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.
Labels: diesel, musings, winter