Drum Brakes are Terrible. Terrible I Tell You.

A few days ago Scott decided that he wanted to get ready to bleed the breaks on the truck since we had already given our blood sweat and tears to replace the break lines. So he got ready to go out into winter while I made a few excuses to stay inside until the last possible second. Luckily for my staying inside as long as possible plan, Scott came back inside about twenty minutes later and announced that he had snapped off one of the bleeder valves and the rest of them were stuck.

Now for those of you who don't understand what all that gibberish underneath your car is, bleeder valves are these little thingamajigs that when unscrewed a little bit shoot break fluid out of them like a leaky sink. Which allows you to get the air out of the break system. Because if you don't get all the air out of the break lines you'll die.

So no pressure or anything.

So of course when you snap the fucking thing off two things happen. One break fluid oozes out and two, you get fucked. I mean like really fucked.

Not just regular fucked.

Because that thing that the bleeder valve connects too, now you have to replace that too. Because nothing is ever easy. Anyway, instead of bleeding the break, we now had to put the truck up on blocks like this is the country and pull the break assembly apart.

Oh joy of joys.

So we trooped outside and I gathered up cinder blocks and bits of boards and other shit that one needs to properly place a vehicle up on blocks in the lawn while Scott broke the tire loose and jacked the truck up. Mainly because I can't be trusted with Jacks. Things happened man. Things happened. Things.

Anyway we pull the tire off and find that the bleeder valves on an 85 Chevy are on the caliper. Which if you recall is the part I think I could replace in my sleep if I had too. Pleased we pulled the calipers off the two front tires like the caliper wizards we are. I decided not to compose a spur of the moment song about Caliper Wizards because Scott does not understand my innate musical talent* and we moved on to the back tires.

Which is when Scott told me that the rear tires have drum breaks and everything went to hell from there. This was my first time seeing drum breaks. They sucked. Like really. Like someone who loves Steampunk had decided to make some fucking breaks. So the break part, the break pad if you will sits inside this fucking circle and when you hit the breaks the pad shoves into the inside of the circle and stops the truck. Or something like that. I am not really sure. What I am sure about is that getting all those bits apart is super shitty.

Like really shitty.

So we pull the large circle thing off, and then we discover the pad bits are held on with springs. Springs that wanted to stay where they are thank you very much. So we fought the damn springs off and then tried to get the thing the bleeder valve was on removed and then we came to the conclusion that that thing was part of the axle somehow.

Which if you are following along at home, means we are like, what are we up to now? Double fucked? Triple fucked? I'm not really sure how fucks compile. I mean this was never really covered in math class. Although it damn well should have been.

Back to the point, it was getting kinda dark because winter plus mountains plus living under a ridge equals a four thirty sunset so we gave up, pushed the tires under the truck cleaned up our tools and went to go eat meat from the crazy meat van.

Hooker Meat. **

*This is a lie. I have no musical ability whatsoever. At all. None. Zippo. Nada. Nothing. Just to clear that up.

** Probably.

Removing the Water Pump.

So, in order not to have to heat the second mobile home we are using for storage- because holy hell sweet Jesus motherfuckers have you seen the price of fuel oil this year- we had to cut the water off to it. Now considering the sewage is busted and the sinks don't drain this was an easy decision to make, except for one thing.

We were going to have to remove the water pump.

Which is located under the trailer.

You know. The like three foot crawl space under the place that is covered mold, ripped up fiberglass insulation (for all your itching needs), and seems to be permanently damp. That place. Yeah. We prepared to crawl under there the way some people prepare to detox crime scenes. We had head lamps and dust masks and flashlights and long sleeved shirts and pliers and mallets and safety glasses.So we carefully dressed ourselves and put on our masks and shared a look of grim determination. We looked like tacky space aliens that had come to earth to explore the hu-man things called tourist traps.

Which is of course when the UPS guy would show up.

Dignity, we has it.*

So with our proverbial loins girded, we gathered our tools and removed the skirting and stared into the gaping black maw of the beast. Now to make things even more fun, I had shut off the main water valve some time ago, except that we weren't completely sure that it had worked. Fully. So we were hoping that we wouldn't be hammering on the cut off valve while water spewed at us.

Crawling under the thing was an adventure. First off it's a damn good thing I don't appear to have a problem with tight spaces or haunted houses, because this was a combination of both.

And not in a good way.

First off you had to crawl. There was enough space between the floor beams that you could kneel in some spots, but for the most part, you had to crawl. Ripped up bright pink insulation hung down across out path like itchy spider webs and all of the other stuff we had covered the pump with like bubble wrap and insulated wrap was laying around in heaps. It also didn't help that the metal beams under the trailer kept grabbing my hair and pulling it. And everything was damp and covered in mold and it didn't pay to think about what you were laying on.

In short, it was the worst environment possible.

Anyway, we got under there and unwrapped the pump and unhooked the electric and then began to unhook the pipes leading to the tank. Except that we failed to realized that a pressurized tank has pressure and so when Scott loosened the top pipe water came shooting out motherfucking everywhere.

Yay.

Somehow I managed to back myself out of the crawlspace fast enough not to get wet, and then I started running because my brain apparently thought that the water monster was coming to kill us all. Of course Scott was soaked and had to go change his shirt while I went back under there and wrestled with the other connections on the pump. I would get a grip in the plastic pipe with the pliers and then hit them with the mallet trying to drive the pipe loose, except that everything was now soaking wet and dripping and I was laying in water, in the near darkness while my dust mask kept fogging up my glasses.

It was like all the worst bits of a horror movie, really.

So after cursing and swearing and grunting and having the pipe go absolutely nowhere Scott got pissed and hacksawed the damn pipe in two, shoved the valve into the hole by beating it in with a mallet. Meanwhile I grabbed the pump and began to pull that fucker out.

The last time we had done this, when we put in the new pump, I had remembered it being extremely difficult to pull the old pump out. But not this time. This time I flipped it onto it's side and drug it out of there before the pumping monster could show up and eat my fucking brains.

It seemed like no time at all before it was sitting calmly in the grass. The sky was as blue as I had ever remembered seeing it and the colors of the trees seemed so alive and fresh and wonderful. It was glorious. It was like being reborn after what seemed like years of being trapped in the wet darkness.

Then Scott followed me out and we resealed the hole so the pumping monster was once again contained in it's lair.

So now I have a spare water pump.

And it only cost me the memories of a life without terror!

I'll call that a win.

*Kill me.