Chapter 18

Eventually, spring surprised us all again. Velvet pussy willows at the creek, chokecherries on the ancient stream bank turned green, the roses in the cabin fence budded, the tipis went up and I started sleeping outdoors again.

Soon after, the asparagus in the old orchard sprouted and I had it steamed with french onion dip for breakfast.

Sitting at the fire watching the sun come up in the east, a family of skunks waddled through the painted lodge ... I held my breath. We both got through it without incident.

Crystal and the kittens decided that my place should be their place and I made accommodations.

It was time for the round of oil changes and general maintenance. Check the fluids, check the tires for wear.

I have a Goodson oil inspection tool ... if it’s good enough for aircraft it’s good enough for car and truck filters. Besides being efficient the tool is beautiful. The filter is placed in the cutter and the wrench is revolved around the base of the filter, tightening the cutter screw with each full roundabout. The base comes off and the element is exposed. Cut the element open with a sharp razor knife and have a look.

The Jeep had minute particles of aluminum in the filter. Davy said that the wear is normal. Copper, lead and tin are bad. Copper, lead and tin are bearing materials. If they show up it’s time for a rebuild. The aluminum was most likely factory debris ... they’re famous for shoddy block cleaning. It’s why the factory expects the first oil change at 500 miles. Flush out what they didn’t.

The lab I use for my radial aircraft engines was shocked when I sent in an oil sample for analysis. I hadn’t mentioned WHAT engine the sample was from. They wanted to ground my car.

“But,” whined the technician, “We don’t know what the contaminants are.”

Vane rubbings from the GM Rotary, that’s what they are. Davy built another four rotor from GM aluminum housings and some vane material he cooked up. That resulted in increased power and minimal oil usage.

Asking me won’t do any good ... I don’t know.

I had a breakthrough of my own. I ran a drill bit through the nozzle on the injector ... hey! It didn’t work before ... these damn mechanical injectors clog ... and the French and German monster hadn’t run in years. Cleaning the injectors worked. I contacted the factory and wheedled a single injector out of them. I know somebody who machines complete injectors for tractor pulls. For the sum of 25 grand for the first one and $2,190 per set of six thereafter, he built me injectors that fed a larger volume of fuel.

“Don’t be surprised when the head blows off ... Okay?”

The movies show a turret blowing straight up after a direct hit. That’s not exactly how it works. There is a cook off time before the turret takes off ... but, you know the movies ... if it’s not action right now it’s on the cutting room floor. Usually the crew is already dead from metal splatter.

The turret rests on a platform and it’s the platform that rotates. It’s the weight of the turret that keeps it from falling off. The turret gears are on the floor of the tank and not on the turret edge. I was planning on a heavy steel disk fitting on the turret hole. I wanted the skyhook bolted to the steel plate and the plate geared to the hull.

Fuck! Not going to work. But ... the French/German Recovery vehicle ... it won’t reach out over the creek and still have the tracks far away enough from the water to support the vehicle.

The arm and base were bolted to the tank hull with what looked like one inch thread with a two and an eighth inch head. Naturally, they were metric. So, I ordered some one and an eighth shaft A325 by 3 and a quarter shaft length bolts along with nuts, lock washers and the reamer, proper wrenches, sockets and torque wrench from Lawson ... that was a bundle of money, but they would fit with a tiny bit of reaming. The continuing question was, How do I get the old arm off? ... ah ... the National Guard. They had the equipment to lift the boom off after I unbolted the baseplate. It’s spring and I have a phone.

“Colonel?”

“Karen?”

“Yessir,” I said.

“You ready to give up?”

“I got the recovery vehicle running. I...”

“WHAT?”

“It’s running.”

“You calling to brag?”

“No, sir. I need help getting the recovery boom off the hull. Then I need to mount my sky hook. Can I borrow your recovery vehicle?”

“You want us to support the boom while you unbolt it?”

“Yessir. Please and thank you.”

“Saturday soon enough?”