Let me set the scene. I had worked most of the afternoon cutting down trees and cleaning out planting beds at a house that I am helping to renovate and clean. I was...tired. The drive home in my old truck was going to be my chance to recuperate and pull myself together.
Now my old truck has been acting up a bit lately. Miss firing and backfiring through the carb. My local wrench-jockey had told me that I had a burnt valve or maybe a lobe worn down on the cam shaft. Well, with over 100k miles on this engine (my truck's third) it was time for an overhaul or maybe just a replacement from the local autoparts megamart. I was even contemplating this very fact on the drive home.
As the miles rolled by the truck was being even more cranky than usual. When I took the exit for my house the engine quit altogether. "Oh bother," sez I.
I grab the key and give it a turn to restart the cranky old heap when black smoke starts to roll out from under the hood.
Luckily, I was being followed home by my dear friends Lawdog and Phlegmmy. Lawdog runs across the intersection to a gas station and returns with a fire extinguisher while I unload my truck into Phlegmmy's little ride just in case the fire gets out of control.
Luckily it didn't. The carb was just full of gas and needed to burn a little of it off. The local fire dept showed up and made damned sure it was out and then gave me a push the rest of the way home. (I was literally 3 blocks from my house when everything went pear-shaped.)
Now I have a decision to make. Do I clean up and revive my old friend of over 20 years or do I take my wife's advice and give him the rest he has earned a 100 times over?
I am, suffice it to say, torn.
So I spent last weekend out at my friend's house and shop. When we moved my truck, it would just flat fall on its face and die. I knew ...
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