What's a girl to do on a hot July weekend when Formula 1 racing cars are speeding around a track just a 10-minute walk from your place? She gets outta town. This downtowner decided to take off first thing Saturday morning in a rental car and head for the Uplands backpacking trail in Algonquin Park.
The rental was a Fiat, the kind you see in the TV commercials where all the Fiats drive by themselves from Italy, under the Atlantic, and arrive on North American shores pumping Euro-dance music. Cute, eh? I thought so, not realizing that CUTE is not exactly the attribute you want in a car that needs to take you over a long distance without aggravating you over dumb little details.
The Fiat was another Rubiks cube for me.
The first sign of trouble was the key. I couldn't locate it on the FOB. When I asked the parking lot attendant where the key was, he pushed a button on the FOB and the key shot out of a slot on the side.
Mumbling aloud about unnecessary gadgetry, I got into the Fiat and was overwhelmed by the stylish leather seats and slickly designed instrument panel made to look like a Lear jet cockpit.
Problem was, I couldn't figure out how to do anything.
Adjusting mirrors, tilting the seat back, locating the flashers, finding the sound system controls -- all became an ordeal that I partially gave up on because I really just wanted to hit the road. Leaving the underground parking lot, I had to feed the parking voucher into a machine. This was awkward because I was unable to figure out how to open the window. Normally you open a car window using buttons on the door… but there were none on the Fiat. A few hours later I discovered the window buttons in the middle of the dashboard!
Once on the road, the engine kept revving up as if it were on manual transmission. Suspecting this Fiat was a manual/automatic cross like I'd unknowingly rented once before, I checked the owner's manual when I got to my apartment to pick up my bags. No mention of this type of transmission.
I clumsily packed the car. How was I supposed to push the seat back so I could fit my backpack into the minuscule back seat? Where were the levers? Who knows?……I stuck my pack in the tiny trunk instead.
I blasted up the Don Valley Parkway. As my speed increased, the transmission shifted like it was on manual. Every time it shifted, the car jerked, leaving my eyebrows behind. I couldn't believe how noisy the engine was! I could barely hear 102.1's retro grunge, and I had to turn up the volume. Still the engine screamed like it was being tortured in the Roman catacombs.
There were even gear numbers showing on the Lear jet instrument panel. In order to make the car slightly less noisy and shift from gear 3 to gear 4 I had to zoom up to 140 kph. But how long could I sustain this speed? If felt like I was driving a go kart on a Formula 1 track-- or driving in one of those dreams where you don't really feel in control.
The gears and screaming engine really annoyed me as I drove non-stop to the West Gate of Algonquin Park. You may wonder why I didn't stop and check the car's manual more carefully during the trip; well, I was timing the drive... It took me exactly three and a half hours from Harbourfront to the west gate up highway 35 to avoid weekend cottage country rush hour on highway 400.
As soon as I jumped out of the car, I was accosted by a young couple who'd also rented a Fiat and wanted to know how to push the seats back. "No idea!" I said.
Over lunch, I pored through the manual. There was something called the Sport button, to be pushed and used on tight curves. I was irrationally paranoid of trying it, though. What if it put the car totally out of control and I crashed into some Canadian Shield pink rock?
After lunch I got back into the car and shifted into Drive, then pulled onto highway 60. The car hummed quietly, with no more revving or crazy jerking. I suddenly noticed that the gear shift had a "D" with a "+" and a "-" sign beside it, and that I'd driven all the way from Toronto with it in "+" or overdrive.
But putting cares about the car aside, I changed into my hobo-esque hiking boots with destroyed soles and a melted tongue…It was time to get physical with my backpack and walk into the woods for some solo camping.
