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Now that winter has arrived, it's time to consider a severe seasonal problem: persuading a reluctant vehicle to start when the sun has barely risen and it's so cold that the snow squeals under your feet. It's colder than the proverbial well-digger's rump, colder than a banker's heart, even colder than your wife's feet.
In the civilized areas of Colorado, this is an infrequent occurrence, but in the mountains, this happens daily for six months of the year. Thus has evolved a group of cold-start experts: the Real Mountain Drivers.
Real Mountain Drivers will concede that the certain way to a morning start is to install a tank or dipstick heater, and plug that in every night. But Real Mountain Drivers also consider that cheating, unless they find a way to connect the 200-foot extension cord to a neighbor's electrical outlet.
The Real Mountain Driver first walks around his vehicle. Although he squints carefully as he makes this circuit, he couldn't tell you what he's looking for. It's a ritual to placate the Turnover Deity.
The Turnover Deity is not in any way connected to football; it is the mysterious power of the universe which allows the engine to crank on some mornings but not others.
Holding his breath, so as not to fog the windows, the
Ream Mountain Driver slides the key into the ignition, and
turns the switch to on.
Not to start,
because
he first checks that everything is off. He doesn't want the
radio, wipers or heater motor to drain precious electricity
from the battery. Many Real Mountain Drivers avoid the need
for this step by owning vehicles which lack radios, wipers,
or heater fans.
Satisfied that the starter faces no electrical competition, the Real Mountain Driver pulls the choke. On more modern vehicles with automatic chokes, he opens the hood, removes the air cleaner, and fiddles with the carburetor until he's sure the choke is shut. A sharp tug generally suffices to remove his fingers from the frozen metal.
Back behind the wheel, he pumps the accelerator precisely four times. Any less, and the engine won't start. Any more, and it will flood. Then he depresses the clutch, so that a cold, stiff transmission won't be added to the starter's burdens.
Now the Real Mountain Driver is all ears. He must hear every grunt and groan from the engine compartment. Invariably at this moment, a dog will start howling or a semi will roar down the nearby highway, its jake brake barking.
When silence finally arrives, he turns the key to
start.
This is the moment of truth.
About once a week, it starts. The rest of the time, he must resort to:
· Jump starting. This presumes that someone will happen along with a set of cables, and that the cables aren't too short or missing a clamp. The other common complication is that the cable-bearer might also be toting a bottle of schnapps; after several warming gulps, no one can remember whether red is positive or negative. The cables melt if one or more batteries don't explode first.
· Mechanical assistance. Someone comes by who's willing to push or pull. If it's pull, the chain snaps in the cold, and both drivers spend the rest of the day shoveling their vehicles out of a ditch. For push, there's always a mating problem, and tailgates, bumpers and grills get smashed. As do friendships, when the argument begins as to who's responsible for what.
· Ether. My brother Kurt, a certified diesel mechanic, insists that those spray cans of ether are meant for diesel engines and do not help gasoline engines start. But what does he know?
The truth is that spray-can ether is the same chemical that surgeons use to keep you from feeling the knife when they're cutting on you.
No matter what the mechanics say, ether is effective if you use it properly, the way Real Mountain Drivers do.
Just get under the hood with the spray can. Within 10 seconds of a short squirt, you lose all interest in the visible world.
Your slither indoors. When you revive, you realize that you really didn't need to go anywhere that day anyway. Your job was a bore, and anyway, why contribute to resource depletion and air pollution? A bracing morning jolt of ether gives you severe attitude problems, and that's how Real Mountain Drivers handle the travails of winter.
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