Bedtime story: April is fuel month!

[roccit_53 at scirocco.cs.uoguelph.ca (C Boyko)]

Okay, so March was brakes month, so if you're still doing brakes, you're
out of fashion. Get with the programme. (My total for the 2005 calendar
year? bug-rotors, caliper, pads, one line; Cabby: brake cables, two wheel
cylinders; 16V- one caliper, a veritable bleed-a-thon)

So Klaus had been running like ass, the fuel pump was the likely
candidate, a few weeks back I installed a used one a friend had given me,
no drama, but it made no sound at all. Not a whir. Likely pooched. Not
wanting to be left out of all this malodorous entertainment, the Cabby
decided to leak gas too, I looked at it and was ready to fix it, but
decided against doing it myself. So it's done. A fuel line near the pump.
The tech had a real good time with it.

So on to today. I hauled six rims to the city to get fresh rubber (yes,
you can fit the rubber for two A1s into the hatch of a bug). Get home,
install said rubber, decide to go for a drive in the Cabby, no problems,
life is good. Next is Klaus, my beloved 79. He has a brand new minty fresh
fuel pump sitting in a box from the Potterman. Tasty Boschy goodness. I
had just done this job, on him, right? Tools, pans were all still out on
the floor, so I jack him up, undo a bunch of stuff, and proceed with the
"installation is reverse of removal" part of the task, which is a repeat
episode, right?

Banjo bolt on and semi tight, now just slip the other end on, should be
easy, right? Clamp all poised to get snugged back down, big basin to catch
the slop, what could go wrong? I JUST DID THIS. IT WENT WELL THE FIRST
TIME.

Now my family's not at home, I'm on my own. Maybe not such a great idea in
retrospect. So I go to put the nipple of the pump into the hose, it's not
going, gas is pouring all over, down my sleeve, soaking my shirt, oh well,
I could say nipple again at this point, but I won't. It's like the pump
forgot its Viagra or something, come on Klaus, big boy, you can do
it,.....so I have about a gallon of fuel in the basin, no signs of relief,
the hose just IS NOT going on there, and I hear the dog barking. Oh oh,
she's moving, with a calico flash in front of her. She's snapped her
chain, hell bent on killing my cat. Meantime I'm on my back in a pool of
gas. And can't move.

Oh, factiod, Klaus has no transfer pump, this hose feeds off the BOTTOM of
the tank, which I fill to the brim for the winter. (The car was running
WAY too badly to drive it far enough to run it low) Yep. All that high
octane spilling out, or try to save the cat. I hear all this
rustling/snapping, gasping stuff from the bush, not a good thing, and in
my gas huffing induced stupor I concentrate on stopping up the leak, since
I figure the cat is either toast, or has escaped. Well, the hose is
pooched, it's inner layer is peeling away from the outer layer, (which is
why it wouldn't go on) so the next leak will be from the tank itself when
I replace it. The dog got her chain tangled on some roots and didn't have
the cat in her mouth, so I'm hopeful. No signs of the cat yet.

I love my life. So much adventure. This on the heels of a week at work
that if rated on a 1-10 scale would earn some triple digit negative
number.

So Mr Keith and I are planning to bond for the rest of the evening. Mmmm,
beer.


-- 
Cathy
"A true friend is someone who thinks you are a good egg even though he
knows that you are slightly cracked" (Bernard Meltzer)