Today was also a good day. After spending some hours seeking comfort and self-approval through bulk task completion, I found myself left with a rapidly shrinking to-do list. Shopping would be next, I decided, and promptly drove over to the stores on my list, blissfully unaware of the pending doom. I do rather enjoy the 90 degree weather, but what I enjoy even more is keeping it outside of my air conditioned vehicle.
Auto parts store came first, and I found myself pillaging the Freon section along with other rather sweaty looking men, who, unlike me, were probably buying it for their own cars. June is national Freon hoarding month in New Jersey, and while I had the foresight to take care of my truck early, this time I was shopping for someone else. The store's air conditioning itself appeared to be in need of a refill, and this situation did not contribute favorably to either staff morale or amicable customer demeanor, which, in turn, translates into a rather gradual checkout experience.
Next, I found myself at a sporting goods store, because when the woman that invites you on your first vacation together tells you that your running shorts make you look like a hobo (perhaps not in so many words), it's time for new shorts. My old shorts were always a multipurpose article, combining the function of public decency compliance with the tough job of a cat scratching post. They also survived some light summer tiling, several house painting jobs, and at least a few dozen hours of attic wiring. Running short selection process is tough for any man, but this time it was a particular challenge. What statement would I like to make to my new (though very tolerant) love? Should I go conservative and stick to long and black? A flashy colorful stripe might appear playful, and would be practical for running in the darkness of the early spring mornings, but would I remind her of traffic cones and caution tape?
Having made the impossible choice and exited the store I discovered that the parking lot underneath my truck has a hue eerily similar to the color of the shorts I ultimately picked. Unlike shorts, however, parking lots generally don't go for flashy or colorful, thus this warranted an investigation. To my great surprise and mild discomfort, my vehicle did indeed contribute to redecorating the pavement. A steady stream of brick-red goo emerged from my radiator cap, oozing slowly and coating everything in its path in a suspended animation of mysterious shapes. No liquid was observed in the cooling system, and all the hoses felt like they were firmly coated from within with a crusty and solid layer of the red matter.
"Karma", I said to myself. Now, mind you, this is not my karma - the previous owner seems to have placed enough radiator stop-leak in the system to paint a house red. I have since spent hours flushing and back-flushing, only to wind up with more of the blob rearing its red face some months later. Of course I can't truly claim that this isn't my karma - I did buy the truck, and then repeatedly chose to keep it, as I will undoubtedly do again today.
Explanations and musings aside, this is a mildly disconcerting situation - I have no certainty that there is anything but goo in my cooling system, it is 90 degrees and sunny, and, incidentally, I drive an 8 liter V-10, a somewhat extreme example of the classic American problem-solving approach. And so, back to the auto parts store, except this time I am watching the temperature gauge about as much as I'm watching the road.
The hour that passed since my last visit did not improve the employees' mood very much, but after some failed communication attempts I finally get the answers to all of my inquiries. Unfortunately, they are all the same: "We don't have it in stock". Well, at least they have antifreeze - and at 26.5 quarts, my truck doesn't skimp on that and neither should I.
I should mention at this point that patience isn't always one of my strongest personality traits, and so, after spending the entire drive home thinking through the diagnosis and repair procedures, it is no surprise that I began as soon as I turned the engine off. I should also mention that this is not a great idea where cooling system repairs are concerned. I should probably mention that to myself next time.
It was not until later that I discovered that the problem was not a cap failure or any sort of boil-over but rather a stop-leak obstruction to the expansion tank, which has basically turned into a stop-leak repository. Preventing hot liquid from expanding is a somewhat bad idea, as it turns out. Not knowing the problem, I started draining the radiator immediately. About a gallon later I decided to remove the radiator cap to see what's going on in there, figuring that a gallon of removed liquid would have taken care of all possible pressure. I was mistaken.
Yes, I am apparently that guy - the guy that pulls the radiator cap off a hot car. The cap, also thoroughly coated in stop-leak and thus glued down, produced no indication of the pressure it was containing until I loosened it completely and pulled. The explosion was epic, and had I parked the truck backwards, the entire neighborhood would be able to appreciate a once in a lifetime performance, complete with the cap smashing into the raised hood, followed promptly by a continuous flow of hot water and steam. Having a front row seat to this performance left me with a scalded hand and a face dotted with red splatter. Only after this shock therapy did it occur to me that I am subjecting my engine block to rapid temperature swings, and the only solution that came to me in the heat (literally) of the moment was to run cold water from a garden hose into the gradually emptying radiator. I don't know how the truck survived this cold treatment worthy of a Kundalini master, but a few seconds later the noises subsided and all was at peace.
Two hours later the water ran clear... the water from the engine block, that is - which suggests that my street is probably all red now. But I have other concerns for the moment, as my hand is seriously overdue for some attention. So the next time you feel like reaching for that stop-leak... stop. Think of the children, and if you can't - at least think of my hand.
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