Chain Worries.

No photos again. Wet day round the edges and dry in the middle. But not dry in the tennis courts so Maggie and I walked round Mt Iron and had coffee with Mike afterwards. Then Spook and I had lunch and sorted out a few things in town for his Canadian trip on Saturday.
The dampness seems to mean snow higher up so the general advice is to carry snow chains at all times now. We have never put chains on, so Spook did a bit of research and came up with exactly what I imagined would happen as you only put the chains on at the point at which you need them - not in the warmth of your garage.


The first time: Break fingernails prising up the tabs on the plastic box to display beautifully coiled shiny charm bracelets. Lift the first one out and watch in amazement as it coils into a glittering twisted lump in your hand. Pick up the second in disbelief as it repeats the same trick. Spend the next 30 minutes untangling the knots . . . which would have been 10 if the pair hadn't decided to mate with each other. Separated, they're laid down beside the drive wheels and you look at the instructions stuck inside the lid of the carry box ands realise that your Serbo-Croat isn't what it should be so you decide to go with the pictures. Which bear no visible relationship to the objects laying besides your wheels 30 minutes later you're soaking wet and shivering with the cold, the rest of your fingernails are caught in mechanical parts you have no name for and everything you touch is now indelibly marked with your fingerprints. You have something that looks like it's slung between two nipple rings, and just as taut, chipping the rust protector off the inside of your wheel arches . . . . . . but they will get you up the hill. Arriving at your destination, you take them off . . . which oddly is an absolute doddle, and coil them into their plastic box. The next season: Your fingernails are safe; At some time during the Summer the plastic tabs have been knocked off and you lift the lid to an amorphous brown lump that creaks and sheds small pieces as you prise it out of its nest. The pictures in the lid are now a ragged illegible sticky mixture of paper shreds, ink smear and pulpy hydrated glue so you rely on your faded memory. Which leads you to spending twice the time and 10 times the frustration to achieve the same miserable result as the last time . . . only now, your fingerprints have a lovely 'burnt sienna' tinge to their longevity. Next year . . . you buy a new set and repeat . . . 'cos they're a different design.
(excerpt from chat forum on snowheads.com)
Meg arranged to meet Ceilidh at 5pm tonight and was determined that they would run no matter what the weather. Indeed the rain started at 5pm and she and Ceilidh ran last night's loop without stopping and she came home in the dark, soaked but pleased with herself. Spook and I were ashamed of our lardyness. Finn had played basketball after school, so it was just us who hadn't worked up a sweat (actually, just Spook, as I did go up a small Mount).