Yes. We did it. And by we a mean mostly
Scott. And my Uncle. I just handed them tools and cleaned grounds and
provided an extra pair of hands*.
The first day was spent removing the
old wiring harness and putting in the new. That was exciting. I will
point out that Scott's idea of labeling every single wire was the
best idea ever in the whole history of ever. There was no guessing.
However I have to point out that without my Uncle we wouldn't have
known what half those fuckers were in the first place.
I will also take this moment to point
out that disassembling the steering column is probably a form of
torture in several less civilized parts of the world. Even worse, of
course, was putting the damn thing back together.
Let me explain.
There is this, trapezoid thing that
makes the car start when you turn the key. No I don't know what it's
called. It has no name. It deserves no name. It sits on the steering
column and connects to this line that runs from the key. So when you
turn the key it flips a switch in this box and the car starts. Except
it's a sweet bitch to get in.
Which we did at least four times.
I put it in and took it out, Scott put
it in and took it out, and it wouldn't work. We poked at it and
tested the wires and criticized each others
putting-the-damn-thing-in-technique. Every time we would take it out
Scott would grab it and do arcane things to the switch while
muttering. By the end of it he was hunched over the switch like
Golum, muttering the dark litany “ accessories, lock, start, run.”
It took us a while to realize that that
it was wired backwards.
Because that's what you get when you
use second hand wiring harnesses. So we pushed and shoved and cursed
and still managed to get the wheel back on slightly crooked but fuck
it who cares, until at last we had everything wired up. Everything
was where it should be. Most of the crazy wiring from the former
owner was gone, replaced by this new beautiful and clean wiring
harness. Flushed with success we connected the battery and flipped
the lights on.
Nothing happened.
Well fuck. We tried everything. We
replaced the switch, we replaced a bulb. We cleaned the grounds and
traced wires and did unfathomable things with the one working
multimeter we could find. Which in a stroke of luck I still can't
comprehend, was made specifically for automotive use. Scott bypassed
things and stuff and poked at wires and got zapped and swore and
still the lights remained dead.
So we called my uncle.
And being the saint he is, the next day
he came over with a bunch of his tools and together we begin again.
It became rapidly apparent that having my Uncle, the ex auto
mechanic, was like suddenly being given a cheat code to your fucking
car. He pointed out things that we needed, things that we did not
need, and things we could do to make it run better. I mostly watched
while they tested things and cleaned switches and cut apart the old
wiring harness and were dismayed by things and occasionally I would
bring them sockets. After some struggling and cursing and despair and
some “holy crap why is this HAPPENING!?” We found the problem in
one blinding beautiful moment of understanding that was as clear and
clean as water from a deep, cool, well.
It was a bad bright switch.
You know, that thing that I did not
even know that cars had. That thing. It was bad. So then we had to
drive around to all the auto parts stores in town. There are four in
our tiny, tiny ass town and none of them had the part. So we
undertook the great journey to the other town where we pulled into
the store and saw that what looked like redneck town had set up a
shanty village in the grassy area before the auto parts store only to
realize it was a massive yard sale. It was ceramic ducks and baby
clothes and Nascar blankets as far as the eye could see. No I didn't
get any pictures. I might not have come back out alive.
But they had the part!
We drove home like the motherfucking
champions that we were and installed the part. With me standing in
front of the truck Scott installed the damn thing and flipped on the
switch.
The lights came on.
You would think that seeing the giant
square lights of on old truck flare into their typical reedy life
from deep within the grill would not be a very inspiring sight. But
it was. It was like when you see rain coming from a long way off over
the earth and you stand and wait for the wall of cold droplets to hit
you and the rain comes over you like a sheet and you feel a joy mixed
with awe at the sheer endless scale of the world. It was like
the moment when you watch the sun come up in the mountains or over a
lake and the sky gets lighter and lighter and a tightness forms in
your gut for reasons you don't understand and then the first edge of
the sun comes over the world and you feel a chilly sense of wonder
and think how small and yet wonderful this whole thing called life
really is.
That is what I felt when those
headlights came on.
Pure.
Undiluted.
Joy.
It is these moments we keep close,
gentle readers.
It is these moments.
*A very invaluable service when the two
mechanics are doing some sort of twisted car yoga under the dash,
