The Riding Mower, aka “Tetanus by a Thousand Cuts” | entry 2
“Or what king, going out to encounter another king in war, will not sit down first and deliberate whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand? And if not, while the other is yet a great way off, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace.”
My mechanic was quick to point out that the lawnmower had no gas. Technically a problem, but far from the worst in store. There were a few prizes down in the bottom of the fuel tank (more a jug if we’re honest…and that held onto the chassis with a huge zip tie), including the deteriorated remains of the fuel cap. Considering that the fuel pump for this thing consists of a pin sized hole in the bottom of the jug and the forces of gravity, all this debris was sure to be a source of clogs and starvation. Gonna need a new cap, new filter, and possible a manual shut off valve to keep the carb from flooding during long sits.
And another really large zip tie.
The fuel system wasn’t the only dry well in the power department. The battery on this guy probably hasn’t seen 12 volts in years, and in protests over these DC food shortages the residents of acid-ville have marched upon the surrounding villages plundering and sacking at will. Lots of brownish debris and airy nothingness where once was a metal battery tray.
Speaking of brownish debris or whatever PC term for Hegelian utopianism is in vogue these days, it had spread its withering ideals far afield. My grandfathers fought many wars in opposition to this threat to all things good, true, and beautiful, and thus the hatred runs blood deep. I’ll refer to it henceforth by the same four letter word they used…RUST. I hate it, and it all must die.
And then there’s a few instances of just plain old stupid. Despite the clean Carfax report, I’d say I’m safe to assume that judging by the dented frame rail, shattered plastic face panel, and cracked heat shield that this thing has probably been in a front end collision. But since the top speed on this thing is about the speed of smell (as Ron White would say), I’d have to assume that it was dropped off a roof or something similar to sustain the kind of kinetic violence necessary to bend and break the American-made steel chassis on this thing. Or who knows, maybe my grandfather was mowing the grass drunk and ran into a school bus.
The damage from the front rippled far up the driverside of this thing, resulting in a slew of broken plastic bits and pieces. None of which are made anymore, by the way. Nor are there any lawnmower pick-n-pull yards. Looks like I’ll have to learn how to weld plastic before this is all over.
Yet here be the real evil in all this. When trying to jumpstart this thing the starter couldn’t get it to crank. Well, it could crank her all day once I removed the spark plugs to free up the combustion pressure from the out of adjustment valves. Small engine repair is not one of my skills…yet. Always good to have an excuse to learn something new.
“Or what king, going out to encounter another king in war, will not sit down first and deliberate whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand? And if not, while the other is yet a great way off, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace.” “Terms of peace” you say? I could still just set this thing on fire and roll it off a cliff…probably pick up a used but working example for a few hundred bucks.
But the army of green devils was still out there, growing. Always growing and lusting to take back civilization from the hard won grip of American Patriotism. The combined forces of rust and weeds would seek to steal the heart of a lesser man. But not this man. Not this day. May the restoration begin. And to my enemies out there, kiss your grass goodbye.