There was this once...last year actually...I changed the brake pads on the front wheels of my truck. And I only broke two...okay three sockets, 11/16" Craftsman, before I realized I was turning the bolt in the wrong direction. Used some of that freeze-spray as well, & some other spray, Unlock This Soocker Spray...used a cheater bar...or pipe, trying to break those puppies free. And then...inspiration. Was on the passenger side and I needed to move the socket wrench forward...as I recall...not backward. So...I learned. Then...about a week two later, my rotor assembly...or is that called the caliper assembly...fell off. Course, I didn't know what happened...only knew the wheel had locked up...was only doing about 20-30 mph at the time. So...I pull over. Course it is raining, more of a rain-snow mix. Pull out the jack they hide under the seat, the various parts, assemble that, jack the front up...pull the tire off, oh, look at that...the assembly fell right off! And here I was doing my best to remove that soocker just a while back. I think what happened is that I sprayed so much of that Free This Bad Boy-Up-Spray! that whatever residue had been left managed to work the two bolts free.
You probably don't wanna know about the time I was headed down the road...just passed Bunker Hill and the old Quincy stack, the sunken dredge there on the left? Tire falls right off the truck. Scared? Oh you bet. I pull over...snow, a bit of a snowbank on side the road...get out, walk around the back of the truck. Oh, would you look at that! Tire is gone! Where'd it go? I look back up the highway, see the tire resting against the metal guardrail over the Quincy creek. Apparently when you have a flat...as I did a week month prior...with aluminum rims, one should pull out the lug-wrench and check that the lug-nuts are tight as they can loosen on aluminum rims.
You don't wanna hear about how I shot my mirror.
On the road moving from Louisiana to Georgia I encountered a few auto-related challenges. I was hauling a Jartran (think U-Haul) trailer behind me. I was 1 1/2 hours out of town in the absolute boonies when I had to pull over. I could tell I'd for some reason run out of transmission fluid. It was midnight, and I was on a road which had no overhead lights and no houses. About 100 yards directly in front of me was an open gas station. Of course I walked to it, praying they'd have transmission fluid specific for my car, at least enough to get me to the next gas station, or especially out of the boonies. The gas station had a small diner attached, outside of which was parked a huge canine. Inside the brilliantly lit gas station behind the register was an equally brilliant white wall with two shelves. On one was one quart of transmission fluid for Chryslers. On the other were about 12 quarts of it for Fords. I was driving a Ford Custom 500. There were no other products of any kind in the gas station (I prayed for the Chrysler person). I bought a load of transmission fluid and, after glancing at the dog, walked back to the car.
I put enough fluid in the transmission to get me back to the gas station, where I planned to examine the car using the benefit of eyes. I parked in the diner's parking lot near the road but close enough to the lights to hopefully be able to see under the car. I couldn't, so miraculously found a small flashlight. Before I left Louisiana I'd had the radiator replaced, and when they were finished they'd apparently located too close to one of the engine's flywheels a copper tube which conducted transmission fluid. The tube was sawn halfway thru. I also noticed rubber tubing which connected one copper tube to the damaged one with clamps.
Back then I used to carry certain tools, apparently as a result of having been raised by a man who didn't want his only son to die in a Louisiana boonie, eaten by a strange, huge canine, or worse. Inside the car found my pliers and my Schrade folding knife and back down I slid. Then I remembered I only had two hands. I tried holding the flashlight between my teeth while I worked, but it wasn't one of those flashlights. So, with the flashlight's help I memorized what I needed to do, put the flashlight down, and broke the copper tubing in half where it was damaged, then with the flashlight looked again, to determine where on the aforementioned rubber tubing to cut.
I put the flashlight back down and thought a bit about whether or not there was enough extra rubber tubing to reach. Meanwhile, I turned my head toward the restaurant lights, as they were reminiscent of the hope I'd felt when I first had to interrupt my detailed plans at midnight in Louisiana boonies, to see the dog, unleashed, approaching my car. I thought of my cat - sorry, I forgot to mention I was bringing my cat. I knew I'd made sure she didn't get out when I went for the flashlight, or the tools; anyway, I'd felt relatively sure she had no desire to go anywhere because she'd noticed the dog herself.
I wondered if the dog's owner would make an appearance, and whether or not I should want it. I decided to see if I could get the job done, adrenaline having become a factor, I think, because I suddenly realized sure enough there was enough rubber tubing to get the hell out of here. Using the pliers I loosened the clamp and let the wasted copper fall, then slid the rubber over the remaining end, and clamped it. All by memory - I couldn't see anything, remember. I'd forgotten about the flashlight. Huge canines have that effect on some humans. I climbed out, checked on the cat whose eyes seemed to say "Really?", put a couple more quarts of fluid in the transmission, and drove away as if nothing had ever happened.
