It’s already November and my Detroit-based fleet of cars is in disrepair, meaning I’m going to have to engage in a practice only the toughest of souls ever dare to undertake: Michigan outdoor winter wrenching, also known as “frostbite.” That is, unless I can get these things done first.
Last winter was horrible. All five of my cars broke down simultaneously, leaving me stranded in a snow-covered department store parking lot, begging for a ride home from my friends. The winter before that, I had to swap an alternator in a freezing McDonald’s parking lot in the middle of the night, only to have to again be rescued by a friend. (Who was eight months pregnant.)