The sad saga of my car problems continues. About eight months ago, I turned the key in the ignition of my Geo Metro (the one AJ has designated as the Ghetto-Mobile 5000) and heard a click (which I took to be the solenoid switch closing), followed by silence. A second turn of the key initiated a normal ignition sequence. A month or so later, there was a similar occurrence, and since that time the "clicking without starting" has grown more frequent, to the point where it now takes up to 20 clicks to produce a start. As you probably have surmised, I have a relatively high tolerance for the foibles of old machinery, but even I can see that this is a problem requiring attention (my calculations suggest that about 732 contiguous start-less clicks will run down the battery).
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I also have a rather strong aversion to automotive repair shops. I can remember visiting those establishments on less than six occasions in my lifetime, and it seems like each experience there was worse than the one that preceded it. In spite of those memories, I decided (on three different occasions) to "take it to the shop," but each time, rescinded after further pondering the problem. Unfortunately, to this point, pondering has produced only bruised knuckles, assorted finger lacerations, and bills for auto parts. About two months ago, I replaced the altenater, and more recently I replaced the starter with a new (rebuilt--guaranteed for the life of the vehicle [assuming that three months from now I can still find the original receipt, remember the middle name of the sales clerk, and don't mind busting my knuckles again changing it out]), replaced the battery, and cleaned both battery cables, including replacing the connectors. But alas, nothing has changed. The fact that I can hear the solenoid click closed argues that the problem does not lie with the lockout switch on the clutch, nor the key switch in the ignition, but those are the only pieces I haven't replace.
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My physics minor in college included a semester long class entitled, "Electricity and Magnetism." I struggled with that course for two reasons. First, I didn't share the professors enthusiasm for problems whose solution depended on the use of differential equations. Second, accelerated applied science courses (taught during the summer) don't mix well with unrequited love (but that's another story...). At any rate, I came away from that class (the one and only course that I ever repeated) with the conviction that, "if it's electric, it's magic." And, if the truth be known, in the 40 plus years since then, I haven't experienced anything that would make me question that conclusion.
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It has been written that each person has their own cross to bear. It seems that mine, at least where car repairs are concerned, is that they are only required in the winter. And, in the winter it is cold and dark when I leave for work, and dark and cold when I return from work, such that Saturday is the only day when I am willing to attempt meaningful repairs. But, Saturday is also the only day of the week that it rains (and when it doesn't rain, it snows [note the 27 inch icicles hanging from our icicle lights]). Which is why problems that really are trivial can take weeks to correct. But, I digress...
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For a fair number of years, I have searched for an algorithm that could be used to calculate when it was time to replace a vehicle. Articles on this subject (that I have encountered in such prestigious journals as Popular Mechanics and Consumer Reports) always seem to contain a component called "trade-in value." Apparently, when it comes to vehicles, I'm a bottom feeder, because when I finish with a car, it's value is close enough to zero to be considered insignificant.
I consider myself to be a relatively logical person, but one area when some may think me eccentric (perhaps with good cause) is my attachment to old machinery. I am quite aware that a car is nothing more than a bucket of bolts, and that has no personality or feelings. But, after one has served me well and long, it is as if it becomes part of my family, and I develop a fondness towards it that clouds the application of rational thought. In retrospect, maintaining a vehicle on "life support" ("The Colt" comes to mind) years after it was old enough to vote probably wasn't a particularly wise thing to do. Particularly when paying < $400 to rebuild its' head resulted in a car that would not have brought $300 on the open market.
Here is my analysis for the Geo Metro:
When I run through this exercise for my old faithful car, the number I get is $777. I strongly suspect I would not purchase a 14-year-old car with > 313,000 miles on it for that amount. In fact, I probably wouldn't purchase my car for the $580 that I estimate is required to repair those items on the "should not ignore" list. Still, I am not happy with what is currently available on the market (nothing comes close to the 50 mpg I sometimes get). And I also flirt with the somewhat laughable goal of driving a car past the 500,000 mile mark. Decisions, decisions... |
And now, so that I don't incur the wrath of Ameilia--More graphic images. Brie came out to visit Grandma, and I can safely report that Grandma was suitably impressed.
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Given the handle with which she has been tagged, I suspect she will need to be a fighter. Fortunately, she already has the cauliflower ears of one... (But, Barbara is sure they will unfold with time.)
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Doesn't that look good? Often, the most remarkable images are not planned, but just happen. Unfortunately, those times rarely coincide with camera availability.
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When Sabrina brought Brie out, we (she and I) indulged in some culinary experimentation. I am working on a dish containing fried sausage mixed with sauerkraut. My previous attempts were relatively good, and when I encountered this Bavarian Style sauerkraut containing caraway seed, I thought that might be the crowning touch. What I didn't note was that this product contained sugar. Sweet sauerkraut! Can you imagine? Fried with sausage, it was absolutely awful! Words to adequately describe that cacophony of flavor elude me, but merely thinking about it makes my gag reflex quiver. It was almost as bad as the Irish Cream Brownie ice cream that Sabrina tried returning from California several years ago. Ugh! But, being Sabrina, she insisted that I eat it all...
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