Christian and the New Mechanics

,Our relief at arriving in Ecuador was short-lived. When we finally reached Quito, we had covered over 2,500km. Tranquilo and I had left Cartagena as passing acquaintances and become familiar friends. I could sense the timing of every gear change, I was familiar with the subtleties of the smells from the exhaust, and I understood every nuance of her moods as she transitioned between incline and downward slope. An argument could be made that having suffered through so many mechanical setbacks had made me paranoid, but if I sensed that she was struggling then it was probably so.

Since fixing the air conditioner, her motor sounded fine and, when she was running idle, no one would have been the wiser. Accelerating from first gear into second and then into third and she behaved as anyone would expect. Pushing through every traffic light and climbing up through the hills surrounding Ecuador’s capital, Tranquilo performed marvellously. It was along the downhill straightaways that I became concerned. As we drew closer to the city and ran into sudden pockets of congestion, I could sense Tranquilo’s struggle, even in low gear, to accelerate past slow-moving trucks and smaller cars with less-powerful engines. I found myself glancing down at the dashboard at every gear change. I paid close attention to the rising pitch of the hum of the motor as she accelerated toward 3,000 rpms signalling the moment to change gears. In third gear, as her speed climbed above 60 km/h, I could feel her choke as if to say ‘enough was enough’ and, to compensate, I would press even more firmly on the accelerator. Speeding downhill, her speed would begin to rise above 80 km/h signalling the moment to shift into fifth but there was no change in the pitch of the motor as if changing gear had done nothing.

Down the block from our apartment, near Plaza Foch, was a car dealership with a garage and mechanics on site, but I had played this game before. I knew that they would start the engine and tell me that Tranquilo’s motor sounded fine.

Hablas ingles? I asked the team of grease monkeys, but my inquiry was met with blank stares. At least, by now, my Spanish was advanced enough with a vocabulary built mostly around automotive engineering that I was able to convince one of the mechanics to go for a drive with me.

As we pulled out of the garage and headed out onto the main avenue, the mechanic turned to me and said, the motor sounds fine, you shouldn’t worry.

No, no, no, I wagged my finger at him. Let’s go for a drive. Speed up to 60 km/h and you will understand what I mean.

Finding space along the downtown streets of Quito and reaching speeds up to 60 km/h is tricky. We needed to circle the blocks a few times until we came to the front of a crossing when the stoplight changed from red to green and the mechanic hit the gas. It was only a few seconds before we reached the next stoplight but we did briefly crawl above 60 km/h.

Did you feel it? I asked. Bujías?

The mechanic turned to look at me with an assertive glance and said, Rodamientos.

We returned to the dealership and the mechanic spoke with the Jefe and explained the problem. I was led to the office where an estimate was drawn up for the work I was asked to sign off on. My eyes drifted to the total – $450. I scanned the items that were outlined on the estimate and noticed that I was being billed for an oil change and other small items that seemed unrelated to my most pressing issue.

I just had an oil change 1000 kilometres ago, I complained.

We will take care of it, I was reassured by the Jefe.

The team of mechanics mobilized and headed off in different directions. Solving this problem was my only project for the day, so I could wait. Ten minutes passed before I grew impatient only to realize that I was the only one in the garage. I walked into the dealership and asked where the mechanics had gone and was told that they had left to attend to a call on the roads and would return shortly. I paced up and down the garage glancing down every so often at the invoice in front of me. After waiting a half hour, I decided that I had had enough of waiting and left.

I conducted an internet search for mechanics in Quito and discovered one on the north end of town called New Mechanics. There was something in the use of English in the name that gave me confidence. You can be swindled in your native tongue just as easily as any other and there was no guarantee that the phrasing was nothing more than a marketing gimmick, but I had a feeling.

It lacked the cleanliness and sophistication of the dealership and had nothing but a hollowed-out shipping container for an office. There were some classic cars under tarpaulin in the corner of the lot and a few jeeps with their hoods open. I was greeted at the gate by a cheery smile on a man in his late forties, a ponytail dangling from his baseball cap, asking how he could help. I stammered through my Spanish to explain the situation. Oh, buddy, take it easy, he interrupted me mid-sentence in perfect English. Cars are complicated, so explain to me in English what kind of trouble you’re having.

I released a sigh of relief as my shoulders dropped their burden. Being able to share my expectations and not have to clench every muscle to do so meant that we were now both smiling. I pulled the invoice from my back pocket, hesitated, and put it back shaking my head.

You know what? I began, I really just want you to drive my car.

Sounds like fun, he replied.

We pulled out of the garage rolling slowly from stoplight to stoplight. You know, I think it’s really important that you drive her on the highway. If you just roll around here in second and third gear you’re not going to notice the problem.

Okay, but on the way, tell me what’s wrong.

As we twisted and turned along the streets of the north side of Quito on our way to the highway I explained my problem highlighting the fact that I suspected that there was a problem with the way that the car accelerated and my suspicion that one of the sparkplugs was failing to fire.

Okay, he replied, it could be. But it could be a lot of things.

We pulled onto the highway and the new mechanic hit the gas revving the engine to almost 5,000 rpms before shifting into fourth gear. Without easing off the gas he revved the engine up again to 5,000 rpms leaving scores of cars to eat our dust before shifting into fifth with Tranquilo already racing over 120 km/h.

You know this old car has some life in her, he said with a grin. It’s definitely not the sparkplugs. We can look, but I don’t think so. 

Is it okay to push the rpms that high? I asked. I always worry that my engine is going to explode or something if I push it that much. 

Listen, I’m going to teach you something. Most of these cars are designed to change gears between 2,800 and 3,000 rpms. And that’s fine when you are, like you said, in Colombia and at sea level. But here in Quito, it’s almost 3,000 metres where the air is thin and less oxygen gets to the engine so it’s normal to travel at a higher rpm. Cars today can definitely handle the rpms going that high. In fact, it’s good to give the engine a workout like that from time to time, so don’t worry about that.

At least the gas is cheap. 

He laughed, It’s not as cheap as it used to be.

I’m comparing it to where I come from.

Where’s that?

Canada.

How much is gas in Canada?

About $6 per gallon.

Okay, yeah, then it’s cheaper here for sure.

Gas prices always has a way of stoking political sentiment and, when he asked me what I thought about my visit to Quito so far, he was quick to temper my enthusiasm with his own feelings that the country, over the last decade and been headed in the wrong direction. Corruption is a common problem in South America, but this mechanic’s assessment of politics in his own country took corruption to a new level and was supported by his claim that Ecuador’s former president owned half of Belgium where he now lives in asylum after facing charges for selling off half of his own country, at the expense of its people, and pocketing the profits.

But do you feel what I mean about the acceleration and the sound?

I do. He paused trying to sort out the words in his mind. He continued: In Spanish, we call these rodamientos. He thought for a minute. Bearings. That’s the word: bearings. We’ll need to check them, but I’m pretty sure that that’s the problem.

We returned to his garage and I explained how I was not looking for a tune-up for the car and that, if the only problem was the bearings, that was the only problem I wanted to solve. We can do whatever you want us to do and we can not do whatever you don’t want us to do. It’s your car, buddy.

This is how I met Christian. In his twenties, Christian moved to the United States where he lived for three years in Minnesota working and studying, and this early experience in North America was where he learned English. Christian was married with two children, one of whom was on their way to Saskatchewan, Canada to study at university.

Jenia and I returned after the weekend to have the car serviced. They propped Tranquilo up onto the lift and began to spin her tires and spinning the rear wheels yielded an audible crunch as if it was getting stuck along each rotation. You hear that? Christian asked spinning the wheels. Yeah, your bearings are done. The front ones are okay, but you should change the back ones.

With Tranquilo off the ground and her underbelly exposed, Christian laughed. You’ve got a little bit of rust under there, he commented sarcastically. In no time you are going to be driving this car like the Flintstones. I looked at him with playful fisticuffs in my eyes and he laughed and patted me on the back reassuringly.

I ran through the litany of problems that we had had since leaving Cartagena including the fuel pump and the air conditioner and how it had taken as many as 4 different mechanics just to keep us running and get us through Colombia. Those are the only problems you’ve had? he said with a cheeky grin on his face. Joking aside, changing the bearings on the back tires will get rid of that sound you hear, but this is an old car and you could still run into problems.

Tranquilo’s was not a popular model in Ecuador and I reminded Christian that, if searching for parts, she was essentially the same as the Nissan Almera. His team would not be able to scour all of Quito and secure the parts necessary to get us back on the road in a single day so he drove us back to our area of the city and told us that Tranquilo would be ready to go the following day.

Jenia remarked on our rapport. He could be your brother, she said. He is so дурашка, just like you. Christian and I shared some physical similarities and stood eye to eye but what made Jenia say that we could be brothers was our banter. Watching you two it was like you are telling jokes to a mirror, she said giggling.

Quito is Ecuador’s capital and second-largest city. It runs north to south and is pressed between mountain ranges. The equator runs through the northernmost part of the city, 25 kilometres as the crow flies from the centre, through the barrio of San Antonio de Pichincha. The old quarter is nestled into the lowest part of the city and is bordered by several small hills with their own monuments at the top. Quito has sprawled over the last couple of centuries from this tiny quarter of cobbled streets that surround the Catedral Metropolitana and the Plaza Grande. New neighbourhoods like La Floresta and Mariscal Sucre are the current choice for modern urban life with stylish apartments, quaint cafes, large shopping malls and popular nightclubs. Living just down the road from Plaza Foch gave Jenia and me a chance to recentre ourselves.

Aside from his stint in the US, Christian was born and raised in Quito and knew a different city than we did. He came to visit us for a beer and tacos one day in Mariscal Sucre before we left Quito to continue our journey south. Quito had a lively downtown core and much of Quito’s vibrant nightlife was just down the road from where we were living but, for a major city, it seemed peaceful. Rarely was there ever gridlock and if there were slums or excessively dirty or dangerous areas, we had no difficulty avoiding them. But Christian warned us to watch our back. He remembered being a kid growing up in a relatively safe neighbourhood and getting beaten up and taken advantage of by local toughs.

During several visits to countries with unsavoury reputations that seemed perfectly pleasant for the whole of my visit, I heard similar stories from locals and friends. It was a common trend that, as adults, most locals, no matter where they were from, had fully formed a negative opinion of their own cities. Its reputation for danger, fairly or unfairly, has clung to South America ever since I was a child. Jenia often joked about arriving in Colombia with apprehensions and the expectation that we would meet with violence in one form or the other but, in just a few days of exploring Colombia, her prejudices were swiftly abandoned. Adolescence is fertile ground for being on the wrong side of neighbourhood intimidation from those that have watched you grow and need you to understand your place. It was not for us to say whether Christian’s feelings toward Quito were rooted in the city itself or just in growing up.

We arrived in Ecuador with few expectations and, before meeting Christian, it had already proved to be a pleasant surprise. All through Colombia, when we were not on the road, Jenia and I had been focused on nurturing our relationship which was still quite new. We had become preoccupied with supporting one another and cultivating what we shared that few people had been able to penetrate our sphere of attention. During our stay in Quito, we spent half of our time either consulting with Christian about Tranquilo or sharing a laugh and a beer. When Jenia and I were alone together, we wondered what he was up to and whether or not we should include him and his wife in our plans. We became friends and kept in touch as we continued our trip south bothering him every time we hit a mechanical snag or needed advice on what to expect spare parts to cost. Whatever the reputation of a country or a major city, most people want to live in peace in a safe place where they can raise children and, like Christian and his new mechanics, most people are happiest when they can help.