shaky jakey

On Saturday, after pancakes, I packed Jake and then we went with Joe to the car wash. Jakey had so much snow still in his wheel wells that the tires were rubbing, and two had gone a little flat. Also, he was so mud covered I couldn't see out the windows. It seemed like some water was in order to correct both problems.

Joe wisely stood really far away while I attempted to wash Jakey in one of those do it yourself car washes. Suffice it to say if I worked at a car wash I would probably get fired. I managed to get as much water on myself as Jake. The floor of the car wash was covered in ice so every time I sprayed water out of the high pressure hose I would go sliding across the floor. And my hands were cold so I had a hard time controlling the hose.

We then went to a gas station and I filled Jakey's tires. We got on the highway headed for home by way of Big Timber. I was taking Joe by his dad's house to get a truck so he'd have a car to drive until his volvo is fixed (who ever heard of an ice climber that owns an expensive car with leather seats? and not just that, but you can heat the seats up - okay, done making fun of your car, Joe, though I should mention every time I type "volvo" I really want to type "vulva").

As soon as I got Jakey up to 45 MPH on the service road to the highway he started shaking. Badly. I was like what the FUCK is wrong with my car???? The highway was even worse. At only 60 MPH Jake was shaking so bad that he knocked two cigarettes out of the pack that I was holding against the steering wheel.

I didn't want to scare Joe, but I was thinking to turn around and head back to Livingston. I knew there was no way I could drive Jakey like that for 8 hours. Not just because my forearms were worked like little bitches. I was worried I was going to hurt Jake.

A short discussion ensued about my car. We were both kind of nervous since, earlier in the week, the same kind of scenario played out with Joe's car. First the tire, then the car went to shit. I wondered if I had screwed something up when I was putting air in his tires, or if I had screwed up his alignment driving too fast over bumps on the road to Hyalite (I did that just so I could hear the panic in Joe's voice when he said "there's a big bump coming up RIGHT THERE" as I would plow through a pot hole the size of one of the new england states without slowing down).

We got to Joe's dad's house, actually Joe's childhood home. I got to see paintings his grandmother Harriet had done, miniatures his mom painted, and more cool indian artifacts, including a head dress made with eagle feathers that's worth a million billion dollars that Joe's dad keeps in the basement. I would have enjoyed it all a lot more if I wasn't worried about Jake.

Joe got the truck out of the garage and said he would follow me out to the highway. I told him that if I was having problems I would take Jake back to Livingston. Joe surmised that Jake just had some ice or shit caught in the wheel well and that he would be okay. I was also nervous because my new crackberry battery has the life span of a gnat. If I ran into problems I would likely be in the middle of no where with a dying phone.

But, surprisingly, I got on the highway and Jakey was his usual sled dog self, running along at 85 MPH like it was nothing. I sent Joe a text to let him know he wouldn't have to put up with me sleeping on his couch for another night, though, I don't think he would have minded. He even said to me, when we were driving to his dad's house "I'm kind of surprised that I'm not sick of you yet". I made it home by 10ish, watched a movie, and then passed out.

Sunday morning I got a text message from Joe that said "I found your swimsuit this morn". Then he made a joke about me leaving my panties at his house, though, technically, they are aren't really panties. I had forgotten, after the hot springs, that I had hung my bathing suit up in his front foyer under a down jacket (classy). Luckily he found my suit before one of his little groupies did. And I feel bad that I hung a wet bathing suit under his down jacket. Oops.

He also said that everyone in the restaurant that he cooks at (where we were on Friday) refers to me as "the spy that smokes marlboro reds". For the record, my boys have a satellite trained right on Joe's house, at this very moment, to see if he's running around in my bathing suit.

And so ends the story of my ice climbing vacation with Joe. Stay tuned for the corrections. Joe is working on them as I write this.