Absolutes are nice. The fact that my little diesel car* had never failed to start, no matter how cold, was a point of certainty, clarity, and yeah, a little pride. Even in January 2008, during that brutal cold snap in which I went blackpowder hunting for deer and lost feeling in the tips of my big toes for weeks — even after all day out in 20 below temps, icy winds and snow, she started.
So I was surprised and dismayed this morning when, at a mere -6, she wouldn’t start. She turned and turned, but wouldn’t fire up. I warmed her little glow plugs five or six times — nothing.
Huh. Jodi drove her yesterday evening, and left her on the drive. Ordinarily I’d park in the garage over night, but still … those two days last January, she was good to go.
I’m a little sad today. No more absolutes: “She fires right up — except this one time …”
And then it’s not even that good a story.
* A 2000 Volkswagen Golf TDI, silver, pushing 190,000 miles. She’s wonderful. I’ve yet to name her.