An exercise in unnecessary maintenance

My car was over-revving when it was trying to change gears, so I decided it may be time to change the fuel filter. Why oh why didn't I just leave it alone?? I changed the filter, even changed the clamps. The car started, there were no visible leaks, it all seemed good. Too easy. Next morning, the car wouldn't go. I figured the filter was empty and there was an airlock of some sort. I removed the filter, filled it with petrol, put it back on and the car fired up. I drove into the street and it stopped. By tipping petrol into the carby I was able to get the car back into the driveway. I was baffled. There was petrol in the fuel line but it wasn't getting to the carby. My conclusion was that the fuel filter must be dodgy. Buy a new one. I filled the filter with petrol, made sure the clamps were tight and tried again. The car wouldn't go unless I tipped petrol in the carby.

A phone call to my auto genius uncle later I was kneeling behing the EK. A quick check to make sure no-one was looking and I wrapped my lips around the fuel tank inlet and blew. There was quick resistance so I stopped and collapsed laughing on the ground. I've often said I love my car, but giving it a blow job? That's beyond weird. So I ascertained there was no air leak in the fuel tank, petrol had come out of the fuel line so there was no blockage. What next? Maybe fiddling around with the filter etc had thrown some gunk into the fuel pump so out with the spanner and take off the fuel pump. Pushing on the pump arm resulted in air being pushed out of the pump so I figured it was OK and bolted it back on - after making a new gasket. But still no fuel was getting through. I removed the pump again and dismantled the whole thing. It was so full of crud I couldn't believe it had worked as long as it did.
I scraped all the crud out, got it all sparkly clean, remembered to push on the arm to stretch the diaphram while tightening the screws and bolted it back on again. No joy. So pull the pump off again - now the return spring was missing. So off I go to AutoCo to buy a magnet on a stick. After about 30 min of fishing around in the block I managed to snap the stick. Great, I thought. Now I'm going to have to go buy another magnet on a stick to retrieve my magnet on a stick. But I was able to fish it out with my finger. I declared myself beaten and made a plea for help phone call to one of the car club guys. Fortunately the wonderful, generous man not only brought around a spare fuel pump but stayed to help me get the car going. He took the return spring off his fuel pump, put it on mine and after we worked out I had put the pump back together backwards, took it apart and put it back the right way, bolted the pump back onto the block. Not working. Take the pump off again and.....the return spring is missing. I collapsed. Fortunately my Saviour was able to fish the spring out with my mended magnet on a stick. By comparing the two pumps we discovered that the arm on my pump had much more slack than on his pump so we swapped some bits around, made one good pump and put it back on the block. Fired up the car and decided we had won. My friend left and I went about cleaning up the mess. Tried to start the car again and NOTHING. I was starting to go a bit loopy at this stage asd was ready to start screaming and crying, but I pulled up my big girl pants and continuted to investigate. I worked out that the two inch piece of rubber fuel line from the pump to the metal fuel line was perished and cracked. It had been sucking air the whole time!! OK, it was 4:30pm on a Sunday, I figured I could make it to AutoCo by 5. I jumped on my bike and peddled off, arrived at their door 10 minutes later bright red and gasping for air only to discover that AutoCo close at 4:30pm on a Sunday. I was beaten. With a grey cloud over my head I slowly peddled to the house where my daughter was visiting a friend to take her home. I was babbling to my daughter's friend's father about my ordeal and he says "I think I've got some fuel hose you can have" and proceeded to pull about 4km of hose out of a cupboard in his garage. I made my daughter's day by dinking her home on the pack rack of my bike and set about putting the new fuel hose in. It worked. I had won. I was utterly elated, my week long saga was over. I patted myself on the back and opened a celebratory beer, forgetting that pride goeth.
The next day, driving home from work the smell of petrol filled the car and I knew I was in trouble again. The connector between the metal fuel line and the carby had come lose. Easy! Grab the spanner out of the boot but then to my dismay discovered that it wasn't lose - it had snapped.
I drove home praying the engine wouldn't burst into flames as petrol dripped onto the manifold.
The next day my husband dropped me at work and drove up to Speeds to get me a new connector. That night I went to put the new connector on the carby and discovered that my old connector had been straight, the new one was L-shaped.
It fit, but the metal fuel line was completely the wrong shape to connect to it. I carefully bent the fuel line, praying it didn't break and finally, finally got my car working again. Now I am back to square one - the car is still over revving on the gear changes. I'll leave that one to the professionals when I win tattslotto.
Next time I decide to do some maintenance I'll tell myself to shut up.
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Ice and Pronouns

The course was starting at 9am. The child and I managed to burst out of the front door at 8:30am; I thought I was doing well. I strapped the child into her car seat and started my car to give the engine time to warm up. I then commenced scraping the ice off all the windows. Once I had done that I was faced with the task of moving the husband's car, which he had kindly parked behind mine. His car was also totally iced up and does not start well in cold weather. I revved and stalled and revved and stalled the car down the driveway, navigating by leaning out of the door so I could see, and finally managed to get it into the street. Meanwhile the child had got out of her seat and was crying because my car "was bumping"- it had choked and stalled. I started the car again and we set off, stopped to clear the windscreen and drove away again. It was 8:50am. After ditching the child at school I hammered the poor, old car to Uni and attempted to find the building and car park I needed amongst the campus labyrinth. I arrived at reception at 9:05am, pretty good going I thought. I then had to wait 5 minutes for the receptionist to get off the phone so I could find out which room I was supposed to be in. She directed me along a path, around a corner, up some stairs and to the tutorial room. The door was locked. I walked to the other door, which was also locked, but was able to get the attention of the people in the room. I was let in and I apologised for being late. Of course, there were no notebooks or pens left so the tutor had to faff around organising something for me. Finally I sat down to begin learning. My phone rang. I jumped up, apologised and left the room. After explaining to my co-worker that I wasn't in the lab that day and they would have to deal with the issue on their own I switched my phone to silent and returned to my seat. Then I started sneezing. I sat there, sneezing, thinking "these people all hate me". My suspicions were confirmed during the day as my attempts to make jokes during the class went ignored. I considered dismantling my pen and firing spit balls at the tutor but decided against it.
So two days later I am now well informed on the intricacies of the correct grammar of the English language. I now know when to hyphenate compounded adjectives and what a split infinitive is. I know that it's ok to end a sentence with a preposition and how to use a semicolon. I can identify an attributive adjective and a past participle. It's all very interesting. No, really! And best of all, I got a certificate.
During the course I pondered on how amazing it is that most of us know absolutely nothing about correct grammar, yet we manage to speak and write clearly anyway. I guess it's like a car – you don't have to know how the internal combustion engine works in order to drive one around. I don't think my new found knowledge will improve the quality of my blog (sorry) but it may make me ever so slightly more pompous, which I am quite pleased about. It is one of my goals in life to become completely arrogant and pompous. I also aspire to become (even more) eccentric, have long, unkempt hair, cackle loudly at inappropriate moments and be able to frighten small children with just a look. The fact that I can work towards at least one of these goals by attending a course paid for by my employer and attended during working hours is pure gold.
In other news, I have applied some of my laboratory knowledge to solving what has become a daily problem: removing ice from the car's windscreen. Scraping at it potentially scratches your windscreen and leaves icy residue. Pouring hot water on a frozen sheet of glass is sheer stupidity. The solution? A spray bottle full of metho: metho melts the ice and stops it refreezing. Sure you go to work smelling like a wino, but at least you can see clearly on your way there.
So my life is improving. I can construct a passive clause containing a modifying adverb and I can clear the ice off my windscreen. Wooo Hoo! Read more!

Self Justification

Last night I watched The World's Fastest Indian since it was on telly and had been recommended to me previously. What a brilliant film! Mostly due to it being packed full of 1960's American cars. Gorgeousness. Fins and chrome and big curvy, sweeping windscreens make a car as far as I'm concerned. I couldn't care less about fuel economy, reliability, compression ratios or how quickly it can go from 0 to 100 – I just want it to look good.

I occasionally feel guilty about driving a 47 year old car that doesn't have catalytic converters and only gets about 19 miles to the gallon (that's about 6km per litre) in terms of contributing to pollution and my carbon footprint blah blah. But I only use about 30 litres of petrol a week which is way less (I think) than all those big four wheel drive things. And another thing to consider is that very little industrial manufacturing has been required to support my vehicle in 47 years! My car has used tyres, oil, petrol and coolant and no other consumables or new parts in 47 years. I think that makes up for the fumes. Imagine if everybody kept their cars for 50 years, took on their parent's cars and just kept them going. That is a very high form of recycling, and imagine the environmental savings of not pumping out 50 squillion new cars every year. AND even better, we would all look very, very cool. But what about the car industry - its high levels of employment, and general contribution to the economy? Personally, I don't care, but if whole economies are going to collapse because people stop buying new cars then I guess it's an issue. Green backs before green trees. Tell that to the frogs.

As I get older and more jaded I become less concerned about trying to solve world problems. When I was a teen/early twenties I was very devout politically. I would go to demonstrations, I would shop politically, buy organically grown produce, ride my bike everywhere, only use vinegar and baking soda as cleaning products. Then one day, standing in the supermarket trying to work out which canned tomatoes to buy it occurred to me that I shouldn't even be buying Australian made produce, given our record of human rights abuses with the indigenous folk. And I thought "fuck it". Was I making a difference with all my efforts? I certainly had good skin and great thighs from the healthy food and cycling but otherwise – did anything I do really matter? How was I to know if all my carefully sorted recycling was actually getting recycled or just going to land fill? So I gave up. From then on I have bought from whichever country gave the best quality or value and I buy my groceries at the regular market (saving myself about $100 a week in the process). My only remaining greeny behaviour is to buy free range eggs and chicken when possible and I still recycle my rubbish, compost kitchen scraps and divert grey water to the garden in summer.
But the car issue I am still passionate about. Most people these days drive around in cars made of plastic which isn't recyclable, produces all sorts of nasty by products during the manufacture and they change cars frequently. I don't know many people who drive a car that's more than 10 years old. It is ridiculous that it becomes more financially viable to buy a new one than to fix the old one. So they end up generating a car sized amount of land fill. If cars were made properly in the first place and made of durable materials (like metal) they would last a lifetime and beyond – as mine has done.
The other problem with modern cars is that people are so spoilt with power steering and ABS brakes and parking sensors and all that other stuff that the average person can't even really drive – they just steer. There are fewer thought processes involved, less skill. I wonder if this de-skilling of drivers is responsible for the ever increasing road toll or just the general idiocy and incompetence that we see on the roads on a daily basis. I can reverse park a big old car that requires decent biceps for turning the steering wheel – so why can't other people reverse park their tiny, light weight, power assisted plastic boxes? The less we are challenged, the less we continue to learn and grow. I never want to stop learning, stop developing as a sentient being. We all know what our final destination is so why not make the journey as interesting as possible? Learn how to reverse park, learn how to change a tyre, learn how to check your brakes and do an oil change. Get involved. No I'm not saving the world, I'm just saving an old car and learning a few things along the way. Sorry frogs.

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I'm not dead

Long time no blog.....many things have happened - here is the condensed version:
The vauxhall is registered and going reasonably well. We have had the distributor recoed and it is booked next week to get the electrics sorted out, stereo and alarm installed. Then it's just seat belts and we're done. We've pretty much decided not to get it resprayed (save ourselves several thousand dollars) as we gave it a cut and polish and colour restoring wax and it looks ok.
My car, however, is at a garage, has been there all week and will most likely be there into next week. It is getting the front end rebuilt and several bits replaced. Hopefully after this it will be easier to drive. The front end was damaged just over a year ago when the car was stolen - but that's another story.
The husband and I spent 10 days in Tassie, attempting to escape the Blandberra heat. Unfortunately Tasmania was at the time experiencing a heat wave, it was yuk. We basically ate and drank our way around the isle and I put on 4 kilos.
My girl has started school, much to her dismay. I put the tandem on the back of my bike and we pedal there each morning. Tag-along tandem thingies are commen in Melbourne, I appear to have the only one in Blandberra - we attract quite a bit of attention and the girl loves it.
I've been looking for a job, without any luck. I am restricted to school hours so the jobs themselves are hard to find and the ones I have found I haven't been successful with. I get very angry when I spend ages on an application, email it in and then get an almost immediate reply "the position has been filled", well then take your fucking add down you time wasting morons! But even though the credit card is maxed and we have expenses and bills coming out every oriface, I'm not worried. We aren't starving and something will come up. We are happy and healthy and cask wine isn't so bad these days so why panic?
I've been reasonably good on my diet and at the gym and have lost my holiday 4 kilos. My new goal is to get into my size 14 jeans by my birthday. It is achievable although I would quite happily commit murder for a toasted cheese sandwich right about now.
I am still officially the world's worst housewife, my husband is on the verge of a nervous breakdown because there was a hairbrush on the bathroom floor the other day. My mind boggles....
Oh, and I've started listening to Pink. I think I need to get out more. Read more!

Vindicated

The guy from Lube Mobile just left...and as I predicted the car is purring like a kitten. HOWEVER, the timing was OK - I hadn't stuffed it. The rotor button was shorting and two of the spark plugs were shot. If I had continued to fiddle with it I would have worked out the plugs, but I would never have guessed the rotor. Fortunately the guy they sent was over 40yo and had seen a distributor with points before and knew how to fix the rotor - with nailpolish. As luck would have it we have stumbled onto one of the few mechanics in Canberra who has worked on pre 1980 cars, in fact, he used to restore Morris Minors and Austins when he was younger; needless to say he is my new best friend.Now all I have to do is source a new rotor button, get some new plugs and adjust the tappets and we should be going good. It was nice to have a bit of validation and reassurance that I was doing the right thing, I just needed a bit more information.And he wasn't a high school drop-out. He went to tech. Read more!

Automobiles

It's been quite a while since my last rant, life has been hectic. An update on recent events:..
My husband's car died. It has shuffled off this mortal coil and is resigned to the car afterlife status of "good for parts". We have a 1962 Vauxhall cresta that we bought with the intention of doing up slowly over the next few years. It has now become a matter of urgency.
Having (mostly) always owned an old car I am somewhat accustomed to the trials and tribulations that go with old car ownership. The Vauxhall is 45 years old and has sat unregistered in somebody's backyard for several years, we bought it sight unseen. As far as I'm concerned we are lucky that it isn't a rust bucket with shot rings and burnt out valves. My husband isn't so optimistic, he's more of a glass-is-half-empty type. So far we have replaced ALL of the brakes, which cost $1200. The exhaust needed replacing (common for cars that have sat for some time) that was only $200; various bushes and seals associated with the steering and suspension have also needed replacement. Not totally unpredictable. Overall we will probably get away with around $2000 for the car to get roadworthy. Then we have the leaky transmission and getting seat belts fitted. On top of all that are the cosmetics of a re-spray, a stereo and an alarm. I'm betting we will eventually have forked out at least 12 grand for the whole deal, including purchase price. OK, we could have gone and bought a brand new little chaff cutter for not much more, had a problem free and economical car – but it would have been a characterless, boring little box made of plastic which blends into the background.
Instead we will have a gloriously sexy, winged and sleek car that's made of actual metal and that is unique. It will suit us. In the mean time the husband had almost lost the plot, the loss of his motoring independence and the fact that I have been the one dealing with various mechanics and beurocrats has been frustrating for him. He feels powerless and is convinced everybody is ripping us off. Meanwhile I have been in close contact with all the mechanics, the spares guy from the Vauxhall club and the RTA and I know what's going on. Unfortunately when we took the car back for what should have been its final inspection the mechanic actually found a new fault. The husband is ready to pick up a semi-automatic and climb a tower, I'm still of the opinion that we have managed to buy a good car and all will be well. I predict the car will be on the road (legally) by the end of January.
When I owned a Morris minor I did much of my own mechanical work – I had no choice, I was a student and it was either pick up a spanner and work it out or walk, and you can't be a proper Goth in Birkenstocks. So I learnt how to do the timing, the points and plugs, change the oil and do a lube job (which is a lot less fun than it sounds). I arrogantly assumed that since I could handle a Morris I could also handle a Vauxhall – same vintage, both English. Important distinction: the Morris was a tiny 4 cylinder, the Vauxhall is a massive 6 cylinder with extras.
So far I have managed to take off and replace the manifold without too much drama, but attempting to adjust the timing has brought me undone. I've gone from having a car that was running roughly to a car that is only running on 3 cylinders and has no power. I have raised the white flag. Lube Mobile are coming on Thursday to sort things out (hopefully).
This sort of situation annoys me no-end. I am an intelligent, educated, competent person. I am capable of mechanical work – I have proved this. Yet for some reason I am unable to get the timing right on the Vauxhall. And the thing that really annoys me is that some bogun bloke who dropped out of high school is going to come along and get it right first go. He is going to adjust the points and the timing and the fuel mix and have the car purring like a kitten without so much as raising a sweat.
In my efforts to tune the car I have skun most of my knuckles, caused myself much back pain, aggravated my husband and discovered a whole new world of profanities but actually achieved very little.
Why is that? Why can't I manipulate a machine to run as it should? In my previous job I manipulated proteins at the molecular level and was (usually) able to make them do what I wanted – could a mechanic do that? I doubt it. I guess it is my ego that trips me up – I should be able to do what a mechanic does, given the correct set of instructions and the right tools, but I apparently I can't. I don't understand why.
I will continue to try to learn how to fix my own car and I am sure that one day I will be able to wield a spanner with the best of them, but for now I admit – I'm not that good. Read more!

Old cars and escapism

The girl and the dog and I ran away from home last week, temporarily. We hired a car and took off to the coast and stayed at a really nice b&b near Milton. We spent a day at Mollymook beach, which after the initial screaming episode caused by my not making sandcastles "properly", was fun. I buried the girl up to her head (was going to go further but people were watching) we splashed in the water – even the dog joined in – collected shells and made sand sculptures.
The b&b was set in lovely gardens with lush lawns so we ran around, kicked the soccer ball, played tag and hide-and-seek. After I worked out that I wasn't allowed to get possession of the ball, catch her or hide effectively it was loads of fun.
The past month or so has been very stressful for the husband and I. I've been dealing will all the stuff with my grandfather, the husbands car (and hence his independence) died and he has been getting quite a bit of grief at work and from his younger son. None of these issues involved the other except when it came to venting. Unfortunately the venting turned from healthy letting off steam to many fierce arguments and much finding fault. I needed a break, I decided the husband did too, hence my decision to bugger off for a few days. The annoying thing is, once I was gone our relationship improved immediately. I was reminded that ours is a relationship founded on distance: we spent almost two years 700km apart with only brief visits every few weeks. So over the phone we work brilliantly, face-to-face we aren't that great. But we are learning and getting better all the time.
The death of the Mercedes has spurred us into action with the Vauxhall. We bought a 1962 Vauxhall Cresta last year, it is black, has fins and is all curves and chrome and is total gothic glamour. Currently it is unregistered and needs minor work but it runs well and hopefully we will have it roadworthy and registered before too long.

In other car news I joined the old Holden car club last week and attended my first meeting. Typical boffin types, pleasant and very enthusiastic people. I will no doubt attend a few club runs and show off the EK and spend time admiring others. http://www.oldgmh.org.au/

On the drive back from Milton I passed the vintage caravan touring club. Magnificent. I have an early 60's caravan which is semi-restored. I am now inspired to complete the job so I can go touring in my gorgeous car with matching van I shall, of course, have to go in costume with a circle skirt and ponytail, Gothabilly style.
This afternoon I am going to do the veggie patch, version 2. The weather has been quite hot so I'm sure it's safe frost wise. It'll be snails next.

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