Rising Nucleotides

A Logical Inference

I see, from Yahoo! News, that Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has dispatched a letter to President Bush, which was, it seems, an unexpected move.

Iran's president declared in a letter to President Bush that democracy had failed worldwide and lamented "an ever-increasing global hatred" of the U.S. government. Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice swiftly rejected the letter, saying it didn't resolve questions about Tehran's suspect nuclear program. [snip] The letter from President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad made only an oblique reference to Iran's nuclear intentions, asking why "any technological and scientific achievement reached in the Middle East region is translated into and portrayed as a threat to the Zionist regime."

By "the Zionist regime," he's referring to Israel. Many nations feel that Iran wishes to develop nuclear weapons, in order that it might use them to destroy Israel. Why do they think that this is Iran's intention?

Well, if I had to guess, I'd say that Iran's promise to wipe Israel off the map rather factored into the analysis. You know-- just maybe.

One Short Trip for a Truck

As all of the regulars know, I drive a truck. I drive the same truck such an overwhelming proportion of the time (and it driven only by me to a similarly overwhelming degree), that it is clearly defined as "mine." I don't own it, personally-- and yet, I almost do, since it's the family business. As it happens, my truck is named "Snowball."

Snowball

Snowball is a 1990 International model 9370 tandem tractor, also known as a pretty average highway truck of moderate age. It's not very nimble, and the presence of the sleeper compartment means that I don't have a rear window. Considering the feats of maneuverability-- especially backing-- that I have to perform at various junkyards, I describe Snowball in a negative light as an "old road cow." In spite of these practical considerations, I love my truck.

A while back, I drove bobtail (without a trailer) down to the Flying J truck stop for fuel, since it always has the best price around, and the actual freight runs hadn't sent me past the place lately. That sort of trip has to be considered carefully, since I'm sure I burned $5 worth of fuel, just to go buy cheaper fuel.

Everything went just fine. On my way out, though, I noticed a Canadian truck with a problem. Clearly a problem, since it was stopped between the entrance and the fuel islands, and the hood was open. Engine trouble, I reckoned. Nothing I could possibly help with.

But then I heard a whistle, so I stopped. At low speeds, it's almost always wise to stop when there's a problem-- even if you have no idea what the problem might be. I have a similar reaction to crane operators beeping their horns, since it either means 'that's a good spot to unload,' or 'hey, stupid-- you're going to hit something.'

In this case, it was the somewhat rain-bedraggled driver of the afflicted truck trying to summon my attention. As he jogged over, I pondered what the issue might be, that I could conceivably help with. Perhaps an air compressor failure, as I could easily provide an infusion of air, which would enable the truck's brakes to be released at least a couple of times, allowing it to move again. Yes-- that was a likely scenario.

Likely, but incorrect. The driver was, in fact, Canadian-- and a Quebecer, to boot, but he spoke English well enough for the purpose at hand. "Can you help me?" he asked. "I have no fuel." [dramatic pause] "Do you think you could pull me up to the pumps?"

Clearly, he'd picked me because I didn't have a trailer.

"Probably," I replied. "I have a fifteen-speed."

"You want to try?"

"Yes."

I turned around, and he already had two shiny new chains out. Flatbed hauler, you see, and that often involves chains for cargo securement. Why, yes-- it was loaded. The load was tarped, but I'd bet it was metal, which is a notoriously heavy cargo type.

He had a tow hook on his truck, and we just put the chain around my last frame member (which had been bent by the 35-ton oops incident anyway).

My only worry was a possible lack of traction, as the pavement was wet, and I had no appreciable weight on the drive axles. Oh, yeah-- and it's noticably uphill from the road to the pumps. Once we were chained up, he hit the brake release button(s), and his truck rolled backward immediately. Snowball bounced on its rear suspension airbags when the chain went tight, but the tires didn't budge. That was a good sign.

I hopped in, put it in extra-low (the fifteen-speed transmission has a special "deep reduction" range that is almost two gears lower than "low"), and we moved just fine.

He was heavy, though. I know heavy.

At any rate, the operation was perfectly successful. I had the right tool, in the right place, at the right time, and I really helped that guy out. If there's a merit badge for towing, then someone should award it to either me, or Snowball. A difficult judgement call, there.