I woke this morning to a thumping sound emanating from outside my van, its foreign sound confusing my slumbering brain. Peeking through my side curtains I was surprised to see a park ranger staring back at me, his army green jacket and hat covered in a light dusting of snow.
Through the course of the short conversation I learned that camping overnight in the top parking lot was prohibited, a fact that must have been thought so obvious as to not warrant a posting, as this information was not noticeable anywhere along my drive in. The ranger's serious face masked his nice guy demeanor and, instead of reprimanding and ticketing me, he told me that if I removed my chocks and made the van less camper like I could stay.
Thanking him, I fully intended to rise out of bed and set to work, but my fuzzy brain lulled me back to sleep the minute I heard his white Chevy pickup roar by. Through broken sleep, my conscience rousing me every time a car rolled by, I managed another few hours of sleep in spite of the guilt.
I finally crawled out of bed around 11, my destination Grants Pass and a dinner date with Brin, the youngest daughter of my birth mother's clan, and stepped outside to a surprise: yesterday's warmth and sun had given way to a small blizzard. Raging ceaselessly the weather had deposited an inch of ice and snow on my van and coated my windshield in ice; though thankfully the howling 30 mile an hour winds had kept any true accumulation from forming on my van or the roads.
Just the night before I had joked that I wouldn't mind being snowed in but that reality had never actually dawned on me. With an ounce of trepidation I turned the ignition, my worry being that my van wouldn't start. Surprisingly, it immediately fired up, the new fuel pump doing its job nicely, and I set about to make the van drivable by de-icing the windows. Freezing, I hustled around the vehicle to scrape the night's deposits of snow and ice and remove the chocks from my back wheels. Returning to the rig, I readied the van's interior for travel by throwing all of my displaced gear back into its travel spot and took down all of the curtains. Settling into the driver's seat, ready to leave, I shifted the van into first and set about my way, only nothing happened. It seems that in my hustle to leave I had not even noticed that the van's engine had died. It turns out that there was just enough fuel left in the cylinder to start the engine but the outside's 26 degree temperature had now frozen the fuel lines. Off to an auspicious debut - two of four mornings ending in engine failure of some sort - I hoped this wasn't an ominous sign.
I spent the next 10 minutes fooling around with the ignition, trying every little trick I could recall, my limited life experience supplemented with anything I could recollect from movies or old McGyver episodes. After countless attempts all I gained was a flooded engine and I sat back to wait, my patience and belief wearing thin. A minute later I let the ignition click a few times then slammed down the accelerator and the engine caught life. Revving it heavily to keep the fuel flowing I hurried towards the exit.
Save for a morning of surprise and another dinner of ham sandwiches - my planned dinner feast of jumbalaya and double smoked sausage rescheduled due to my inattentiveness to propane level - my first night alone had been a huge success. The night's slumber and the triumph over another ordeal gave me strength. With the knowledge that I would experience many similar nights in the next few months, I drove back down the windy road towards the sun of California, the beauty and snow of Crater Lake fading slowly behind me.
2 comments:
So, what exactly are "blizzard-like conditions?" Either it's a blizzard or it isn't, right? Maybe the ranger figured if you removed the chocks, you and your vehicle would quietly vanish (no pun intended) over the edge of a cliff. No reprimand or ticket required. Well, maybe a fine for littering.
Your de-icing adventure reminded me of my return to PDX just before Christmas. At about 12:30 a.m. I found my car clad in very sheer, form-fitting garb of 1/2 to 3/4-inch thick ice. Due to prevailing winds, the back windshield was free of both snow and ice, but a mini-drift of snow reached up to kiss the back bumper.
The car started without a problem. (In WY and MT people have engine block heaters so they can plug their vehicles in to counteract the deep freeze effect.) It took a good 45 minutes of chipping and scraping in 25 degree temperatures with a stiff wind to remove the sheath of ice. Yeah, and as a child I walked 5 miles to and from school everyday - uphill both ways.
Here's the priceless part. I'm sure the Mastercard people would agree. I pulled forward out of the parking spot and drove maybe 4 car lengths down the aisle. The exit awaited us about 200 yards away, and a plowed aisle crossed our path only 30 yards in front of us. That's when our minimal forward progess ground to a halt. I high-centered the car on a snow drift. It turns out all-wheel drive is only helpful when your wheels actually make contact with a surface.
So, now it's maybe 2:00 a.m. After 2 employees of the airport parking services failed twice to dig us out, I resorted to calling AAA only to be told it could be several hours until they could get someone to us. My carbon footprint was massive that night, but keeping me and my daughter warm took precedence over keeping the earth cool. I ran the car all night. I dozed off and on, thankful that my neurotic nature had prompted me to put a sleeping bag and extra warm jackets in the car before leaving Corvallis.
By 6:30 a.m. the AAA tow truck finally found its way into the red long-term lot at PDX and winched us out. The driver was a rough-around-more-than-just-the-edges woman who was either higher than a kite or had done enough meth in her lifetime to induce permanent tweaking mannerisms. Nonetheless, she did her job.
No one was willing to be liable for faulty tire chain application, so once we were out of the parking lot, I summoned my dwindling mental power and barely adequate muscle power to put the chains on. I have to contest the claim that it takes only 5 minutes to put on chains. I must admit I've done it in five minutes, but that was in the dry, warm Les Schwab store. We finally clunked home on I-5, the trip taking nearly 4 hours. I wanted so badly for Corvallis to have snow. After doing battle with the elements all night I wanted the chance to revel in them. No such luck. It was just rain here.
Sounds like a blog worthy story. =-)
26 degrees, ice and snow. 30 mph winds. Blizzard like but not threatening.
Post a Comment