I don't over dress for winter. I like to let my body adapt as much as possible so I'm always dressing with good protection for my head, neck, hands and feet, but often wear a sweater where others might be looking for more substantial coverage. When I travel of course I load my more serious gear into the car or truck and have something to fall back on if I get into trouble somehow and have to be outside for any extended period.
Yesterday the day started out as a cold winter day, but the wind was light and the sun strong. PU had taken the Honda to work and my old beaten down Toyota had been plugged in all morning to warm the antifreeze and allow the engine to start in the extremely low temperatures. It complained a bit even with the 600 watt help, but there was no place to plug in where I had parked while I worked and when I came out, it was mighty cold and ran as if combustion might not be an option that was fully understood. The seats were hard, the steering stiff and the gear shifter took some significant strength to push into first gear. It was as if it was encased in heavy liquid honey, but not nearly so friendly as that.
On the drive in, I was as late as usual. About the time I realised that I would have to forgo the feed mill stop, I realised that I'd left without my winter gear back up. No
-100C Sorrel's, no double wool mitts, and worse still, no serious outer shell to fight the wind and keep a guy from freezing to death outside the protection of a running vehicle. The sun was shining and I did have my toque, two neck tubes and single wool mitts, thanks Mum!, and outers for them, but with my light leather boots and no long underwear I was well short of any margin of safety for protection against the elements, again!
When I looked outside an hour before heading home, the air looked like something from an arctic documentary film about the severity of the environment. The sun was low on the horizon and there was no cloud cover, but the air was filled with ice crystals to such a degree that it looked foggy. The ground was like a desert storm where the blowing sand was now snow, sheered off the ground cover by a strong north wind, flaunting it's capacity to dance with the old man by swirling, puffing up and displaying all manner of unpredictable gusty peels of laughter. I should never go out without a camera. It looked like the very definition of cold. There was no mistaking the degree to which the cold had gripped the evening.
I donned what clothing I had, long before I left the building to head home. I needed fuel immediately and then I needed to make a deposit at the credit union so there would be at least a little time to ease the car into the task of sustained running. Hopefully that would generate some heat before heading out on the highway to make the fifty minute journey home.
I drove out of the parking lot slowly, letting the wheels adapt to rolling, the tires had no flat spots though. Canadian Tire tires are built for us apparently. The signal lever was stiff, but it seemed like all the accessories necessary for life, were working and the little engine that could had indeed been willing to at least try.
Away from the stop sign and up to the lights, then head back into town from the mall at the outskirts, but at 60km/hr something began to scream. I suppose it's the same for everyone, but to a mechanic that lives his life in the pursuit of preventive maintenance, a scream like I had filling my ears, is doubly painful. I have an unreasonable affection for this car. It's treated me well and I've tried to return the favour. Others see a beater, I see an exquisite piece of engineering and death has such tone of finality. Avoidance is the only cure, however temporary.
I kept trying to ease her into again rolling freely whatever was binding, but after topping up the fuel, I still had that evil music. My back was severely cold from the seat and it might have been wiser to accept the full service fill than to pump my own gas, but I've often proved to be less than bright where self preservation has been concerned.
Off to the credit union I went, with city speeds the screaming was held at bay. The car has no emergency brake so I could not leave it running while I went in to complete my business, but on my return the heat gauge did show some signs of moving off the very bottom of the range. I was worried that the increased wind chill at highway speeds would eventually overcome the heat of combustion and the car would grind to a halt leaving me to my own devices. Without so much as a heater to fend off old jack frost that periodically takes a life of the stupid or just dim witted I was feeling my vulnerable thoughts of anticipation.
Stormy weather is always worse in the dark and last night was no exception. Coming out of the credit union I was seriously considering other options. I checked that my cell was functioning while I let the car run. I kept my foot on the accelerator to try and impart some more heat into the block. I drove around town a bit, grateful that earlier in the week I'd blocked off three quarters of the radiator with cardboard. If I had to manipulate that cardboard into place in the dark last night, I'd have likely damaged some fingers with some severe frost bite. I had one incident this winter with the index finger of my left hand that left me soberly realigning my expectations for blood circulation. That was the first time I've suffered the pain of flesh that's been frozen to death.
Many things were winding up my imagination, but I settled on a one step at a time approach. First was to see if I could drive at highway speeds without incurring the wrathful scream of whatever didn't want to turn smoothly and with that accomplished I headed off into the dark, along with the throng heading home for the weekend.
I suppose Sarto is about half way and it looked like the old girl was going to be able to sustain herself. I did help her out a bit by driving in fourth instead of overdrive to keep the revolutions higher and thus more fire in the hole more often. I remember once being out at a Christmas party and watching as the heat gauge fell more and more, the longer we drove. That was the night I had the inspiration for the merits of higher revolutions and thus more heat!
I love it when I'm reminded that Mother Nature has last laugh. Global warming, pollution, over population will all be just fine. Even a nuclear holocaust will be just fine. Maybe not for us, but maybe the cockroaches will continue their process of adaptation. I seem ill equipped on so many levels.
At Grunthal I figured that barring an accident or leaving the road somehow, I was good to go. I pulled over and phoned home. It's eighteen minutes from Grunthal to home. Grunthal is a small town set away from the intersection and up on a gravel ridge. The sensation of falling away from civilisation on a cold winters dark bluster is unmistakable as I roll away and down from town. We live off the beaten path to be sure and most times that's a welcome thing, but last night I suppose I was feeling my age a bit and looking for less distance at any rate. Not that eighteen minutes is any great distance, but what's time to the grim reaper?
The cars I met were few and far between and the wind on the north south route was whipping up a white out every now and again. It's like being in a blender of ice while the old man tries to make a slushy out of you. The bodily fluids from a head on collision are the only required moisture. I just hope to remain driving in a straight line until he sees fit to provide me with a view of the pavement again when this happens. Slowing down works too. The short jaunt up #59 to E25, then down that lonesome four mile gravel stretch home. Even with only a mile left to go, I knew that if I had to hoof it from there, that I'd be very lucky to make it home safely, and the cell phone coverage isn't an option except when it's clear.
The fire was blazing and a great tasting tortiere was waiting for me and home sweet home embraced me through another silly bit of absent mindedness.
