I'm the King of the World

Up close and personal with my lawnmower

I've been writing this blog on and off for a year and a half, give or take. I have written of triumphs and failures, adventures and pratfalls, lessons learned, all kinds of memories-- good, bad, and otherwise. Life can be tough. So can we!

Isn't it great when you get those little wins that just put wind in your sails? Maybe you unlock the solution to a problem, achieve a goal you have set, or take care of that task that has just been bothering you forever. I got some things done this week that make me feel like I'm the king of the world!

First, some background information... We've had two lawnmowers in our almost 25 years of marriage. The first was an old, beat-up electric mower; its origin is a mystery, as are its current whereabouts. It barely functioned, but helped me keep our small yard in order. About 16 years ago, my father-in-law bought us a shiny new gas mower, a sturdy Craftsman that has cut and chewed through everything we've thrown at it.

I have taken pretty good care of it; keeping the oil clean, not letting old gas sit in it over the winters, even changing the air filter as needed. It has performed well, but in the past three or four years it has run increasingly rough-- a few stalls here and there, a little sputtery at times, and sometimes tough to start. In fact, beginning last spring, it would only start if I popped the air filter housing off and sprayed some starter fluid in the little hole behind it (something I learned last year. Thank you, internet!)

So last year, it made it through the summer fine, and in fact I put in a new spark plug, air filter, changed the oil, and drained the fuel tank. All the stuff the internet told me a good lawnmower owner ought to do. In the fall, I put it in the garage to hibernate for the winter, and haven't thought about it since. Or at least I hadn't thought about it, at least not until about a month and a half ago. That's when I first felt the touch of a peculiar kind of madness.

As February turned into March, the sun came out, the grass started growing, and every week or so there would be a day suitable for mowing. The front yard was getting pretty scraggly and uneven, and the backyard grass was becoming really hard for Piper to navigate through.

It was time to get to work.

So I filled the gas can with new gas, filled the lawnmower's tank, checked the oil and air filter, shot a blast of starter fluid into it, and yanked on the cord. Reluctantly, the mower sputtered and stuttered and finally, rebelliously started... I mean I could feel this thing just doing its best not to start-- it just wanted to rest.

But I got it going, and because it was running a bit inconsistently I decided to start with the front lawn in case it just gave up on me-- I gotta keep the neighbors and the (HOA) man happy. It stuttered a couple times and stalled out, but I nursed it back to life with the starter fluid and carefully made it through the front yard. As I made my way to the back yard, I had to blast more starter fluid into it just to get it to fire up again. I made a couple passes across the lawn, and Old Faithful just gave up-- it would not start.

I worked on it for a while, blasting more fluid, adjusting the starter cord, monkeying with the spark plug, triple checking the oil, grimacing, sweating, praying, growling, but the thing would not start. Oh well, at least the front was done, I could keep the man off my back, and there was a fifteen by four foot patch that Piper could get up and down. This would buy me a week, maybe two...

My mowing buddy

So I spent a week researching everything I could about mowers. I downloaded a pdf of the owner's manual, and even downloaded a copy of the manual for the old Tecumseh engine that powers it. I learned how to oil the bore (after learning what a bore is and why you would oil it). I learned how to test spark plugs (not by spitting, licking, or doing anything else unsavory to them). I even learned how to take apart the carburetor (after I learned where to find it and what its function was).

I drained the fuel in the mower, thinking maybe some condensation was in the lines somewhere. I drained the gas can, worried there may have been a couple ounces of bad gas or even water condensation that had contaminated the fuel I put into the mower. I freaked out my family by having a big bucket of dirty drained gas in the garage (don't worry, I put a lid on it). I learned about two-cycle and four-cycle engines, and which was which and what I had.

I had been perusing Craigslist for mower repair, and I caught my eyes wandering over to the used lawnmowers, doing math in my head. We just had a $1200 car repair, and on top of that we still need a new radiator for the van... The budgeted amount we have for a lawnmower is about the same we'd spend for a tune-up-- maybe 60 bucks. The old beaters that "run like new!" and were "just serviced" were going for as little as $60-- maybe that was the way to go!

But at this point I had become Captain Ahab, and this mower was the great white whale that had taken a bite out of me or worse, a bite out of my pride. This thing haunted my every waking minute, and I promise you, I even dreamt of the cursed machine. I even took a personal holiday to try to will it to life. I don't even take personal holidays on real personal holidays, like kids' birthdays and stuff. The more I fought with this thing, the more determined I was to get it working. I had what I would call a healthy obsession, although reading my own words now makes me question how healthy this whole ordeal has been.

I cleaned and reassembled the carb and some other parts again, this time taking care to run a piece of wire through the teeny little (pretty much invisible) hole in the bolt that holds the float bowl to the bottom of the carburetor-- surely that was it! But nope, just a couple sputters when I tried to start it.

I changed the oil again, to be sure. I bought another spark plug, to be sure. I got new gas, to be sure. I had done everything I could do that could be done by an amateur mechanic like me. In fact, I did everything that a professional mechanic would do to this mower, short of completely stripping and rebuilding the engine. I had certainly done everything included in the tune-ups I saw being offered around town for $60 to $90. My spirits sank... The whale was winning.

After watching my one-jillionth youtube video of a guy named Zeke or Earl tearing apart a lawnmower (my apologies to the perfectly gentlemanly Zekes and Earls out there), I had the thought to take apart the carb again, clean everything, and stick it all back together. The only problem... it was almost midnight when I had this notion.

But I just knew this was it-- I had probably missed something, perhaps putting the float bowl on backwards so the float couldn't drop all the way. Or maybe the o-ring or a gasket was kinked, letting in air, throwing off the mixture's proportions. Maybe something just needed to be tightened. Or cleaned. Or lubricated. This had to be it! There was nothing else that could be done, and nothing else that could cause the problems I was having. My lawnmower didn't just 'get broken,' right?

So there I was, repairing the mower in my garage at midnight, my clangs and clinks the only sounds to be heard in our normally pretty quiet neighborhood. About an hour later, well after midnight, I tightened the last bolt and cleaned up my work station (comprising a cluttered bench top and my yard waste bin, which put the mower right about chest height, perfectly comfortable for Captain Ahab's stiffening back).

I stared the mighty beast in its face, or at least at that front part. I ceremoniously declared that I would start the mower 'on the morrow' (yeah, those were the words I used as I spoke to my nemesis). It was kind of late, and if I truly was able to fix it, I wanted to roll right out the door and mow like the wind, and that of course couldn't happen at 1 a.m. I got a perfectly comfortable night's sleep, while visions of me mowing like the wind danced around in my dreams. I'm telling you, I just knew it was going to start.

I woke up bright and early (okay, at like 8:10 or something) and put on my mowin' pants and work gloves. I shot a fresh blast of starter fluid down its throat and faced the moment of truth. I yanked the cord. The great beast sputtered, shook, and growled for just a second, then quit. Again, I repeated the ritual-- pull the air filter off, spray, stick the filter on, yank the cord, cough, cough, sputter, dead. I did it again, and again, and then once more. It was clear to me this beast was just not going to start. The white whale had won, swallowing the last of my pride, and any semblance of manliness that remained.

I looked more intently at the used mowers online, and noticed that this one guy who had a couple mowers for sale also did repairs. I called him up, and we talked for about twenty minutes about the finer points of lawnmower mechanics and witchcraft. Jim (that was the guy's name) was really helpful, and I had tried 19 and a half of the 20 things he suggested. But he gave me some good tips and told me to call him if they didn't work, and he'd see what he could do.

I won't lie, it was kind of cool having a chat with another lawnmower matador and sort of knowing what I was talking about. I felt how Captain Ahab must have felt when he was talking to the other captains whose legs had been bitten off by various whales and sea creatures. At least I (like they) had given a good fight.

I did the one last thing he mentioned, popping off the float bowl again and checking it really well for varnishing or any sediment in the fuel, but it got me nowhere... Just the same dead mower, snorting for a second, giving me a glimmer of hope, then crushing me with one last whimpering breath.

I am telling you, I was crushed. I mean, this had gone on for weeks now; it consumed every spare thought and minute I had. I looked at the used mowers online, and even at the cheaper new mowers at Home Depot (where they pretty much know me by name, at least in the lawnmower area). There's an old-timer there named Ed who is a really nice guy. But all the mowers Ed showed me were more plastic than metal, and I had taken apart my machine enough times to recognize the crappy, flimsy parts and materials they offered compared to mine, unless I wanted to spend $600 or more (which I couldn't).

As I lazily searched yet again for 'mower repair' online, I stumbled across an ad for some kind of apparent miracle elixir called 'Mechanic in a Bottle,' which you put in the fuel tank to clean out your tank, lines, and carb of any residue or gummy build up. I was, of course, skeptical. I have used additives before, to mixed success (but never real success). In fact, I just dumped an eight dollar bottle of sludge into my van's leaky radiator I mentioned above, and I'm not sure what it even did-- it still drips a bit.

But I read some Amazon reviews and thought, what the heck, it's six bucks. If this doesn't do it, I will have tried absolutely everything else there was to try, three or four times, and it's just time to get another mower. Six bucks was a small price to pay for having my temporary insanity be proven to be, well, temporary. I went back to Home Depot, said hi to Ed, who has been absolutely no help at all, but who is again, really nice, and bought a four-ounce bottle.

I took it home and half-heartedly poured three ounces into the tank, knowing there was no way this snake oil would work. I popped the spark plug out, pressed the primer bulb a bunch of times, and pulled on the starter cord a few times to be sure the potion soaked down deep into the innards of the engine, and then let it sit the recommended four hours. Yes, four hours.

Finally the clock showed 3 pm-- it was, as they say, go-time. I trudged to the garage to try and start it. I did my routine, popping the filter off, a fresh blast of starter fluid, six slow and steady pumps on the primer bulb, then a rip of the cord. And something a little different happened. My half-heartedness became whole-hearted craziness once more; the whale was in my sights. With that first pull of the cord, the mower sputtered and coughed and wheezed and groaned for a good fifteen seconds before it coughed itself back to sleep.

Fifteen seconds! That was about thirteen seconds more than it had done in weeks! I shot another blast of starter fluid into its belly, tugged again, and it shuddered and shook and kept coughing and spewing thick smoke from its muffler... Could this be a sign that the crud that kept it from starting was getting burnt off and exhaled? The mower shook and shuddered and kept on chugging, trying to will itself back to life. I started rolling it toward the lawn, ready to put it to the test.

The mower kept on going, certainly less powerful than it was in its younger years, but a whole lot better than it had all last year. I got through the front lawn again-- once again foiling the man with his camera and his rules and his high standards; we were HOA-compliant in no time! I had tamed the beast! Or brought it to life, or whatever... I was mowing, man!

I knew the real test would be the back yard-- the long grass back there had all but killed the thing a few weeks prior. But before I put it to the big final exam comprised of eight-to-twelve inch tall grass, I thought I'd try an intermediate task...

Skipping the starter fluid, I pumped the bulb six times, pulled on the cord, and...

Time... Stood... Still.

I am not a man who gets emotional very often. In fact, many of you know that empathy was rated as my 34th strongest natural tendency or talent theme-- out of a possible 34 choices. Yes, when you put all the natural talent themes that some really smart people identified in a list, empathy is the one I least display naturally. Now, I took that test ten or twelve years ago, and I imagine I have grown in that time-- and probably grown more emotionally mature and in tune. Maybe. I don't know. Ask my wife. Well, maybe not.

Anyway, the point is, it takes a lot to make me get all mushy and stuff. But when that mower roared back to life, without any starter fluid being poured down its metal gullet, I think a little tear may have dropped from the corner of my eye onto the lawn under my Croc-and-sock-laden feet. It has been years-- years!-- since my baby has started up like that! I'm telling you I relished every minute of that one-hour mow. (Yeah, the back lawn was pretty long and nasty. It took a while).

I think I learned something in that moment. I don't know completely what that something is, but I am confident I learned it. You see, a week ago, I tried to fire it up again, and was back at square one-- nothing. However, this time, instead of weeping, groaning, sweating, comfort-eating and the like, I jumped on Amazon and one-click-ordered a new carburetor for $14. This hadn't dawned on me before, but had just come to mind.

The carburetor arrived last Saturday. I took a half hour or so, put that sucker on my mower, and it is roaring like new! I've tried it since, and I'm telling you, it is good to go, and there is no hesitation, no stuttering, no starter fluid fuss or muss.

This simple part swap would have possibly fixed everything a month and a half ago when this all started. However, back then I had no way of knowing that the carburetor was the problem, or even where the carburetor was. Also, had I just swapped out the carb when there was still a bunch of gunk in the fuel lines, or maybe even some bad gas or condensation fouling things up, I might have just messed up the new carburetor, and junked the mower out.

Also, the process of testing different possible issues and learning the ins and outs of small motor operation and repair has really gotten me sharper, and I'm now better prepared to handle other potential issues that may arise with this mower, future mowers, and maybe even other motor-driven devices. I even thought it might be fun to fix mowers part-time on the side. If genius is 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration, I feel like the Edison of lawnmower repair... but that could just be the emotional high talking.

I don't know how many more seasons I'll have with my old gal (I'm talking about my mower, of course). It'seems to be running like it may give me another 16 years, but we'll see. But I do know that I have figured this thing out, and it was tough, maddening, dirty work. But you know what? Today, and every time I mow the lawn with the old Craftsman, I feel like I can do anything. Almost like...

I'm the king of the world.

Musings from the Saddle on a Warm Spring Night

The girls and I had a great time on our bikes last night! We rode along the Columbia River and Vancouver Lake, on one of the first warm, sunny evenings of the year.

The route is really nice-- a (mostly) paved trail that runs along the lake, at times in the shade and mostly in the sun. It rolls along small rivers and creeks and eventually along the mighty Columbia River. Mounts Hood, St. Helens and even Adams were all clearly in view on this perfect evening. Where else can you stand in one spot and see three volcanic peaks, a richly historic river, and an inviting blue lake (and get home in 20 minutes?)

We rode past fields of crops packed with geese, stretching their wings in the warm setting sun. Red-winged blackbirds sang and flitted through acres of wild blackberry bushes. We took a break on the sandy beach, and watched a massive tanker slowly trudging upriver. We laughed and ate gummy bears and those chewy coke-bottle things, while a couple of kids rode out of control, dragging their shoes on the ground to stop just short of crashing into the sand and rocks.



My view most of the ride

The path has markings every quarter-mile, and we started racing each other, alternating quarter-mile sprints with quarter mile rests. At first, I dusted them both. After the fourth or fifth sprint, I had no chance of winning. It was a blast, and a nice little workout. And of course it got me pondering life and... stuff. Following are some musings I had while in the saddle. Well, mostly while in the saddle-- some of these thoughts came a bit later.

The ride home goes right past a Frito-Lay factory. There is approximately a half-mile radius of motivation-killing, fitness-fighting, crave-inducing hypnotic potato chip aroma. In the twenty-four hours since my ride, I have consumed about a pound and a half of Cheddar Jalapeno Crunchy Cheetos. I blame this bike ride for my binge-- it was partly my calorie deficit, and partly the hypnotic snack stank. But still, I blame the bike ride.

I should have worn bike shorts. Even though it was just an hour or so in the saddle, that hour took its toll. I repeat... I should have worn bike shorts-- this is not the burn I had hoped to feel.

Annelise and Corrinne have gotten really good at bike-handling, and they ride fast. This made it so much more fun to ride together-- hanging in a group, and pushing each other when we needed it. When they were littler I nicknamed them 'Speedy' and 'Hammer.' It's fun to see them riding like this!

The Boy Scouts were right about their motto, 'Be prepared.' It took me about three hours to get the bikes tuned up, to get extra tubes, to get the rack on the van, etc. I'm glad I did, as I caught a slowly leaking tube and some brakes that needed a tweak or two. Had we just thrown the bikes in the back of the van and rode as is, we'd have had at least one flat, and no spare tube. In my experience, manic over-preparing pretty much ensures nothing bad will happen with the bikes. And even if it does, well, we're ready for it.

A little rest break

I gotta lose some weight. I mean, really, I gotta lose some weight. We have set our sights on climbing Mt. St. Helens this summer, and I do not want to be holding anyone back for that. I have anointed Annelise and Corrinne my fitness and diet coaches, instructing them to pester and push me into getting healthier. We'll see how this goes... Annie especially loves dealing out the tough love. I worry her 'coaching' may drive me to even more drastic stress-eating.

What a resplendent world we live in. Every place I've lived in--and that's a long list-- just has so much beauty and awesomeness and richness to enjoy and explore. What a blessing to be in such a particularly amazing part of the country!

I'm proud of how well Annelise and Corrinne rode-- I couldn't ask for better riding partners. And I'm looking forward to longer rides and some tough hikes with the family this spring and summer. Mt. St. Helens, we're coming for you!