Scrappity-Scrap-Scrap

It's January in New England you say? It's freezing out there, you say? The ground is covered with snow? There's no heat in that Bus? Pffft, we say. We're hardy New Englanders, impervious to frigid weather, hearts full of stoic Yankee determination, maple syrup running in our veins.

Or, you know, not. It wasn't as cold as the last time we did a light iron run with the Bus, or at least it wasn't too bad while the sun was out and we were moving around; still, by the time we got back from this run of doors and various lighter stuff I couldn't feel my toes. Tara had me checking the little vent thing in the front every so often to see if there was heat; and, well, I suppose that could have been a vague feeling of warmth around it, but, really, it's just as likely it was pure Freudian wish-fulfillment.

Tara had attempted to plug some holes in the thing, using random bits of foam and, well, duct-tape; here you can see the really quite professional job she did on the front of the thing. She studied at the Red Green School of Auto Body Refinishing for a semester, you know:



And yet, the thing got more than a couple compliments, at the scrapyard, and at our usual celebratory Burger King stop afterwards. I will never understand what is wrong with some people.

Anyhow, here's the thing loaded up with stuff:



And the back view:



All told it was another 760 pounds of stuff out of here, and our twenty-ninth trip to the scrapyard; the total is now at 25,600 pounds of iron removed, or 12.8 tons. And oh yes, of course, there's still more.

Never fear.