Most memorable bodges? Let's see now...
Well, It all happened late one night returning from a day at the drag races.
I'd been helping a friend who was an all out race fan, by carrying some of his
tools and other boxes full of racer junk on my trailer, which also held
my latest prize, a basket case TR 4A. What I didn't realize, on that lonely
desolate highway, is that the fuel guage on my trusty tow vehicle, was more
than a trifle whonky, and after a few miles of gearing down and feathering
up further on the throttle, it became pointedly apparent, that petrol station
in sight or not, we had run completely dry. Not a car in sight. Not so
much as the light of a farmhouse in sight. Boy it was dark out there.
If one was to start walking, it wasn't clear which direction, or how
far one would have to trudge. One of the lads had a better idea. We had
on board a part can of nitro left over from the racer. *Maybe* I would like
to just pour a bit in and try it? I vetoed that in a big hurry, since I
had not -unlike my mates, been knocking back Newcastle Browns all afternoon.
I had no desire to ruin a perfectly good tow vehicle.
There was an alternative! The basket case! In goes the fuel. Bounce the
wreck of the Hesperus down off the trailer without benefit of ramps.
Chuck a bevy of tools into the boot and hit the starter. After a bit of
hesitant growling, it stumbles to life and withno desire to fiddle
with those carbs we can live with an idle speed of about 4500 ;-) Heck.
Who cares! It's already fried! Off we go! Leaves swirling behind. Dash
lights and head beams flickering on and off. Aaaahhhh. Grand :-)
And then.... chunk chunk chunk KA-CHING!! Clearly one of those mighty
little pistons had failed to stand up to the high powered fuel.
Good grief! It was a darker more desolate place than where we started :-|
What to do?? Well, we crunged open the bonnet and peeked sadly inside.
No rods poking through her greasy bits. A hopeful sign. We grabbed the trusty
jack, and fortunately when the jack went up into the rust, it eventually
raised the front end sufficiently to slide under. Rustled around in the
bushes and found a sufficiently big couple of logs to keep it from falling on
us. Yanked the pan with the aid of trusty vice grips an odd asortment
of open end spanners and a great BIG hammer for the stubborn bits.
We pulled the spoiled piston out. One neat hole through its top. Found
an old tomato can by the roadside, and with a bit of ingenuity, cut a piece of
it to neatly form a "hat" for the piston. ;-)
Pushed the repaired piston back into the hole. Fashioned a gasket out of
chewing gum, filled the case with butter and we were ready to try again.
It started up with enough noise to scare any normal motorist, but not us!
Tally ho!! With a raucous laugh, we drove her straight off the jack, snatched
up our stuff and we were off! Life is grand again.
Aaaaaahhhh! The warm glow of a petrol station
sign! In a cloud of smoke and a strong odour not unlike a popcorn maker,
we leapt from our heroic vessel, petrol can in hand. Fill her up! The
attendant clearly thought us daft, but followed our wishes. Even wiped the
buttery smudge from our windscreen.
The TR ran that way for another couple of years before I fixed it. Of course
the compression, wasn't nearly as good on the other cylinders, so I
*had* to fix the rest.
:^)
And if you try to tell the kids today, they just won't believe you.
Ken.Stanton@QUeensU.CA who has never actually owned a LBC ;-)
-Very funny Scotty. Now beam down my clothes.
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