Now and then it is good to be handed a dose of automotive thankfulness. With the tires on, earlier in the week a friend promised to come help me turn Green around and get him nose-first up the inclined driveway and into the garage. Figured I needed another truck to make it go. As darkness fell on the day the wheels were put on, overnight snow was forecast. I was anxious, because even if I did manage to get Green into the garage later, I didn’t want snow melting around the remainder of my wood stockpile.
When the helper truck was unavailable it occurred to me that ten people could do the job–but it was evening, full dark, and I didn’t want to be the one to interrupt pre-Christmas family festivities. For an hour or so I hemmed and hawed in the kitchen, trying to decide who I could interrupt on a late evening that might be willing to come push a ton and a half of very cold steel up an incline.
Unknown to me, Son 3 simply sent text messages to a dozen friends. Before I knew it, ten young people were standing in our front entry dressed for the job–except Son 3, who was sporting running shorts (kids these days). In 15 minutes we were done: I hopped in the cab and did something I have not done since 1985–I steered the green truck. With a nudge from behind (and the beneficent security of absolutely no brakes), we rolled down the drive and into a right turn into the street, backed it up in a Y to point uphill, and it eased into the garage. There are no pix of the festivities (I was steering, remember), but here is a photo of Green garaged for the first time I know since 1973.