the Walnut Diary

I’ve always been one for grabbing windows of opportunity in the weather when they present themselves, but yesterday our son suddenly announced that he would be along to pick up his M2 in two hours. Building a winter hide-away for this automobile was the rationale behind last fall’s renovation of the-garage-with-the-antlers which slouches beside the western end of the stone house on the property. Of course reality and fancy got in the way of historical accuracy, but I insist a twenty-panel, five section, hemlock and pine overhead garage door is only remuddling if you don’t admire fine cars and the convenience of remote controls. The oak man-door built to a similar pattern wasn’t intended to be ostentatious, but I didn’t have anything but red oak from which to make it. But I digress.

Charlie came to work on the car for eventual delivery to a business in Ottawa, but then all of the sudden he decided to take off, smooth track tires and all. I pushed him past the house enough for him to build up some momentum until he came to the sanded road over the hill, and from there on it was bare and dry for the short trip to Ottawa. Last fall he sent me video of a lap at Mosport where the telemetry showed this car at 142 miles per hour on the uphill straight after the hairpin turn. The same tires were not very effective on the ice of the driveway, today, though. He has winter tires for the car, but the rims won’t fit over the massive brake rotors on the front.

The text came at supper. “Would you mind bringing my truck to Ottawa tomorrow?” I agreed and suggested a time we could meet before looking at the weather forecast. Then I had to revise the arrival time to take advantage of a window of our own: clear roads until 11:00 a.m., according to The Weather Channel. Then came the follow-up note: “The front tires need air, and could you bring the air pig from the car trailer?” Like a fool…

At daylight the thermometer read 35 below F. We needed to leave in a half-hour. The old Tundra fired up just fine, then limped its front wheels over to the shop for several minutes of airing up. Then I struggled back through the snowdrifts to the car trailer, filling my boots until I discovered that the door barring my way to the air pig was frozen beyond opening without major tools and structural damage.

I struggled back to the truck empty-handed, only to find Bet all ready to go, with the Lexus idling in wait. “It started o.k. then?”

“At first the dash lit up but nothing else, so I shut it off and tried again, and then I heard the engine come on.” And so off we went.

The Tundra is a nice old beast, extensively modified for overlanding, and thus a bit heavy as a winter vehicle. It offers a cushy, relaxing ride, though the unfamiliar heater controls were hard to read in the early light. The 4WD indicator was flashing, though I had selected 2WD. Eventually after an hour or so of driving, it managed to shift out. The gas gauge was making significant progress across the dial, so I signalled a stop in Smiths Falls for gas. I pulled in and clicked the $150 button. It clicked off somewhere in the last third of that amount. Then I spotted Bet, sitting there in the idling Lexus. What about filling it now rather than later? I gestured her over to the pump and she pulled up on the outside, next to a diesel pump with a single gas dispenser. Fine. She shut off. I put sixty bucks into it and then Bet reported: “It won’t start! The lights come on but the engine won’t budge.” I intervened and things only got worse. Each retry produced less reaction from the car, until it completely ceased responding. Our Lexus had become a brick, a third of the way into an intricate journey, on the coldest day anybody can remember. I suddenly realized that my parka was nowhere nearly warm enough for the wind chill. The cold was hitting me with physical blows, numbing my mind and leaving me shaking. I dashed for the convenience store which is part of Drummond’s Gas. The next hour was a panic. The car was bricking a diesel pump, but the owner had closed it because the heavy fuel wouldn’t flow properly in the cold, so she wasn’t particularly bothered. Nice lady. A tow truck pulled in. I had called his dispatcher, but he was on his way to two other jobs and only needed gas. Nonetheless he had a look, holding his boost box with its cables. The brick had had its hood open before it solidified, but there was no way into the trunk where the 12 volt battery which powers the computers lives. The recovery guy couldn’t find anywhere to hook his cables, so he left. We hopped into the Tundra to warm up and get home to good internet to solve this mystery. The You-Tube videos from three continents confidently explained how to find the charging point for the positive cable. Any engine bolt would do for the negative. Confidently I came back with a large screwdriver and popped off the two fuse panel covers where everyone said there would be a funny sliding plastic thing which covers the brass contact plate which revives the brick. Nope. Juddering from the cold now, I retreated to the idling Tundra. I called the towing firm again about picking the brick up and taking it home. The lady said that they were slammed, and could I call another firm which might be able to come? I did. The lady said twenty minutes.

This guy came walking confidently across the parking lot with a jumper box. I popped the panel covers. He agreed there’s nothing in there. Then I mentioned that I had pried the hidden key out of the fob and found a place in the trunk latch where it will go in, though there had been absolutely no mention of that in any of the videos I had seen. He slipped it into the indicated space which I had tried, but failed to produce a result. His thumbs were stronger and warmer than mine. A wrench to the left, and the trunk lid opened. He touched his cables to the battery behind a little plastic lunch box in the right corner of the trunk, and the brick once again became our beloved Lexus. He had seen this feature often on BMW’s.

But the hood wouldn’t close. I told him I would deal with that, gave him forty bucks and gratefully sent him on to his next call. His thumb strength had saved our bacon this day.

This is the third time that hood latch had given me trouble, and I actually think I lubricate it regularly, because the consequences of neglect are so unpleasant. It wasn’t going to loosen up in this biting wind and I knew Bet shouldn’t drive it this way, so I sent her back to Forfar with the Tundra, and, gritting my teeth, I commenced the long journey home in an annoyed, nagging, Lexus.

The thing is, the car normally has a very hospitable and pleasing dash. When the hood is unlatched, though, alarms go off, no other data is available, and the car makes every effort to get you to stop driving it by making loud noises and flashing lights at you. I am deaf, but it was still wearing on me by the time we got onto the highway, and I was too frightened by the din to drive over 50 mph, so it was a long trip.

Bet ran the massive Tundra down the highway, over the hill, up the icy driveway, and then perched in the cab for long minutes, texting her memoirs to her son.

I booted the tractor out of the auto shop and ran the car in for hood and rear battery repairs. Brake cleaner got rid of the crusted grit and oil, and the hood latch functioned like a bank vault again. The battery was another matter. The car was pumping 14.6 volts into it as it idled, but it dropped to 12.1 when shut off. I tried a charger, which got it to 13.2, but a half hour later it was dead again.

So it’s time for a small AGM battery for the Lexus. This proved amazingly hard to obtain on a Saturday afternoon. So that will be a job for Monday morning, and I guess it’s time to stretch the Tacoma’s legs after a long rest. I moved it last week to plow the parking place and it lit up at the first touch of the key and idled smoothly.

From the day’s misadventures I rediscovered the value of a warm parka. Bet was a bit smug about her Canada Goose model, but at least she kept warm. Maybe I should buy one of them with what I didn’t pay out in towing fees and dealership charges today because I ran across a couple of fine, helpful people in my old home town of Smiths Falls.

UPDATE, 7 FEBRUARY, 2023. Problem solved.

Yesterday we drove into the service bay at Kingston Lexus and I had the parts guy load a new AGM 12V battery into the trunk. I paid $606 CDN including tax for the exquisitely packed Panasonic, a clone of the one I removed. The vent plug worked. Three, 10mm nuts came out and went in again. I hit the start button on the dash. The screen scrolled: “Installing program. Do not disconnect.” Then the full screen lit up but it would not go into park. On a hunch I tapped the start button again, and backed out of the garage. No problems whatever. I hope it lasts another nine years. Perhaps the high price is not for the electrical power output, but for the debugging which makes it work properly right out of the box.