ADHD and Mechanics

This is a serious subject and I ask that you be hesitant to judge me on something I don't completely understand.  I'm always willing to learn.  My opinions on this subject are not shooting from the hip, they are based on personal experience.  I ask that you read all the way to the end of this article before you even think about leaving a comment.

To date I have had three coworkers with, fairly, severe ADHD.  Person #1 worked, briefly (spoiler alert), at the shop before I was the night foreman so I had no responsibility for his actions.  He was a young man in tech school (never finished the first year) and zoomed around like he was running on 440 volts.  He would be tasked with taking wheels off, or something similar, he would have the axle jacked up, impact out, the sound of that impact would be heard and, then, ten minutes later...  He was nowhere to be found.  Half of the wheel nuts would be off.  The foremen at that time (first and second shift) would ask "Where the f*&k is Person 1?"  We would find him doing something else.  "What are you doing?  Get back over there and get those wheels off!"  Repeat this scenario multiple times per day, every day.  Person 1's tool box was usually empty because he would be distracted to the point where he left his tools all over the shop and never put them back into his box.  Person 1 got canned before his probationary period was up.  The shop's owner saw, firsthand, what was going on and wasn't having it.

Person 2, somehow (not my choice by the way), managed to remain employed at the shop for two years.  Person 2 is a dumpster fire and worthy of an article on just him but I'll keep it brief for this article.  Person 2 was hired as a sixteen year old "apprentice" and, despite his enthusiasm was, right from the first couple of days, not going to be a mechanic.  When Person 2 was hired the previous foremen had either retired or left for other jobs.  I was/am night foreman (read that "babysitter" for reasons I'll explain at another time) and "Beaver" was/is the current day foreman (I defer to him, even though I have a lot more experience.  Reasons).  I am not involved in the hiring process but I am saddled with the people who are hired because nobody wants to work night shift.  Yet, I'm the one getting yelled at when these idiots fuck up.  I digress.  Before Person 2's probationary period was up (within his first week actually) I said "Get rid of him."  I was, of course, ignored and Person 2 continued being an employee.  Making the best of the shit I had on hand, I talked with Person 2 and learned more about ADHD.  I talked with my sister, who has a Master's in education (and she got all the "difficult" students) and I learned more about ADHD.  I found a, for lack of a better word, "checklist" of ADHD syptoms and Person 2 had 90% of them.  Hoarding being the worst.  I kept telling Beaver that we had to get rid of this person but I was, again, ignored.  Beaver seems to be a person who has to save every stray puppy he sees.  But Beaver is all about business at the same time.  It's an account that I still can't reconcile.  Beaver eventually came around and Person 2 remained a "clean up" person.  I can't even tell you how much shop equipment he (Person 2) lost.  

Person 2, finally, after two years, was gone.  In those two years he had, somehow, managed to graduate high school, attend tech school for one semester (failed), destroy three of his vehicles and a list of things I can't describe here.  But, he remained an employee of our shop.  I had learned about ADHD (Beaver did not) and had made attempts at finding a way, any way, that Person 2 could fit in at the shop.  It did not work.  The only thing Person 2 succeeded at was toasting engines and making me lower the bar to the point where if anyone could remove a bolt without depending on the ratchet stating "on" and "off" they were a success.  Yes, he was that bad.

Person 2 was not fired (much to my chagrin) but left for another job.  He was frustrated with only getting "broom" duty.  Person 2 was hired as a mechanic at a local garbage truck place and, surprisingly, remained employed there for a few months.  He toasted a couple of engines and was promptly canned.  Person 2 then made the usual rounds of shops within commuting distance and never made it longer than a couple of weeks.  I would give Beaver, when the Person 2 came up in conversation, the "look".  The look that says "I was right, but you ignored what I had to say."  The sad thing is that Beaver was considering re-hiring Person 2 because "We need a clean-up guy."  I put my foot down and and said "We were more than gracious with him.  All of the other places he's worked at canned him  post-haste and that should tell you something.  We can hire high school kids for clean-up all day long and they may actually amount to something.  Person 2?  No way.  If you re-hire him I'm gone.  I'll go back to cleaning toilets or bagging groceries before I work with Person 2 again.  For once someone, the lead mechanic, agreed with me.  Person 2 is somewhere out there doing something.  I don't care what.

Person 3 is a recent hire.  First year of tech school, full of piss and vinegar...  ADHD.  He falls somewhere between 1 and 2.  That's all I'll say about him.

The things I've learned from Persons 1, 2 and 3 are many.  I don't care how much ambition a person has, the "You can be whatever you want to be" is bullshit.  It's the "participation trophy" mentality.  That shit doesn't fly in the real world.  I can only speak of my profession and I will say vehicle repair is a grind, like any other job, and it requires people who can remain focused and stay on task.  

Before you judge me I have scenarios for you to contemplate and they are based on reality.  You take for granted when you put your foot on the brake pedal of your vehicle, and press down upon it, that your vehicle will come to a stop.  Do you want a Person who is more interested in what's in the trash can, the latest notification on their phone, the current "shiny" distraction... working on your vehicle's brakes?  What would you be thinking if a Person was so distracted that they forgot to tighten (torqued properly if they could remember where they left their fourth torque wrench) oil pan's drain plug during a routine service and you're stuck waiting for a $40,000 engine replacement the shop will have to claim as a loss?  What if a Person was in the middle of putting wheels onto a trailer, only hand tightened the wheel nuts and... "Oooooh, is that a Powerstroke with a stack?  What's this bucket for?  Is that green light flashing for some... Can I go get some food?"

The brutal reality of the repair business is that there's no place for "mechanics" with ADHD.  One fuck up, or two, (dependent on cost of said fuck up) and those people are gone.  There is no fucking rainbow.  It's business and people don't start businesses to lose money.  I'm not holding those dealing with ADHD responsible because it's the hand they were dealt and, as I've experienced up to this point, are well aware of their situation.  Everyone gets a chance but, at some point, we have to accept the reality of the situation.  "This driver has to have the load delivered by X time and we need to get it done!"  I spend so much time keeping People on task, checking their work and then fixing their fuck-ups that I can't see the point of having those People around in the first place.  

Who did your last brake job?

Erling

28 May, 2020

Hello. It’s been awhile since I’ve checked in. I’ll get straight to the point of this article. A man named Erling.

After I had parked my truck at work, and was walking to the shop, I looked into the scrap metal dumpster. I look into that dumpster frequently to see if there might be something I can use in my basement machine shop. As I looked in yesterday I saw a little “parts” cabinet. The kind with a bunch of small plastic drawers for storing screws, nails and other such hardware. I opened a drawer and saw random junk. Upholstery tack, curtain brackets and such. Then I opened the large bottom drawer and saw a piece of paper, on which the words “ration card”, caught my eye. I then saw a photograph of a young woman and another of a young girl. It caught my interest because photographs don’t end up in drawers unless they have special meaning to someone. I was curious.

I picked that cabinet out of the dumpster and stuck it into the bed of my truck with the intention of looking through everything after work. I did just that and what a treasure I had found. I love old tools. Old tools were made so much better when people who knew how to make tools were in charge and not shareholders. When those old tools have the original owner’s initials or name on them they becom more precious to me. I’m a mechanic and I have spent a lot of my hard-earned money purchasing tools so I understand those old guys. I get sentimental when I look at an old pair of Starrett calipers with the initials “WJH” stamped into them. I wonder who that guy was, what his trade was, where he purchased the tool etc. The saying goes “purchase good tools and they’ll outlast you.” How true. Purchase quality tools, take care of them and they’ll last for generations.

I got home from work and took that little cabinet down to my shop. I found, in addition to the photographs, a fuel ration card from WWII, many paycheck stubs from 1945-1961, a chauffeur’s license, vehicle registrations, deposit slips, an assortment of keys, receipts from credit purchases and a lot of junk hardware. I learned the guy’s name, what he did for a living and where he lived in my town. His name was Erling and he was an appliance repairman. Learning his trade created, in my head at least, a bit of camaraderie.

I imagine he purchased this cabinet to keep in his service truck and then put it into his garage, or basement, when he retired. Maybe it was always at his home. I don’t know. I only know that a bit of a man’s story got tossed into a dumpster because someone thought it was trash. I think that tossing this little cabinet away is disrespectful to Erling and all he had done in his life. I feel like I owe it to the guy, from one blue collar tradesmen to another, to clean up that cabinet and preserve the things he thought were important to save. I will do just that.

I searched the internet using his full name and learned some things about Erling. He lived to be 80 years old, was married to the same woman for about 50 years, they had one child (a daughter) and he died twenty days after his wife had died. The two photographs in the little cabinet were of Erling’s daughter. One photo was her at about 3 or 4 years old and the other (guessing here) as a high school senior. Erling’s daughter is also deceased. My internet search also produced two photos of Erling and his wife (they look like church directory or, perhaps, wedding anniversary photos to me) and in both photographs they display genuine smiles. They were happy and it showed.

I don’t know the circumstances that led to Erling’s cabinet being in a scrap metal dumpster. Maybe someone who purchased his home after his death found it in a dusty corner. Maybe a distant family member was sorting through boxes of “stuff” that had been passed down and tossed it out as “junk.” Whatever the situation, Erling’s little cabinet is now safe in my basement. The documents are in varying degrees of decay. I don’t know if they can be saved, I’m a mechanic and not an archivist, but they will be photographed for posterity. I will clean the plastic drawers, straighten the bent cabinet and, if necessary, repaint it. Whatever documents I can preserve, along with the photographs of Erling’s daughter, will be placed in the bottom drawer where I found them. Maybe I’ll print this article and include it in the drawer so that when I’m gone this cabinet might mean something to the next person to find it.

I hope that when I’m gone my family will, at the very least, look through all of my things before throwing away anything. There may just be some little nuggets of my life tucked away in some innocuous little cabinet.

I'm Not A "Maker"

28 January, 2020

This first paragraph is being written after I have completed the rest of this article.  This is a typical ramble from me.  A simple subject that seems to jump around in a confused manner.  I've tried to keep this article short and to not wander down the many paths that I could have wandered down.  If I had done so this thing would turn into a book.  Maybe I should have gone down those rabbit holes.  Hell, nobody reads this stuff as it is.  Whatever.  

In a conversation with a new coworker our hobbies, outside of work, were discussed.  Long story short he said "Oh, so you're a maker!"  My eye twitched, steam just started coming out of my ears but, thankfully, my brain was moving faster than my mouth.  "Maker?  Not really but it's similar." 

Is the "maker" moniker really so bad?  No, but I think of "maker" as a title for someone who hasn't earned their stripes.  The kind of person who, a year ago, didn't know how to sharpen the iron of a jack plane (or even knew what a jack plane was) but has a nine month old YouTube channel with 500,000 subscribers and is looked on as an "expert" in something.  I can see that they're complete noobs, which isn't a bad thing, but what about those viewers who don't know anything at all?  Are the blind leading the blind? 

I wouldn't, or couldn't, expect these freshly-minted "makers" to be preaching the book of Schwarz right from the start, but I do expect them to do some research before making videos and before begging for money "to keep the shop going" from the newbies.  It could be a simple statement along the lines of "Here's how dovetail joints were made in the old days and here is how I'm going to do it."  Letting the newbies know that there are many ways to complete a task is enough.  Maybe they'll do their own research or maybe they won't.  But they should have that option.  

I see makers as being more "all around" people.  Us old folk might scoff at "the damned CNC button pushers" but fail to see that the "maker" we're shaming built that CNC router and the computer that runs it.  If us older people could learn to shut up and listen we might just have a nice conversation with a young person.  A polite conversation leads to people asking questions and learning new things.  I'm getting better with this skill. 

Speaking of woodworking specifically, I started learning about it at a very young age (there are previous posts that cover this topic) and learned most of my skills the old fashioned way.  Reading and experience.  I didn't have the luxury of YouTube but when YouTube was available I was able to put a nice polish to the skills I already had.  In some cases I learned that I had been doing certain things the hard way.  Always learning. 

Funny story.  Years ago (six?) I watched a video from Jimmy DiResta.  I saw that he had a lot of subscribers but I had no clue who he was.  I watched more of his videos and saw a lot of familiar things which prompted me to send him a message (when you could still send PMs on YouTube).  I mentioned that he and I seemed to have similar skills and asked him if he learned them from shop class at school.  He replied stating that, yes, he learned a lot of what he knew from shop class and also his Dad.  I learned later who Jimmy DiResta was.  Imagine bumping into some guy you recognized "from that one movie", chatted about it and then found out it was Al Pacino.  Back to the topic at hand.

This whole post was brought about because I was curious about the demise of Popular Woodworking Magazine.  I bought my first issue in '99, right about the time Schwarz started at the magazine, and kept on reading.  That magazine steered me down a different path from the "New Yankee Workshop" path I had been on.  It led to books I had never heard of.  I learned about proper workbenches, what a jack plane is capable of, what a sharp tool can do and how to sharpen tools properly.  I chose to go down the path of "hand tool woodworker" and have enjoyed every minute of it.  But that's my choice and my own personal standard.  Your mileage may vary.

Sanding.  Lots and lots of sanding.  That's how you can differentiate between "maker" and "Woodworker".  Until I had jumped head-first into hand tool woodworking I didn't know how much I hated sanding.  I hadn't known better.  I thought I had to have pad sanders, random-orbit sanders, sanding blocks, the reams of sandpaper to go on those power tools and a dust collector (never had that part) to suck up all the dust.  I thought I had to work through the grits from coarse to fine.  It was clouds of dust that clogged my sinuses, penetrated my clothing and got all over everything in the garage despite the shop vac hookups on those power sanders.  Then I got some hand planes, made some card scrapers and learned that I hated sanding.  Curly shavings from hand planes don't clog your sinuses and provide a much better finish.  Hand planes also don't round over ever corner and edge the way sanders do.  I learned what a proper hand saw was, how to sharpen them and how to use them.  I also learned that a proper kit of hand tools can be had for the price of one "Ultra-Trac Festung Super Corner Joint-O-Matic" power tool.  Old hand tools were made when quality mattered.  They don't require expensive batteries.  Hand tools are also quiet.  I'm prone to scold a young person with something like "You took a 3/4" thick board down to 1/2" with a fucking belt sander?  Are you stupid?!?"  That's what I'm saying in my head but what comes out of my mouth is "Well, you got it done.  May I show you another way of doing that job?"

Take it all with a grain of salt.  Just because my way of doing things is "right" to me doesn't make it "right" for you.  Just be warned that the more you learn about woodworking, the more you'll be like me.  Walking through the local farmers' market, scoffing at the "primitive" or "rustic" "furniture" and how the "craftsman" couldn't be bothered to actually mortise the hinges and went the "maker" route and just slapped those hinges on the cabinet face.  If you're a young person and you bump into an old codger like me, who's griping about dark stain being put onto pine, how about you hold off with the "Ok, boomer..." comments.  How about asking the old coot why stain over pine is a bad idea and the mark of a noob?  You might learn something.  You might also teach that old bastid something.  If everyone can learn from one another without the restrictions of "right" or "wrong", "new" or "old", we'll all be better off. 

I Couldn't Save Him

24 November, 2019


It's been almost a year since my life changed, and not for the better.  A person who was loved by his family left this world and I was one of two people to see him at his end.  I knew from the start that I was going to have problems dealing with what had happened but dove in anyway.

A trucking company parks some tractors and trailers in our yard as a "swap lot".  Full trailers are brought in from another location, the drivers who park at our shop hook up and pull those trailers out.  The drivers who brought in the full trailers then take the empty trailer back to their location to be loaded again.  "Drop and hook" is the term used in the trucking industry.

I know the drivers who park at our shop but don't know the other drivers who bring in the loaded trailers.  It's quite routine and the whole process happens in less than an hour starting around 21:00.  There's a lot of traffic in and out of our yard which, mostly, goes by unnoticed.  5 February, 2019 changed that routine.

The usual trailer swaps had gone on and my coworker and I had just continued working on the jobs we had to get done.  At the end of the shift I went outside to get the service trucks started up in preparation for bringing them inside.  I noticed a tractor, lights on, hooked up to a trailer and had a listen.  Engine wasn't running but the lights were on.  Not normal, but not unusual either.  Sometimes tractors get parked and the driver forgets to shut off the lights.  "Christ, I had better go shut off those lights so we don't have to do a jump start later" I was thinking. 

I walked over to the rig, around to the driver's door and noticed it was slightly ajar and didn't see a driver.  I opened the door and saw the driver's foot in the door jamb, looked up and saw the driver in his seat, slumped over a little bit.  "Hey buddy."  No response.  "Hey buddy!!"  No response.  I climbed up and looked... "Oh shit..."  Even if you've never seen a person at that kind of moment, you just know.  I hauled ass into the shop and on my way to the nearest phone my coworker was in the midst of saying "What's going on..."  "Get out of the way!!" I hollered at him.  I picked up the phone and punched in 911.   I told the operator who I was, where I was at and that there was a truck driver who was unresponsive.  The operator arranged for my coworker to call them so we could be connected at the truck.  "Mitch!  Call 911 and follow me!!"  Mitch did just that and we were out at the truck, with the operator on speaker phone.

We, in a nutshell, were told to get the driver out of the truck and on the ground.  We were told to see if the driver was still warm and if there was a pulse.  Mitch, I feel for him because he had never been in this kind of situation, reached out, hesitated, then checked for a pulse.  Nothing.  The 911 operator then talked me through CPR.  Emergency teams were on the way.  I did as I was told and started doing chest compressions.  The gurgling coming from the driver has come back to haunt me many times.  I suspect it will continue to haunt me until my dying day.  I could hear sirens but "Why aren't they here yet?"

I kept doing the chest compressions as instructed and the paramedics seemed to pop up out of nowhere.  Pump, pump, pump "Do I stop now?" I asked.  Pump, pump, pump "keep going" they said as they hooked up respiratory stuff and got a backboard placed.  Pump, pump, pump "OK.  We have it." the paramedics said.  It was seamless.  I stopped compressing, they took over and then I fell onto my butt, turned around and started crying like a baby.  I don't know how long I had been crying but I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a voice saying "You gave him a chance..."  It was February and I had started to feel the cold.  Thinking back on those moments, I now know the driver was already dead.  The ambulance was in no hurry to leave the yard which tells me that driver didn't make it.  Massive heart attack from what I found out later on.

I made phone calls to the driver's dispatcher, helped the police find info in the truck and such, called my boss.  I was numb and Mitch was visibly shaken.  Mitch and I had a conversation after everyone had left.  Having been through a similar situation with my Dad, and having had to deal with break down later, I told Mitch to go home and tell his Mom, Grandma, Sister...  Just tell someone everything you had just gone through.  "If you bottle it up it will just come back later and it will be twice as bad." I told him.

Mitch has some habits that are annoying but I know I can rely on him when the shit hits the fan.  The day to day stuff is petty now that I know that he's a good person and will be there, even if the situation is dire, when he's called upon.  I have a lot of respect for Mitch now.

Not long after, I received a phone call (at the shop) from the driver's sister.  She hadn't received any straight answers regarding he brother's death.  She asked questions and I answered the questions I could.  She also asked if she could come to the shop some time.  I, of course, said "Yes.  Come after 15:00 and ask for Tim."  She came to the shop that spring.

"Tim, someone's at the front window asking for you." I heard.  I walked into the office and said "I'm Tim.  What can I help you with?"  She introduced herself as the sister of the driver who had died.  I walked outside with her so we could have some privacy.  I had talked to Mitch and said he could come along with us if he wanted and that if he chose not to he would not be looked down upon.  She asked to see the place where her brother had died and I took her around back to the yard.  I wasn't able to show her the exact spot because I hadn't been paying attention to that sort of thing on the night it happened.  I was able to only say "It's one of these parking spaces."

She asked if she could spread some Holy water (they are a Catholic family) and I told her she could do whatever she wanted.  If she wanted a memorial stuck into the ground I would see that it happened.  She asked if it was okay to hug me and I said it was.  We hugged, cried and then she gave me two laminated copies of the driver's obituary.  One for me, one for Mitch.  I told her everything that had happened that night, she thanked me for trying to save her brother and then left.  I told Mitch that if he wanted a copy of the obituary that it would be on my toolbox.  He didn't take it and I don't hold anything against him for not wanting to.  I, on the other hand, read the obituary and then knew something of the man I couldn't save.

I had planned on visiting his grave on a motorcycle trip but I didn't.  Maybe in 2020 I will.  I didn't know the guy from Adam, but I was there at the end of his life.  I did my best to save him but failed.  He was dead before I found him.  I wish that he had survived.  I wish that I had met him after the fact.  I wish that his family had only a scare and not a funeral.  Life doesn't work out like that.  Sometimes people die and families are left with holes in their hearts.  First responders have to deal with these situations on a daily basis and, sometimes, mechanics have to deal with that situation and can't fix it.

I never knew that driver.  I never said so much as "hello" to him, but he is now part of me.  In his time of dying I was there and it will haunt me until I'm gone.  I'm just glad that I was able to provide some sort of closure for his family.   

What Do You Say?

4 October, 2019

I got the news yesterday that a second cousin, Christian, had died as a result of injuries sustained while fighting a forest fire.  I don't recall ever meeting the man, also an Iraq war combat veteran, but I have met his parents and sister.  They all live in the Pacific northwest so family visits don't really happen.  Still, it's family.  My family, despite being spread out, is pretty tight.  If some distant relative contacts someone from out of the blue the response is "Come on over, we'll put you up for a few days."  I think that's really cool.

Facebook, love it or hate it, has provided me with a way of keeping in touch with my more distant family.  I love it, but FB still has the stink of disconnection.  Before the internet as we know it, the phone and address lists kept by my parents and grandparents were epic sagas.  Just as I was leaving on a solo motorcycle trip to my Dad's home town this summer, Mom handed me a slip of paper with the last known phone number of one of her friends.  Just in case.  I've gone off on a tangent.

With the news of Christian's death, my immediate reaction was to go forth and support the family.  Christian's sister and father had posts on FB (which is how I found out about his death), but I didn't know how to respond.  I never know how to respond to that kind of news.

I've written about the death of my father, brother and one of my best friends (Audra) before so I won't rehash those stories.  The relevant points are this.  When Dad died I heard "I'm sorry for your loss", and minor variations, so much that I swore I would never say that.  "I'm sorry..." equates to an apology.  Why are you apologizing for my Father's death?  You didn't kill him.  "Thoughts and prayers..."  Well, after my Grandfather's death (a Methodist minister for four decades) and then my Father...  That was, almost, the final nail in the coffin of the belief in God for me.  Prayer meant nothing to me.  Toss in my Brother and then Audra...   There are a lot of mental scars that just can't absorb well-wishes anymore.

Maybe it was the trauma of losing my Father that short-circuited my brain into analyzing how people responded as a way of not thinking about what had actually happened.  The kind people who propped up myself, and my family, at that time (repeated when my Brother died) were great.  They were also struggling with "What do I say?"  Just the fact that people gave a damn, in any shape or form, did wonders.  At my Father's funeral the assistant manager, Dave, from the grocery store showed up.  He had flowers from the store and a card signed by all of my coworkers.  I still get a little teary-eyed thinking about that kind gesture.  My best friend (his future wife and his three siblings by default) and a good chunk of his family (all of them had adopted me as family) were also there.  All of it was a show of friendship and support.  I will never forget any of them.  What I learned was that actions mean more than words.  My whole world was chaos.  I didn't know up from down, left from right... It's like I was in the middle of the Atlantic and just trying to keep my head above water and then "There's Dave, there's Adam and his family..."  Just those people being there gave me something to focus on and it was like they had thrown me a rope and were pulling me to safety. 

When Best Friends' (meaning all of them) Father died, I was there.  I had no clue what do do, but I was there.  Best friend's wife died, I was there.  I was a pall bearer and let me tell you, carrying one of my best friends to her final resting place, that hurt.  A lot.  Best friends' Aunts died, I was there. Still had no idea what to say but at least I could "be there".  Not my family, but kinda my family...  My default position in any of those situations is to just hang out in the background and be ready should someone need something.  Ran out of TP in the bathroom?  "I'm on it!"  I could say.  Physical presence.  They helped me when I needed it so I wanted reciprocate.

But with Christian I can't do that.  I'm thousands of miles away from them.  I can't be there to hang out in the background.  I can't give them hugs.  I can't make supply runs to the store when the TP runs out.  I don't know what to do and I can't find any words that won't sound like something on a cheap wall hanging from Target.  My response thus far has been a "sad face" on FB.  I had to do something.  I can't even write a letter because I don't have an address to send it to. 

What do you say, what do you do, in a moment like this?

Motorcycles, Ignorance and Tolerance

I've been commuting on the Bonneville recently. Who can argue with 47 miles per gallon and a whole lot of fun? I rolled into work Wednesday and as I entered the yard there was a truck driver getting out of the way. Imagine "Larry the Cable Guy" getting out of a square-nosed Peterbilt. Stereo-typical (I wonder if there is such a thing as mono-typical? I digress) truck driver.

I park the motorcycle and head into the office, gear is still on, and I see that driver at the front desk. Everyone is busy so I go to the window and ask if I may help with something. Helmet is off, unzipping the jacket and "Larry" says "So you're the guy who whizzed by on that rice bike." I replied with "Excuse me?" (still had ear plugs in). I pulled the ear plugs out and Larry says "The rice bike..."

The look of confusion and mild offense (we'll get to that) on my face made Larry explain that he is "a Harley guy" with a smug smile upon his face. To which I replied "There's a Sportster in my garage and that 'rice bike' you saw is a Triumph Bonneville." He had nothing. He's a "biker", not a motorcyclist.

When I'm out finding those hidden curvy roads and spectacular scenery, I wave at every rider I see. Even the scooter bros. Trikes get no love. 99% of the time the other rider waves in return. Larry is the 1% that doesn't return the wave. Larry is a dick. Larry's "gear" is probably just what he had on driving his truck. Ball cap, good 'ol southern boy "christian" jewelry, sleeveless plaid shirt and plain 'ol jeans. I can throw stereotypes back. With a healthy dose of sarcasm. #superpower.

Though I think it's insane to ride without proper gear (imagine opening the door of your car and jumping out with what you have on. Will your OOTD save you?) I will defend a person's right to ride without gear if they choose to do so. It's the wrong choice, in my opinion, and the beanied, gear-free, motor company faithful/sport bike squids, have never been sliding down a pea-graveled road (local county Rd. in my case) at 50mph. I had to toss out the helmet and gloves, but got away with a scraped knee, scraped leather jacket (from Sears no less), bent handlebar and broken turn signals. Oh, and a major sense of dread when I had to tell Dad that his worst thoughts about motorcycles had come true.

This is a lesson in how to be a decent person. Instead of "You rode in on that rice bike..." how about "What's that motorcycle you rode in on?" Or instead of "ATGATT (all the gear all the time)!" I wait for a question about the gear I have. "...No it's not hot at all. These vents here, here and here do..." Tolerance. Some people like obese land yachts with no ground clearance, some people like motorcycles with good brakes and enough ground clearance to enjoy curvy roads.

My ideal is not your ideal. You can't go through life with the "Hell hath no forgiveness for those who do not think like-wise" attitude. 

Religion

I will be as blunt as possible right from the start so you don't waste your time reading something you disagree with.

If you live your life in accordance to a book written thousands of years ago (and embellished throughout the generations to accomplish some selfish assholes' goals) you're a fool and cannot think for yourself. 

If you wait for God, Allah, Buddah, Odin, Ares or some other mythical "being" to solve your problems you get what's coming to you.  The whole of any religion is contradictory to itself.  Religion is a way for a few to control many.  The Devil is in the details.

Generally speaking, most Muslims, Christians, Buddhists and Pagans are all about supporting their communities.  Feeding those who are hungry, housing those who have no home, aiding those who are sick...  That's not religion.  That's just being a decent human.  What difference does it make if a hungry person is homosexual, muslim, christian, pagan etc.  When someone falls, you pick them up.  Period.

I was forced into attending church as a child.  I didn't believe any of it and rebelled at every opportunity.  I skipped out of the conformation classes frequently and when confronted by my parents I would ask "What are they gonna do?  Hold me back another year?"  It was important to my parents, but not to me.  There's a twist to the story.

My Mother's Father, Grandpa Arnie, was a Methodist Minister.  Grandpa had married Grandma, in secret mind you, had three children (my Mother being their first) and were farmers.  This all happened in the midst of the Great Depression.  Grandpa, due to having a family, or being a conscientious objector, worked in a bomb factory during WWII as his way to contribute to the war effort.  I don't know the details, but at the end of WWII he heard the calling of God and gave up farming to become a servant of God.  Though I'm not a "good" christian, I can't help but respect my Grandfather for having the cajones to throw everything to the wind and pursue something he thought was his destiny. 

My Mother's family was living on a shoestring as farmers but once Grandpa started his journey to becoming a servant of God, things for them became dire.  Mom frequently tells stories of how they depended on donations to keep them alive.  During Grandpa's time earning his theology degree (something most "preachers" don't possess) his youngest child, my Uncle, contracted polio.  You anti-vaxxers are idiots.  Through hand-me-down clothes, used cars and donations of food, Grandpa completed his degree and became a Minister.  He became an evangelist of the purist form.  Not the Billy Graham type of bullshit "evangelist".  Grandpa took care of his flock.  He visited people at their homes, made sure they had enough to eat, fixed their tractors (he was an old farm boy after all), visited the sick in hospitals...  He was being a good person and looking out for his fellow man. 

Grandpa baptized countless babies, married countless couples and presided over the funerals of his people.  It was this world in which I was raised.  Though I did not like being forced into attending church every Sunday, Grandpa's humanity was passed to me.  It is a gift of which I am most thankful for.  That gift is, for me, what "religion" is.  Taking care of your fellow man.  Regardless of what a person's beliefs are.  If you are hungry I will feed you.  I'll also show you how to bait the hook so you can fish for yourself.  If you are cold I will bring you firewood to heat your home.  I will also show you how to sharpen an ax, fell a tree and split logs.

Outside of the sermons I heard Grandpa give, I never heard any of the "The bible says this and the bible says that..." nonsense.  I have exactly two sermons of Grandpa's on tape.  They are very precious to me.  In those two sermons he is expressing how to be a good person.  Help your fellow man.  To me THAT is what religion is all about.  Helping people.

Replace, Don't repair: A lesson In Corporate Greed.

The faucet for your bathtub starts dripping.  What do you do?  Those of you who didn't grow up with a Dad who fixed things would call a plumber, be handed a bill for a few hundred dollars, mutter a few curse words under your breath and then hand over your credit card. 

Those of you who did have a Dad, Grandad, Step Dad etc. who DID fix things, you would take the faucet apart, figure out how it works and do what you had to do in order to make the faucet work properly.

If you fall into the first category, I'm not trying to degrade you and make you feel like less of a man.  Not being sexist, the man typically gets the "fix it" tasks.  Or the more manly man of the two if that is your situation.  If you're using a butter knife as a screw driver to assemble your shitty Ikea "furniture" I will applaud you.  You are taking the task into your own hands and doing the job the best you know how.  Conversely, I will chide you for not having taken advantage of your "smart" phone to look up the task on YouTube.  Or, perhaps, order up an old shop class textbook from Amazon.  The demise of shop class in schools has put a massive surplus of those old textbooks on the market.  There is no excuse for you to NOT have one of those books.  Read it.  You will become more independent.  Even if you have no desire to build things or repair things, reading old books will, at least, give you some idea of what you're dealing with.  An informed person cannot be taken advantage of.

My bathtub's faucet started dripping again.  I have "hard" water in my home and the plumbing is subject to the effects of mineral deposits and scale.  About nine years ago the bathtub's faucet started dripping and I had to address it.  Being outside the "normal" business hours, something I deal with as a night shifter, I had to do with what was available.  That's my super power.  I make things happen with few resources. 

I grew up in a rather frugal house.  When a faucet started to drip my Dad would fix it.  He would take the faucet apart, inspect it and repair it if he could.  If seals and springs need replacement he would take me in tow and head off to the hardware store.  He would take the old parts along so he could compare them to the variety of replacements, purchase what he needed and then we would return home.  The new parts were installed, the faucet didn't drip, Mom was happy and then he would give the old parts to me.  Maybe I was different, maybe not.  I found those old valves, seals and springs to be more fascinating than the toys I had.  I would assume my parents knew that I was interested in those things.  Otherwise they would have just thrown those old parts into the bin.

So nine years ago I took that bathtub faucet apart and inspected the parts.  Mineral scale had built up on the seals and the bore they resided in.  The scale prevented the seals from seating, completely, against the valves.  I scraped the scale off of each part, used pliers to stretch the springs a bit, resurfaced the face of the valves and put it all back together.  That repair lasted nine years.  Then the faucet started dripping again.

I expected to go through the same process of disassembly, cleaning and reassembly but it wasn't to be.  The cup seals had wear in them that was beyond repairing.  Home Despot was still open so I figured I would go out and get a seal kit, install it and be done for another decade.  Nope.

Home Despot had a valve and seal kit from some shit-hole Chinese manufacturer for $10, but they had only one in stock. The sealing face of the valve was plastic.  Not the brass of the original part.  $10 for injection molded nylon, two o-rings, a spring and cup seal.  That's a ridiculous price.  Oh, but wait, the genuine Delta valves are plentiful.  $10 each, but no cup seals or springs.  The only cup seals and springs available were in a "Pro Pack" of 50 for $10.  I was pissed off. 

You can bet there was some suit, who had no idea that Phillips head screw drivers came in different sizes, who meticulously planned the exact situation I was in.  When my Dad and I went to the hardware store a kit of valve, seal and spring could be had.  Dad didn't have to purchase a 50 pack of seals and springs because the valves did not include those parts.  If you're one of those suits, go fuck yourself.  You're the kind of douche who buys a diesel pickup because you don't know any better.   I see that and will rake you over the coals as revenge.  You twats couldn't change a tire without calling for help.  Enjoy your extra long wait and extra billable time as your family waits to get "up north" for your vacation.  If you could get out of the mindset of blue collar tradesmen being "below" you, you might just get better service.  Your "nose in the clouds" attitude is what your level of service is based off.  Us "lower" people know you couldn't fix your way out of a wet paper bag.   Maybe you should have taken a shop class instead of calculus I.  Shop class would have been a better choice.

It is plain to see that the suits know most people, younger generations in particular, haven't had the benefit of shop classes.  [sarcasm] "Who would want a shop class?  Nobody would want to have such a lowly blue collar job.  They can just call a plumber to fix that leaky faucet. [/sarcasm]  Yeah, sure.  With their nearly maxed out credit cards on top of their crippling student loan debt.  Those young folk couldn't take a shop class because shop class didn't exist.  They're at the mercy of those who DID have shop class and bothered to learn, on their own in many instances, how to work in the skilled trades.  I find that shameful.   One of my nephews was told by the local "quick lube" place that his car needed an air filter.  He doesn't even know how to change an air filter!  The shop classes were gone when he was in school.  The suits know of my nephew and others like him.  They're taking advantage of it. 

Through my YouTube videos (amongst other YouTubers) I am doing my best to wrest control away from the corporate bean counters and put it back into the everyman's hands.  Did your tire go flat?  YouTube that shit and do it yourself!  Plugging a tire is not rocket science.  Do NOT let the fear of the unknown stop you.  The information is out there.  You just need to search for it. 

"Throw off those chains of reason and your prison disappears" - Neil Peart, Rush, Hemispheres, Cygnus X-1,  Book II.

A Motorcycle Tale

When I was a kid I had some exposure to Harley-Davidsons via a couple of cousins and my brother.  My brother first had a "Hardly-Davidson", an Aermacchi Sprint which never ran right, but it got me hooked on the "Milwaukee Iron".  I rode my bike around pretending it was an H-D and had fun.  Later on my brother acquired a late '70s Sportster and I fell in love with the thing.  I was in high school at that time and was hell bent on being a biker.  My father did NOT want his youngest son riding around on a motorcycle.  I had some Harley shirts, got the requisite engineers' boots, had a Sportster 883 ad (torn from a magazine) in my locker, I watched biker movies, I read a book on Harley-Davidson...  I was Mr. Harley-Davidson without ever having ridden a motorcycle.  Looking back on it I was quite pathetic.

I got a little seat time on one of those small Japanese '70s dirt bikes a friend had.  My brother even let me ride his Sportster once.  Near the end of my Senior year of high school I made a promise to myself that, one day, I would own a Harley.  About ten months after that promise I ended up with a $150 Kawasaki KZ650-B1.  Dad was not happy.  He didn't speak to me for a week.  Dad eventually said that he wasn't happy with my decision but respected how responsible I was.  I had the thing registered, insured, had a helmet etc. right from day one.  It was my first year in tech school.  My instructor at the time used to be a motorcycle mechanic and he changed everything I had thought about motorcycles.

He loaned me a VHS tape of that year's Moto GP at Laguna Seca.  I had never seen road racing before but it caught my interest.  I was also reading every motorcycle magazine the school had.  I then got a subscription to Motorcyclist magazine.  Harleys were constantly being bashed and I couldn't understand why.  "Ah, these guys are all sport bike people and have no idea how awesome Harleys are." I thought.  The writers always complained about poor handling, lack of ground clearance and such.  Harleys were frequently compared to tractors.  The summer between first and second years of tech school I went to see my first road race at the local track.  I heard a Ducati for the first time.

I didn't know it, but I had become a motorcyclist at this time.  Not a biker.

The second year of tech school led to a loss of interest in Harley-Davidson.  I was never going to be able to afford one and, as I was finding out, they weren't much for sport riding.  The KZ650 was slowly becoming more sporting.  unnecessary parts were removed, parts were bobbed, the exhaust went from 4 into 2 to 4 into 1, just like sport bikes.  I was riding the hell out of that thing.  It just kept progressing a little bit at a time.  I started pushing the bike a little more here and there, I pushed myself a little bit too.  I really liked that old Kawasaki.  it wasn't a 600 Ninja, but that old KZ650 was more than enough for my meager skills.

Fast forward to 2009-2010.  The Kawasaki had stopped working just after I got my first place and it was put in the garage for four years.  I bought the house and moved the KZ to another garage where it would sit for years.  I eventually decided that I would figure out the problem and had it diagnosed within thirty minutes.  I kicked myself for not having done it years before.  But, the economy had tanked, major industry disappeared from the city and I had no money for motorcycles.  Things got so bad that I made the heart-wrenching decision to sell my beloved KZ650.  Worst decision ever.  I should have just let it sit in the garage for a couple of years until things got better.  But I didn't and I regret selling it.  Oh well, I had to live with it.  I thought that motorcycling had no interest for me anymore.

Day I brought Sporty Spice home

Three years ago a coworker had been having some trouble with his '98
Sportster.  Some idiot somewhere in the past had put a "big bore" kit on the thing so it went from being an 883 to something like 1150-ish.  The coworker was young, had a heavy hand and had damaged the cylinders.  He had it repaired at the dealer and he promptly did it again.  He did the work that time around and I started asking him (I saw a deal and I could fix it) if he wanted to sell it.  He declined.  He got it running, it puked the oil out, he learned about dry sump oil systems and then rode it for months until "that day".  He said he was out riding with his friends and the thing started running on one cylinder.  He had another Harley in his sights and asked me if I was still interested in buying the Sportster from him.  I got it for $800.  I fulfilled that promise I had made to myself in high school.

The sporty sat in my garage for a year before I decided to see if I could get it running.  Put some fresh gas in, did some rudimentary valve train and cylinder inspection and got it running.  I honestly couldn't tell if it was running right or if it was just the "performance" shit that got put on it.  Lumpy cams and all that kind of stuff.  It also had straight pipes.  Way too freaking loud.  At least it ran on both cylinders as far as I could tell.  I put it back in the corner and there it sat.

This summer I decided to clean the thing up, put a new battery in it, get it registered and take a little ride just to see if it was something I could putt around town with.  Then, something happened.  The motorcycling bug bit me again and after having given up on motorcycling I found myself obsessed with getting this poor, abused Sportster back on the road.  Once it was running and registered I took it around the block to see how things went.  No big problems so it was off to the gas station for a fill up and then I rode around the neighborhood.  I couldn't work on the thing fast enough.  I got it insured and started hunting for some stock exhaust, which I found, and when I was putting the quiet exhaust on I found the origin of the "running on one cylinder" complaint.

You'll have to do the research for yourself but, in short, a lollipop fell out of one of those annoying straight pipes.  That was fixed with the replacement exhaust, the carb got tuned a bit, things that had been ignored for so long by previous owners were adjusted, paint and chrome got polished, the "hammer & chisel mechanic" repairs done by previous Bubbas were fixed properly.

Sporty Spice in its current config

I've put a few hundred miles on it so far and have no plans to stop.  But I've learned something about Harley-Davidsons.  I don't really care for them.  Harleys don't have the little things that the Japanese motorcycles have but everyone ignores.  Flip up seats that reveal a bit of storage and helmet hooks, comfortable riding positions (talking about "standard" motorcycles like my old KZ650), engines that don't shake you to pieces, decent control layout...  When I flipped up the seat of the KZ650 I would see the battery, air filter (both easily changed) a small compartment for the tool kit and a document holder for the owner's manual and registration card.  My Sportster doesn't have any of that and I find it annoying.

As I put more and more miles on the Sporty I am beginning to understand all of those complaints I read about in those old magazines.  There isn't much "feel" with a Harley other than vibrations and aching muscles from uncomfortable riding positions.  I don't like forward controls.  I don't buy into the "forward controls let you stretch your legs out" nonsense.  That's fine for tooling around town while "cruising" and it looks cool, but forward controls got old fast.  Japanese "standard" motorcycles put your feet below your butt where they should be and the handlebar makes you lean forward just enough to cause the wind, at high speed, to keep you supported.  Brilliant!

I have a list of things I'm going to be doing to this Sportster in order to make it more to my liking.  Mid controls to get my feet in a more comfortable spot, a wider  handle bar for a bit more leverage and the slight forward lean of my torso, decent shocks etc.  I'm trying to make it into the KZ650 I loved so much.  It won't be, but I can get it close.  The passenger accommodations have been removed and the seat, with it's passenger pad, is going to disappear soon.  For me, motorcycling is a solitary endeavor.  I'll ride with my best friend, but that's about it.  Large group rides don't appeal to me but I have yet to participate in one of those.  Maybe I'll give that a try this summer.  I have a feeling it wouldn't be long before I started looking for the next turn so I could go out on my own.  That's just me.

I look back on my childhood and think about how I wanted a Harley and how I wanted to be a "biker".  I got the Harley and despite the things I don't like about it, I'm just happy to be back on a motorcycle again.  I haven't smiled so much or felt so happy in a long, long time.  But, I'm a motorcyclist and I'm not brand-loyal.  I wave at every rider I see because, regardless of the motorcycle, we're all out doing the same thing.  Having fun.

For Profit or For Pride?

One of my coworkers recently started asking me about woodworking stuff.  He's a single Dad and in the past couple of years his kids have gone out on their own so he's had the time and a little bit of extra money to pursue his hobbies.  One of them is woodworking.  I told him about the power tool scams, how to tell a good hand saw from a bad hand saw, some workbench design tips, a couple of hand planes to start with, how to sharpen etc.  The basic stuff.  Well, that is, what "basic stuff" is to me.

He's been using pallets as a source of material because they're free.  I do the same thing.  That's where he and I start to part ways.  He's been making what I call "flea market kitsch".  Simple projects that are pretty easy to make but don't really have any value in the grand scheme of things.  An example of what he's been doing is the "American flag" stuff.  He bought a 50 star stencil kit, edge glued some boards then painted the thing up as a faded American flag.  Which, I might add, flies in the face of the Flag code.  He brought the thing into work to show off, as I do, and he immediately sold it.  He then got a couple of requests for smaller versions to use as key hangin' boards.  I asked him "Really?  You're going to sell that kind of crap?"  He said it was easy money.  My narrow minded brain can't comprehend that sort of thing.  It's just like Ikea "furniture".  It exists only to make money and is never intended to last.  It sickens me.  The coworker brought in, yesterday, an American flag "punisher"... board, for lack of a better description.  No purpose to it other than to make money.  He's also acquired the requisite flea market business card with appropriately kitschy logo.  He's also a "sander".  I'm trying to get him to use a hand plane but he ain't budging.  Apparently he likes huge clouds of sawdust, wasted electricity, wasted time and rounded everything.  But he enjoys what he does and it makes him happy.  And that means I'm the snobbish asshole.  True story.

Before I had hand planes and decent, old saws, before I knew what "sharp" was and how to achieve it, I was just like the coworker.  I had the mindset that I couldn't make certain projects unless I had the right power tool or jig.  I measured everything and had no idea what a marking gauge was.  I had never heard of a marking knife.  I had never thought of making parts fit to other parts by simply holding up a board to another board and making a couple of tick marks.  Still, the crap I built back then was made as good as possible so it would last.  It had to be done properly.

About ten years ago I started converting to being a "hand tool" woodworker.  Once I read Christopher Schwarz's "Anarchist's Tool Chest" book, it was a done deal.  I use the table saw frequently but the router, biscuit joiner and palm sander have gone unused for years and years.  I acquired hand planes, molding planes, old saws, learned how to make the tools "shaving sharp", built a proper workbench...  It was a game changer and a revelation.  By regressing I've actually progressed and have become more independent.  With the small selection of hand planes and molding planes I have, I can create molding that can't be produced any other way.

When I build something I think about my nieces, nephews and their children.  I build things specifically for one person and never make a dime on it.  The smiles I see when I give them something is worth so much more than money.  The things I build will last long enough that generations down the road someone will ask "Where did you buy that chest with all the brass bits?" and the future relative will say something like "I think my grandpa's uncle, I heard he was kinda weird, made that for my grandpa."  That's the goal for everything that leaves my little shop.  Like most people, I'm afraid of being forgotten.  I don't have kids so all that will remain of me is what I'll leave behind.  It won't be Punisher American flags, key boards or whatever the fad was.  Remember when everything had a heart either painted on it or cut into it?

I guess I would say that I'm a woodworking (and metalworking to a lesser degree) evangelist.  Everyone wants "antiques" or what they think are "antiques" but have no clue as to why those antiques are desirable.  I try to educate people.  I show them how to tell machine made dovetails from hand cut dovetails.  Why dovetails, mortise & tenon joinery last longer than glue and screws.  I try and show them how the market is duping them into paying more for the cheap wood.  "Knotty pine" and "live edge" are just buzzwords to get you to pay more for common pine and lazy DIY sawyers, respectively.  Don't even get me started on the sliding barn door craze.  Bollocks!

My small bathroom has a built-in cabinet that was, obviously, done by a DIY person.  It's straight out of the New Yankee Workshop school of woodworking.  When I first saw the cabinet door I knew it was made by one of the previous owners of this house.  It was made with found materials, the plywood panel in the door had grain running horizontally instead of vertically *gag* and the door frame was of the stub tenon variety.  The cabinet is directly over the toilet so I looked at it frequently.  It annoyed me to no end, but, it was made by a person so I kept it as is.  Then the glue joints started to fail and the lower rail of the door came loose.  My first thought was that the person who made it did a shitty job, but then realized that it had lasted, maybe, twenty years in a damp, humid environment.  Not too bad.  But it had to go.  I was not going to repair something that I couldn't stand looking at.  So I made a new door.

Like the original, I used what I had at hand.  Poplar.  The rest of the cabinet is oak and oak-faced ply.  I had intended to paint the replacement but didn't.  Semi-gloss poly just like everything else.  Construction of the replacement door was a whole different game.  I made a new door with actual mortises and tenons.  The panel was wood, not ply, and the grain runs vertically as it should.  I also draw bored the tenons.  With that kind of construction, glue was an afterthought.  It doesn't matter how humid or wet it gets, unless the wood decomposes, that door is never going to come apart.  Unless the next owner of this house is a complete moron.

Long after I'm gone someone is going to remodel that bathroom.  If my initials and year of creation that I carved into the back of that door don't mean anything to them, it will end up in the dump and some shit Ikea-type crap will wind up in its place.  The thought of that disturbs me.  Getting rid of something decent for something that's crap, but in fashion, is what we've become as a society and we should be ashamed of ourselves.  We all can admire an old house that still has its original cabinetry and fittings but most will not think of how it survived.  Those things survived because stubborn berks like myself are not slaves to fashion and style.  Which brings me back to the coworker.

Though what he's making (for profit) is not what I consider a worthwhile investment of time, he does enjoy doing it and other people like it too.  They get something made by a real person and he gets some money.  That money is spent locally and not overseas at some massive factory that makes "fashionable" crap for Wal-Mart.  Though I can't stand the stuff, every piece of "rustic" or "heirloom" *gag* furniture that is sold at a flea market is a huge middle finger to overseas furniture farms.  Every antique that is saved and repaired says "Fuck you and your MDF 'cherry finish' crap!"  That's what I revel in.

Please, please, please learn how antique furniture is made.  Learn the signs left by the woodworkers of generations past.  Learn about the base woodworking joinery and why it works so well.  Please, don't buy commercially made crap.  Give it a go and build it yourself.  It will be worth so much more.

A Disturbingly Quick ECM Diagnosis. Really Long Story.

An RV filled to capacity with seven women (a grandma, two daughters and four grandaughters) and, I think, six small dogs, came into the shop last night.  It was a 2008 Chevy C5500 with 41,000 miles on it.  The thing still smelled new and there was no corrosion to be found anywhere except the exhaust pipes.  The RV had been well cared for and has been parked indoors during winters.  They called us saying that it was in a speed derate condition.  I think they came out of North Dakota or Minnesota and it had derated soon after departure.  A shop replaced the fuel filter and they went on their merry way.  300 miles later it derated again and that's when they showed up at our shop. 

I grabbed the work order, saw it was a C5500 and thought I had the job in the bag.  Would take a couple of hours, but I thought I would be able to get them fixed up.  One of our regular customers had a small fleet of those trucks and they all suffered, regularly, from the same problem these women were having.  After having them tell me what had happened (always talk to the drivers, shit gets messed up when the information passes from driver, to service writer, to mechanic) I scanned the thing and saw P0101 and P0102.  "This is a slam-dunk fix." I thought.  Then I saw the odometer.

The other customer (the fleet) didn't start having those DTCs and derate problems until the vehicles had well over 100,000 miles.  Those fleet trucks also idled a hell of a lot.  Someone not in the know, see the previous post, would toss a MAF sensor into the truck and call it good only to have the vehicle come back the next day with the same problem.  More parts, same problem etc.  After bashing our heads against the wall trying to figure out what was going on, we solved the problem.  The problem wasn't expected and wouldn't have been looked for, but we figured it out.  What we found with the first fleet truck was a carbon problem. 

All of the trucks in this story have the Isuzu 6.6L "Duramax" diesel engine (the LMM variety I believe).  Let me tell you, the Duramax didn't get the nickname "Dirtymax" for nothing.  They're decent engines and are reliable, but they're a real pain in the ass to work on.  Access to just about everything sucks. 

Try and follow along.  Air entry into the engine starts at the air cleaner, passes through the filter, past the MAF sensor (air intake temperature sensor and MAF sensor are one unit), through some ducting, into the turbo, out of the turbo, more ducting, through the CAC, more ducting, through the intake air valve, through the intake heater, through a small manifold where the EGR valve is also connected then finally into the engine.  Towards the end of that path is where the problems were found.

The little manifold bolts on top of the EGR valve.  The two ports which allow the exhaust gas into the fresh air intake are about 1" by 2" (25mm by 50mm) and the dirty-ass exhaust puts a LOT of carbon through those ports.  With the first fleet truck those two ports were completely blocked and the intake down into the engine was about 1/3 blocked.  I piled up all the carbon I dug out and it amounted to a ball (non-packed) of about 4" (100mm) in diameter.  Once clean and reassembled, the problem was gone.  Well, until the carbon built up again.  The next time we ran into those DTCs, a quick shove of a bore scope down the intake, a cleaning, done.  Every now and again the carbon build-up would cause the EGR valve to fail, but that was an easy test.  Use the scan tool to command the EGR valve to different positions throughout its range, a look at the values (commanded/desired position should match actual position) and if the numbers matched, EGR valve was OK.  If the numbers didn't match a new EGR valve was needed.  So, after all of that experience I thought the RV would be no different.

The RV, as mentioned earlier, only had 41,000 miles on it.  I did the EGR valve check and it was fine.  I pulled the pipe from the CAC and stuck the bore scope down the intake tract.  Sooty, slightly oily (normal) but no carbon build-up to speak of.  Exhaust wasn't restricted (air flow through the engine is the name of the game here), air cleaner was OK, ducting OK, CAC OK...  Well, I guess the diagnostic procedure had to be run through. 

I started with P0101 and not far into it a list of DTCs was given and if any of those were present they had to be dealt with first.  That's quite normal.  When faced with a number of DTCs, you pick the active DTC with the most occurrences and start there.  P0102 was one that had to be dealt with first and I then got that procedure.  I suppose I should explain diagnostic procedures.

When I was in tech school, these procedures were called flow charts because that's what they were.  Search Google for "flow chart" and you'll see what they are.  Start at the top, answer the "yes" or "no" questions (lots of testing involve in this by the way.  Voltage and resistance measurements etc.) and you'll end up with a solution.  The people who create these flow charts are really good at it, most of the time they're spot-on, but they're not infallible.  Most of the flow charts end up with one of two things.  "Replace ECM" or "Contact manufacturer".  It's very rare to get that far, especially contacting the manufacturer, but it does happen on occasion. 

ECMs are expensive.  We recently replaced an ECM in a 2006 KW that has a Caterpillar C13 and our cost for the part and it's programming (we don't have the capabilities to program Cat stuff) cost a little over $3,000.  When you're the mechanic doing the troubleshooting, you don't want to be wrong.  Replace an ECM only to have the same problem means you missed something early on.  A disappointingly large amount of mechanics don't go through EVERY step of the flow charts.  Generally speaking, if someone says an ECM is bad and they have less than an hour of diagnostic time into it, they didn't do what they should have. 

Troubleshooting start with basic stuff.  Visual inspection for corroded terminals, broken/burned wiring, missing components, damaged components etc.  A little further in and the ECM and sensor connectors will be disconnected, resistance checks done.  Those terminals and wires have to be identified and confirmed, the connectors have to be removed, wire colors or numbers identified... it takes a lot of time.  You want to be sure that the pin you stuck a meter probe into is the correct pin.  Sometimes you get to "replace ECM".  I go through the whole flow chart a second time just to be sure I didn't fuck up somewhere.  As I go through the flow chart I tick off every step I do and, if a measurement of some sort is called for, I write that down right on the chart.  If I get to "replace ECM" again, well, I guess the customer is getting some bad news.  If the second run through ends up at another solution I go through for a third time. 

The flow chart for this RV was alarmingly short.  Sometimes you run into a short one.  Scan, "Are any of these codes active yes/no", inspect intake for loose clamps... inspect exhaust for... monitor MAF sensor PID is the value within so and so?  Measure resistance at pin 2.  Is the resistance greater than five ohms?  If yes, repair circuit.  If no, replace ECM.  I was startled at how quick ECM replacement came up.  "That can't be right at all.  I missed something somewhere." I said out loud not realizing all these women were watching the whole time.  So, I ran through it a second time.  Replace ECM.  A third time wound up at the same spot.  "Ma'am, I have some news for you."

I hate telling nice people that they're going to be stuck in place for days and will be giving us a lot of their money.  I explained the fleet trucks and that their problem should be a carbon build-up problem but I wound up at ECM replacement three times.  She asked me some questions, I gave answers, she asked how much an ECM would cost and when we could get one, I paused awkwardly. 

"Well, it would probably be a couple thousand but I don't know for sure.  All the dealers are closed for the night."  Her tanned face turned white.  I then had to tell her that new ECMs are blank and required programming, programming involves programming fees, new ECM probably won't be in stock...  She asked where the nearest dealer was and I said "Just across town.  They'll probably open up at 08:00.  You're welcome to camp out in the parking lot if you choose to stay here tonight.  She went inside the RV and they all had a pow-wow.  She comes back out and says they have to be at a dog show, two states away, by 08:00 the next day. 

"What will happen if we keep going?  Will it derate again?  Will the engine be badly damaged?" she asks.  I can only say "I don't know.  The engine will most likely derate again, but I don't think the engine will be damaged.  You will be going through some not-so-nice parts of a couple of big cities though.  At night."  She then asks me what I would do.  I'm always a straight shooter with customers even if they don't want to hear what I have to say.  "I would call the dog show a bust and be at the dealer first thing in the morning.  The safety of my family would be my first concern.  You may make it just fine, but it could also go very, very wrong.  If my decision to try and 'make it through' resulted in harm to my family... I wouldn't want that on my conscience.  A dog show comes around every year, family only once." 

They had another pow-wow.  The lady came back and said they were going to try heading down the road.  "OK, I'm going to make it clear on the invoice that it was your decision to try and make it." I said.  They paid the bill, went out back to have dinner and when I looked out again they were gone. 

I hope they make it and that the dog show was worth it.

Find An Engineer

In modern terminology I'm a mechanic.  I'm not fond of that name, but it's what the general public knows me as.  In the Victorian and Edwardian eras I would have been called an "engineer" and I quite like that term.  Let me equate the mechanic/engineer divide with something you may have more experience with, the medical trades.  A modern mechanic would equate to a CNA.  A Victorian engineer would be a full-on MD.  I feel that I've earned the right to call myself an engineer.  When you consider the shop classes I've had, my time spent in tech school, the years I've worked the trade and the other related things I've studied on my own time... I'm an engineer.  The average "mechanic" these days is usually a parts replacer.  Sure, some computer stuff comes into it, but the average mechanic isn't going to understand much of it.  Connect the scan tool, see some code for some part, replace the part, didn't work... The job then goes to the older guys.  The engineers.  The guys who have bothered to learn how things actually work and why.  The parts replacers are concerned about beating book time so they can move on to the next job and beat the book time there.  It's about making money.  Concern about the actual cause of the problem and the customer are secondary. 

You've probably experienced that kind of scenario.  The "check engine light" (CEL) comes on in your car, you take it to a shop, the shop you've always gone to for oil changes and brake jobs, it's "fixed", you give them your hard-earned money and go on your merry way.  Two days later, that damned CEL comes on again.  You go back to the shop and explain your situation.  Turns out it's the same problem you had the first time 'round.  You don't get billed for the labor but you'll have to pay for some other part.  You go on your way again and... CEL comes back.  Another trip to the shop, you raise hell (rightfully so) and they promise you it will be taken care of this time.  Third time's a charm, right? 

You drop your vehicle, in the morning, for a third time.  Noon comes and you don't hear anything from the shop.  The previous two visits you had heard back from the shop around lunch time.  15:00 rolls by and you still haven't had a call back.  You call the shop for an update and get some generic explanation and are informed that your car will have to remain at the shop through the next day.  You're pissed (rightfully so) because you now have to find a way home that day and also get a ride to work the next day.  That third evening you're fuming.  You have the shop's Facebook page open and have already written a scathing review, but have yet to click the "post now" button.  You're angry, you've been in a pickle because you don't have any wheels, you think "All they have to do is hook the (it's always "the" instead of "a") computer up to it and they'll know what's wrong?"  Allow me to throw that back to you.

Let's say you're the VP of a local brewing company.  What if I told you your job just involved showing up in a company polo shirt and looking into large vats?  What if you are a network engineer and I told you your job was just moving cables from one place to another and sitting in front of a computer all day?  You would probably be thinking that I have no clue as to what your job entails and that I was an idiot for not knowing.  Well, then, don't go assuming about my job.  You may have a batch of beer that is completely wrong, you make corrections, the second batch is better but not quite right.  The stations in one part of the building may go dead, you make some tweaks and some stations start working, you make more tweaks... Your mechanic is no different.

Here's what's happening at your shop.  The first time you drop it off with a CEL complaint, the first available mechanic may (or may not) verify the CEL is on.  A scan tool of some sort gets connected (with the appropriate "connection" fee, those scan tools are expensive) and the mechanic sees some sort of codes.  The mechanic will do some quick reasoning and recommend replacing some sort of sensor/part.  The service writer calls you for approval and you, not knowing shit, approves the "repair" (which is a "most likely" kind of guess, but you don't know that) and you're picking up your car only to have the same problem a day or two later. 

The second visit to the shop, the same mechanic is going to be given the job (Yay!) and that mechanic will spend more than ten minutes "diagnosing" the problem.  Whatever part seems most relevant will get replaced.  You pick up your car, no charge for the labor but you do have to pay for the part.  A day or two later the CEL comes back on.  Same problem.  You're really pissed now.  You give the service writer a piece of you mind and leave the shop with steam coming out of your ears.  The service writer is now sick of having some raving bitch/lunatic asshole reaming them up and down, so the job is picked up and handed directly to the "old guy".  The "engineer".  The guy who spends his lunch breaks doing crossword puzzles and pondering the operation of triple expansion steam engines.  The puzzle solver.  Every decent shop has that guy.

The "old guy" has probably read a lot more books than you, the fancy-pants executive, have read.  You, the six figure executive, can't figure out why your lawn mower won't start (it's out of gas), while the "old guy" has already mowed his lawn and is reading a book about England's "Black Country".  But that doesn't matter.  You have a university education.  These mechanics are obviously not competent and you should get all of your money back.  The "old guy" disagrees, but won't tell you how much of an ass you're being.  The "old guy" will smile, tell you what he thinks the problem is and then offer to show you what he's found.  The "old guy" knows you're pissed, he's been in the business long enough to know how fucked up it is, but he wants you to be involved in the process.  He wants to show you why, and where, your money is being spent.  The "old guy" will be completely honest with you, "This is going to be really expensive..." and he'll let you make the decision.  You wonder "Why the hell didn't this guy work on my car in the first place?"

Repair shops aren't much different than other businesses.  Except for the flat rate system.  Imagine you were a building contractor and were asked to provide an estimate to put an addition on a house.  You would take the time and materials into consideration, allow a little buffer etc.  Now imagine that some organization had already made that estimate for you.  That organization said you could bill twenty hours for that addition.  You look at the house, the steep roof angle, the shitty grading and think "I can't do that in twenty hours?"  Well, welcome to the flat rate system repair shops operate under.  Times are provided for almost all automotive repairs and that's what the mechanic gets paid for.  If the job bills three hours, the mechanic gets paid for three hours.  Even if it takes him eight hours to do it.  The mechanic would lose a LOT of pay.  Conversely, if the job pays three hours and it's done in one hour, the mechanic gets paid for three hours.  It's a fucked up system that has only widened the gap between customer and mechanic.  The customer and the mechanic both want to come out ahead.  Doesn't always work that way. 

Your first visit to the shop is the mechanic rolling the dice.  Throw some parts at the problem and it may work.  Mechanic comes out ahead.  Second visit, the mechanic is trying to break even so he spends a bit more time and throws another part at it.  No good.  You're back for that third, "old guy" visit.  The shop knows you're a regular, they don't want to lose all of those money-making oil changes and brake jobs, so they appease you.  The job goes to the "old guy". 

The "old guy", the "engineer" knows that the shit has hit the fan and the problem has to be solved come hell or high water.  He bothers to take the time to actually follow the diagnostic procedures for whatever problem turned that CEL on.  It takes time to go through those procedures.  You've met the engineer, he's shown you what he's found and he's explained to you what needs to be done.  "I'll need to have your car for another day.  Is that okay?"  You may even get a call from that engineer the next day, explaining the problem he found, the repair involved and (roughly) what it will cost you.  The "old guy" will have already figured out the cost of labor (realistically, not book time) and parts so as to give you an honest answer.  You complain about the frustration of the first two visits (rightfully so) and that the problem should have been fixed the first time (think about your own job and your own success rate) and the "old guy" is just saying "yes sir/yes ma'am I understand.  Sometimes these problems aren't quite so cut and dried...."  You calm down a bit, reluctantly give approval, you don't expect anything to be different...  You pick up your car the next day, pay the bill for a few parts, a can of brake cleaner and some zip ties... but only half an hour of labor.  You know the "old guy" had to have spent more time on the job than half an hour.  What gives? 

The "old guy" had been paying attention to the job from your first visit.  He knows the younger guys are all about the money.  He knows they don't have a clue about the long-term survival for a shop.  The "old guy" bills half an hour because he knows the other mechanics should have figured shit out.  He wants you to come back.  The "old guy" knows once you've found a mechanic you "trust", regardless of whether or not they're the "cheapest" mechanic in town, you'll come back for more work. 

The "old guy" knows how things are supposed to work.  He understands how electricity works, he understands the basic physics of hydraulics (can't compress a liquid), but the "old guy" was a parts replacer at the beginning of his career.  Tech school can only teach so much.  The rest is on the individual.  The good engineers are constantly reading, constantly wondering "how does that work?" and constantly learning anything they can.  Always learning.  Sure, they have to make money.  Families need to be cared for.

You're going to go through a lot of mechanics and parts replacers before you find the "old guy" engineer, but once you find that guy, stick with him.  He may not be the cheapest, but your money will be well spent. 

Thoughts And Prayers

One thing I learned while dealing with my Dad's death back in '94 was that "I'm sorry" or "I'm sorry for your loss", when heard repeatedly, becomes meaningless.  A more modern, and meaningless, saying is some form of "Thoughts and prayers...."  I heard "I'm sorry for your loss" so many times that I resolved to never say it to anybody who has lost someone important.  During that trying time as I heard the "I'm sorry" so much I thought "Why the hell are you apologizing?"  I understand that the intention was good and, despite the saying making my skin crawl, it was appreciated.  These days, when someone has to deal with a loved one dying, Facebook is awash with the "Our thoughts and prayers are with you..."  Oh, just go and fuck your hat.  The words don't mean jack shit.  You want to support your friend when they've been knocked down?  Here's some suggestions.

Take some food to them.  Your friend and their family are going to be adrift and have temporarily lost their "normal" world.  A simple casserole taken to them as they go through the myriad of things involving funerals and such will speak volumes. 

Mow their lawn, rake their leaves, shovel the snow as the season demands.  Again, taking some task off their already overloaded minds. 

If you're only seeing the bereaved at the funeral, look them in the eye and just give them a hug.  Alternately a hand shake and pat on the shoulder.  A little bit of human interaction from someone who is "outside of the loop" will remind them that people who care are still among the living. 

Offer to help organize stuff.  "Don't worry about the flowers.  We'll load them up and bring them over to your place tomorrow."

Offer to transport people as needed. 

Just be there, hanging out in the background.  When you see the sniffles start and tears start to fall, be there with the tissues.  You see someone trying to get a phone number from a family member they haven't seen in forever... *Bam!* you're there with a pen.  The simple act of being near and making your presence known helps a lot. 

If you're not near to the bereaved, send a freakin' card.  Yes, by snail mail.  You send a card and the recipient has a tangible thing, a personal thing, to hold onto.  If you have a poignant photo of the deceased that might make the survivors smile, send it.

Your fucking "thoughts and prayers" don't do anything.  Your actions are what count.

Hull Number 401

Forgive me for geeking out in this article, but I wanted something I could direct people to when the subject comes up.

RMS Titanic.  Yes, I'm one of the "Titanic" people.  I dislike the term "Titanic Fan" as that is a rather derogatory term.  I also wouldn't call myself a Titanic "historian" because, when compared to actual historians, I don't know squat.  I also don't like the "Titanic enthusiast" term.  I'm an "armchair historian".  I read books, a lot of books and also watch any documentary (even the preposterous ones) that I can get my grubby paws on.  Despite my self-imposed "armchair historian" status, I know a lot more about Titanic than the average Joe/Jolene.  Allow me to share my background regarding Titanic.

My gateway to Titanic was not Walter Lord's book "A Night To Remember".  The spark that lit the fire was a model.  In the summer of 1982 I was about ten years old, my sister was getting married and, after the rehearsal, dinner was held at a place just outside of town.  I don't know if the place was "for hire" or if the place was owned by friends, but it was a rather nice house.  There was an indoor swimming pool at ground level and the second level, a mezzanine you might say, had some tables and a "U" shaped bar.  Along one of the walls sat a large model of this ship.  Black hull, white superstructure, four funnels...  I had been interested in ships from a very young age because my Dad had been in the Navy.  His "bluejackets manual" was one of my favorite books and still is.  Being the inquisitive child I was, I asked an adult about that model.  I was told it was the Titanic.  That model captured my attention even though I had no idea what "Titanic" was besides some ship.  After that was all said and done, I did what people used to do when they wanted to know more about something back then.  I walked downtown to the library and searched the card catalog for "Titanic".  I found one book.

I read Walter Lord's "A Night To Remember" in just a few sittings.  I just couldn't put that book down.  Once the book was finished I returned it to the library and forgot about Titanic.  Just a few years later Dr. Robert Ballard found Titanic.  The first I knew about it was from the cover of National Geographic (Dad had a subscription).  I remember holding that magazine in my hands, staring at that classic photo, almost not able to process what I was looking at.  Of course, I dove into that magazine like a boy possessed.  I hadn't realized it until that day but Titanic had its hooks in me.  I wanted more information, I craved more information.  We didn't have cable TV, we didn't have internet...  That issue of National Geographic was all I had until much, much later in life.  I did find a book in the early '90s, Charles Pellegrino's "Her Name, Titanic", which I devoured.  Now that I think of it, I should read that book again to see how it compares to what we know of Titanic now.  After the discovery of the wreck there was a bit of Titanic mania but nothing like what was to come.

I saw James Cameron's movie with my best friend in the theater while visiting, oddly enough, my Sister over Christmas break '97.  I had known a movie was coming out and was chomping at the bit to see it.  It didn't help much that the game (Mac and PC on the same discs) "Titanic: Adventure Out of Time" came out the year prior to Cameron's movie.  I played the hell out of that game.  I watched the movie, bought the VHS version as soon as it was available and revelled in the mass quantities of information that were spewing forth.  The movie, as good as it was, created a monster.  The movie created... Fans.

I believe that if James Cameron had had a free hand and unlimited resources, he would have put out the best documentary anyone would ever see.  Unfortunately, that would have been a financial disaster.  At that time, the audience for an "in theater" Titanic documentary would have been rather small.  Expeditions to the wreck are not cheap.  Before the movie "Titanic" as we now know it, and the mania that surrounds that movie, there's no way Mr. Cameron could have raised enough money to pay for an expedition to Titanic for just a "documentary".  I think Mr. Cameron, sort of, had to put the Jack and Rose love story into it just so it would sell.  And sell it did.  There is definitely a line which marks pre-movie and post-movie.

Pre-movie, if I had started talking Titanic, I would have been looked down upon as a huge dork.  Post-movie I could, pretty much, have a Titanic conversation with almost anyone and appear as if I were an expert (LOL).  The post-movie hysteria died down and the general public pretty much forgot about Titanic again.  But the historians, enthusiasts and idiots like myself kept right on with it.  The growth of the internet helped quite a bit.  Encyclopedia Titanica is my favorite website.  I urge you to visit and peruse the wealth of information available there.  The research articles are my favorite part.

One research article on Encyclopedia Titanica turned my view of Titanic on end and caused me to view that ship's story from a completely new vantage point.  That article was "Acquitting the Iceberg" by Peter Elverhoi.  That article made me realize a lot of what I considered "fact" in regards to Titanic was simply myth that has been perpetuated throughout the decades.  From that point on, I would only considered actual facts.  Things said about Titanic without proof were pure speculation.  Guesses.  This new view of Titanic led me to the documents which, to me, are the basis of what we know about the night Titanic sank.  The inquiries.

I've read the US Senate inquiry and am only 1/4 through the British inquiry.  The British inquiry seems less of a witch hunt than the US inquiry but the US inquiry started immediately after survivors reached New York.  If there was an attempt to cover anything up, it would have been weak at best.  There simply hadn't been time to organize a cover up.  The survivors were scattered, some simply vanished into America, there was no way to organize a cover up.  That being said, I think some of the crew were probably covering their butts and may have left out certain details.  They wished to remain employed after all.  Details of the disaster can vary greatly from witness to witness.  Especially times of events.  The only times I would trust are from the witnesses who expressly stated that they had taken notice of the time.  When you read the inquiries, try and forget what is currently known about Titanic.  The biggest sin a person can commit when researching Titanic is to look upon the whole thing from a modern perspective.

A person researching Titanic must be wary of the marketing wank that is spewed forth to sell stuff.  Overly dramatic "documentaries", conspiracy theories, speculative facts...  I've watched many, many documentaries.  Sometimes I learn something new, sometimes I watch an hour-long program only to realized nothing of what was said can be proven.  The things that are know about Titanic are few.

Since this article is getting to be quite long, I will continue in Part 2.  If you have any questions, please feel free to comment.  I may not respond right away, but I do check in regularly.