The 8008 628

I, Once Upon a Midnight - anything but - Clear, as 25DEC changed to 26DEC (in a fit of madness and an attempt at a favor) departed the NYNS New York Naval Shipyard on the edge of Brooklyn's then far from stylish Bedford Stuyvesant neighborhood) at the conclusion of the 20-24 on the quarterdeck (illegally, one should not depart on leave (a) when still in a duty status - I waited until my relief as OPs duty officer had returned aboard - and (b) not until the Forenoon Watch is set, 0715 or so, on the morning upon which Leave commences - Put me in hack now, Skipper!), driving a TR4, top up, mild icing and freezing rain, wool turtleneck, foul weather jacket, bath towel wrapped around neck. By a midway down the Jersey turnpike, I and the car were awash. About all the heater did was melt the ice forming on interior surfaces, while the defroster seemed incapable of handling more than a few inches of windshield. The area around my left elbow and left thigh were pretty well iced up, as the TR's flapping side curtains had obviously not been intended for actual driving in wet or wet-cold conditions.

Somewhere about Richmond, I stopped and bought a set of replacement wiper blades (at what must have been the most fortuitously located foreign car dealership in the US, open 26DEC to boot) for those serrated by ice, and got free carb and points adjustments plus replacement (and properly gapped) spark plugs from a kindly, lonely (customerless) parts man-mechanic. Light snow had set in on the North edge of DC. The ice stopped somewhere before the NC state line, and the snow persisted in light flurries almost to SC. I finally arrived at the Atlanta airport - stopping only to stretch, eat, pee, fix car - almost on time, to turn over the car to its rightful owner returning from a Navy school to spend a few days at home on leave. I have cursed TRs ever since, especially while sitting in the airport defrosting and waiting for a standby to Dallas - fortunately not long.

One should not curse the night, but it's alright to curse the designers of the TRs who cut down the door line to a point below the height of the mudflaps on every semi on the road, insuring that pbutting or being pbutted, a wall of water searched for the gap between door and inadequate side curtain.

TM "....and now you know why I drive big SUVs." Oliver