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I was stopped from my folly of moving engine and transmission around today, by injury. I did get them both into the shed. It was 3 hours just doing that. I had a fire roaring, and I was even burning some rags that were soaked in hydraulic fluid. (better than the landfill) You see, the little monster would just not stop bleeding. I could not stop the leaks of red blood of hydralic machine; transmission. Awful devil with two tails – one vacuum line and a speedometer cable. Yesterday’s struggle was pulling the engine/transmission out – together, right out on a hoist and chain. It appears that I’ve accomplished that. Things I could not get to with it in the car are now just right in front of me, and accessible. There is some satisfaction in this.
I had precariously set my exhaust manifold on top of the drum that is the upper chamber of Norman’s woodstove. I hung a towel on it, subsequently. Then, I was messing with something and I dropped that exhaust manifold rignt on my toes. The corner of it. Four foot drop. I sit here in pain, but I will not take pain killer pills, even though I have four still left over after the tooth surgery. Pain.
It isn’t broken. It is just badly swollen. I hope. My hands and arms are just exhausted. Losing my mind in a wire brush and citrus solvent madness. Somehow, when I’m doing this with cranksets it’s a whole ‘nuther experience.
My moment of victory, if I should live to see it, will be to drive that car again. As ridiculous as that sounds, that is the vision that sustains my task.*
I once said, after snowboarding:
“The mountain is my woman now, and she beats me.”
I would trade those days for these in a second.
*I need to bring me, my tools, at least two bicycles, and my dog friend THE FUCK out of here (raison de faits) someday<p>
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Dude. That’s a LOT of work…is this thing sentimental in value or is it worth something? Or is it now just a personal Odyssey?
Man against machine…the winner not yet determined!
So strange and ironic that there should be fighter jets playing in the sky as I spend this period encamped in maintenance. I know not what they are doing. There is the screeching sound of wings cutting air, and the terrible sound of intentional altitude drops. They are doing some top gun type of shit up there. I have no way of knowing for how long. Not privy to that commo.
No car or even a jet with my name on it has real sentimental value. It is the sentiment of wanting to be somewhere else, coupled with the realism that I own too many valuable tools to leave them behind and try to force my easily frightened dog into a trailer for a dangerous Spring bicycle ride that would take over 8 weeks. As much as I’d like to live in a world where I can do that. I did once, pre-dog. It is always an odyssey; one of need. Need to get a bike business going this spring. Need to be with family. First, fix engine. That alone is an asskicker.
But I’m able to do it – here, and now, and that is even hard to get these days. If I don’t do an engine rebuild ever again – I could build 10 trailers with this amount of energy input. It will run again, and be tuned proper, with tight electrical and vacuum connections, etc… worth it in the long run. This machine is not going to win. I master machines. It’s the one thing I can do with skill but not so much pleasure, until victory.
Those would be Navy A-6s flying out of Whidbey NAS. Sometimes you get F-18s off of some big gray ship. Remember, “It’s The Sound Of Freedom.”
Thought the Navy scrapped all the Intruders.
dave— naw, they “re-winged” a bunch of ’em, strapping on new carbon-skinned wings, after the old ones started folding up in flight and causing problems like that. I think they all carry the EA6-B designation nowadays. They’re all the time tear-assin’ over the North Cascades, sounding “free” and shit.
For real? I live maybe 30 miles from where they built A-10s. Years ago you could see them sometimes. Seeing them in flight, you could almost forget their purpose is to bring down the wrath of God on bad guys.
drunkcarmechanic.com, oh wrong site
Good on ya lj…find the need and work for it. My best friend was killed a couple months ago, and I’ve taken it upon myself to finish his odysseyian goal of completely rebuilding a 1979 30′ Scarab offshore boat. His dad and I have been routinely covered in fiberglass, gear lube, hydraulic fluid and motor oil…the goal is 100 mph on the water next summer. Good luck.