4:20 PM |
My dear Woody can be a pain in the neck what with all the fits and starts and bad water pumps, but I love him nonetheless. Yesterday, Woody wouldn't and I really want to get to the Pennsylvania Maple Festival on Friday. Today I am replacing the points. Put in an enormous amount of oil (was full at last gas stop and doesn't seem to be leaking anywhere, go figure) and some extra gas just in case. The latter was an adventure as I took the gas can that had the spare gas in it before the naughty neighborhood boys needed it (remember, it is a long way to a gas station which is a problem if you can't get the 5 bucks together to keep your brother's old truck from running on fumes) and filled it on the way home from Lowes (three towns over) where I was trying to find a brick-sized backup battery for fiber optic service to my house. Apparently the batteries do not exist. Was worried a bit that the can would slide around in my truck bed a little which could be a big problem because said teenagers broke the cap so it really isn't securely on. Checked gas can half a mile down the road. Truck bed full of fuel. Just waiting for some semi to ram me from behind and take me down in a spectacular inferno. Put cap back on (sorta) and went back to Lowes for replacement can. Still had to get open gas can home. Drove very slowly and tried not to inhale too much. Fingers burning from dealing with the cap.
Putting fluids in Woody is a circus act. The oil fill is way back toward the dash, and the two carburetor rods are on either side of it. I tried my fancy funnel with the flexible neck that the judge in Tunica, Mississippi suggested but the tank opening tilts in such a way that I couldn't keep it balanced. My arms aren't the longest so I have to fill the thing like a fancy waiter does -- from about six inches away. In the dark. Gurgled some on the block. Oh well. I will now know where the smoke is coming from. I suppose I could have wiped it down, but I'd have to crawl onto the top of the fenders and put my face on top of the carb. Gas is usually a piece of cake. The fill is about 4 inches inside the flap thing, unlike in modern cars, but I can angle the pump in there only chipping the paint some of the time. But this time I have a can. Tried the funnel. Angles out a bit over 45 degrees so have to pour very, very slowly from the ragged cap. Problem is, the can is five gallons. Five gallons of gas is heavy, especially when you have to pour it with one hand while the other one is steadying the funnel. Glad I have been beaten into muscular glory by Ron the Hun twice a week. Almost done when mail comes. Mail lady leaves it on my kitchen counter because neither one of us wants to deal with the errant gasoline. Went back to finish but decided Woody has enough. Left gas can in front of barn and wondered which recycling area I should use at the dump. I know there is one for used motor oil. There? There is also one exclusively for cell phones. Decided to leave can in rain. Deal with it some other time like the stuff I brought back from my road trip that still hasn't made it into the laundry. It's like when you move and if you don't unpack all the boxes in the beginning they become time capsules. You never miss the stuff. Maybe I should repack all my belongings and pretend I am moving and then just leave it all in the barn until the mice get at it. I will have a very clean house. Too bad my imaginary boyfriend isn't very good with manual labor. He would know just what to do with the gas. He probably wouldn't do the laundry, though.