The Place: Valdosta
The Job: Something or another with the starter on the 1989 Olds Cutlass Cierra Assumed Time: Who the hell ever knows?
So, Logan calls me Monday night to tell me his car won't start. Lights come on, but it will not turn over. Sounds like the starter, but Mother-in-Law had a similar issue and it turned out to be the battery. I tell him to have someone jump him off and get it to the Zone... Dunta-dunta-duh-duh-Duh... Autozone! to get the battery tested. If it is bad then they will install the new one for free and Proto-Mechanic will not have to make the run to Valdosta on Tuesday.
No such luck.
Still won't start. I have him make The Call. Master-of-Sport-Mechanic and All-'Round-Great Guy, My-Personal-Mechanicing-Lifeline Terry figures it might be the solenoid since sparks are flying off of that particular part. Rather than spend 100+ bucks to get the car towed and fixed, I prepare to don the Proto-Mechanic guise once again.
Tuesday:
I load the FrankenFocus with everything I think I might need. This includes everything except my axe. This concerns me because as soon as I invariably have to make The Call, I imagine that Master-of-Sport-Mechanic and All-'Round-Great-Guy, My-Personal-Mechanicing-Lifeline Terry will tell me, "What you need is an axe." I climb inder the car and have Logan turn the key, the starter jumps all over the place and there are, indeed, sparks coming from somewhere. Proto-Mechanic senses tell me that something is amiss. We jack the car up, undo the battery and I wedge my way in. Seems the starter is hanging by only one of the three bolts used to keep it in.
Once again, I foolishly think to myself, "This is gonna be easy!"
I am careful to note the placement of the wires and the dust shroud as I remove the one bolt and expertly remove the starter. Though I imagined (with MOSMaARGG,MPML Terry's input) that the starter was simply bound up, I figured it was best to have it tested. Off to the Zone... Dunta-dunta-dun-dun-Duh... Autozone!
A word about the workings of a motor. You turn the key, it pulls juice from the battery, sends that juice to the solenoid which revs up the starter whose teeth wind up the fly wheeel which... does other stuff. With the starter so loose, I figured the teeth were not lined up with the flywheel. As Berry would say, "That makes a whole headful of sense. " That it was wrong is irrelevent, the hypothesis was sound.
Starter was good and I got away with dropping just five bucks on this here repair. Needed new mounting bolts. Back to the car, whip the starter on, notice I forgot the shroud, whip the starter loose, insert shroud, tighten starter down, attach wires making VERY SURE the battery cable flange is SEATED FIRMLY in the grounding nook, turn the key and ...
Son of a bitch. But no exclamation point because to this point I had fulfilled both my goals: 1) not to buy a tool and 2) not to lose my freaking mind. This required a cal to Master-of-Sport-Mechanic and All-'Round-Great-Guy, My-Personal-Mechanicing-Lifeline Terry. We climbed under (I in grease, Terry in phone) and took a gander. Since we still had an indeterminate spark, Terry figured something had to be loose. I found what was loose. The cap on the solenoid. Who knew?
Master-of-Sport-Mechanic and All-'Round-Great-Guy, My-Personal-Mechanicing-Lifeline Terry, that's who. Three screws, reattach the battery and...
Sweet starter music.
Thanks to the leaky sieve that is Logan's engine I was covered head to elbow in oil/grease/dust juice/nasty. The House of Culture (wherein hang out the actors) had no dish soap so I was still pretty filthy when we headed to Subway (Eat Fresh you fat bastards!) to dine with Nate and Logan before heading back to the big town.
I would be remiss in not noting that Tuna the Cat assisted us by taking over the pad I was laying on. It belonged to him, of that he was sure.
Got to meet Logan's girlfriend Margaret. She seems nice, but a little quieter than I imagined.
So:
Total Time with Travel: six and a half hours
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