The purpose of my life is to serve as a warning for others.
I spent the day today trimming various out of control green growing things back to where the wife wanted; assisting my teenage son in various other yard chores; attending to the never-ending home brew fuel system needs; making an attempt at building a box blade drag to keep my gravel driveway looking reasonable (which at the moment, it doesn’t!… too much vegetation and too many big gouges from where I play pseudo-WRC driver doing fun handbrake turns in the Jetta {sssshhh, don’t tell the wife!})
After all was done, I grabbed my youngest son, hopped in the Jag and went into town to the Burger King where the “car guys” hang out on Saturday evenings for an impromptu show n’ shine and general BS session. There is a very nice couple with a Nash-Healey that is fun to talk to, and I met a guy restoring a 1951 (Plymouth or Pontiac… I can’t recall) with a straight-eight side valve engine… hope to see it next week. Anyway, once done there I asked my son if we should swing by the airport and check on the Arlington Fly-In. As we’re about halfway between the BK and the Airport my instinct tells me “something is wrong”… I can hear a knocking sort of rattle, and give the car a sort of once-over look – the temp gauge is rising fast, and the car is starting to overheat. whaaaaa?? This car *never* has cooling problems!!
I immediately pull over and have a look. Sure enough, it is puking coolant via the overflow. Sigh. I run the fan and let it cool down for a while, and start making my way home. My instinct is to get it off the road and into the garage at home to have a look and see what is going on. Every time the temp gauge exceeds 100°C, I pull over and let it cool off. Thankfully I’m not too far from home… maybe 6 miles. The second time we stop, it is at a gas station so I buy a gallon of distilled water to replace what has boiled off. I call home and let them know we will be late. Once it cools I open the tank and pour the water in – it takes about half of the bottle. Nick & I play some turn-based games on my Treo phone to keep ourselves entertained. Take another run and get “almost” there. Maybe two miles now. This time we’re parked along SR 530 with a nice view of Three Fingers Mountain and a rising waxing moon. It is starting to get dark. Nick is trying to catch moths and I’m keeping myself entertained by removing the legend from my dash and inserting the metal strip that goes in between (I found it in the boot under the spare a few weeks ago at the slalom in Vancouver.) It is dark enough that I need a flashlight to do the job. After that is done, I take the flashlight and have a look under the bonnet and what catches my eye but a BRIGHT SHINY pulley at the front of the alternator.
D’oh!
I slap my forehead, and yell to Nick to tell him that his father is an idiot. Run to the boot and grab a spare V-belt (which drives the alternator & the water pump) and a wrench and tell him to come hold the light for his dumbkopf Dad. Less than a minute later the belt is back on and the car fires right up and we’re on our way home – temp gauge looking exceedingly normal again.
I really need to get that “I’m with stupid” shirt, with the arrow pointing up at my face. =P
On the bright side, my old belt was obviously near the end of it’s life, as the new one has the alternator much father away from the frame rail.
I have no idea where it came off… we never heard anything unusual. Weird.
Time to order another one I guess.