Which winter tyres. Discount radial tires. Skid steer tire chains.
Which Winter Tyres
- A tire (in American English) or tyre (in British English) is a ring-shaped covering that fits around a wheel rim to protect it and enable better vehicle performance by providing a flexible cushion that absorbs shock while keeping the wheel in close contact with the ground.
- Tyres which are constructed using special compounds for use in more severe winter conditions including temperatures below 7 degrees Celsius. Often, these include multiple blades or sipes for greater grip in more slipy conditions.
- Cold Weather Tyres: When temperatures fall below 7 degrees the rubber on tyres becomes harder which can mean difficult handling may occur, these tyres work well in temperatures below 7 degrees hence the name. For more information see our detailed explanation on winter tyres
Winter's Tale - Mark Helprin
Outside, the wind picked up in a sudden clear gale that had come unflinchingly from the north, descending quite easily from the pole, because all the ground between it and New York was white and windblown. On nights of arch cold and blazing stars, when the moon was in league with snow, Beverly sometimes wondered why white bears did not arrive on the river ice, prowling silently in the silver light. The trees bent despite their winter stiffness, and some, in desperation, knocked and scratched against the windows. If a channel had been kept open in the frozen Hudson, any little bravely lighted boats would now be flying south, nearly airborne with sudden winter speed. Beverly had thought how strange and wonderful it would be if the earth were hurled far from its orbit, into the cold extremes of black space where the sun was a faint cool disc, not even a quartermoon, and night was everlasting. Imagine the industry, she thought, as every tree, every piece of coal, and every scrap of wood were burned for heat and light. Though the sea would freeze, men would go out into darkness and pierce its glassy ice to find fish. But finally all the animals would be eaten and their hides and wools stitched and woven, all the coal would be burned, and not a tree would be left standing. Silence would rule the earth, for the wind would stop and the sea would be heavy glass. People would die quietly, buried in their furs and down.
“Your horse,” she said to the optometrist, ‘will freeze to death if you leave him outside.”
“Yes, I’m glad you reminded me. I must do something about that.”
“We have a stable,” Beverly said rather coolly.
“Why didn’t you tell me you came in your own rig,” scolded Isaac Penn, leaving to bring the horse into the stable. Beverly and the optometrist were alone.
She had no desire to intimidate him, and was unhappy that he was afraid of her. “Come, measure my eyes,” she said. “I’m tired.”
“I’ll wait until your father returns.” The optometrist was reluctant to be near her. It was not that he feared her illness but rather that he felt it improper to come close to the young woman while she was burning with fever, to feel the heat from her bare arms and neck, to feel her breath, to smell the sweetness that would undoubtedly arise, fever-stirred, from her face and linen.
“It’s all right,” she said, closing her eyes momentarily. “You can start now. If you think it improper, then I don’t know what to tell you. But do what you came to do.”
Since all his instruments were set up, he began immediately, breathing through his nose when he was close to her, as tense and silent as a hunted insect. She, on the other hand, breathed through her mouth, rapidly, because of the fever. Her breath was sweet. He moved laboriously and carefully as he manipulated ivory rules, ebony flags, and lenses in a case, lined up by the dozen, waiting for their great moment - which was to be flipped back and forth while be intoned his chant, “Better this way, or this way. This way, or this way. This way, or this way.”
How many thousand of times in a day, she thought, does he say, “this way, or this way.” They are his words. He owns them. They must make him dizzy.
He thought she was beautiful. She was. Though she looked like a fully grown woman and carried herself like one, she had all the great and obvious attributes of youth. He desired, feared, and envied her. She was perfectly formed, rich, and young. And because he had to struggle for his living despite his many physical imperfections, she seemed to him to be gifted and blessed beyond measure, despite the fact that he knew that she had consumption and was full of the wisdom of those who are slowly dying. The fever and the delirium made for a relentless elevation. Opium could have done no better. Long bouts of fever, over months and years, were a dignified way to die, if only because death would have to take so much time to wrestle her down.
The room was full of motion that spread from her in a dancing half-circle. The fire leapt and bent, running in place like a frantic wheel, the windows rattled as the house breathed, and the trees scratched the glass now and then like dogs who scratch at doors. Beverly could see winter as it ran about the room on the light, darting from the white lances, rays, and silver crosses in the optical glass, to the fire, to the reflective windows, to the blue sphere of her own eye. The room, as she saw it, was a web of motion, a symphony of mischievous dancing particles quite like the smooth and placid notes of a fine concerto. If she could see all this while a nervous man flipped his lenses in examining her eyes, what would she see when the fever grew too great to bear? It didn’t matter. Now there were only inexplicable shards of busy light seeking her out as if they were courtiers.
“The horse is in the stable,” announced Isaac Penn as he returned. “Is there anything you want from your wagon? I can have it brought…”
“Just a moment, Mr. Penn,” said the opt
1/365 in which grumpy plays in the snow
grumpy informed me last night that he has decided that he wants to try another 365 project - i told him that it was going to be a lot of work and we didn't even make it 2 months last time before he got tired of it - but he insists - i tried to convince him to wait until the first of the month but we're going to be attending a funeral on monday and he didn't want that to be his first shot so i gave in and here we go...
grumpy decided that he wanted to go outside when i took the dog out earlier this afternoon, he decided that he wanted to play in the snow while we were out there, until he realized how cold it was - and then i told him we might be getting more, he was not pleased
sorry about the insane brightness of that one corner but it was ridiculously bright out there - i was snow blind for a good 5 minutes after we came back in
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