Jeezum people, this sub-zero crap is getting old. I thought I was going to lose a finger recycling at the dump today, sorting bottles and cans and losing feeling in the fingertips. Just about tossed the whole lot into the dumpster.

In the eighties I was stationed at an Air Force base in South Dakota and we had two weeks of twenty below temperatures. I was renting a little alley house with the car parked snug up against the back wall along the alley. The car was a Datsun 200sx, back before Datsun became Nissan. A little wedge of a car that boasted sports car insurance rates without any of the associated performance or prestige. Once the temperature dipped below zero the car all but gave up. So I ran an extension cord out the bathroom window and left it plugged in all night. The extension cord powered a little after market engine heater spliced into some radiator hose and meant to warm the coolant and thereby warm the engine. At around zero degrees it might have stood a chance. At minus twenty the little bugger realized it was a fight for survival and kept all of the heat to itself.

On the trip down to minus twenty, maybe around fifteen below, the transmission fluid turned into peanut butter. With the motor finally started the transmission had a whole other agenda. Even with the clutch fully down and the gear shift in neutral it was magically still in gear. For a few minutes of the morning commute the manual transmission was an automatic peanut butter powered motorvating machine. Only after a few miles of abusive friction and engine waste heat would things thaw out and return to normal. I'm just lucky that there wasn't much traffic and I didn't need to stop or slow down.

I've always been something of an idiot when it comes to early morning car problems. Years before, another alley house, I had borrowed the Radio Station's Gremlin and got it stuck in the alley parking spot. It was quarter past six and I was supposed to have the station on the air at six. Panic. Jump in the car. Whir...whir...start. Slam into reverse and spin in place on a pedestal of ice. The car only needed to be bumped over a small lip of ice to get free. Pushing didn't help. Not enough muscle. Then it struck me: combined effort. If I could get the tires spinning a little bit AND add a little push I was sure the problem would be solved. Put the car in reverse, pop the clutch, and wedge a stick against the accelerator. Nice steady wheel spin.

To my credit I first tried standing in the doorframe and pushing, only to slip and slide under the car. Oh that would be great, I thought, get run over by the car! So, clever boy that I am, I moved to the front of the car, braced a foot against the nearby fence and heave-ho.

Doesn't seem necessary to explain the rest. Of course I got the car unstuck. Of course there was a fleeting moment of swelling pride at my cunning and industriousness. And, yes, of course that 1970's era Gremlin shot across the alley like a rocket, plowing through a five foot wooden fence and trashing the neighbors back yard.

I'm not even sure what happened with the neighbors. I probably got bailed out by Dad. In fact there were probably quite a few incidents that he smoothed over without my knowing. I mean people just don't wake up to a back fence kindled into the garden and say "Great! Been meaning to tear that down." Someday we'll have to sit down and compare notes.

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