Previously posted..
Not a Rambler or a ScampWho cares that it was an old car. It suited my needs. I enjoyed the idea of an engine so wide open you could climb right in-not knowing this would come in handy later. It was a Slant 6. A Valiant. Not a
Rambler or a or a Scamp. It didn't hurt that guys liked to talk to me about my car or that it often stalled in the rain. After all, I had me some jumper cables.
It had an immaculate white vinyl back seat. It was perfect. Big windows and little side ones that pivoted open. You know the ones they don't make anymore. I had ideas about that car that involved the open road, my left arm on the window sill, my right hand gripping the top of the steering wheel and the straight yellow dotted line stretched out in front like an giant line of bread crumbs leading home. Well, I had other plans than just that. I named it Rose because it was green and thought about maybe switching the front bucket seats to a bench and getting a '
necker knob' for kicks.
On one sunny Saturday morning, with a bag of banana chips, a bottle of water, and a pocket full of optimism, I got to the US border and found fluid was spitting and steaming from behind the front grill. A bulging seam on the radiator head gasket squeezed steam slowly while 2 border guards looked at me sceptically. The puddle beneath my car said there were surely problems on the way but, me and that back seat, and the shitty radiator were waved on and off I went down the road headed for Seattle and beyond..
Blow that seam Open
I'll tell you that open road was there. And an adventure unbeknown st to me was unveiling. Sensing a situation on my hands, I pulled off the I-5 outside of Everett, Washington. I knew there was a problem on my hands with the damn radiator. I pulled into a shop and they were just closing. The hissing from the front of my car was scary. I didn't know what to do.
I saw another shop and wearily asked if i could use the phone. I was due in Portland to see my dad. I phoned him up and told him what was happening. I was stressed, scared and exasperated. "I'm not coming to get you." was the voice on the other end of the line telling me- you're on your own. And I was- on my own with a car older than me, a major engine issue and not much else.
Tears streaming down my face, the man in the shop said "what's your problem?". " I have a busted rad in my old Valiant and no one is open." "Why dontcha take it on down the road a few blokes to such and such a shop- they're open late." And that's what I did. I pulled up, jumped out of my funny little adventure that was kicking me in the shins and put on my best charming smile and explained that i had a "little problem".
"Oh sure- that's nothing. They dropped a 'stop-leak' in the rad and soldered the seam. "Can I get to Portland?" "Sure, just take it easy- you don't want to blow that seam open." They charged me $25 bucks and said good luck.
I was back on the road and hopefully this adventure was going to turn around. My banana chips had been cashed in and there was a hole in my pocket of optimism. At 65 mph down the I-5, south of Seattle, the window in the 32 year old car dropped off it's crank, and I felt the wind in my face and it's not what I thought it would be.
At midnight I arrived. I had started off at 6 and those 12 hrs tested my guile, courage, and faith in humanity.Me and my radiator had been pushed to the limits. I knew the road back was going to be difficult and possibly a severely poor choice if I didn't get a new one. And I'll tell you.. finding Fran's
Able Radiator 5 minutes up the road was a unusual coincidence.
6 Bolts and 2 Hose Clamps LaterI drove my car in the front gate. It was an open yard covered with patchy brown grass. To the left was an open shed full of torn apart cars and parts. To the right was a small white house that was rundown. I suspected it doubled as an office. The area was sealed off by a chain link fence that circled the perimeter. 2 mangy mutt dogs roamed within the compound.
Fran was a robust woman in her 40's. She had a big head with dusty grey blond curls. She wore a phone headset, a greasy baseball cap, and a pair of navy blue overalls. A cell phone rode her hip like a gun holster. She looked me up and down.
"So you're Canadian. I like Canadians. Once I had one let me across the border with my trailer even though I didn't have the permit." She talked about us like we were a cut of meat she might find at the butcher- on a good day.
I needed a radiator and she had one to sell me.
"I won't charge you any labor if you do it yourself."
With no idea what I was getting into whatsoever, I said OK.
A acquisitive look crossed her face. Her eyes squinted at me from behind greasy spectacles.
"Do you have tools?"
"no." lower case n. -shit. I didn't have a clue let alone tools.
"OK, I'll show you." And Fran fetched a wrench and a pail. She gave me a 5 minute lesson in replacing a radiator and walked away.
6 bolts and 2 hose clamps later, I knew this car and I were going to go a long way.
My father came into the lot when I was almost done and proudly I told him what I had done.
To my chagrin, he didn't seem very impressed. But I was. Me and that car- we were going to be fine and we were going to go far.
