From frozen fuel to frozen battery
I debate calling the womyn in Chicago as I head out the door even though it is early - I don't get to finish that thought, as I put the key into the starter and attempt to turn the engine over.
The truck sounds like a distant whimpering cow - she doesn't even sputter or make serious turning-over sounds.
I return the few feet into the hotel, my cheeks frozen, my fingers and toes feeling frostbit.
It has gotten bitter cold, more bitter cold, and the womon at the hotel desk tells me it is 21 degrees - BELOW zero!
She tries to find someone to jump my truck.