evening, over cocktails at Gord’s Place in downtown St. Catharines (Phil drove), I told the tale that was making headlines as it should have been told. Nothing about me had been extinguished in this process, but my survival fire burns strong to this day. My new car, Mazzy the Mazda, serves as a reminder that when life gets tough and the world starts to burn up around you, I just remind myself that I survived a car fire – I can survive anything.