Have you ever had a dull moment? When in hindsight, if you’d only paid more attention to what you were doing, an accident or catastrophe could have been avoided?
One of my endearing traits, is the ability to ignore something that needs to be done now. Let it remain on that ‘to do’ list, until it absolutely must get done. Without fail. It’s a sort of innate survival tactic. One I probably inherited from a long gone former rellie.
In preparation for this trip, Beastie had a service and MOT. So, a couple of weeks ago, when a warning flashed up on the display ‘Low Brake Fluid’, I calculated that it couldn’t mean low, as in really low, just that it had merely dipped a little into low, from its previously high state. That made sense to me, since it had just been serviced.
However, on leaving Paparanza this morning, the same warning popped up. Twice within two minutes. I bit the bullet. We’re still in hilly country. Pulled in to a nearby gas station (gee, I’ve been watching too many American movies – I mean films). Pulled out Beastie’s technical manual. Established the exact type (DOT 4) required and hoped they had some in stock. They did. Based on my theory that it had just dipped into low, I poured in only a third of the container. Thus, if the warning appeared again, I’d still have plenty in reserve. Sound logic IMHO.
Tricky bit over (not very tricky to be honest), I suddenly suffered from a seriously dull moment. I should have paid more attention to what I was doing. I didn’t. Why should I? I’ve probably replaced millions in my life. All types, shapes and sizes. With screw tops, it’s always important to start them off gently and in a perfect parallel position to whatever it is you’re attaching them to. I didn’t. In my defence, the opening of the brake reservoir, was part under an overhang, so I couldn’t get absolutely clear access. Before I knew it the cap jumped out from between my fingers, as if I’d given it a fright. Disappeared down into the black hole of the engine and not onto the ground underneath. A few expletives later, I realise that going against one of my endearing traits may have resulted in dire consequences. Just how safe would it be to drive without the cap on? “You’ll have to call out the AA” , Mrs S advises.
At this point, another of my endearing traits comes to the fore – the love of a challenge. I climb (a weird word to use in this context) under the engine. Have a look-see. A bit of a feel around. Beastie’s guts are a mish-mash of a hundred and one pipes, wires, clip and tubes. Plus some very hot and solid metal bits. Nothing doing. Back up top and on tip toes I discover the cap is caught resting on its edge on a small lip, about two feet down. Aforesaid tubes, wires and pipes prevent arm access. Think! I know. “Maise, can you get me a metal coat hanger, please” (See how polite I can be, even when under stress) I twist the hook off, straighten it as best as possible, and turn the one end under to create a smaller hook. Used this technique on more than one occasion to get into a car when I’d locked the keys inside. The idea to balance the top and lift it clear – as if in a London Palladium Brucie “Good game, good game” show. Several failed efforts and 40 minutes blacken thoughts. Fear of the inevitable grows. What to do?
A light-bulb moment!! Gorilla tape might be the answer! Wrap just enough around so that I can manouvre the wire down into Beastie’s guts. Mrs S becomes my torch-holding assistant. Tickle the cap into position. And attach. Then it’s a question of playing another one of Brucie’s favourites, the Buzz Wire game, with a new variation. Et voila!
We’re heading to the cooler coastal south and the day of not so dull moments continues.