So, there I was, lying in bed, spiraling down yet another rabbit hole of dragon lore for the dark fantasy romance series I’m writing just like yesterday. You’d think I’d stay focused on fire-breathing serpents and brooding antiheroes, but no. My AuDHD brain does what it does best—connects dots no one else sees. One moment, I’m pondering the mating rituals of scaled beasts, and the next, I’m staring at the ceiling wondering if my Honda Civic Si Coupe is about to throw in the towel. Don’t ask me how dragons led to cars; I couldn’t tell you if my life depended on it. But here we are.

Let me introduce you to my trusty, battered 2004 Honda Civic Si Coupe. Manual transmission, of course, because I like to suffer in traffic jams. This car has been through more drama than a soap opera character—two highway accidents and an odometer that laughs in the face of mileage limits. Civics are notorious for their longevity, but mine? It’s practically a relic. The engine light on the dash has become my travel companion. I’ve named it Steve. Steve blinks at me, judging every life choice that led to this moment.

Steve’s latest shenanigan involves flashing the trouble code P0134. If you’re unfamiliar with the intricacies of modern vehicular diagnostics, don’t worry. I wasn’t either until I bought a smart OBD2 reader that sends more data than any sane person would ever want directly to my phone via a nifty app. It’s like Steve’s giving me the cold, hard truth—but digitally. Oh, and as part of yesterday’s “fun facts I didn’t know I needed,” I learned that a flashing engine light means pull over immediately and shut off the car before something catastrophic happens. Solid engine lights, while still a big deal, won’t kill your car on the spot. Good to know, right?

Now, as any responsible adult would do, I looked up YouTube tutorials on how to replace an O2 sensor. Easy, right? Wrong. The tutorials make it look like a serene afternoon activity, almost meditative, as though changing an O2 sensor is akin to brewing a cup of tea. I, however, know better. I know the chaos simmering beneath every DIY car repair.

First, there’s the question of how to jack up the car properly. You can see the O2 sensor from the engine bay, mocking you, but actually reaching it? Forget it. The jack goes in, then the jack stands, because I’m not about to be crushed by Steve’s smug chassis. I’ve triple-checked the spots to place the jack, because nothing says “road to self-destruction” like a misplaced jack point.

But let’s not pretend this is my first brush with vehicular tinkering. Changing the headlight bulbs on this car has already prepared me for the Sisyphean nature of Civic maintenance. The passenger-side bulb? Child’s play—if by “child’s play” you mean disconnecting the entire battery assembly just to wiggle the bulb out. The driver’s side? Oh, that’s its own comedy show. First, you remove the windshield washer reservoir, or at least, you try. It’s a process that requires the patience of a saint and the dexterity of a watchmaker.

And don’t get me started on the e-brake. Tightening the e-brake pads in this car is a chore only slightly more entertaining than filing taxes. The drum brakes (e-brake) are a rarity these days, but let me tell you, they’re infinitely better than those electronic parking brakes they’re slapping on newer models. Who thought that was a good idea? I will die on this hill: drum brakes are more reliable, more satisfying, and far less likely to betray you when you’re parallel parking on a hill during a snowstorm. Those of you who have had the pleasure of that line freezing you know what I mean with these brakes vs that electronic brake system that you can only engage once you are in park. No using the extra brakes on icy winter roads. No thank you. I am that Canadian who hands you my coffee and says “here hold this” and make you feel like your on a rollercoaster and that does include the feeling inside that you are safe still despite what your stomach says if your not used to our winters and the drivers where I live. Yeesh.

Speaking of snowstorms, let’s have a detailed chat about ABS systems. Anti-lock brakes, or ABS, are supposedly designed to keep you safe by preventing the wheels from locking during braking. The idea is that by maintaining traction, you’re less likely to skid out of control. Nice in theory, but in practice? It’s an absolute nightmare on icy Canadian roads. Here’s the thing: ABS is programmed to rapidly pulse the brakes, which is fine in conditions where traction is somewhat achievable—like wet pavement. But on sheer ice, black ice, fresh powder on already icy roads, emergency braking? All it does is make your car feel like it’s tap-dancing its way into oblivion. The system robs you of the ability to manually control your braking, which is crucial in winter driving. When your wheels lock, you can sometimes use that to steer into a controlled slide or recover from a fishtail, but ABS decides it knows better and interferes. It’s like having an overly cautious passenger grab the steering wheel mid-drive. No thank you.

As someone who’s lived through countless Alberta winters, I’ve learned that pumping your brakes manually is infinitely more effective than letting ABS do it for you. With ABS, you lose that tactile awareness—the nuanced feedback from the road. It’s like trying to dance while someone yanks your feet out from under you every half-step. The first thing I do when I acquire a car is figure out how to disable ABS. Yes, it involves a bit of research and tinkering, but the peace of mind and control it gives me is worth it. If you can’t pump your own brakes, you don’t deserve a driver’s license in Canada. Period. End of story. Or at least have a restriction like night drivers have, can’t drive in icy conditions. I feel like every first real snow fall, or a big one after you start to see grass during a chinook that ends, those days I try not to be on the road, it is natural selection days for vehicles and I rather like mine. At least this has been my experience.

But back to the O2 sensor. I’ve ordered the part, and now I’m in that awkward limbo where I question every decision that led me here. Why didn’t I just take the car to a mechanic? Why did I think I could do this myself? Why does Steve hate me? I know exactly how this will play out. I’ll get halfway through the job, swear in at least three different languages, and then call my brother. He’ll come over, shake his head in mock disappointment, and proceed to fix it while walking me through the process yet again. He’s the kind of person who supports my efforts but also thinks I’m a little ridiculous for attempting these things when I call for help and use thingy to describe 90% of the parts and tools used. “You know the thingy that has the belt on it, which is the one by the oil cap, and it is making this thingy make noise and I can’t use my regular tools and need some sort of thingy to change the thingys (Spark plug this one just recently started sticking) because it needs to go down thingy that makes the air and gas mix and makes it so ignition happens next to the four cylinder things” Enough said I think on why he comes over every time and thinks I should stick to my writing and just call him in the first place.

In the end, though, there’s something deeply satisfying about working on your own car, even if it’s just swapping out a sensor. It’s messy, chaotic, and occasionally infuriating, but there’s a sense of accomplishment that comes with it. It’s a little like writing, honestly. You start with an idea (or a broken part), dive headfirst into it, and somehow, through sheer stubbornness, you make it work. Or you don’t, and you call your brother. Either way, it’s all part of the adventure. Oh and I got told I should have the hynes book for my vehicle, it gives a fair bit of useful information on the car based on year make and model. Kinda neat to be honest. Though how I can recall “hynes” is the name of the car book and can’t recall at the time what the engine belt is called, and there are two belts in my car that are near the spark plugs down the hole where the ignition coil seals to great the spark for combustion… Yea I can recall it now, but never when I actually need to when talking to another human being. I drive him nuts.

So, as I wait for that O2 sensor to arrive, I’m back to lying in bed, my mind racing through the intersections of dragons and DIY car repairs. Maybe there’s a story there. Maybe the dragon in my series should be a mechanic. Or maybe I should just get some sleep. Steve can wait. For now.