Subzero Temperatures

I'm a bit reluctant to use the term "subzero" in its familiar context, because I'm sure that it will set Tanner off on one of his "Everybody should use the Metric System" rants, like he did the last time we visited my dad's house. (That was fun to watch -- he was completely flabbergasted to learn that my dad and brother were ready to vigorously defend the benefits of the inch-pound system...with violence if necessary. Tanner wasn't properly prepared to argue, because up until that very moment, he would not have even considered the idea that a more-or-less rational adult would argue against the metric system on any grounds other than economic ones. I was hoping that he'd be able to use that lesson to see how others might see some of his viewpoints as irrational, but so far...no such luck.)

Anyway, despite the fact that the Fahrenheit scale obviously has its flaws, the truth is that most Americans instinctively grasp that when the temperature goes below 0°F, it's just flat cold. And that's how it was when I went to the gym this morning; so cold that the air actually had texture, and each breath felt like a big bite of Peppermint Pattie. My car groaned reluctantly but eventually started, and the snow on the windshield was too cold to even stick to it properly. The streets were slick, but passable.

Surprisingly, there was a pretty good crowd at the gym. And despite the weather-driven biological urge to begin hibernation, I actually loosened up and had a pretty good workout once I got there. But the air temperature hadn't warmed up much by the time I left to head on in to the office.

As I usually do, I had prepared some fruit to eat immediately after leaving the gym. I didn't even think about potential problems from leaving my food in the car, but when I tried to bite into my banana, I found that it was frozen! My carrots had ice crystals inside them! This is not right, people. Geez.

When I was in college, I went through a brief (very brief) "frozen chocolate-covered banana" phase. There was this funky little hippie health-food store that was operating out of an abandoned photomat booth, which, because of its "anti-establishment" appeal, was very trendy for us rebellious youth. (I think it was even called "Sgt Peppers". They also served carob-coated zucchini, cinnamon asparagus, and various parsley-based snack dishes, but those didn't have the appeal of the frozen 'nanner treats.) But just like our commitment to the whole hippie movement, our devotion to Woodstock-inspired food fads faded pretty quickly, and we realized that just because something was trendy -- well, it didn't mean it was good.

So what I'm saying is that I was disappointed to find my banana frozen. (And rest assured, I do not plan to ever utter that particular sentence again.)

Anyway, I couldn't help thinking about a few other cold-weather memories. Someday I'll tell you about the time we went to the "Rent a Piece of Crap" car agency to procure transportation for a ski trip to Steamboat. That particular adventure did not end well at all. But I also have my own personal vehicle story to share.

I once owned a Ford Pinto. Yes, that's right -- a Pinto. And contrary to what your instincts might tell you, I really liked that car. Unfortunately, it fell apart...I mean literally fell apart at 75,000 miles, which is one of the reasons I would never buy a Ford again...but until then it was fun to drive. Except for the time I had to go home from swim practice when it was -20°F.

The car started up just fine, and I began to drive toward my house. But when I stopped for a light at Kipling and Quincy, the engine started to race. It was supposed to be idling, but the darn thing was redlining! Yikes! Not wanting the car to go supernova, I immediately turned it off.

Fortunately, I was kinda into doing my own car maintenance at that time of my life, so I knew how to get under the hood and troubleshoot some of the most obvious throttle-sticking malfunctions. The problem was that I had planned to be either in the car or in a building, and had only a lightweight jacket and no gloves. And no AAA membership.

So here I am, standing in the middle of the street with the hood up, using my bare fingers to unscrew the wing nuts off the air filter housing to get to the carburetor. Every couple of twists I'd have to stop and stick my frozen fingers up inside my shirt to warm them, with the net result of causing my entire body temperature to drop rapidly. But by the time I got the air filter lid off, I was still alive, and still had enough control of my fingers to be able to fiddle with the carb's butterfly valves. Sure enough, it was just sticky; a little WD-40 would take care of the problem right away.

Only I didn't have any WD-40. (The closest thing I had was my chapstick, and even my limited knowledge of lubricants made that sound like a questionable idea.) I got the valve unstuck (via pure frozen-fingered brute force) and started the car up again. It sounded great, idling at exactly the right speed. Risking frostbite, I reassembled the device, slammed the hood, and jumped back behind the wheel. Putting it in gear, I gently nudged the accelerator.

And here we go again: The engine began to race up past the redline! OK, dude, shut the thing down, rinse and repeat. Hop out, unscrew the wingnuts, jiggle the jiggly parts, see if it unsticks. Try not to freeze to death in the process. Stick hands in pants. Switch to armpits after discovering that your pants don't really want those unbelievably cold hands anywhere near that area. Try the car again.

It worked fine, but I chose not to reinstall the air filter housing, since I figured the problem was likely to recur. I don't remember for sure, but I doubt that I even closed the car's hood all the way. I only had about 2 miles to drive to get home, but I was really cold, and there weren't any nearby buildings where I could go to warm up. I started the car, got in, and nudged the accelerator. Rrrrrr! RRRRRR! Redline!

There's more to the story, but I won't bore you with the parts about hasty plans to write my last will and testament to leave next to my icy corpse (didn't have a pen that worked), or my thoughts about using the air filter lid to dig a snow cave to hunker down in until Spring. I'll also skip the parts about discarded plans to siphon from the gas tank to build a fire (no hose) or using the car's seat cushions to build a small igloo (hey -- it was a Pinto...not much insulative substance to work with, you know?).

My final solution was to put the car into first gear and stomp on the brake throughout the entire trip home. It was revving at about 8000 rpm and travelling about 40 mph, even though I was using the full force of my leg on the brake pedal and the rotors were smokin'. I was eventually able to make it home without permanent frostbite injury, and without blowing up the car -- though come to think of it, this incident may have had something to do with the fact that the vehicle fell apart at 75K. Hmmm.

Anyway, I offer this story as part of my continuing effort to educate people so they won't make the same mistakes I have. Lessons learned here include the following rules for life:

• Always have a can of WD-40 in your car. (Duct tape, too. And if possible, a flamethrower, some Twinkies, and at least one pair of Vise-Grips.


• If it's 20 below zero and you're driving a car with a carburetor...wear a coat and gloves, ya moron!


• Better yet, get a car with fuel injection.


• Even better than that, skip swim practice altogether on the ultra-frigid days! Stay home in bed.

Either that, or switch to using the Celsius scale -- so "zero" will be a tolerable temperature. That makes sense, doesn't it?

Oh well, it probably doesn't matter, since Pintos have been Darwined out of existence by now, and everybody has a cell phone they can use to call a cab, anyway. So, for today's driver, there's nothing to do but enjoy the crisp feeling of frozen nose hairs, savor the extra-crunchy sensation when you bite into suddenly solidified fruit. Just smile...and have a great day!