Chapter 3, in which the Jag barely escapes getting gassed.
In the aerospace industry we are repeatedly reminded how seemingly unconnected events can gang up and together have dire consequences. My particular consequences hit this Saturday as storm clouds from the hurricane gathered over the river valley. They started, however, many weeks ago on the Trans Canada Trail in Burton.
It was a typical dark fall morning as I bumped and bounced over the trail heading to work.
My headlight made a skittering spot of light ahead which allowed me to avoid the rocks and puddles. One spot had been repaired over the summer but the passage of ATVs had torn it up leaving sharp edged, fist sized stones strewn about. I normally walked my bike the few metres over this spot since the sharp rocks had already slit two tires. Almost completely stopped, I swung my leg up to get off. The front wheel hit a low spot and jerked to a halt; my groin hit the can of bear spray mounted just behind the handlebars. It made only a brief "Phfsst!" but that was enough to create a small red cloud immediately in front of me. Still moving under my own momentum, I passed through it. I knew from many trips to the military gas hut to hold my breath and close my eyes. I'd never experienced the effects of bear spray and certainly didn't want to do so now. I walked forward a few metres until I felt that I was through it. Cautiously I opened my eyes and took a shallow breath.
The technique seemed to have work as I was able to breath. Even though I could smell the rancid cayenne, it wasn't strong enough to cause any distress so I got back on the bike and peddled the rest of the way to work. In the lights of the parking lot at the hanger I could see some liquid spray on the front of my bike. I figured that the rain would would eventually wash it off and thought no more of it. That evening I carefully washed everything I'd been wearing and perfunctorily hosed off the bike. It was quite oily and didn't really wash off. The next day I'd all but forgotten about the incident until I stepped into the shower after riding to work in the morning. My entire groin and upper thighs where covered in hives! I monitored the situation during the day and was relieved as they slowing subsided over the course of the day. I kept wondering what I'd eaten that would cause such a reaction. The next morning they where back. That's when I connected the bear spray incident! The damp air in the morning was picking up enough fumes from the oily spray residue on the bike to cause a reaction on my skin. That evening I vigorously scrubbed the entire bike with Castrol brand degreaser and (again) washed all my biking gear. This time it worked. The hives never re-occurred.
A few days later found the wife and myself getting the yard ready for winter. Over the past few years I've taken an interest in plants and enjoyed 'doing' gardening (under the wife's watchful eye of course). My set of (heavy!) metal car ramps were still sitting in the driveway and I'd decided to take them apart and use the metal to make a BIG set of axle stands. With Wife's able assistance, we lugged two of them into the garage and stacked them beside the Jag where I could start unbolting them at my leisure.
A week later and the ramps are still sitting beside the Jag, untouched. My good intentions
had been put on hold by the release of the next installment of my favourite computer game. Those darned alien brain sucking monsters where back and needed wiping out! It was getting a bit crowded in the garage and I was forced to lean my bike up against the ramps in order to get the Jag in and out. The can of bear spray was laying on top of the ramps where I'd left it after washing the bike and accessories (light, flasher, bear bell, bear spray holder).
Saturday was overcast and dreary but still warm enough that the salt trucks hadn't been out. I pushed my baby out, closed up the garage and headed out (via the scenic route) to the Freddy market for breakfast and shopping. Uncharacteristically, I left the top up. The combination of +4C temps, a brisk wind, and heavy clouds killed my usual enthusiasm for top down driving. Having the roof in place allowed me to hear all the buzzes and rattles that I'd never noticed when the top was down. Darn!, another item to add to my list of winter car projects, ..."item 56- find and eliminate many, many rattles from under bonnet."
I was a good two hours earlier than I normally am at the market and ran into a different set of folks than I usually do. The Russels where having their pick of fresh goods, and I stopped to chat with a few other friends who I rarely see at the market.
Arriving home, I tucked 'baby' away in the garage and moved my bike to lean against the stacked ramps in order to allow use of the side door. The weather had improved a bit and I ran a power cord out to the fountain to run it one last time before winter. As the day wore on and it warmed up, Wife came home early and we set about stacking pots and raking leaves. Even under the gathering storm clouds, the trickling water fountain made a nice sound. Soon, a few drops where felt and I knew it wouldn't be long before the sky opened up. I unplugged the fountain and rolled up the extension cord.
Leaning around the half open side door into the garage, I tossed the coiled cord and saw it land on top of bike accessories I'd neglected to re-install which where still piled on top of the car ramps which where STILL awaiting disassemble. The stage was now set. The bike leaned against the ramp and touched the coiled cord which lay across the trigger of the bear spray which was prevented from moving by the bike light battery bag which all lay on top of the car ramps. Walking towards the door with an armload of carwash buckets I pushed it a bit further open. The door hit the rear tire of the bike which rolled forward a couple of inches and pushed the coiled extension cord into the trigger on the can of bear spray which went PHFFFSSSFFFSSSSFFT!!!!", and kept going "PHFSSST!!" I suddenly realized what I'd just done. I dropped everything as the overpowering sensation sent me reeling backwards out of the garage! Through the window I could see a red spray impinging the large garage door. It lasted scant seconds but seemed like forever before the can issued it's last "Pfst!"! As thoughts of sleeping in a hotel for the next two years went through my head, I squeezed my eyes shut, took a deep breath and headed in. Dancing over the now slippery cement floor and feeling my way around the Jag "No No, not my baby!" I went straight to the shelf in the far corner and opened one eye just enough to see where my painting respirator was hanging. Military training took hold and I slipped my chin into it, pulled the straps over my head, breathed out with everything I had and tentatively took a shallow breath. It could definitely smell the damn stuff and my eyes burned a little but it was bearable. I flipped on the lights and surveyed the damage. One side of the large garage door was covered in orangy-red spray and the mist was expanding as I watched. I quickly closed the door into the rest of the house and rolled open the car door. The wind cleared the mist quickly but I was now stuck with the task of cleaning a full can of sticky oily cayenne pepper spray off of the door, walls and floor of my garage. The spray had also hit my bike, the ramps, the pile of bike accessories, and my creeper hanging beside
the garage door. Mercifully, the Jag appeared to be unscathed. As I stood there cursing and swearing at my stupidity (and still wearing a full face respirator), I then noticed Wife standing a safe distance away laughing herself hoarse. Oh she'd pay for that...one of these days!
In between fits of giggling, Wife was kind enough to bring me every cleaning product we owned along with a couple pails of hot water. Bear spray is incredibly oily, gets everywhere, and is a bear to clean up. I scrubbed, hosed and washed for a good two hours before I could finally risk taking the mask off. My arms where a bright red from being in the contaminated wash water and I could feel the welt on my face from the mask. Thankfully the smell had not gone into the house. Dumping all my clothes and cleaning rags into the washing machine along with a half jug of detergent, I headed upstairs to the shower, ignoring the chuckling issuing from the kitchen where *someone* was making supper. The shower was a mixed blessing. Water seems to activate the pepper spray residue and I had to scrub myself with my eyes clamped tightly closed and breath through a wet face cloth. The shower has one of those single handle controls which has never worked properly. Going from scalding to freezing takes less than a millimetre of movement and it normally takes a few minutes of fiddling with the stupid thing to get the water temperature 'just so'. Explosive coughing fits made me bang into the knob with my flailing arms causing the water to go from scalding to freezing.
Like a warrior limping home from a lost battle I dragged myself into the dining room just in time for supper. I was lobster red from a combination of exposure to the spray and a vigorous scrubbing in scalding/freezing water. Wife made soothing and sympathetic noises as served me supper and a steaming cup of Earl Grey, but I could see the merriment in her eyes. This would make a great story at her work the following day.
...and the Jag you ask? Despite being right in the midst of the fun, she escaped with nary a drop on her scarlet paint. It seems that God not only protects drunks and small children, but old British roadsters as well.
...and me?...I just can't wait for the hives!
- Bob
Click on beautiful Ellie for a few more photos.
