God Bless The Neighbors

Mid January here, and snowed in.

Well, not quite anymore, but surely it's been a very interesting few weeks. You'd think after the windstorm a month ago that whom/whatever's in charge would say something like "OK, well, I've trashed Seattle, let's move on to.... (fricking near anywhere else would do....)" but instead, in an amazing display of bad humor, the skies opened again, and this time it was just snow.

I, being a pilot, should likely be paying attention to the weather. On the other hand, I haven't flown in months, because I'm busting the bank, and because I'm studying in a simulator, not the real airplane, but that's another story in any case.

In any case, this time it was snow. And I, not paying attention to the weather, happened to choose that particular evening to drive down the I-5 to Tacoma, and then over the Narrows Bridge (successor to Galloping Gertie) through Gig Harbor to Port Orchard, and home. It was a test. Would the van work? Would I get stuck in rush-hour traffic? Would the drive around the bottom take less time than waiting in a ferry lineup? How much gas would I burn? I was basically exploring my options other than the ferry.

And of course, the moment I got on to the Narrows Bridge, it started to snow. And snow harder. And harder. So that, a few minutes later, I was thinking "well you old fat fool, you've gone and put yourself into a 'skid off the fricking road and spend the night in a ditch...' kind of situation'. Except that, through sheer good fortune, and having had thirty five years of driving in snow experience, I was able to weasel my way home, creeping up the last big hill over the ridge and down the road through the forest to my wonderful little waterfront shack.

And even the next morning, I got lucky....got out in the fresh new-fallen snow, and headed in to work. So, coming home that night my mind wasn't really on the last hill, until I saw all the neighbors abandoned cars littering the main road.

Of course, being Canadian, I had to give the hill at least the old bar-room try. Fortunately didn't get my ass stuck, or slam into the pickup truck on the side, but I did have to get out and push the van sideways so I wouldn't slam into him. It was easy however.

Hiked up the hill, over the ridge, down through the forest, along the waterfront, and made it home. There's a certain charm to hiking through a pitch-dark forest on a winter night with a flashlight battery running down. You try not to whistle, try not to imagine the ghosts and goblins or axe murderers leaping out at you, let alone the wolves and demons. But, you do.

Fortunately the weekend arrived, so no need to go to work. And, Saturday morning, the neighbor two doors down stopped by, said he'd seen my van, could he help, and we got into his truck, fetched the van, got it back to the carport, and started in on the transmission shifter repair.

Oh, I hadn't mentioned that? Well, first snow morning when I moved the shift lever, something went SNAP. "OK, God, I know it's a test, but why me, why now, ....."

Need to keep in perspective that it's a TINY test relative to most other people, so, I'll get it fixed somehow.

But the closest neighbor came over, figured out what was wrong, and together we dismantled it. So, for the moment, I'm shifting by pulling a cable under the dash. Primitive, but it works.

Hate bank loans, but suppose it's time to go make car payments again.

Ah well.

Life's good.