Adjustment Day

Today is the day. I've put it off as long as I could.

It comes on slowly. It becomes progressively harder to get into gear until (yesterday) I have to turn the engine off.

Normally, it means loosening a locknut, tightening the adjusting nut, and retightening the locknut. But this is PHOEBE, *my* vehicle and so, of course, she's different.

This is the third clutch and Daniel, while I was paying the bill, said he thought he'd "found a good one this time." At $1,500 a pop I'd whined about not being able to afford a new one every year; the last two having gone only a short distance further.

Over the years, we're in our seventh, I've consoled myself with tidbits such as the one about how the Ferrari 12-cylinders, with their six carburators, needed almost constant adjustment.

But there've been modifications; her clutch pedal assembly had been fooled with and in the previous installation, when the transmission was rebuilt, Daniel'd removed it, cut the pedal off and rewelded it into what was deemed its original position. (The trauma to my wallet left me unable to recollect even a hint of the cost.) *This* time though, Daniel had located a more robust pressure plate and disk and his posture and countenance conveyed a stolid faith in increased longevity as he delivered the famous words (see above). 

The name of Daniel's shop is By the Book,and it is how he does things. Though I think we have yet to replace the clutch cable, I decided the last time to try a bit of innovation; something he would, I suspect, rarely, if ever, do. 

Rather than further tightening the adjusting nut, I cut rubber washers to fit betwen the end of the cable and its mounting bracket, effectively shortening the cable. And it worked. But it would've been, in Daniel's "book," unorthodox. Looking back in the blog to November 26 of last year, I see it has worked for eight months; not bad.

Today should be exciting. Will we add more shims? Will we simply adjust the nut? Or maybe the car'll fall on me and someone else will get to admire my carefully-crafted handi-work.

But we're in no hurry. It's early, only a little past 8 a.m. There's coffee to be made and drunk. And hopefully, the fog will burn off and the sun will lend its warmth. Otherwise we might have to put it off...again.

The soft, dove-grey, dampens the

nearby highway's intrusive presence. 9:44 a.m.

There's an olde cats' proverb: Never do today what can be put off until tomorrow.

And this olde Spanish one (on the refrigerator in Albuquerque): 'Tis wonderful to do nothing and rest afterwards.

1:30 pm - Begin

2:20 pm Wheels chocked, tarp out, shade reconfigured.

3:20 Raised. Panting hard, but no angina. I work 20 minutes, rest 40. I should finish up (right on time!) around dark, at 8:30...god willing and the Smith River don't rise. 

Extra support...Justin Case

The yellow sticker on the jack describes how to make a DIY nut-cracker. It came with a little toy gun, a tall hat and some other cutesy stuff.

4 pm - adjustment completed. Maybe 1/2 inch? With all the huffing & puffing you'd have thought we were swapping out the engine. But there was no swearing and, best of all, no injury.

HUUUUURRAAYY!! cried the children (nod to Dav Pilkey Jr.)

Portside ding in crossmember.

Sta'b'rd for comparison

4:10 pm - jack out...wheel on the ground. But will it work?

5:30 pm - It did fine at rocking bak-erdz 'n' for-erdz but hitz when she gits het up tha' she gits ornery. Tuhmorrer I'll take her out and find out fer sure. But for now, those teensy sips of Deshutes Obsidion Stout are whut ah'm lookin' for'ard to. And some REST! I'm pooped! (the heart meds and alcohol don't go together; an ounce is max. More than that and I get a hangover like I'd had three bottles. I've alwayz bin a cheap drunk.)

Thursday, the next day: Success!