erk

God almighty.  I was two hours later and a bit than I expected getting onto the ferry.  The weather was foul and my tires are bald, and crossing the Alex Fraser the wet snow on the two tall bridge pylons was letting go in percussive little chunks.  The first pylon dropped what felt like many pounds of icy slush on my windshield with a godawful sound like glass breaking – and then the windshield wipers sedately cleared away the mess and I could see again, and me going at least 75 k.  The second pylon dropped another slushball, this one much less noisy and scary.  My heart was still leaping about like a small jungle frog when I got home.