Arkie John
Active member
In March of 1972, Queen No. 1 (my first wife) and I found ourselves traveling back across the desert, heading for Arkansas for the last time. Our trek with the US Navy was finally over and we looked so forward to beginning our lives again--right where we left off.
The car was packed to the max and we both felt like sardines, but it didn't matter. We were headed for home!
It was a lonely, still, cool night on the desert. Not much traffic, as I recall. We made good time passing first one little town and then another, most of which had seen their better days. We were so excited to leave California that we decided to drive the 1870 miles straight through--all in one shot. Hopefully without car trouble, we could be there before the sun rose the third time.
All was well and as we traversed the star-lit desert night, I'd see a range of mountains to the east and ask Pat, "How far do you think those hills are?" "Five hundred miles," she'd say, almost every time, invoking a laugh from me. "Gimme a break, you can't SEE 500 miles because of the curvature of the earth and the like." She finally would say, "OK, how about 100 miles?" "Too much smog; cut it some more." "How about 50 miles?" "We'll see." I'd look at the odometer and note the mileage. It was like playing Price is Right--whoever was closest without going over won the braggin' rights. Hey! It passed the time away--especially on the lonely desert part of the trip.
Late into the evening we cruised into a rest area to do our thang and just to stretch. There I saw a medium-sized motor home and an elderly couple--probably in their 50's or 60's
(remember, we were 24--everybody was old over 30). They looked a little strung out over something. I kept eyeing them out of the corner of my eye and finally figured out they were having car trouble. After Pat and I did our business, I went over to them and introduced myself. They liked young people and we engaged in an initial conversation that lasted a while.
They were having trouble alright. Here they were with this motor home out in the middle of the desert and no one around for a couple hundred miles and the thing would not start. Now, I don't know much about vehicle mechanics but I have rebuilt a couple of engines with help and knew a little bit as to why things might or might not run. Pat went inside of the motor home with the lady to get out of the desert cold and us men did out thang under the hood. This guy, turns out didn't know squat about mechanics and had no inkling as to why it wouldn't start. We checked all the possibles; enough fuel; check; air filter clogged up; nope; plug wires all attached; check. Coil wire attached? check. Everything looked okay. Nothing was obvious.
I took some fuel and carefully injected some down the thoat of the carb. "Start 'er up," I said with all the confidence I could muster. Ya, ya,ya,ya,ya,ya ya yawwww. "Okay, sir, it just not getting fire." "What?", he said. "I'll be back." I went over to the car and off-loaded about half of what we had in the car until I came to my tool box. In the tool box was a cloth roll and a brought it back to the motor home and climbed up on the front bumper. I unrolled the cloth roll and that exposed a bunch of different medical instruments, each having their own little pocket. "I medical student, huh?" he asked. "No sir, I was a medic and dental technician and these are the results of my very unappreciated labors from the US Navy." "Oh, well what are you gonna do?" "Operate." The guy looked at me and blinked like a toad frog in a hail storm and figured that he had run out of options. So I continued.
I popped the rotor cap and rotor off the distributor, as he held the flashlight I asked the old lady crank the engine. I could see the problem. I had never encountered it before. This was going to require some afro-engineering if I ever saw it! Hmmm.
The entire plate the points were mounted onto was just wallowing around inside the distributor. Every time the spindle that held the rotor on rotated around, the cam on one side of the spindle (the part that usually opens and closes the points) just forced the whole plate to move and the points would not open.
At least the problem was identified. Now I have to solve it. Otherwise these old folks may be here for a day or so and facing an expensive tow and mechanical bill. I went back to the car and my tool box. As luck would have it, I found a packet of 5-minute epoxy, a knife and a blow torch. I came back to the rig with that knife and the other goodies. The old guy just made some small talk about touring Mexico and how they had had no trouble with the motor home until now...and how lucky they were that Queen No. 1 and I had come by. Now, we STILL had not got that nice-lookin' motor home to runnin' you see, but they knew they were going to be camping out there for a while if we didn't get it going. I prayed to God that my plan might just work.
I went out into the desert night for a few minutes and came back with a stick about an inch around and about 8 inches long. "What's THAT for?" "Afro-engineerin'" I said--"a 'field expedient,' in other words. Just watch. I whittled a couple of small wedges from the wood and placed them strategically between the outer wall of the distributor and the plate that held the points, at just the right angle. I pressed them securely into place, for the time being, reassembled the distributor and asked the lady to crank it again. I was pretty confident so we backed out of the engine compartment and cleared the tools. Sure enough, it roared to life, much to the hootin and hollering of every one, present into the Arizona desert night. Son did we celebrate for about five minutes.
"We're not through, sir." Whatdayamean we're not through?" "Well, that mess I just put in there will not last five miles down the road. Hold the light, kill the engine and lets fix it so the wedges won't move." "Okay," he said without hesitation.
I took the epoxy and mixed up a liberal share of it on a piece of cardboard from the parking lot. I popped open the distributor again and disassembled as much as I needed and buddy, let me tell you, I expoxied the HECK out of that plate, and the wedges all together to the wall of the distributor. It was cold by now and epoxy needed 70 degree F weather to cure. That's where the torch came in. I lit it up and in about twenty minutes the five-minute epoxy was rock hard. Under the glaze of epoxy you could see the wooden afro-engineered wedges, all solidly in place. I reassembled the distributor for the last time and it roared to life once again.
We had us a BIG time right there in the desert that night--nothin' but us and the coyotes in the area a hundred miles.
I told the old guy that I thought it would last him until he got to civilization but if it didn't--he interrupted with--"and if it DOES quit I know how to FIX it!!!" Yes sir, you do!! We both washed up in the rest area bathroom and when I came out, Pat and the old lady came out the main door of the motor home. "Look John what they GAVE us!!!" "Sir, we don't want anything, we're just glad we could be of help." "Nonsense, young man, it' ain't much but this platter came from down in Mexico and we would just LOVE for you to have it as a small token of our appreciation!"
Well, we DID finally take it, not to rob them of their blessing, and we parted ways, us going east and them going west...like two ships passing in the night. Looking back on that incident we all four were enrichened by the event. It was a special time and I have often thought of how little mechanical ability I truly have. It just happened that their problem was evident to a young ex-sailor and his wife, headed back to beautiful Arkansas. As we each drove our separate ways, I know we all thought the experience was something very special. For miles and miles Pat told me of the stories the old lady had told her of ...their travels after retiring and getting the kids grown. We could not relate really--in the least, back then being in our early twenties, you see.
It's funny how those things come back at you as I now am closing on retirement. Somehow, my perspective has changed over the years. I think it has to go with an abundance of grey hair! Thanks so much for coming along and holding the light.
Arkie John <><
The car was packed to the max and we both felt like sardines, but it didn't matter. We were headed for home!
It was a lonely, still, cool night on the desert. Not much traffic, as I recall. We made good time passing first one little town and then another, most of which had seen their better days. We were so excited to leave California that we decided to drive the 1870 miles straight through--all in one shot. Hopefully without car trouble, we could be there before the sun rose the third time.
All was well and as we traversed the star-lit desert night, I'd see a range of mountains to the east and ask Pat, "How far do you think those hills are?" "Five hundred miles," she'd say, almost every time, invoking a laugh from me. "Gimme a break, you can't SEE 500 miles because of the curvature of the earth and the like." She finally would say, "OK, how about 100 miles?" "Too much smog; cut it some more." "How about 50 miles?" "We'll see." I'd look at the odometer and note the mileage. It was like playing Price is Right--whoever was closest without going over won the braggin' rights. Hey! It passed the time away--especially on the lonely desert part of the trip.
Late into the evening we cruised into a rest area to do our thang and just to stretch. There I saw a medium-sized motor home and an elderly couple--probably in their 50's or 60's
(remember, we were 24--everybody was old over 30). They looked a little strung out over something. I kept eyeing them out of the corner of my eye and finally figured out they were having car trouble. After Pat and I did our business, I went over to them and introduced myself. They liked young people and we engaged in an initial conversation that lasted a while.They were having trouble alright. Here they were with this motor home out in the middle of the desert and no one around for a couple hundred miles and the thing would not start. Now, I don't know much about vehicle mechanics but I have rebuilt a couple of engines with help and knew a little bit as to why things might or might not run. Pat went inside of the motor home with the lady to get out of the desert cold and us men did out thang under the hood. This guy, turns out didn't know squat about mechanics and had no inkling as to why it wouldn't start. We checked all the possibles; enough fuel; check; air filter clogged up; nope; plug wires all attached; check. Coil wire attached? check. Everything looked okay. Nothing was obvious.
I took some fuel and carefully injected some down the thoat of the carb. "Start 'er up," I said with all the confidence I could muster. Ya, ya,ya,ya,ya,ya ya yawwww. "Okay, sir, it just not getting fire." "What?", he said. "I'll be back." I went over to the car and off-loaded about half of what we had in the car until I came to my tool box. In the tool box was a cloth roll and a brought it back to the motor home and climbed up on the front bumper. I unrolled the cloth roll and that exposed a bunch of different medical instruments, each having their own little pocket. "I medical student, huh?" he asked. "No sir, I was a medic and dental technician and these are the results of my very unappreciated labors from the US Navy." "Oh, well what are you gonna do?" "Operate." The guy looked at me and blinked like a toad frog in a hail storm and figured that he had run out of options. So I continued.
I popped the rotor cap and rotor off the distributor, as he held the flashlight I asked the old lady crank the engine. I could see the problem. I had never encountered it before. This was going to require some afro-engineering if I ever saw it! Hmmm.
The entire plate the points were mounted onto was just wallowing around inside the distributor. Every time the spindle that held the rotor on rotated around, the cam on one side of the spindle (the part that usually opens and closes the points) just forced the whole plate to move and the points would not open.
At least the problem was identified. Now I have to solve it. Otherwise these old folks may be here for a day or so and facing an expensive tow and mechanical bill. I went back to the car and my tool box. As luck would have it, I found a packet of 5-minute epoxy, a knife and a blow torch. I came back to the rig with that knife and the other goodies. The old guy just made some small talk about touring Mexico and how they had had no trouble with the motor home until now...and how lucky they were that Queen No. 1 and I had come by. Now, we STILL had not got that nice-lookin' motor home to runnin' you see, but they knew they were going to be camping out there for a while if we didn't get it going. I prayed to God that my plan might just work.
I went out into the desert night for a few minutes and came back with a stick about an inch around and about 8 inches long. "What's THAT for?" "Afro-engineerin'" I said--"a 'field expedient,' in other words. Just watch. I whittled a couple of small wedges from the wood and placed them strategically between the outer wall of the distributor and the plate that held the points, at just the right angle. I pressed them securely into place, for the time being, reassembled the distributor and asked the lady to crank it again. I was pretty confident so we backed out of the engine compartment and cleared the tools. Sure enough, it roared to life, much to the hootin and hollering of every one, present into the Arizona desert night. Son did we celebrate for about five minutes.
"We're not through, sir." Whatdayamean we're not through?" "Well, that mess I just put in there will not last five miles down the road. Hold the light, kill the engine and lets fix it so the wedges won't move." "Okay," he said without hesitation.
I took the epoxy and mixed up a liberal share of it on a piece of cardboard from the parking lot. I popped open the distributor again and disassembled as much as I needed and buddy, let me tell you, I expoxied the HECK out of that plate, and the wedges all together to the wall of the distributor. It was cold by now and epoxy needed 70 degree F weather to cure. That's where the torch came in. I lit it up and in about twenty minutes the five-minute epoxy was rock hard. Under the glaze of epoxy you could see the wooden afro-engineered wedges, all solidly in place. I reassembled the distributor for the last time and it roared to life once again.
We had us a BIG time right there in the desert that night--nothin' but us and the coyotes in the area a hundred miles.
I told the old guy that I thought it would last him until he got to civilization but if it didn't--he interrupted with--"and if it DOES quit I know how to FIX it!!!" Yes sir, you do!! We both washed up in the rest area bathroom and when I came out, Pat and the old lady came out the main door of the motor home. "Look John what they GAVE us!!!" "Sir, we don't want anything, we're just glad we could be of help." "Nonsense, young man, it' ain't much but this platter came from down in Mexico and we would just LOVE for you to have it as a small token of our appreciation!"
Well, we DID finally take it, not to rob them of their blessing, and we parted ways, us going east and them going west...like two ships passing in the night. Looking back on that incident we all four were enrichened by the event. It was a special time and I have often thought of how little mechanical ability I truly have. It just happened that their problem was evident to a young ex-sailor and his wife, headed back to beautiful Arkansas. As we each drove our separate ways, I know we all thought the experience was something very special. For miles and miles Pat told me of the stories the old lady had told her of ...their travels after retiring and getting the kids grown. We could not relate really--in the least, back then being in our early twenties, you see.
It's funny how those things come back at you as I now am closing on retirement. Somehow, my perspective has changed over the years. I think it has to go with an abundance of grey hair! Thanks so much for coming along and holding the light.
Arkie John <><
.i'd have probably just offered them a ride.my mechanical knowledge came late because the dad was always helping me.i took an engine rebuilding coarse at one of the community colleges for my own benefit,i've forgot alot but it has come in handy a few times but experience is still the best teacher.
I sometimes have to drive the point home with them until I get a solemn promise from them.