Apologies to Mark Twain fans, but his famous quotation perfectly summarizes yesterday’s experience with the feared-dead ‘vair.
I left the house around six with the Suburban packed with three fuel pumps (two used ones from the shelf and the good one out of Lucy), a bag-full of tools, and all the equipment required to flat-tow a Corvair. After picking up Ariel and eating a delicious, enjoyable meal together, we drove to the Lancaster K-mart parking lot - Ringo’s resting place. I was all ready to jump into replacing the fuel pump and had his engine lid when Ariel calmly suggested she try and start him first. A twist of the key and a little blipping of the throttle and he was running like he didn’t have a care in the world. Ariel felt badly for having me drive all that way for nothing. I assured her I thoroughly enjoyed our time together, and I didn’t blame her for any of it. Who would have known that she had been only one crank shy of starting him Saturday?
So, I gave her instructions on how to deal with vapor lock-sensitive car, “Don’t expect him to start if he’s sat for more than a few minutes and less than a couple hours.” I went on to promise her I’d get towing service added to the insurance policy in case it happens again in a less convenient, and that next time she was home, I’d do all I could to ensure he wasn’t so sensitive.
She then drove Ringo off into the night to return to her dorm.
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