13 January, 2006
lather. rinse. repeat.

even though i wasn't lousy with it, the scent of WD-40 and antifreeze will not be missed.

i responded to this special request from a workmate to do some work on his truck, which he'll need for moving, soon. that broke this dreadful monotony that i've slid into:work-work-work, vegetate/radio, scurry about scatter-brainedly, bust-ass-cleaning. repeat. weekly.

so, instead of driving home through impenetrable fog, i stayed over in NoVA... and drove to FrontRoyal, first thing in the morning. a constant climb up the BlueRidge, ending at a parking lot adjoining the Park property of the SkylineDrive.
not that i ever got much chance to take note of it, tip-toeing across the bow of an F150 all afternoon. extracting meddlesome fan clutches, water pumps and thermostats. it all looks so simple and tidy, seeing it written... bullshit. take it from me. and i thought only my foreign car perversion required special tools. a seven-hour test of man and mettle. or, more correctly, stubborn asshole against obstreporous over-complication.
the usual collection of minor contusions. immersions into aforementioned WD-40 and coolant. weaving my usual tapestry of obscenities. until it was dark, and the Beast ignited, sans spritzing.

in an afterglow i'm sure surgeons feel to a certain extent, i wolfed down some waxy sesame chicken, shot-the-shit with the happy owner, and wobbled to the VikingShip agog with spices.

for the ride home. in the dark., shoulder-to-shoulder with peaks looming black against moonlit air. just outside of Etlan, i crossed over the River Jordan... but could still feel the cramps in my leg, so i figured i still had some more work to do. past OldRag mountain, a rocky portal to the afterlife (or so i'd witnessed of one hiker). winding past dim houselights and neo-colonial B&Bs.

and washed up on the front porch at home.

and washed up not too long thereafter. i didn't want to smell like a 300ci straight-six any longer.
it wouldn't be an accurate description, anyway.

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