Saturday, November 17, 2012 - San Antonio Mechanic Shop, San Antonio NM
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Tiredflower, Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, San Antonio NM, November 10, 2012
Dang - what next?
Poor Salvador broke three bolts getting the 20 year old water pump off. Three long bolts that go through the water pump and then through the timing chest cover into the block. Before he started, he pointed out to me that these three go through the water jacket in the timing chest and often seize up over time. He was right. Now the timing chest cover needed to come off to extract the bolts. He also suspects a long term leak around the old timing chest to block gasket. There is evidence of a trace of oil in the coolant. So all in all not a bad idea to replace this gasket as long as we are so deep into the engine.
We're getting in pretty deep here but this stuff needs to be done eventually and doing it now saves the considerable labor of getting this deep into the engine at some later date.
What does the open timing chest reveal? Why a stretched timing chain of course. More parts to order...
What's another couple of days sleeping with my head 10 feet from passing traffic in the grand scheme of things?
Night camp
Drycamped - San Antonio Mechanic Shop, San Antonio NM
It's No Use Arguing Tastes with a Cow
By what appears, furthermore, to be the compensating justice of Nature, the treasures of the earth are always hidden in the most unattractive, dismal, and dreary spots. At least all the mining places I ever visited are so located, and Bisbee is no exception. To get away from the cramped little village and its unsavoury restaurant, I established my first camp four miles south of it on a commodious and pleasant opening, where we could do our own cooking. But here a new annoyance, and rather a curious one, was met with. The cattle of the region evinced a peculiar predilection for our wearing apparel. Especially at night, the cows would come wandering in among our tents, like the party who goes about seeking what he may devour, and on getting hold of some such choice morsel as a sock, shirt, or blanket, Mrs. Bossie would chew and chew, “gradually,” to quote Mark Twain, “taking it in, all the while opening and closing her eyes in a kind of religious ecstasy, as if she had never tasted anything quite as good as an overcoat before in her life.” It is no use arguing about tastes, not even with a cow.