Disclaimer:
For the sake of brevity, when I say anything to the effect of "I/we thought it might be the 'x' or the 'y'," what I mean is that Master of Sport Mechanic and All 'Round Great Guy, My Personal Mechanicing Lifeline Terry though it might be "x" or "y". Full disclosure and all.
So, as the grass in the yard is a nightmare, I tell you, children, the tale of the mower...
Go back a month.
Or so.
Pretty sure that the mower's issues are much deeper rooted than the carburator. As it stands, I can get it started, but she runs liked a mean-spirited, three-legged Anger-Wolf. I decide to start taking her apart. Word to the wise: they is a lots of bolts in a Briggs and Stratton 17.5 horsepower mower engine. I am careful, and place everything just so so as to remember where everything is.
Within hours the engine is off the mower (I am pretty sure that I will NEVER remember how to get the belts back on the engine pullies) and I have B and S 17.5 hp mower engine in 97 parts with 375 bolts laid carefully out across my workroom. Proto-Mechanic put him a work-room together in order to dissect the engine.
The last little bit of fluff and bother is to take the crankcase cover off and pull the piston out. Hell,yeah. With some advice from Tejas, I do just that, and find... pretty much nothing wrong, though, I have no idea what I am looking for.
Master of Sport Mechanic asks: "Does everything look alright: piston, valves, frazzlestaff?"
Me: "Yes?"
So, I set it aside for a week. I have this idea that just the mere act of taking the engine apart and putting it back together will somehow magically make the rebuilt engine purr like a kitten. The following Sunday I head out to my work room and decide the piston needs to go back in to the engine. Not braggin here, kids, just showing the skills. This grasshopper has learned some things. The only thing is, I do not know how to get it back in. Those rings on the piston do not go easily back in the maw of the hole.
I make The Call.
... and All-'Round Great Guy: "Make sure the piston goes in the same way it came out."
Me: "Yeah?"
My Personal Mechanicing Lifeline: "It just has to be facing the same way."
Me: "But it only goes one way."
Terry: "No, it can go either way."
Me: "But there is a notch thingy."
Master of Sport: "Yeah, but make sure it is facing the right way."
Me: "... I'm sorry, I have no idea what you are saying to me."
This goes in a five minute circle, with me reiterating "I have no idea what you are talking about" over and over, until I have me an A-HA! Moment. I think to myself, "I'll have this bitch back to gether in NO TIME ." I will, it seems, never learn.
and All-'Round Great Guy: "How do the gaskets look?"
Me: "There were gaskets, dude?"
Apparently yes, there were and apparently yes they needed replacing, so... I have to stop. Nothing happening the rest of this Sunday afternoon. I wack down the three inch thick, five feet tall dandy-lions in front of the house, just for fun, ya know.
I go to the lawnmower shop and order the gaskets on Tuesday.
Oh, yeah, I just remembered:
My Personal Mechanicing Lifeline: "And hey, ask them what they think the problem is when you go by there."
That is so encouraging! My lifeline asking for somone else's advice.
Gaskets are 17 bucks. Shipping is nine. WTF?
Counter Guy: "They should be in tomorrow by noon."
Me: "Right on, Bro! By the way, this is what is wrong with my mower: what ya think?"
Counter Guy: "Sounds like a valve."
I go by Thursday and they are not in. I finally get them Friday, but with my mother in town, there is no chance to do anything about the 97 parts and 735 bolts until the next weekend.
Yesterday was that weekend.
I get that piston in there like a freaking champ. It really is awesome.I am focused, calm and determined. AWESOME. I even get to use a hammer as a precision tool. Make The Call just to make sure I do not have to chant anything, offer chickens to the gods or spit in the crankcase before sealing it.
Terry: "What about those valves?"
Me: "Hydunnow."
We quickly determine that the valves are a bit loose. No problem, just go order some valve guides and ask the guy what he thinks about the valves. Good thing MOSMaARGG, MPML Terry asked me about the gaskets, or we would never have gotten to the valves.
I show the engine guy at the repair shop what I have gathered, ending with my desire for valve guides, sir.
Engine Guy: "You need a new head."
Me... Balls nasty. "Can't I just get some guides?"
Engine Guy: "They come pressed into the head from the factory."
Me: "Swell."
Engine Guy: "But you are in luck we have a a used one."
So, forty five bucks instead of a hunnnert and fifty. Not the worse thing in the world.
Three hours later, (2.45 hours spent on the frakking push rod dilemma)I have calmly assembeled the engine, barely calmly gotten the pulley system back on and have attached all the wires and such. All that is left is the carburator. No problem, I have done that at least a dozen times.
Forty five minutes later, when the governor thingys would not stop touching the choke thingy, when I could not find a diagram on the internet (I mean come ON! The internet!) I lost my freaking mind for only the second time in three weeks. Weeping, swearing and gnashing of teeth on a biblical scale, kids. I broke down in literal tears. I chalk it up to the cumulative effects of shit and trying to stay on the Anger-Free Wagon for so long.
I had to make The Call, but we figured it out forthwith. So, I hook up the battery, the spark plug and turn the key...
not a sound was heard. Oddly enough, I was good.
Figured the battery was dead. Nope, one of the solenoid wires popped off. Easy fix. Turn the key...
sputtering weakness and smoke. All kinds of smoke.
It seems the muffler bracket got wedged up underneath the valve cover and oil is dripping down the bracket and frying on the muffler. Easy fix. Turn the key and she goes, revving up and down, but staying on. I figure once the shroud and air filter are on, she will feel better. Easy fix. Turn the key...
She roars to life! I mean roars, that sucker is revving high like Steppenwolf on a runaway American dream. I mean going. I figure I can adjust the throttle later. I suit up: cool new gloves, cap, Mp3 and headphones: DJ Yardman in the House!!!
I experience true joy, I mean True Joy for only the eighth time in my life for the next thirty minutes. I am mowing my back yard with a mower that was in 99 peices (Mower engine: 97 pcs, hood: 1pc, rest of the mower: 1pc= 99 pcs) with 5346 bolts not five hours before. I feel like a king on his throne!
That throne turns out to be the crapper. After another twenty minutes, there is a rattling and the idle goes down and the F_____g Mower craps out on me again.
Square ONE!!!
I may never get this bastard going again, but for just under an hour on a warm May afternoon, I actually ran a mower that I rebuilt from the ground up (mostly and with A LOT of help). I have determined that I am going to be burried with my office stuff, the TV I won from Clay Gibson (the one with a big ass chunk out of the plastic, but I beat The Man, yo) and that f_____g mower.
But, I am sad that I have to go through the diagnostics yet again. Just like life, the tale of the mower teaches us that you can be up one second and then savagely depressed the next. Especially if you have depression isses and are trying to ween yerself off rageahol at the same time.
Awesome.
To the Work Room!
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