This morning I was out of gas. The kind of out of gas that makes me happy I live on a hill and the meat of the city of Minot, ND is in a valley. I pretty much coasted down the hill to the physical therapy office. Because when it’s 0 degrees outside and dark and you’ve got an appointment at 7:30am, there is very little motivation to leave the house early to get gas. So I ran the risk and coasted the hill.
After said appointment, I high tailed it to the gas station. There’s one in town I really like. They give you a discount for paying in cash and they pump the gas for you. Very nice in the winter.
Today, I didn’t see anyone around, so instead of being high maintenance, I hopped out of the car and went in to pay, then pump myself. As I walked up to the door an employee stopped and said he’d pump for me, but told me I could wait inside until he was done to pay. So I did.
Also waiting at the counter was an older man. Mid 60’s-ish, short {just barely taller than me}, African American, gray hair and mustache. He was wearing a worn leather jacket, a newsboy cap and a scarf. I don’t know why, but I also noticed his wedding ring. Just a plain gold band, obviously worn, it’s sheen pretty dull dressed with years and years worth of scratches. The kind of ring that’s worn by a man who’s loved the same woman for a very long time. Sometimes I notice those things. Probably because I love people. And I love stories. And sometimes I like to imagine who people are and what their story is.
As I was pondering this ring, a gas station attendant walked in. “I think it’s going to be a nice day,” she told us. “Not too windy. Looks like it’ll even be sunny in a while.”
“It’s already too cold for me. I’ve had enough of this winter and it’s only just started. What do we have? Another seven, eight months left? Nah, nah–it’s already getting old.” The man chuckled at himself. I was on the verge of asking him if he was new to Minot, but then he went on. “It’s not the cold that’s so bad…but the wind. I’ll tell you, I don’t think I’ll live to see another winter as bad as 1982.”
The door dinged as the attendant walked out. There was silence, but not much. I love talking to strangers. I guess it’s a lesson I never grasped as a child.
“What happened in 1982?”
He told me this tale. It’s so unbelievable, unfathomable, my mind can’t even grasp it. I wouldn’t have believed it, had he not had the scars to back up his story.
Winter. 1982. The winter is fierce. The wind is wicked and wild. Snow has fallen, but it’s much too cold to stick to the ground, so it blows incessantly with the wind. The windchill drops below -90. He recalled a news report stating that the wind chill was -93. Who knows what the ambient temperature was. Cold, no doubt. Arctic.
Because it was so bitter cold, buildings were in danger. Pipes were freezing, furnaces going out. One night, in the winter of 1982, while the wind whipped at -93 degrees F, this man and a friend went to their church to check on the furnace. He said as they were walking in, he reached out to his friend, to steady his arm. His coat sleeve rode up, just a few inches, exposing a thin slice of flesh between glove and jacket.
At this point in his story, he reached his arm out, reenacting the moment. He exposed that piece of arm for me and ran his finger across it.
“That’s where it got me first. It only took a second.”
“What, frostbite?”
“Sure, you can call it that. Happened so fast. It burned like nothing I’ve ever felt.”
In that split second, the wind and fridgid air burned his skin. To this day, on the dark skin of his arm, you can still see the mark. It looks like a rope burn, subtle, faded…but there.
“My biggest mistake was wearing my watch that night. I just didn’t think to take it off.”
“Oh, was it on your arm when it was exposed?”
“Nah. It was on the other arm.”
I gave him a confused look. Not understanding why a watch on a fully covered arm made any difference. But he went on:
“All of a sudden, I felt pain on my wrist. Like a bee sting. That’s the only way I can describe it. I flinched and rubbed at it, just instinct, I guess. But what had happened, was–the metal backing of my watch had frozen to my arm! When I ripped at it, it tore the skin clean off.”
I’m telling you–I couldn’t fabricate this story if I tried. I would never in my wildest imaginings think that these things could occur. Much less in a matter of seconds! He reached out his other arm–where he still wears his watch–scooted the watch up, and there it was: another scar. He reached up to his face and pointed to the fleshy spot where nose and cheek meet. The air burned him there too, but it didn’t leave a mark.
At that point, the door dinged again and the girl came back in. He paid. I paid. We left.
I’ve been fascinated all day by that crazy tale and I just couldn’t wait to get home and have a second to write it out for you. Lucky for me, and Practically Canadians everywhere, in his lifetime he only remembers that happening once. But the fact that it happened at all is just wild. I’ll probably never see him again, but in my mind that man is now kind of a legend. I won’t forget the winter of 1982 any time soon…and I wasn’t even born to witness it.
The moral of the story is, be safe. Don’t expose your skin if the wind is -93˚F. Don’t wear a watch.
I’m just crossing my fingers Derek and I have moved away before Minot gets another winter like that.
Amy
***Disclaimer. I wasn’t alive in 1982. There are no records kept of historic wind chills. I’m not sure if this happened in Minot, or another Practically Canadian location…or the actual Canada for that matter. But. This is a true account of what he told me today. And if nothing else, boy is it entertaining.***
