We took a risk when we let Brianna drive away in the Suburban. The tow bar in the garage won’t do me any good without a 3 ton behemoth available to do the pulling. So, of course, the first day the Suburban’s out of our driveway, we have Corvair issues.
First, as I’m cruising down the interstate to work, I get a strong smell of gasoline in the salon. I begin to pray that it’s the car in front of me, and before I can finish my prayer, Lucy’s engine dies. I profoundly figure out it is MY car with the problem as I coast to a stop on the right shoulder. I reach into the glove-box for the flashlight before heading to the rear of the car to figure out if the issue is roadside fixable. I immediately discover the inlet fuel line completely unscrewed from its fitting in the side of the fuel pump. A ½” wrench from the toolbag provides the means to reattach the line. Thinking I’m home free, I close everything up, hop behind the wheel, and turn the key. It’s going to take a few cranks to get fuel back into the carburetor bowls, but my old battery is about three cranks short of success. Thank goodness for cellphones. I call my lovely wife, who drops what she’s doing, grabs the gas can from the garage, and drives to my rescue. Twenty minutes later, a splash of gas into each carb, and a jump-start, and Loriann and I go our separate ways. When it’s time to go home, I make sure I walk out with someone who can give me a jump-start, but she fires right up.
Second, Ariel calls me about 1 in the afternoon. “My car won’t start,” she tells me. Since it was raining, she drove to class and now it’s dead in the parking garage. After she explains that Ringo’s engine cranks, but won’t catch, my first thought is she’s run him out of gas. The gauge has been wonky of late reading ¼ tank left when she’s run out of gas. She says she knows there’s plenty of fuel since the gauge is reading ½ and there’s less than 110 miles since she filled the tank. It’s too dark in the garage for her to see whether there’s gas squirting in the carbs when she blips the throttle, so she decides she’ll walk back to her dorm, and come back later with a friend to help her. About ten minutes later I get another call from her. “I got him running,” she tells me. “I guessed that it had flooded, so I held the gas pedal to the floor while cranking and the engine finally started.” WOW, I guess I taught her well. Ariel’s able to diagnose and solve her own Corvair problems now.
No comments:
Post a Comment