I went out to add some oil to the van, as the oil light came on briefly Thursday morning, telling me it was time. It wasn’t dark yet, and not raining, might as well, and add some coolant. I did those two things and thought I might take a few minutes to investigate the causes for the deficiencies, rather than just treat the symptoms. I tightened some hose clamps on the cooling lines, and noticed a missing nut on the valve cover, and leakage from the cover. Hmm. Maybe this is the reason I’m adding oil. I go into my shed and build a fire, like I am wont to do on chilly eves, and look around for the bucket of 6mm metric nuts and bolts.
After about half an hour, I sort through the clutter, finding things, noting their locations that I’d forgotten. Eventually, on the workbench, I find the can with the 6mm nuts. I go back outside, it’s dark now, and with a flashlight in one hand and a ratchet in the other, tighten down the nut, one of eight that hold down the valve cover. I torque it down to approximately 15 foot pounds, then go around to the other seven nuts and check them. Getting at one of these involves removing the air cleaner assembly top. Surprise, no air cleaner!
How long has this been going on? I wonder, remembering the times I’d driven the van on dusty dirt roads to the river in the summer, not good. Well, since it wasn’t raining, I decided to take the bike to the parts store and get an air cleaner, so I could forget about it. I have enough lingering items on the “to-do” list and it would be nice to not add another. I get the bike out of the back yard, curse at the dog (so he knows I’m not playing around) as I tell him to “get back” while I roll out the bike. I am not in the mood to play, as I had to chase him already down by the river when he wasn’t listening for me to come in. All this time away at Do’M’rie’s has made him a little independent, it seems.
Rolling the bike out, starting it up, warming the noisy thing up for a minute, remembering the tires are bald and the road covered in places with slick maple leaves, I search for my leathers. In a minute more I’m off. Four miles of twisty road, then a mile on the road to town, then ten more down Highway Two. Into the parking lot. I tell the kid inside what I want, after I greet the pretty young girl who greets me at the counter. The kid has the air cleaner. While I’m there I decide to price a lift pump for the Chevy. Twenty bucks, he tells me. Last time I was there they quoted me over a hundred. “Are you sure? For a diesel?”
“I think so, let me double check.”
He does so then goes back to get the pump, because I want to see it. It looks kind of like mine, if it’s wrong, I can take it back. If it works, I just solved another problem, and can get rid of the electric pump I installed that requires a separate filter to protect it. I find myself getting nervous, tight in the chest. It’s just anxiety I tell myself. That helps a little, but the longer the kid takes looking for the pump, the more I want to leave.
He comes out, asks the pretty girl where the damn fuel pumps are. She goes back and shows him, when she comes out, smiles at me and rolls her eyes, as if to say, “New guys!” or maybe “Boys! How stupid!”. Maybe it’s my imagination. I just looked at the key fobs while waiting, one of them said “Girls are smarter” or something. I wish the kid would hurry up. The old dialogue is starting.
“Does my chest hurt? It feels tight.”
“No, it’s just the same feeling you’ve had off and on for years, it’s anxiety, get over it.”
“One of these days I’m going to have a heart-attack, I’m not getting any younger.”
“Well it’s a good thing you’re by the hospital, then, isn’t it.”
Finally, the kid comes out, shows me the pump. It looks good, I say. I want to leave. He says, “Hmmm, wasn’t that a ‘B’ number I read? Let me double check.” He goes back for a few more minutes and my internal dialogue resumes. I tell myself to shut up and relax. I do what I always do when I feel this way, I yawn. It calms me down some. The kid comes back with a different pump that looks just like the first one. Maybe the throw on the lever was different. I take it and the pretty girl says, “Are you ready?”
“Yup.”
“OK, nope, back up you went to far. This counter.”
“OK.”
“Twenty nine ninety-five.”
“OK.”
“Do you want the big five cents back?”
“You bet.”
“OK.”
She hands me five dollars and five cents.
“Umm, how about a ten?” I show her the five, she realizes her mistake. The “new guy” is the one grinning and rolling his eyes now. I take the money and leave.
I get on the bike and make a U-ey and head back, doing the limit as I pass a local cop. Geez, that’s a lucky break, I thought. I get to the last light in town and when it turns green stall the bike then hit the starter and get it going. Hmmm. I’m a little off, I think. About a mile down the road I feel a sharp pain in my chest, not big, but sharper than indigestion. I’m getting old, I tell myself, and it’s a muscle. The fuel pump is in my jacket, a big cube, and it makes a gap in the bottom that the cold air gets in, and my chest tightens up. I think about it. Is it the icy grip of death? I imagine a big clawed black furry demon’s hand wrapped loosely around my chest, waiting for the time to squeeze the life out of me. Tonight?
How melodramatic. It’s nothing, but cold air, and it’s ok. It’s kind of nice, I tell myself, as the cars in the other lane come towards me at sixty-five. It’s not raining, that’s good. I’m lucky. I get to fix two cars and ride my bike in November. That’s a break. Still, it will be good to get home and warm up in my safe little house. Maybe I’ll double up on my anti-depressant. The doctor said I can take “one or two” and I’ve been taking one. Maybe it’s time to take two. How long have I been dealing with this? Why am I afraid? Of what? Dying?
I remember Do’M’rie surprising me by having my son hide in the shower last night, pretending she didn’t know he was there, when I heard a male voice, then acting all innocent, like, “voice? What voice?” as if she was hiding another man. Then I remembered how she and Mike got along, punching each other in the shoulder and sparring. If I die now, Mike will have someone in his life to help him. She’s really great with teenagers. They can split up my stuff and not fight over it. If I have to die, I’m glad I made it this far, and have a wife and a son that should be old enough to take care of himself and a tiny bit of life insurance. Why be afraid? No, this isn’t a bad time, and it has to happen some day. I should call my brother and have him make up a will for me. After I get rid of my junk. Yeah, like that’s gonna happen soon.
I get into Sultan, turn onto the road where the hit and run driver killed that homeless woman a month ago, then back onto the twisty road home. I remember the maple leaves and the bald tires. I dim my headlight when cars approach. I get into the ‘hood. I go to the first stop sign, then through it. Halfway down the block a black dog jumps out and nips at my heel. My reflexes take over and I kick him in the shoulder. Surprised, he stops and watch me drive on with a final bark, as if to say “Oh yeah? Come back here, you.” But his heart is no longer in the chase. The backwards thrust of my leg suddenly has given me a charley horse. I’m getting old. I stand up and rock my hips side to side as I continue riding and it goes away. I’m home, Jake barks. I let him out and tell him to shut up as I open the gate, or “I’ll kick you like I kicked that other...”
He wags his tail, lovingly as I put the bike away, pees on his bush and we go in, with our car parts.
I feel like a prehistoric man back from a hunting trip, with my game, after dodging the dangers, safe in my cave, still alive, for now, with my beastly companion and the committee in my head, my friends. Back at home amongst friends after venturing out to get my needs. Really, it was just a ride into town. I make things so melodramatic, some times.
I get home and write it all down, post it, check my email. Do'M'rie wonders where the heck I've been. I paste the story onto my email reply, but first I add that the "pretty girl" was no where near as pretty as her. I've had enough drama for one night. I feel better. Maybe I'll go thirty miles to Do'M'rie's. I'll take the van, after I put in the air cleaner.
Good story. I feel like I'm right there with you. Lots of detailed descriptions. Not melodramatic just typical guy meanderings. What woman could understand tools and car parts? Thanks for the realism--it's really kinda entertaining.
