From Veeduber@aol.com  Thu Sep 28 00:33:05 1995
msgnum: msg16566
Date: Thu, 28 Sep 1995 01:33:03 -0400
From: Veeduber_at_aol_dot_com
Subject: Grendel, Wednesday


I am wet.  The rain continues to come down.  Grendel soaks it up, absorbing
it through her windshield rubber and side windows, spilling it onto the
floor.  I've removed the remnants of the rubber floor mat, allowing the
accumulated rain to drain out through the rust holes in the floor, automatic
self-bailing; the Unsinkable Grendel.  

I have a windshield wiper.  Singular.  One wiper.  But no wiper blade.  

The passenger-side wiper shaft is frozen in the threaded brass spindle, the
whole thing has been wiping back and forth for years, destroying the rubber
grommet and bending the wiper actuating arm.  I disconnect it, tighten down
the spindle so as to provide something to bolt to the vehicle.  Clean the
commutator, file the sharp edges off the three copper brushes, repack the
gearbox with grease, make a new gasket and put everything back together.  The
wiper runs better than new, having to power only a single wiper blade.  If I
can find one.  Put everything back into the vehicle using RTV as sealant
under the washers and nuts that compress the rubber grommets.  Take out the
windshield washers and clean the paint off them.  The pump bottle is missing;
if I find one, the washer nozzles will be clear, ready to connect.

The new accelerator wire is for a bug, not a bus.  It will take two days to
get another, which may well be the same.  Competence is not a big issue in
this region. Clerks talk to themselves as they key-in data with one finger; a
twenty minute wait to pay for a single item is not considered excessive.
 Given the key-code for Grendel's doors, a local locksmith took three tries
to get it right, first using the wrong code, then using the wrong blank.  He
is considered the best automotive locksmith in the area.  He charged me $39
for the one good key... and the two bad ones, doing a favor for the tourist.
 Local veedubers shake their heads sadly over my engine. Everyone knows
thermostats are bad.  And I'm not even running a centrifugal distributor.
 Sad, sad, sad.  They offer kindly advice as to tire size and hotrod tricks.
 Taller tires are better.  I should be running a Power Pulley.  And that oil
filter will make the engine run hotter.  This is truly an alien land.

I'm tracing down shorts.  And opens.  Much of the post-collision wiring
repair was done with trailer-light splicers, except they used one size for
all of the wires, cutting some of them in two.  In a few cases they taped the
wires together apparently intending to install a splice but forgot.  Just the
tape, plastic-to-plastic, the wires neither stripped nor wrapped,
side-by-side beneath nine layers of electrical tape.  I keep looking over my
shoulder for the Mad Hatter.  This is the bus considered to be in Good
Condition.

The heater-box wires are rusted into their tubes.  I'll wire the
passenger-side heat exchanger open to provide heat to the windscreen, buy
some long-johns for the trip home.

I now have the rudiments of an electrical system.  As soon as I track down a
problem with the turn signals I'll have a light-legal vehicle... except for
the license-plate light.  The plastic cover was painted and the plastic came
apart when I doused it with paint remover.  Yeah, I know it ruins plastic,
but it removes paint.  Diffuse light is better than none at all.  I'll have
to hay-wire something.

The driver's-side rear wheel, the one I've been unable to remove, wobbles in
all directions.  I suspect a bad bearing or stub axel or both.  This will be
the last major problem to resolve but I can't resolve it until I can drive
the vehicle to a shop with a puller powerful enough to get the drum off.  

In the meantime, it rains.  And people like it that way.  At supper tonight,
when saying grace, my host's wife thanked God for the 'nice rain', having
endured a terrible fifteen day dry spell.  After the meal I went back to
work, pausing for a moment to offer God another opinion.  It immediately
began to rain harder.

Feeling much better, hardly coughing at all.  Worked nine hours.  Desperately
anxious to get home to insane, illogical, too fast southern California.

-Bob