The Delicate Cycle
Deliberations of an Island Dryer
by Berry Wijdeven
Haida Gwaii. An island archipelago located some 80 kilometres off the coast of British Columbia, Canada. Surrounded by the Pacific Ocean, clinging precariously to the edge of the continental shelf. It is said to be pretty, this archipelago, unique, a paradise of sorts. I wouldn’t know. I spend my days stashed away in a laundry/mud/storage/junk/out-of-sight-out-of-mind room in a ramshackle bungalow in the middle of bloody nowhere. All I saw of this vaunted paradise, through the rips in my tattered transport box from the back of a mud-encrusted pick-up truck on the way from the ferry landing to my new home, was that there were a lot of shades of green.
Getting to the islands is an undertaking not soon forgotten. Many retailers won’t ship appliances to Haida Gwaii and those that do, often don’t seem to know where the islands are located, initiating lengthy convoluted transport routes. So there you are, like a wayward teen in foster care, your paint barely cured, leaving some giant warehouse in central Ontario, heading for god knows where, bouncing around for days in freezing freight trucks, the tedium and incessant innards shaking interrupted only by the odd pallet-jacked ruffian taking out some serious anger issues on helpless pieces of cargo. By the time you arrive on the islands, your protective transport box is battered and crushed, as is your spirit. It’s downhill from there.
It is my opinion that us dryers don’t get a lot of respect. People appear to be more impressed by washing machines, with their powerful agitators and ultra-high spin cycles.They think all we dryers do is blow a bunch of hot air, but you try and get stuff to dry, day after day, surrounded by the high humidity of a bloody rain forest. I’m telling you, there are days when the air I push through my exhaust vent has less moisture than the ambient air it is expelled into.
And did I mention that this ambient air is not just any air? This air is special, laden with nasty, corrosive, life-defeating salt. Surrounded as the islands are by nothing but salty ocean, that salt gets absorbed into the air. And there it is, invisible, silent, wreaks its debilitating havoc. Actually, that it is silent is not quite true, for on windless nights you can actually hear the rust eating away at the metal surfaces, patiently, relentlessly, crunching and munching, gluttons at a never ending all-you-can-eat buffet. Oh, I feel so bad for my outside comrades, appliances like the ride-on lawnmower which gets left right where the final grass trim of the year is completed and sits there exposed to the elements all winter, expected to start up without a moan or complaint each and every spring. The poor rake and shovel haven’t seen shelter in well over a decade. The wheelbarrow has never known a home.
But by far the biggest concern to us appliances isn’t the isolation, lack of respect or salty air, it’s that lifeline we all need, we all depend on, the juice of our existence, a steady supply of reliable, electrical power. On Haida Gwaii there is no such thing. Sure, there is power, most of the time, as long as the islands aren’t battered by one of the frequent storms, or one of the gazillion trees along the wispy power lines doesn’t decide to pack it in. So sure, there is power. But steady she ain’t, as the voltage fluctuates wildly between circuit frying surges and suffocating brownouts. Oh, we were built to withstand power fluctuations, and can handle anything between 114 volts and 126 volts on an infrequent basis, and between 104.4 and 127.2 volts for very short durations. Those are the standards. But on Haida Gwaii, those limits are nothing more than serving suggestions. We get power spikes which would make lighting blush and voltage drops steeper than the Himalayas. So we suffer, often slowly, till our wiring, circuits and motors can no longer bear the brunt. Till we die. I’ve heard fellow appliances give up the ghost with exasperated sighs or agonizing screams. The raspy death rattle of the frost-free fridge during an extended brownout still haunts my metallic dreams.
So sooner or later, and let’s be clear, it’s often sooner, given the climate, power issues and the manufacturer’s design decisions focusing on cost effectiveness rather than life-span, appliances malfunction. Break down, wear out. Shorten out. For me it happened late last year. One day, out of the blue, I developed a squeak. It wasn’t much of a squeak, just the odd utterance, but it hadn’t been there before. For a while I kept doing my job, tumbling and blowing and drying, but the squeak didn’t go away. In fact, over time, it got louder. And louder. Until it became so insistent and annoying that it could no longer be ignored. Something was wrong. Don’t ask me what went wrong, how should I know? See, even though I’m a GL2027AP, a luxury model, able to successfully complete 15 different drying and fluffing cycles, my model isn’t equipped with the self-diagnostic module. For that you need the GL2027AP-S. Lucky bastards.
My owner, yes, I have an owner (I’d like to think of us as more of a team, but truth be told there definitely are hierarchical aspects to our relationship) isn’t very technically inclined, doesn’t know an ohm from an amp. Greg is not a bad guy, cleans my lint filter on a regular basis and is generally appreciative of my work. But when it comes to the diagnosis of odd appliance noises, he hasn’t got a clue. So I was concerned, wondering what he would do.
After posting the obligatory Facebook call out asking whether there were any appliance repair people on island and getting the answer he knew he would get - nope - he settled into a funk for a few days, bemoaning the fact there was no way this good-as-new appliance should be stricken down so soon with would could very well be a minor ailment. A valid point, in my opinion.
After this, Greg started looking for the owner’s manual. This document had been safely tucked away upon my arrival, so safe in fact that only an experienced treasure hunter would have a hope of locating it. Or Marie Kondo. After what can only be described as a half hearted search, during which Greg manages to locate a whole pile of owners manuals for appliances which had long since been discarded, he arrived at that moment which strikes fear in the mechanical hearts of modern appliances world-wide: my owner started to surf the internet, looking for a replacement. Mother-of-God, say it ain’t so! I am only six years old, in the prime of my life, with 99% of my components as good as new. I want to live!
But then, late one evening, a reprieve of sorts. Tired and confused after scouring through multiple sites with hundreds of available dryer models and a truly staggering variety of reviews, prices, cycles, features, power saving modes and warranties, Greg started to search web sites dedicated to fixing appliances. Yes. Yes! Sustainability maybe nothing more than an overused buzz-word to you, but for me it is a core belief.
He typed in my make and model number along with the identified issue: a squeak. A tonne of potential websites popped up, including links to a number of Youtube channels where they discussed this very issue. Visibly energized, Greg clicked on the videos and started watching, discovering quickly that in a high end model like me, there are numerous potential sources which could cause a squeak. The rear bearing, the front bearing, the rollers, the drive belt, the fan belt, the motor.
I could feel the energy leave the room, as Greg deflated. There was little I could do, beyond sending him positive ions. Don’t give up now, you are SO close. True, he didn’t have much to go by. After all, apart from the by now near deafening squeal, everything was still working. So I spun and blew and dried like my life depended on it.
But then, in a moment of defiant creativity - oh, I still get weak in the ball joints thinking about it - Greg put his laptop next to me and played each of the videos, comparing the video squeak with my squeak. Some where squeaks in the back of the dryer, some were near the front. Some were metallic, others more plasticky. It was brilliant. Turned out it was the front bearing, though in truth calling two plastic glide strips a bearing is an insult to appliances and the english language. The parts were ordered that night. Sure, it took forever for them to arrive; Canada Post’s delivery standards appear to apply only to the more metropolitan areas, but arrive they did and within six weeks I was as good as new. Better than new, for my near-death experience had provided me with a renewed energy and vigour. A true “joy de vivre” as our bi-lingual VCR (R.I.P.) used to say.
For Greg, after this learning experience, the eternally cloudy sky became the limit. No matter what appliance or gadget developed an issue, if a problem popped up, someone, somewhere in the world had dealt with something similar and had immortalized the fix required in a video. Feeling like a world wise wizard, Greg eagerly tackled each and every mechanical mishap, diagnosing and fixing the door mechanism on the washer, the cooling system in the European sports car, the clock in the Subaru, the propane supply to the fridge in the motorhome. Greg strutted around the house with a newfound confidence, providing appliance anecdotes and advice to all who wanted to listen. And many who didn’t.
For me, life continues as before. It looks like I have a few years left in me. I am determined to keep doing my job, bringing dryness and fluffy joy. To clothes, sheets and towels. To the rain forest, if that’s what it takes. I am grateful to Greg for taking the time and making the effort to fix me. So grateful, in fact, I might even tell him where some of those missing socks are….
Getting to the islands is an undertaking not soon forgotten. Many retailers won’t ship appliances to Haida Gwaii and those that do, often don’t seem to know where the islands are located, initiating lengthy convoluted transport routes. So there you are, like a wayward teen in foster care, your paint barely cured, leaving some giant warehouse in central Ontario, heading for god knows where, bouncing around for days in freezing freight trucks, the tedium and incessant innards shaking interrupted only by the odd pallet-jacked ruffian taking out some serious anger issues on helpless pieces of cargo. By the time you arrive on the islands, your protective transport box is battered and crushed, as is your spirit. It’s downhill from there.
It is my opinion that us dryers don’t get a lot of respect. People appear to be more impressed by washing machines, with their powerful agitators and ultra-high spin cycles.They think all we dryers do is blow a bunch of hot air, but you try and get stuff to dry, day after day, surrounded by the high humidity of a bloody rain forest. I’m telling you, there are days when the air I push through my exhaust vent has less moisture than the ambient air it is expelled into.
And did I mention that this ambient air is not just any air? This air is special, laden with nasty, corrosive, life-defeating salt. Surrounded as the islands are by nothing but salty ocean, that salt gets absorbed into the air. And there it is, invisible, silent, wreaks its debilitating havoc. Actually, that it is silent is not quite true, for on windless nights you can actually hear the rust eating away at the metal surfaces, patiently, relentlessly, crunching and munching, gluttons at a never ending all-you-can-eat buffet. Oh, I feel so bad for my outside comrades, appliances like the ride-on lawnmower which gets left right where the final grass trim of the year is completed and sits there exposed to the elements all winter, expected to start up without a moan or complaint each and every spring. The poor rake and shovel haven’t seen shelter in well over a decade. The wheelbarrow has never known a home.
But by far the biggest concern to us appliances isn’t the isolation, lack of respect or salty air, it’s that lifeline we all need, we all depend on, the juice of our existence, a steady supply of reliable, electrical power. On Haida Gwaii there is no such thing. Sure, there is power, most of the time, as long as the islands aren’t battered by one of the frequent storms, or one of the gazillion trees along the wispy power lines doesn’t decide to pack it in. So sure, there is power. But steady she ain’t, as the voltage fluctuates wildly between circuit frying surges and suffocating brownouts. Oh, we were built to withstand power fluctuations, and can handle anything between 114 volts and 126 volts on an infrequent basis, and between 104.4 and 127.2 volts for very short durations. Those are the standards. But on Haida Gwaii, those limits are nothing more than serving suggestions. We get power spikes which would make lighting blush and voltage drops steeper than the Himalayas. So we suffer, often slowly, till our wiring, circuits and motors can no longer bear the brunt. Till we die. I’ve heard fellow appliances give up the ghost with exasperated sighs or agonizing screams. The raspy death rattle of the frost-free fridge during an extended brownout still haunts my metallic dreams.
So sooner or later, and let’s be clear, it’s often sooner, given the climate, power issues and the manufacturer’s design decisions focusing on cost effectiveness rather than life-span, appliances malfunction. Break down, wear out. Shorten out. For me it happened late last year. One day, out of the blue, I developed a squeak. It wasn’t much of a squeak, just the odd utterance, but it hadn’t been there before. For a while I kept doing my job, tumbling and blowing and drying, but the squeak didn’t go away. In fact, over time, it got louder. And louder. Until it became so insistent and annoying that it could no longer be ignored. Something was wrong. Don’t ask me what went wrong, how should I know? See, even though I’m a GL2027AP, a luxury model, able to successfully complete 15 different drying and fluffing cycles, my model isn’t equipped with the self-diagnostic module. For that you need the GL2027AP-S. Lucky bastards.
My owner, yes, I have an owner (I’d like to think of us as more of a team, but truth be told there definitely are hierarchical aspects to our relationship) isn’t very technically inclined, doesn’t know an ohm from an amp. Greg is not a bad guy, cleans my lint filter on a regular basis and is generally appreciative of my work. But when it comes to the diagnosis of odd appliance noises, he hasn’t got a clue. So I was concerned, wondering what he would do.
After posting the obligatory Facebook call out asking whether there were any appliance repair people on island and getting the answer he knew he would get - nope - he settled into a funk for a few days, bemoaning the fact there was no way this good-as-new appliance should be stricken down so soon with would could very well be a minor ailment. A valid point, in my opinion.
After this, Greg started looking for the owner’s manual. This document had been safely tucked away upon my arrival, so safe in fact that only an experienced treasure hunter would have a hope of locating it. Or Marie Kondo. After what can only be described as a half hearted search, during which Greg manages to locate a whole pile of owners manuals for appliances which had long since been discarded, he arrived at that moment which strikes fear in the mechanical hearts of modern appliances world-wide: my owner started to surf the internet, looking for a replacement. Mother-of-God, say it ain’t so! I am only six years old, in the prime of my life, with 99% of my components as good as new. I want to live!
But then, late one evening, a reprieve of sorts. Tired and confused after scouring through multiple sites with hundreds of available dryer models and a truly staggering variety of reviews, prices, cycles, features, power saving modes and warranties, Greg started to search web sites dedicated to fixing appliances. Yes. Yes! Sustainability maybe nothing more than an overused buzz-word to you, but for me it is a core belief.
He typed in my make and model number along with the identified issue: a squeak. A tonne of potential websites popped up, including links to a number of Youtube channels where they discussed this very issue. Visibly energized, Greg clicked on the videos and started watching, discovering quickly that in a high end model like me, there are numerous potential sources which could cause a squeak. The rear bearing, the front bearing, the rollers, the drive belt, the fan belt, the motor.
I could feel the energy leave the room, as Greg deflated. There was little I could do, beyond sending him positive ions. Don’t give up now, you are SO close. True, he didn’t have much to go by. After all, apart from the by now near deafening squeal, everything was still working. So I spun and blew and dried like my life depended on it.
But then, in a moment of defiant creativity - oh, I still get weak in the ball joints thinking about it - Greg put his laptop next to me and played each of the videos, comparing the video squeak with my squeak. Some where squeaks in the back of the dryer, some were near the front. Some were metallic, others more plasticky. It was brilliant. Turned out it was the front bearing, though in truth calling two plastic glide strips a bearing is an insult to appliances and the english language. The parts were ordered that night. Sure, it took forever for them to arrive; Canada Post’s delivery standards appear to apply only to the more metropolitan areas, but arrive they did and within six weeks I was as good as new. Better than new, for my near-death experience had provided me with a renewed energy and vigour. A true “joy de vivre” as our bi-lingual VCR (R.I.P.) used to say.
For Greg, after this learning experience, the eternally cloudy sky became the limit. No matter what appliance or gadget developed an issue, if a problem popped up, someone, somewhere in the world had dealt with something similar and had immortalized the fix required in a video. Feeling like a world wise wizard, Greg eagerly tackled each and every mechanical mishap, diagnosing and fixing the door mechanism on the washer, the cooling system in the European sports car, the clock in the Subaru, the propane supply to the fridge in the motorhome. Greg strutted around the house with a newfound confidence, providing appliance anecdotes and advice to all who wanted to listen. And many who didn’t.
For me, life continues as before. It looks like I have a few years left in me. I am determined to keep doing my job, bringing dryness and fluffy joy. To clothes, sheets and towels. To the rain forest, if that’s what it takes. I am grateful to Greg for taking the time and making the effort to fix me. So grateful, in fact, I might even tell him where some of those missing socks are….