On Another Hand - Connecticut Road Trip Dec 14, 2007

ON ANOTHER HAND – DECEMBER 14, 2007

Last week’s blog recounted an adventure with the 1000 year old hand of St. Stephen.
Little did I realize that another old hand would become fodder for this week’s blog!
Unfortunately I forgot to take photos! Read on MacDuff –

We are driving to New Haven in Ali & Chris’ 1998 Subaru Forester. I prefer a less antiquated set of wheels myself. However, the last time the kids visited Amesbury their Forester was acting up so we swapped cars.

Now the Subaru has a new water pump, timing belt and thermostat – (Happy Hanukah, Chris and Ali) – and Rena and I are delivering it back to them. Knowing something about 1.) bad cars and 2.) winter travel, I stop at the NAPA store on the way out of town to pick up a jug of windshield fluid and a gallon of pre-mix anti-freeze. The jumper cables, rope, baling wire and trusty roll of duck tape are already in the way-back.

Sure enough, we are just across the Connecticut border when a casual glance at the dashboard reveals trouble. Rena and I are going South in the Subaru on I-84 but the needle on the water temperature gauge is going North faster than Santa heading for home after a hard night. In about 5 seconds it pegs out in the red zone!

“Holy Thermometer, Batman!” I yell to my life partner as I careen across the highway, coming to a stop in the breakdown lane. As I switch on the emergency blinkers, I think to myself, “It’s time for another travel adventure.”

Rena is not too keen on this particular type of travel adventure. “I knew this was a bad idea,” she mutters as wisps of steam emerge from under the hood and the sweet, burnt-sugar smell of propylene glycol wafts gently through the open window. While the engine cools, Rena lets off steam by crocheting faster and faster.

“Buck up, sweetie,” I say, cautiously eyeing her speeding crochet hook. “Remember the movie ‘Apollo 13’ – they thought they were goners, too.”

“But they had Ed Harris at mission control in Houston,” wails Rena.

“True,” I respond. “But don’t forget that I have anti-freeze, duck tape and 20 years of listening to Click and Clack on the radio.” Rena groans. Why am I not inspiring confidence here? O ye of little faith!

I switch off the engine and turn the key to ‘accessories’. I turn on the heater & the fan & the A/C full-blast to cool the engine. Then I pop the hood on the gently steaming Subaru. Anti-freeze is everywhere except in the radiator where it belongs.

“It just needs some anti-freeze,” I call reassuringly to my crotchety, crocheting co-pilot. (Best not to alarm the passengers.)

While the engine cools, I meditate on the treachery of radiator caps and the physics of steam under great pressure. With trepidation, I don an insulated ski glove and lean my full weight on the heel of my hand, as I slowly un-screw the radiator cap. No burst of super-heated steam emerges! A quick fill-up of Prestone and we’re back on the highway.

We make it about three miles to Exit 71, coasting down the exit ramp and gliding to a stop as the temperature gauge pegs red once again. Lucky for us, we have arrived at a classic gas station owned by the three Canestrari brothers.

I explain the situation to the eldest brother, “Lefty”. (not his real first name) He listens to my tale of woe, opens the hood and gives the engine compartment a long, hard look. “Don’t know if I can help you folks,” Lefty opines. The steam from the radiator has barely dissipated. Deftly, Lefty palms the radiator cap and whips it off!

“OK fire it up,” orders Lefty. I start the engine. Sickly fluorescent green coolant bubbles up from the radiator’s core and pulses out the fill pipe. Quick as lightning, Lefty covers the open radiator pipe with his bare left hand and pushes down hard. Coolant squeezes around the edges of his palm. “OK shut her down,” he says.

I rush forward expecting to treat second-degree burns. Lefty is shaking his head slowly as he wipes his intact hand with the traditional greasy rag. “Nope, can’t help you,” says Lefty laconically. “Blown head gasket.”

“How can you tell?” I inquire.

“Coolant pressure much too high,” explains Lefty. “Gotta be a blown gasket.”

(Later, I figure out that high-pressure cylinder gas is escaping through the blown gasket and pressurizing the coolant in the water jacket. That pressure was what Crusty was feeling when he sealed off the radiator with his bare hand.)

“What’ll we do?” I ask.

“Plan A is get towed to the Subaru dealership in Vernon,” says Lefty.

“And what’s Plan B?” I inquire.

“Do you have fire insurance on this heap?” asks Lefty.

Being a true adventurer, I select Plan B, although not without more mutinous mutterings from the crew. “Come on,” I say. “It’s only 12 miles. We’ll keep her under 2000 RPM and I’ll watch the gauge like a hawk.”

It takes the better part of an hour and three stops for overheating to make it to the dealership using Plan B. Rena and I while away the hour discussing what items to grab while exiting the Subaru in case of fire. I’m down to my last pint of Prestone and Rena is half done with the afghan by the time we coast into Suburban Subaru in Vernon. But we’ve made it. The Eagle has Landed!

After about 90 minutes of computer analysis, engine scanning, and compression testing the consensus at Suburban Subaru is that we do indeed have a blown head gasket. However, I credit the correct diagnosis to the experienced left hand of our savior, ‘Lefty’ Canestrari. For me, it was the greatest left-hand maneuver since Diego Maradona’s “Hand of God” soccer goal against England in the quarter-finals of the 1986 World Cup. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hand_of_God_goal)
But that, as they say, is another story.

Daktari