The digital read-out on the dash flickers + 22 F.
Where’s the “+”?
It’s dark, and cold, and the day opened with the media blaring: ‘Bombogenesis‘: Northeast Blizzard “Juno” Will Be Fueled By Dramatic Pressure Drop. This is followed with a pre-recorded, public service announcement of impending doom:
This is an important winter storm advisory. A blizzard warning is in effect for the State of Connecticut. It is predicted to bring high winds gusting up to 60 miles per hour. Snow accumulation of 20 to 30 inches is expected. Coastal flooding and high tides are anticipated. Widespread and long duration power outages are expected. Utility crews are prohibited from engaging in repair work until the end of the storm. There will be a travel ban at 9pm this evening.
In 1973, the ’63 GMC Short-Bed Step-Side was outfitted with a block heater. A three-pronged electrical cord dangled from the grill and was plugged in overnight. On most frigid British Columbia mornings, this would be enough to crank up the Chevy after three or four turns and get us to hockey practice.
40 years later, my ignition fires on the first pull, with no dangling cords hanging from the grill. The Gratitude Bus is rolling.
I pull out and accelerate onto I-95. The highway is clear and dry. I’m flowing with traffic. My Ólafur Arnalds’ playlist lands on “Undan Hulu.” I have no idea what Undan Hulu (Icelandic) means but the Cello solo hits a sweet spot. I hit replay, replay and replay in my Monday morning meditation.
Yet, there is no mistaking the dark streak darting in and out of Arnalds’ Cello solo. [Read more…]