The following entry was inspired by Lorraine Sommerfeld's Motherlode column posted Dec 30th, 2013
It was March Nineteen-Eighty-Something when 3
Soldiers left Brantford for Meaford in a 1951 2 1/2 ton 10 wheel drive
Command Post, converted to use as a Supply Vehicle.
I was driving, my
best friend in the middle, and another Supply Tech in the co-drivers
seat.
It took 3 persons to operate that truck as the transmission leaked so
badly you had to add fluid on the fly. A case of fluid under the seat,
and a trap door in the floor to access the tranny filler.
We were in shirt sleeves.
North of Guelph the weather started to turn. Rain, then sleet. The
vacuum operated wipers failed, and had to be operated manually via the
little levers inside. I needed every inch of the 3 foot diameter
steering wheel to keep that beast under us, so it was the guy in the
middle who had to operate the wipers.
The defrost and heat didn’t work, so the 3rd guy used a squeegee to keep the windshield clean on the inside.
Somewhere near Arthur a spray of fluid (I won’t say beer) covered my
glasses. When I took them off my glasses broke in the middle.
On a
downhill run.
Buddy One fished my spare pair out from my parka pocket.
Near Owen Sound, it had turned into a full force Bruce Blizzard.
Buddy 2 on the outside started to shiver badly. It was another 30 – 45
minutes to Range Rd Diner at the bottom of 7 Mile Hill. When we got
there, Buddy 2 was hauled into the ambulance and treated for
hypothermia. Buddy 1 left to join his Gun Crew.
That left me alone to get that overgrown wagon up the hill, with no
wipers or heat.
I did the only thing I could do, backed up a full
concession, pulled my balaclava down over my face, took a swig of rum,
opened the windshield up, kicked in the 10 wheel drive, said a Hail Mary
(and I’m not even Catholic) and let her rip.
They said that when I broke the gate at the check point at the top,
all 10 wheels were spinning and they could see the icicles on my glasses
and mustache.
That, my friends, was cold.
DJW
The following entry was inspired by Lorraine Sommerfeld's Motherlode column posted Dec 30th, 2013
It was March Nineteen-Eighty-Something when 3 Soldiers left Brantford for Meaford in a 1951 2 1/2 ton 10 wheel drive Command Post, converted to use as a Supply Vehicle.
I was driving, my best friend in the middle, and another Supply Tech in the co-drivers seat.
It took 3 persons to operate that truck as the transmission leaked so badly you had to add fluid on the fly. A case of fluid under the seat, and a trap door in the floor to access the tranny filler.
We were in shirt sleeves.
North of Guelph the weather started to turn. Rain, then sleet. The vacuum operated wipers failed, and had to be operated manually via the little levers inside. I needed every inch of the 3 foot diameter steering wheel to keep that beast under us, so it was the guy in the middle who had to operate the wipers.
The defrost and heat didn’t work, so the 3rd guy used a squeegee to keep the windshield clean on the inside.
Somewhere near Arthur a spray of fluid (I won’t say beer) covered my glasses. When I took them off my glasses broke in the middle.
On a downhill run.
Buddy One fished my spare pair out from my parka pocket.
Near Owen Sound, it had turned into a full force Bruce Blizzard. Buddy 2 on the outside started to shiver badly. It was another 30 – 45 minutes to Range Rd Diner at the bottom of 7 Mile Hill. When we got there, Buddy 2 was hauled into the ambulance and treated for hypothermia. Buddy 1 left to join his Gun Crew.
That left me alone to get that overgrown wagon up the hill, with no wipers or heat.
I did the only thing I could do, backed up a full concession, pulled my balaclava down over my face, took a swig of rum, opened the windshield up, kicked in the 10 wheel drive, said a Hail Mary (and I’m not even Catholic) and let her rip.
They said that when I broke the gate at the check point at the top, all 10 wheels were spinning and they could see the icicles on my glasses and mustache.
That, my friends, was cold.
DJW