Showing posts with label Robert Scott. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robert Scott. Show all posts
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Apparently, I have been caught in an historical inaccuracy
A reader has informed me that Robert Scott, a prominent polar explorer at the beginning of the 20th century, did not die in a snow drift, despite my comparisons to the contrary. I suppose I should have compared myself to Ernest Shackleton, another polar explorer of the time. He survived, after all. Just thought I'd throw that out there. And, yeah, look him up. Worth reading about.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
I think I just froze my face off
For what might be the first time in my life that did not involve an armed robbery, I wished tonight that I owned a ski mask. We got a little snow tonight -- about an inch, pretty much all at once, which made the drive home interesting, as the "all at once" coincided with when I was driving home -- but that isn't the real story. The low tonight is supposed to be about 7 degrees. Right now, it is about 13 degrees (we're talking Fahrenheit here, people), but the wind chill is down to -7, because it is really windy. And I just got back from walking a dog who apparently thought it was too cold to drop the deuce.
For 30 minutes, we walked the neighborhood. He finally did the deed when I was probably minutes away from going full Robert Scott and dying in a snow drift (look it up, people). The main problem was that, while I had a great hat on that kept my head warm, and a nice scarf that kept my neck warm, and a bazillion layers that kept my upper body warm, and I don't give a fuck about my legs because I once went through two of the worst winters in 100 years in Blacksburg, Va., wearing shorts and so I know they can take it (different story, people, focus, can we?) my face was exposed. This turned out to be a serious issue.
No lie, I thought I was going to get frostbite on my cheeks. Having once gotten frostbite on my feet while riding in the back of a pickup truck driving from Needles, Calif., to Kingman, Ariz., I knew that frostbite is one of the most painful things around. Imagine my pleasure when I got home, frost-bite free. My face was cold. It was not a happy time.
But I'm OK now. That doesn't mean I won't buy a ski mask tomorrow.
For 30 minutes, we walked the neighborhood. He finally did the deed when I was probably minutes away from going full Robert Scott and dying in a snow drift (look it up, people). The main problem was that, while I had a great hat on that kept my head warm, and a nice scarf that kept my neck warm, and a bazillion layers that kept my upper body warm, and I don't give a fuck about my legs because I once went through two of the worst winters in 100 years in Blacksburg, Va., wearing shorts and so I know they can take it (different story, people, focus, can we?) my face was exposed. This turned out to be a serious issue.
No lie, I thought I was going to get frostbite on my cheeks. Having once gotten frostbite on my feet while riding in the back of a pickup truck driving from Needles, Calif., to Kingman, Ariz., I knew that frostbite is one of the most painful things around. Imagine my pleasure when I got home, frost-bite free. My face was cold. It was not a happy time.
But I'm OK now. That doesn't mean I won't buy a ski mask tomorrow.
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