Howdy to all in the land of all things oily and greasy.
So, the other day I was working the land with "'D' the Mighty, (1950 Case, Model "D" tractor). We worked well together tilling the land in the newer old fashion way, (that is, not looking at the hind end of a horse but still doing something no one has done in decades).
The smell of exhaust fumes, leaking gasoline, burning oil, sweat and rich black earth blended into a perfect aroma I call "man stink." "'D' the Mighty" was hitting on all cylinders all day long, singing a steady tune bliss and happiness. From dawn to dusk we worked as one and all was right with the world. I was happy.
Sunset came too soon and with the first twinkling of the night time stars, I knew it was time for supper and rest for both myself and my mighty metal steed. Yes, it had been a good day, and was made even better by what I found on the supper table. Baked ham, collard greens, lima beans and gallons of cold sweet tea to wash it all down. Family had gathered and the table conversation was filled with fun and laughter. Both tummies and hearts were filled as we joined hands and thanked God for yet another beautiful day.
Time to put "'D' the Mighty" to bed.
I grabbed the crank and pulled the customary four times. Usually she fires on the fourth pull, but on pull four, nothing. Not a pop or bark or bang, nothing.
I check fuel. Plenty in the tank.
I check to see if I had inadvertently shut off the fuel supply.
Nope, still open.
Maybe trash in the tank bowl. Clean as a whistle.
Perhaps trash in the carb? Drained and ran clean.
Maybe the float is stuck in the carb? My magic hammer taps away but with no success.
I pull and pull on the crank until the sweat runs off my back in rivers. Nothing.
Plugs fouled maybe? Pulled plugs and all are clean and dry.
Perhaps no fuel is getting to the plugs? I remove all four plugs and squirt starting fluid in each one, replace plugs and pull with a will on the crank - not even a pop.
I stand, soaked in sweat, frustrated.
It must be the magneto. After over 60 years of firing, she must have finally given up the ghost.
It's dark, and I don't even want to disassemble the mag in the blackness of the night over the sandy soil of the grove. At the same time, I don't want to leave "'D' the Mighty out in the weather overnight. I get a tarp and carefully cover the motor and the fuel tank.
I put all my tools away, shut off the lights in the barn and head for the house. "'D' the Mighty" looks so lonely against the nighttime sky - almost frightened to spend the night unprotected. I pat her fender. "It's okay ole gal, I'll be out in the morning."
I'm at the kitchen door about to go inside when I remember, "she was hard to shut off for supper. The grounding wire was stiff and I had to hold it for longer than usual to get her to shut down . . . ."
A moment of clarity.
I walk back to the tractor, remove the tarp, light my handy dandy "Bic" lighter and look below the mag.
Sure enough, the grounding wire is still grounded solidly to the mag. I move it back a quarter of an inch, walk to the front of the tractor, grab the crank and pull once. She sputters, coughs, and roars to life.
Of all the things . . . . .
Running rich, a blue flame burned steadily from the exhaust pipe as we traveled through the darkness together. I put her to bed. "Good night old friend" She was happy. So was I.
So, the other day I was working the land with "'D' the Mighty, (1950 Case, Model "D" tractor). We worked well together tilling the land in the newer old fashion way, (that is, not looking at the hind end of a horse but still doing something no one has done in decades).
The smell of exhaust fumes, leaking gasoline, burning oil, sweat and rich black earth blended into a perfect aroma I call "man stink." "'D' the Mighty" was hitting on all cylinders all day long, singing a steady tune bliss and happiness. From dawn to dusk we worked as one and all was right with the world. I was happy.
Sunset came too soon and with the first twinkling of the night time stars, I knew it was time for supper and rest for both myself and my mighty metal steed. Yes, it had been a good day, and was made even better by what I found on the supper table. Baked ham, collard greens, lima beans and gallons of cold sweet tea to wash it all down. Family had gathered and the table conversation was filled with fun and laughter. Both tummies and hearts were filled as we joined hands and thanked God for yet another beautiful day.
Time to put "'D' the Mighty" to bed.
I grabbed the crank and pulled the customary four times. Usually she fires on the fourth pull, but on pull four, nothing. Not a pop or bark or bang, nothing.
I check fuel. Plenty in the tank.
I check to see if I had inadvertently shut off the fuel supply.
Nope, still open.
Maybe trash in the tank bowl. Clean as a whistle.
Perhaps trash in the carb? Drained and ran clean.
Maybe the float is stuck in the carb? My magic hammer taps away but with no success.
I pull and pull on the crank until the sweat runs off my back in rivers. Nothing.
Plugs fouled maybe? Pulled plugs and all are clean and dry.
Perhaps no fuel is getting to the plugs? I remove all four plugs and squirt starting fluid in each one, replace plugs and pull with a will on the crank - not even a pop.
I stand, soaked in sweat, frustrated.
It must be the magneto. After over 60 years of firing, she must have finally given up the ghost.
It's dark, and I don't even want to disassemble the mag in the blackness of the night over the sandy soil of the grove. At the same time, I don't want to leave "'D' the Mighty out in the weather overnight. I get a tarp and carefully cover the motor and the fuel tank.
I put all my tools away, shut off the lights in the barn and head for the house. "'D' the Mighty" looks so lonely against the nighttime sky - almost frightened to spend the night unprotected. I pat her fender. "It's okay ole gal, I'll be out in the morning."
I'm at the kitchen door about to go inside when I remember, "she was hard to shut off for supper. The grounding wire was stiff and I had to hold it for longer than usual to get her to shut down . . . ."
A moment of clarity.
I walk back to the tractor, remove the tarp, light my handy dandy "Bic" lighter and look below the mag.
Sure enough, the grounding wire is still grounded solidly to the mag. I move it back a quarter of an inch, walk to the front of the tractor, grab the crank and pull once. She sputters, coughs, and roars to life.
Of all the things . . . . .
Running rich, a blue flame burned steadily from the exhaust pipe as we traveled through the darkness together. I put her to bed. "Good night old friend" She was happy. So was I.
