Leap Day: A Look Around

The cars I've owned go like this: 1984, 1979, 1976, 1988, 1989, 1996, 2005.  Around the 1996 mark, I lost the ability to do much of my own work, even with the Torx bit set I'd purchased for the purpose.  I still doggedly changed my own oil, and could locate the distributor and spark plugs, but the engine rested under some very fancy-looking cowling, making it in essence a black box.  Unable to perform much maintenance myself, nor afford to have it done by a shop, I drove a car that I really liked into the ground.  A 2005 model replaced it, and when I had to reference the 250-page owner's manual in order to jump start the battery, I knew I'd be doing the same within a condensed time frame.

In other words, I realized it's been a while.

A decade and a half ago, I had perma-grease under my nails, and most of my fellow high school students likely associated me with the unmistakable smell of gear lube.  As I got behind the wheel of my 1979 Ford Fairmont for the first time, surrounded by the heady aroma of old car, I wondered if I still had it in me.  A nail-biting moment ensued as I turned the key and listened to the engine crank--then a shudder, and the inline six caught.  She stumbled regularly, but ran.  The fuel gauge read empty.  Selecting a gear took some forearm strength, and putting her into "drive" produced a loud bang.  The single-finger steering, sloppy as I remembered, proved the antithesis to steering a minivan. I limped her to the nearest gas station and opened the fuel door, finding she lacked a gas cap as well.  Undaunted, I filled her up with fresh midgrade.  The fuel gauge still read empty.  No bother, she already ran better with some fresh gasoline.  (Later calculations estimate she'd have had six gallons in her; it was likely very old gas).

The first of what I knew would become many trips to O'Reilly garnered the Fairmont a new gas cap ($7.50) and a bottle of Chevron/Techron fuel system cleaner, on sale ($4).  The parts store is mercifully located just around the corner of our block, and I cheerfully informed the employees that we'd soon be on a first-name basis.  We added the fuel cleaner and gas cap right there.  When I brought her around the corner into our apartment parking lot and backed her up to park on the rather steep incline, I discovered that the parking brake mechanism was completely seized up.  Thankfully, the parking spots have concrete berms, and I chocked her rear tires right up against one of these.  The Fairmont's long legs made this operation a breeze.

Having worked late that night, I used a flashlight to check the oil, finding it full but dark, and the coolant, which was full and green (at least on top).  I noted the washer fluid was empty and the wiper blades were shot, adding these items to a mental shopping list.  My friend Adam, an appreciator of old cars, stopped by and we sat in the front seat, savoring the feel and smell of my new old car.  We popped the hood, listened to the engine run, and revved it by manipulating the throttle lever inside the engine compartment.  We tweaked spark plug wires, examined engine mounts, and speculated on the idle speed.  And I remembered something:

This is a hell of a lot of fun, and I've missed it.