I’ve spent about 11 hours working on the ‘car’ . Kai came over bringing mad welding skillz and also some fresh insight and problem solvingness. It was a change having to justify and reason when making decisions – this pedal is too short, sure I’ll be able to control the engine with a cord – but a good change.
The moment I’ve been working towards, the actual driving of the re-constructed car out of the garage, that crucial make-or-break moment finally arrived as night fell. There were a few short cuts made to get there. Bolts in place of welds. A milk crate duct-taped to the frame as a seat. The gas tank duct taped to the top of the crate. The throttle is just a cable still.
With the neighbours no doubt looking on dubiously (they receive their first christmas card of love tomorrow) Kai blocked of the bottom of the sloping driveway with an Escort. The worst thing that could happen, I figured, was that the car went screaming out of control and rammed into the house opposite – the source of many complaints and anonymous letters to the police, landlords, and anyone else that their fearful minds think will pay attention to them.
The car started. The crowd cheered. First gear on the standard gearbox. The clutch came up slowly. Fingers tugged the throttle cable. Nothing. No change in engine tone, no movement. Try again. Ease the clutch up right to the top of it’s travel, and to our surprise, the vehicle leapfrogged forward. I stood on the brake as the car met the incline, willing it to stop. No emergency brake was attached. It was the brake, or the side of the Escort. The car stopped abruptly at the touch of the brake, and the chassis flexed. The sharp braking force made the channels holding the front half to the back bow upwards, as the front of the car tried to rotate about the front wheels.
Nevertheless, with only one ‘ping’ noise terrifying me into turning the car off, and despite the choking of the exhaust, the car moved up and down the driveway and steered a little. Sure the frame flexes like a snake with diarrhoea, but it held up to gentle stimulus. The car finally died on the driveway, and I wedged my foot onto the too-short (but thanks to Kai, slightly longer than it had been) brake pedal, willing it to stay in place as Kai fetched the cop car to ram the car back into the garage.
Diagnosis revealed lack of fuel at the angle of the driveway. Still, I declare the maiden voyage a success.
Now I figure taking a few family days off, I’ve still got 13 working days until I drive this bad boy in the New Year’s Eve parade. It’s not like software, where you can push your mind to work longer and harder though. It’s physically demanding work at times, so I’m not sure if 11 hours a day is sustainable. But we’ll see. An ant will rise from the flames of the elephant.
Oh, and if I don’t come out to see you at social gatherings, it’s not that I don’t love you, it’s that I’m kinda tied up.