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captainsblogIt's eerily quiet in here this afternoon. Both of us grups were up earlier than we would've been, serenaded by the final sounds (most of them barks from our own dogs) of Emily doing the final loadout for college, mostly on her own. Yesterday, I started in on the one remaining bit of business she'd entrusted to me, though: getting the brakes on her bike repaired.
She bought it at a garage sale a couple of months back and after the first ride, she heard the squealing. Heck, I think I was in North Carolina at the time and I'd wondered what that noise was. Somehow the fix got put off all summer, and with Eleanor and the truck at work yesterday, I resolved to wrestle the beast into the back of my car.
Shouldn't have been a problem, though, for we have a reliable Ford Fuckus, with a fully retractable rear seat opening up a Jimmy Hoffa-size pit in the back. On our original of this car brand- yeah, Tink, this one- there was an easy-peasy pushy button on the top edge of the seat itself inside the back of the car; you pushed it and the seat came-a tumblin' down. Somehow, in fiveish years with the newer model, I'd never had a need to use that cargo space, so I was surprised to find no such button.
So I did the logical next thing: I RTFM'd. And got this: confirmation of how it was on the old car, and a totally useless schematic of how to do it on the one we have now:
They did leave out one important safety instruction, though:
Yeah, that would be me. In fairness, Emily couldn't find the damn thing, either. But I spent the better part of an hour clawing round every inch of the back of those seats, inside a steamer trunk on one of the most humid days of the fecking century, and finally gave up. I waited for Eleanor to come home and took bike in truck. It'll be fixed by midweek, but to avoid having to take Le Grand Guzzle on a drive to Rochester, I still wanted to know where the bloody thing was.
Naturally, Eleanor found them in three seconds. Yes, them. They're at the end of control rods which run along the length of either end of the lid of thetrunk luggage compartment.
Sigh. I'd probably qualify for a permanent 4F deferment from military service; if they gave me a gun, I wouldn't be able to intuit where the gorram trigger was.
She bought it at a garage sale a couple of months back and after the first ride, she heard the squealing. Heck, I think I was in North Carolina at the time and I'd wondered what that noise was. Somehow the fix got put off all summer, and with Eleanor and the truck at work yesterday, I resolved to wrestle the beast into the back of my car.
Shouldn't have been a problem, though, for we have a reliable Ford Fuckus, with a fully retractable rear seat opening up a Jimmy Hoffa-size pit in the back. On our original of this car brand- yeah, Tink, this one- there was an easy-peasy pushy button on the top edge of the seat itself inside the back of the car; you pushed it and the seat came-a tumblin' down. Somehow, in fiveish years with the newer model, I'd never had a need to use that cargo space, so I was surprised to find no such button.
So I did the logical next thing: I RTFM'd. And got this: confirmation of how it was on the old car, and a totally useless schematic of how to do it on the one we have now:
They did leave out one important safety instruction, though:
Yeah, that would be me. In fairness, Emily couldn't find the damn thing, either. But I spent the better part of an hour clawing round every inch of the back of those seats, inside a steamer trunk on one of the most humid days of the fecking century, and finally gave up. I waited for Eleanor to come home and took bike in truck. It'll be fixed by midweek, but to avoid having to take Le Grand Guzzle on a drive to Rochester, I still wanted to know where the bloody thing was.
Naturally, Eleanor found them in three seconds. Yes, them. They're at the end of control rods which run along the length of either end of the lid of the
Sigh. I'd probably qualify for a permanent 4F deferment from military service; if they gave me a gun, I wouldn't be able to intuit where the gorram trigger was.
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no subject
Date: 2011-09-04 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-05 01:16 am (UTC)I am going to kick myself - I KNOW what "grup" is from - referencing adults - it's literary and it's driving me mad.
And do not kick yourself. My father - who has a masters in physics - could not find it in a ford fukus either. It took him til the next day. It was a rental - no manual. And I still think he can fix everything.
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Date: 2011-09-05 01:26 am (UTC)And I took this one totally in stride, unlike the time in the 90s I rented a Geo Something from a middle-of-nowhere airport location somewhere near the Hudson and started driving down the Taconic Parkway (aka the twisty turny hilly rockslidy Taconic Parkway) at dusk without having ANY fecking idea how to turn the headlights on. The owners manual revealed it to be by an unmarked switch behind the steering column, but it's kinda hard to read those when it's, you know, DARK and the same switch also controls the interior lighting.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-05 01:30 am (UTC)(how it amuses me that I thought it was literary, but I have read a lot of Sci Fi.)
Thank you.
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Date: 2011-09-05 11:26 pm (UTC)And no, I'm not sure the Army would want to give you the big guns.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-06 07:32 pm (UTC)