The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

 

I got a friend whose car just started making ominous tapping sounds up under the hood.  These are basically morse code messages from the soon-to-be-dead.  Course, she could pony up the money for some serious end stage life support but like most of us down here on the South End, we have living wills for our junkers.  Occasionally I find old car bodies and truck beds rusting out in the woods where they were driven one last wild ride into the interior. One guy I know drove his over a 200 foot bluff, photographed the flight and told the fire boyz when they got the 9-11 call from a concerned citizen who had seen the descent that the car’s emergency brake had let go and rolled down the drive and over the lawn and down to the waiting arms of the sea.

 

A lot of us keep the rigs around for ‘parts’, but the truth is, they become lawn ornaments pretty quick and then just forgotten under the tangle of blackberry vines, antiques waiting for restoration when 1990 cars become collectible.  Hopefully soon….

 

My friend was quoted 4500 dollars for a short block from the Subaru dealer.  A short block is a partial engine repair.  Meaning, I guess, you save ten bucks and wait for the rest to fail soon.   Used to be we would drive our rig up to the barn and haul out the bad engine and drop in a used one we’d picked up at the Tyee Wrecking yard for 100 bucks.  Tyee Wrecking yard is gone now.  Sort of.  You still see a drive train digging out of the field like a 3 speed zombie occasionally, but you wouldn’t want to stick around to see what it feeds on.  Mabana Mike still does some shade tree mechanical moonlighting, but there aren’t many itinerant auto repairers left down here.  You need a degree in computer technology these days just to figure out how to adjust the clock much less set the pollution controls.

 

A lot of the boyz say they miss the simplicity of auto repair, but I’m not one of them.  I busted too many knuckles and dropped in too many muddy junkyard trannies that quit working two weeks later to get all weepy and nostalgic about car repair.  We got the vintage car clubs for those who miss the wrenching more than they care about their wives’ complaints about money down a rathole.  Personally I just like my car to be reliable.  When it’s not, I’m with my buddy who pushes them off the bluff.  If you happen to be a beach walker, keep a lookout upward, is all I’m saying….

 

 

 

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This entry was posted on Thursday, May 10th, 2012 at 3:16 pm and is filed under rantings and ravings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.