From Veeduber@aol.com  Mon Oct  9 23:52:06 1995
msgnum: msg17237
Date: Tue, 10 Oct 1995 00:52:02 -0400
From: Veeduber_at_aol_dot_com
Subject: Grendel, Monday III


Bob, the odd-job man.

Monday dawned gray and cold, sprinkles of rain shaking down when the clouds
piled up, bumped hips in their rush to the east.  Both brake-light switches
are duds but at least in southern California they are commonly available
duds.  The local auto-parts stores carry only the metric-threaded switches
for later model VW's and Audi's, insist they will work on 'any' Volkswagen,
back up their claim by telling me that's all they've been selling for years.

Picky ol' Bob, insisting on a brake switch with an eighth-inch pipe thread
when everyone else uses M10 stuff.  And ruins their master cylinder in the
process.  Are the parts-store people simply stupid?  I think not.  They get
$12 for an 'Audi' brake-light switch; a real VW brake switch is about two
bucks.

I spent the day doing odd jobs.  I put the package tray back in -- I'd
removed it to get at the wiring.  The passenger-side fastener had gone west,
been replaced by a Tinnerman nut and a humungous sheet metal screw.  I banged
out most of the major dents, scrubbed it down, scraped off the most offensive
of the slogans and stickers, put it back in.  The missing fastener was a
trial due to the bends in the tray and localized damage at the fastener site;
Grendel has taken a couple of good hits on the nose, damaging both the
package tray and the heater duct.  

I got the other two fasteners in then made up a 1/4-20 bolt with a couple of
fender washers and shoved it thorugh the hole.  Sitting with my butt in the
rusted hole on the passenger's side of the front deck, I used my left
shoulder to bend the tray into place, my right hand to hold the bolt.
 Closing my eyes, I imagined a pair of magic fingers putting the necessary
washers onto the other end of the bolt, threading on a nut and spinning it
tight, focused on it until the fingers got it right.  It's like watching a
training film in your head.  

I don't know how that works.  I don't know how it COULD work, since your left
arm doesn't bend like that.  (Try it.)  But when I got done thinking about it
the nut was on and my arm was sore.  It's a handy trick, however it works.

Did the steering column.  Did the speedo cable.  I thot I'd have trouble
snaking it through the hole but I was too tired to try it myself.  I let it
find its own way through, crawled under and pulled it the rest of the way.  I
had trouble fitting it into the axle.  Lubed it with waterless handcleaner,
pushed it through.  Installed the circlip, squeezed it tight.  Drove the dust
cover on firmly with a section of exhaust pipe.  

The day passed quickly.  It always does when you don't pay attention.  I was
running on automatic, as tired as I've ever been.  The rain kept coming in
little showers, keeping things wet.  Just before supper it started coming
down steadily.

I checked the heater ducts again.  I think something is blocking the duct
near the 'Y' but it's hard to tell with the engine running, impossible with
it off.

Did the back-up light.  It only works intermittantly due to a bad something.
 I've cleaned it and rewired it but it continues to play the fool, sometimes
working, sometimes not.  Rap it and it usually changes its state, a
random-action flip-flop.  I don't like things I can't trust and back-up
lights are useful things.  If it's there, I want it to work and work
reliably.  I cut up some angle iron for brackets, drill a few holes, mount a
tractor light over the blocked-off back-up light opening on the driver's
side, wire it up.  Works every time.  Bright, too.

One last chore is the license plate lamp.  It too is intermittant, probably
due to no hinges on the engine compartment lid.  I make up a new ground lead,
drill a hole, insert a #6 sheet metal screw with an internally toothed
washer, give it a smear of copper-based anti-sieze to insure a good
electrical contact where the washer bits into the steel, a bit that would
otherwise loosen in time due to corrosion.  No light.

I'm working by the glow of my static timing light.  The rain is coming down
pretty good.  Today I've heard the rain described as 'real' and 'good', not
by the same person.  Indeed, I've heard it described in almost biblical terms
but I haven't heard it described honestly, which is wet, cold and hard.  An
uncomfortable rain to be kneeling in with your head twisted around, peering
up at a light fixture that refuses to work.  I take it out, climb in the bus,
start the engine, turn on the trouble light and make up a complete new set of
leads.  Black & white striped #16 for the primary, solid green for the
ground.  Two eyelets on the ground lead, one for the compartment door, the
other for the body.  Polish the lamp base with steel wool.  Add a dot of
solder to the base, another to the ground, sand the contact in the fixture,
install the lamp with a light rub of anti-sieze.  Test it using jumpers.  It
works, nice and bright.  Climb back out into the rain.  I've lost my hat
somewhere.  The raindrops feel like ice cubes on my bare head, there are
droplets on my glasses.  Shamble to the back of the bus, genuflect before the
engine, soaking up the heat of it, hearing the hiss of rain on the tail pipe.
 Install the fixture, install the grounding screws, connect the primary.  No
light.  The rain is heavier just then, pounding on my sodden shirt.  I came
north with three light shirts, one heavy flannel to be worn if the weather
turned coolish on my quick trip that has now taken more than a month.  It is
definitely coolish tonight.  The rain is dripping off my nose and I am close
to tears, confounded by my failure.  

I dismantle the fixture, disconnect it, squelch back to the cab and get in.
 The faint warmth from the demisters feels like a furnace, my hands are
blotchy red and it's a minute before I can trust them to take the fixture
apart.  Check each lead, burnish them with steel wool, put it together, test
it.  It works perfectly.  I shake it and rap it against the floorboards.  It
doesn't flicker.  I sit, waiting for the rain to die down, trying to think of
what I've failed to do.  It's a simple circuit and I know there is power to
it because the tail lights work.  I climb out into the rain, pause dumbly,
searching for the test lamp.  Go around and search the box of electrical
stuff on the passenger-side floorboards before recalling the test lamp is
illuminating the engine compartment.  Go back there and kneel down again.  My
levis are wet and my knees burn where they rest on the gravel.  Take the
fixture out of my shirt, the screwdriver from my pocket, reinstall the light
fixture and connect it.  It does not work.  Unclip the test lamp, intending
to test the lead to the license plate lamp.  And find myself in total
darkness.  There is no light at all.  I've forgotten to turn on the lights.  

I wiped down my tools, put them away, came in and stood beneath the steaming
water until my skin was puckered and red.  Later, I smoked a pipe while
wondering if I should even mention my stupidity.  Decide it's part of the
story, as much as the flower on Grendel's nose or the rusted holes in her
floor or the water oozing in around the windscreen.  We are both in Good
Condition now, a pair of wrecks about to fly south for the winter.

-Bob