Date: Fri, 17 Aug 2007 23:39:13 -0500
Reply-To: John Rodgers <inua@CHARTER.NET>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: John Rodgers <inua@CHARTER.NET>
Subject: Re: FRYEDAYE PHOLLIES ... well, sort of. ;)
In-Reply-To: <000701c7e149$6b1c0890$05955804@gpa207joel>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1; format=flowed
I know those feelings ----
Kenai, Alaska
January, 19anyyear
Forecast temps in the morning - Minus 35F
Tasks for the night before - plug in the Oil Sump heater on the vanagon;
plug in the battery hot plate. Fill and fire off the catalytic space
heater and place under he starter. Hang the insulated skirt around the
rear of the vehicle to contain what heat one can.
Hope a lot that the weather man was wrong and it will actually be warmer.
In the morning, remove the cat heater, press the pedal and hit the
starter. Maybe it will run, maybe it won't. Hope a lot.
John Rodgers
88 GL Driver
joel walker wrote:
> ok, it IS Friday somewhere. right now, it's still Friday where i am.
> and i happened to be reading through a book that was given me when i
> retired ...
> Good Poems for Hard Times (poems selected by Garrison Keilor ... the
> goofy looking guy from Lake Woebegone on NPR). ;) and i found this
> poem. not written by me, so all you mealy-mouthed critics can relax
> ... this is by a real makes-his-living-by-writing-poems poet. ;)
>
> anyway, the tone and subject fit in with vanagons, and especially
> those who have swapped engines. ;) and super especially those who have
> lived through northeast winters with vanagons that had their engines
> swapped. or anybody who has lived through a northern winter. ;)
>
> unca joel
>
>
>
>
>
> Starting the Subaru at Five Below
> Stuart Kestenbaum
>
>
> After 6 Maine winters and 100,000 miles,
> when I take it to be inspected
>
> I search for gas stations where they
> just say beep the horn and don't ask me to
>
> put it on the lift, exposing its soft
> rusted underbelly. Inside is the record
>
> of commuting: apple cores, a bag from
> McDonald's, crushed Dunkin' Donuts cups,
>
> a flashlight that doesn't work and one
> that does, gas receipts blurred beyond
>
> recognition. Finger tips numb, nose
> hair frozen, I pump the accelerator
>
> and turn the key. The battery cranks,
> the engine gives 2 or 3 low groans and
>
> starts. My God it starts. And unlike
> my family in the house, the job I'm
>
> headed towards, the poems in my briefcase,
> the dreams I had last night, there is
>
> no question about what makes sense.
> White exhaust billowing from the tail pipe,
>
> heater blowing, this car is going to
> move me, it's going to take me places.
>
>
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