At 4:30 a.m. Bryn and I went outside, and I chuckled as she bounced through huge drifts. This dog has springs on her feet! One particularly enthusiastic boing resulted in her complete disappearance. She looked up at me from down under and grinned. Hmmm. How would she get out of there? Easy. Crouching, she leaped straight up- to pop out like a done piece of toast. Subsequent dancer-high ‘now-I’m-here, now-I’m-gone’ bounces brought her to the sidewalk for a millisecond- until another huge drift beckoned.
Bryn loves snow, and really puts on a show.
Speaking of extractions…
A few cars have skidded off roads into deep drifts, to become almost invisible, thanks to county plows that regularly roar past to redistribute more of the white stuff. The effort it will take to dig those cars out brought to mind an adventure I had one summer in Traverse City when I was driving our ancient ’89 jeep.
Needing groceries but hating long lines, I motored to Meijer about 5:30 a.m. in the jeep heap, parked in the middle of that huge, empty lot and trotted inside. Ah! Hardly anyone was shopping at this hour, so I strolled along, happy not to have to maneuver around other carts. Much later, food-laden, I made my way through the rapidly filling parking lot toward the jeep.
It was gone.
“Silly twit,” I muttered. “You’ve forgotten where you parked it.” I slogged along, lugging the heavy bags, trying to recall its location. Hmmm. Were bigger cars and vans blocking my view?
I peered behind lots of them. Alas, no jeep. Would thieves have stolen it? Nah. Nobody would lust after that rusting pile.
Nevertheless, it had well and truly vanished.
Sighing, my frozen food slowly melting in the warmish weather, I found a security guard to report it stolen. He asked for a description, then made his own search. Nothing. But as I nattered on about thieves he grew thoughtful.
“Did you lock it?” Yup.
“Did you put it in park?” Uh-huh.
“Did you use the parking brake?” Ah— probably…Why?
He didn’t answer, but walked all the long way across the huge concrete parking lot to its curbed northern edge and looked down. Searched. Grinned. Pointed. Disbelieving, I gasped and ran to look, groceries banging against my legs. Sure enough, there was the old rust bucket, waaay down in the bog, half-enveloped in mucky water and creeper vines. In the darkness it had somehow rolled stealthily across that vast, slightly uneven cement acreage, gathering speed. The curb’s edge acted as a launch pad. It had become briefly airborne before landing hard and barreling down, down, down through a thick mat of tall waist-high grasses and weeds to finally settle, still upright. Tire tracks told the tale.
Seeing our stunned reactions a small crowd gathered to gawk. Someone offered to call a wreaker, but one wiry fellow had a better idea. “Ya know, I race stock cars for a living. I’m used to challenging situations. Jeeps are pretty resilient. Maybe I can rescue it. Gimme the key.” I did. He slip-slid down, sloshed over to the half-buried jeep, wrestled the door open, squeezed inside and turned the key. Varooom! After rolling down the window he switched to four-wheel drive, put it in reverse, stuck his head out, gunned it and backed up, up, up that really steep incline, staying within the tracks it had made going down.
Oh, no! The jeep lost its nerve and slithered back down into the slime, to gasps from onlookers. Undaunted, the guy gunned it again, this time more forcefully. Everyone scattered as it roared backward up the slope to thump over the curb and onto firm ground, amid cheers. Algae-green water poured out when he pushed open the door. Vines and creepers clung limply to the floor mats and frame; long tendrils hung from the tailpipe. People pulled away the worst vegetation, marveling at my poor jeep’s unlikely resurrection.
After profusely thanking its rescuer I crept home, laying a string-thin water-and-weed trail the whole way.
Incredibly, except for an occasional cough, it handled just fine.
(After that experience I put bricks under the jeep’s wheels whenever I parked it.)
Would a thoroughly frozen car be as resilient when extracted from its icy tomb?
Yup, if it was a jeep. Even elderly, they’re army-tough!
Bryn loves snow, and really puts on a show.
Speaking of extractions…
A few cars have skidded off roads into deep drifts, to become almost invisible, thanks to county plows that regularly roar past to redistribute more of the white stuff. The effort it will take to dig those cars out brought to mind an adventure I had one summer in Traverse City when I was driving our ancient ’89 jeep.
Needing groceries but hating long lines, I motored to Meijer about 5:30 a.m. in the jeep heap, parked in the middle of that huge, empty lot and trotted inside. Ah! Hardly anyone was shopping at this hour, so I strolled along, happy not to have to maneuver around other carts. Much later, food-laden, I made my way through the rapidly filling parking lot toward the jeep.
It was gone.
“Silly twit,” I muttered. “You’ve forgotten where you parked it.” I slogged along, lugging the heavy bags, trying to recall its location. Hmmm. Were bigger cars and vans blocking my view?
I peered behind lots of them. Alas, no jeep. Would thieves have stolen it? Nah. Nobody would lust after that rusting pile.
Nevertheless, it had well and truly vanished.
Sighing, my frozen food slowly melting in the warmish weather, I found a security guard to report it stolen. He asked for a description, then made his own search. Nothing. But as I nattered on about thieves he grew thoughtful.
“Did you lock it?” Yup.
“Did you put it in park?” Uh-huh.
“Did you use the parking brake?” Ah— probably…Why?
He didn’t answer, but walked all the long way across the huge concrete parking lot to its curbed northern edge and looked down. Searched. Grinned. Pointed. Disbelieving, I gasped and ran to look, groceries banging against my legs. Sure enough, there was the old rust bucket, waaay down in the bog, half-enveloped in mucky water and creeper vines. In the darkness it had somehow rolled stealthily across that vast, slightly uneven cement acreage, gathering speed. The curb’s edge acted as a launch pad. It had become briefly airborne before landing hard and barreling down, down, down through a thick mat of tall waist-high grasses and weeds to finally settle, still upright. Tire tracks told the tale.
Seeing our stunned reactions a small crowd gathered to gawk. Someone offered to call a wreaker, but one wiry fellow had a better idea. “Ya know, I race stock cars for a living. I’m used to challenging situations. Jeeps are pretty resilient. Maybe I can rescue it. Gimme the key.” I did. He slip-slid down, sloshed over to the half-buried jeep, wrestled the door open, squeezed inside and turned the key. Varooom! After rolling down the window he switched to four-wheel drive, put it in reverse, stuck his head out, gunned it and backed up, up, up that really steep incline, staying within the tracks it had made going down.
Oh, no! The jeep lost its nerve and slithered back down into the slime, to gasps from onlookers. Undaunted, the guy gunned it again, this time more forcefully. Everyone scattered as it roared backward up the slope to thump over the curb and onto firm ground, amid cheers. Algae-green water poured out when he pushed open the door. Vines and creepers clung limply to the floor mats and frame; long tendrils hung from the tailpipe. People pulled away the worst vegetation, marveling at my poor jeep’s unlikely resurrection.
After profusely thanking its rescuer I crept home, laying a string-thin water-and-weed trail the whole way.
Incredibly, except for an occasional cough, it handled just fine.
(After that experience I put bricks under the jeep’s wheels whenever I parked it.)
Would a thoroughly frozen car be as resilient when extracted from its icy tomb?
Yup, if it was a jeep. Even elderly, they’re army-tough!