Red Rover

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Just Old Al
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Red Rover

Post by Just Old Al »

And as a holiday offering to stimulate the masses:

"Red Rover" is an excerpt from an upcoming novel from the Usual Suspects.

Al, as is his bent when possible, has taken in apprentices for a Summer of hands-on instruction and immersion in engineering - specifically the hands-on dirty bits of designing, building and repairing things. Two of the three he has in-house are featured in this piece - and they're detailed below.

The first - Pamela by name - is a young Centaur lass from England and in Uni there to follow in her father's footsteps as the head of the engineering firm he founded. Other than being at University, this is her first time so far away from home and hearth and she's enjoying it greatly.

The other - Beth - is much the opposite, Steadfast, unyielding, driven and as foul-mouthed as it gets she's a Midwest girl who knows her mind and works hard to get what she's after. Her presence here is entirely serendipitous - but this is for the full work.

The rest are here as well - all of the Usual Suspects to be found around RE and the Mage Squad as this is directly in the time of "Aluminium Angel" - when Sterling and Arania were building the Pink Rover.

NOTE: All photos copyright me...


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CHAPTER 1

Arania’s phone rang, a constant in her busy day. Tapping her headset she spoke, her voice pleasantly professional.

“Richer Engineering, Arania Wardoff speaking…Oh, Great!....Yes, unload it and I’ll send someone out to sign for it. Thanks!” Hanging up, she dialed again, connecting in moments.

“John, it’s Ari. Yes, I know you have Caller ID on that thing, don’t sass me….Oh, very well.

“I need you to go out to the Chesnut Road entrance – there’s a car transporter unloading a customer’s vehicle. Can you go fetch it in, please?...Good…

“Drop it in Bay 4 – this is going to be one for the interns… Yes, and YOU get to supervise them… Yes, I know. I don’t want to hear it. You knew the job was dangerous when you took it.” The smile on her face belied the growl in her voice, and both were audible to the elderly mechanic.

Minutes later the vehicle door opened and a low thrum of power idled into the shop. Proceeding at a very slow walk, the Range Rover Sport clanked, rattled and made ominous crunching noises as it slowly found its way to the bay.

Figuratively and literally the car was filthy. The grime of inactivity covered it as did the road film of a long trip on the car transporter. The interior, while empty was dusty, the stains of hands and feet soiling the white interior and the rubber mats on the floor.

Stopping and shutting the car down, John stepped out, shaking his head at the condition of the vehicle. As he did Blossom, attracted by the noise, entered the bay.

“OOOOOoooo, pretty. Breath of home, this is. Range Rover Sport – Supercharged?”

John nodded. “Sounds great, but you wouldn’t know it to hear it move. The old girl’s hurting – the brakes are triple pump, the dashboard is a pinball machine of lights and warnings, and it’s just not happy.

“Rumor has it you and your little partner in crime are going to get to clean this one up.”

“Oh, DO tell. The foul-mouthed one and I are going to get trusted with a hundred-thousand dollar car?”

“Sad to say the old girl’s long past that. The sale paperwork was on the seat – and she went for less than 10% of that.”

“Why? She needs help, but she’s not that bad.”

“The help is why. Hang on, let’s not go over this twice. Go talk to Mr. Smokey and fetch Beth, and let’s go over what you’ll be doing.

Blossom wandered across the shop. Here the music was louder and the clank of tools in use was also audible.

Smokey and Beth were under the bonnet of an elderly Rolls-Royce, the wing padded with blankets to prevent any chance of damage to the car.

“Naow, how did y’all put the plugs in?”

“Exactly the way you told me to. Hand-threaded to contact, then torqued to 15 foot-pounds because the threads were lubricated. Reset the wires to each one as I went so no chance of mixing up the wires.”

Smokey leaned back out of the engine compartment. “Good. Light ‘er up.”

Beth slid into the driver’s seat after removing her latex gloves, and a second later the big V8 cranked and purred. A touch of the accelerator produced a glissando of revving, and the car settled back to a quiet idle.

“Sounds good. Y’all can get on the wires and points after this, then we can send her home.”

Pam interrupted “Mr. Smokey, I need to borrow Beth for a while. Mr. MacDonald has a project for us.”

“Oh, that Range Rover showed up? Y’all’re gonna have a good time with that one – Ah hear it’s a mess.”

Pam grimaced. “Yes, Mr. MacDonald says it is. However, needs must, and Beth and I are here to learn.”

Smokey turned to Beth, who’d been listening attentively after shutting the Rolls down. “Beth, y’all’re gonna be workin’ with Mr. MacDonald for a bit. Naow, you go on with Blossom and git at it. When he’s done with ya come on back. Guess I gotta go back to work – lost mah minion.“ He grinned and made a shooing motion with his hands. “Git on, now. And be careful, the both of ya.”

As they left Beth turned to Blossom eagerly. “So, what is it? Spill!” she said, making ‘gimme’ motions with her hands.

“It is a Range Rover Sport – the new style body. Not new – it’s got some time on it. From what Mr. MacDonald was saying the underpinnings are SHOT – sounds like a bag of nails when it’s on the move.

“However, it has its virtues – one of them being a 450-horsepower supercharged engine that must be LOVELY when it’s on song.”

“OOOOOooo…” They rounded the corner and Beth got her first look at it.

“Oh my GOD…it’s a rolling whorehouse.” Blossom barked with laughter, both at the totally immoderate but accurate comment and the shock of dealing with Beth’s lack of brain to mouth filter.

“You are right. That it most certainly is.” However déclassé the comment was, it certainly was not inaccurate. In brilliant Rimini Red metallic paint with a white interior, the car had the atmosphere of an aging madam, her defects covered by the road grime and storage dust she wore.

“Fuck, Blossom – this thing’s a mess. It looks like shit.”

“Yes, Beth, and this is where you and Blossom come in.” The firm voice behind them made them turn and there stood Ari, tablet in hand.

“This needs to be put in order ASAP, inside and out.

“The car sat for a little under a year before being sold to its new owner, and it was badly broken before it ended up being abandoned to the weeds. The brakes are completely gone, there is at least one very defective front hub and the rest of the suspension needs to be gone over with a fine-tooth comb and checked for issues.

“It also needs an underbonnet check of all of the fluids and perishables, and an oil change.

“Also, we’ll need to hook up the LR diagnostic system to it and check all the errors it’s reporting. Not all of them – we hope – are real, and may have been caused by the battery going dead while it was stored.”

Ari looked at them directly. “YOU TWO are going to do the work, and the diagnostic work as well. Mr. MacDonald is going to supervise you, and any specialty questions will be referred to you-know-who, who if he needs to will probably call the factory and beat the information out of one of his friends there. Any questions?”

Beth raised her hand. Ari sighed, and laughed. “Beth…of course.” Ari laughed again and dropped the stern manner. “What do you want to know?”

“You told us the what – what you didn’t tell us was the why. What fucking idiot treated a beautiful lady like this – and what’s up for it now?”

Ari laughed again. “This one’s a soap opera. Why don’t you two get started on this thing with Mr. MacDonald, and I’ll get Al to send out for pizzas for lunch and he can tell you all about it.”

“Sounds great. I knew there HAD to be a story to this.”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Red Rover

Post by Just Old Al »

CHAPTER 2

At lunch the crew sat around the refectory table. The counter was littered with pizza boxes, and the table with bottles of soft drinks.

Al opened another can of Moxie as he contemplated a slice of pepperoni pizza. “The story on that Range Rover is a complex one. It’s a tale of accident, loss, searching, neglect and eventually resurrection and rebirth. Pass the red pepper flakes, Pam, there’s a good lass….thanks.”

Chomping into his slice he enjoyed his bite then began the tale. “A mate of mine has a daughter – apple of his eye the lady is. Because of this she’s never driven as a personal car anything but Land-Rovers – down to Christmas at age 16 when her Dad bought her an elderly Range Rover Classic – in non-running condition.

“They worked on it together and got it roadable – and it saved her life a few years later when she got into an argument with a tractor-trailer – she got broadsided by the truck at speed.”

Beth’s eyes widened. “She got T-boned by a fucken’ Kenworth and survived? How long was she in the hospital?”

“She wasn’t – she walked away. WALKED AWAY. And you lot wonder why I have a fondness for the marque…well wonder no more. Beth, a slice of the sausage and onion? Thank you…” Peppering that, he continued.

“As you can imagine the lady has a sincere fondness for Land-Rovers. Well, it happened again a few months ago – she was coming home from work in her Discovery 2 when an idiot ignored a stop sign and hit her broadside. She again walked away, and thankfully none of her family were in the car, but the poor Discovery did not survive the experience.

“Between father and daughter they looked – and looked – and looked. They simply couldn’t find a Land-Rover in her price range that was at all worth having. They saw plenty of rotten chassis, bad suspensions, beat-up ex-lease vehicles and aught else – but nothing that was worth buying that wasn’t out of her price range.

“She gave up looking and was driving her husband’s truck – not her choice of a vehicle but needs must. Daddy, however, never stopped looking – and that’s when he found that brothel limousine down there in the bay.

“A mutual mate of ours had been browsing Craigslist in God-help-us Rhode Island – and tripped over it. Went to take a look and found a mess – but one with sincere possibilities. See, I’ll show you.”

Al set down his lunch and pulled his phone from his pocket. A few swipes brought up a picture of the Rover, parked alongside a house, grass growing under it.
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“Man, that’s sad. Sat there for a long time.” Beth remarked. “No grass underneath – so she sat for months.”

“Indeed. However, the car had serious potential. The chappie in Rhode Island had bought it out of Las Vegas so it was essentially rust free – and shipped to RI. He drove it essentially into the ground – he couldn’t afford the repairs and drove it till it wouldn’t go any more.”

“What the FUCK!?! Why would you buy something you can’t afford to keep up?” Beth was affronted.

“I do not disagree, Ms. Janik – the notion offends me as well. However, it’s neither here nor there. Our mate made the buy – in the young woman’s name.” Al grinned – this type of automotive skullduggery was endlessly amusing. “Then, Darling Daddy shipped it here – with strict orders to get it cleaned up and send it back.

“The young woman’s birthday is in four weeks – and Daddy is going to give her a present. You lot are going to get her running right, and clean her up inside and out. Then she is back on the truck and off to her new home – and the love of a young woman and her doting father. This needs to happen quickly as we will need to arrange transport or drive it where it needs to go – and I for one am not in any way interested in touring the US in a massively overpowered sports SUV. On second thought, let me rephrase that…” he said as the rest laughed.

Blossom spoke up. “We’ll get it done. Anyone who cares that much and is willing to go to those lengths to make his daughter happy – deserves it.”

“Fuckin’ A. Blossom, I think we have our work cut out for us….whaddya think?” Beth held out her hand, palm foremost, and Blossom tagged it with hers.

Later, Blossom and Beth sat at a workbench with John.

“We are going to take this one by the numbers, ladies.

“Beth – talk to Ari about the major assemblies for this car. I believe she’s already ordered them in as we knew some of its issues going in. Others, not so much – so I’m sure we’ll be ordering other items, eh?”

“First things first – I want Al down here to perform the initial evaluation. He can take a walk ‘round the old girl and see if his friend was right on the issues. No need to take things for granted when we’ve got an in-house expert, eh?”

Beth put her hand up. “Mr. MacDonald – what if we didn’t have an Al?”

“Good question, Beth. First off, somebody would actually be able to get a cookie and not restock the box in the kitchen…”

The two young women laughed, and John continued.

“More seriously, if that were the case, we’d do several things.

“First – a test drive. No need to do that here – I already did – and she brakes like a hog on ice and sounds horrible. So…not a big game of hide-and-go-seek to figure it out.

“Second, we’d lift it and do a physical inspection – that’s what I want Al here on. He knows exactly what to look for and where.

“Last, we dig into what we see – and fix what we find as we go after that. Once the major work is done then we figure out what else needs doing.”

The two women nodded, and John pulled his phone from his pocket. Pressing a button or two he was rewarded with the strains of “O, Canada!” reproduced from a phone speaker and getting rapidly louder as the source approached.

Al walked into the bay to the accompaniment of John’s ringtone. “Ladies, speak of the devil and see his horns, eh?”

“And what is it you want, O scion of the poutine mines?” Al quipped.

“We’re about to put the Sport up and evaluate the condition of the understructure – figured you’d want to demonstrate.”

“Good thought.” Al walked to John’s tool box and selected a pair of latex gloves. As he did, John and the ladies lifted the Range Rover to chest level for easy access. As the lift took the weight there was a loud hissing sound that came from all four corners.

“WHAT’S THAT?” Blossom asked, looking for the damage to the car.

“That, my dear Blossom, is the active suspension trying valiantly to compensate for the VERY LARGE pothole the car thinks it’s been dropped into. As we lift it this will eventually stop…ah, there it is.”

As he’d spoken the hissing quieted and ceased, and John finished lifting the car. Al walked up to the front offside wheel, shining his light through the wheel openings at the brake rotor.

“First off, note the condition of the brake rotor. The brakes on this car are, to put not to fine a point on it, burnt out. The rotors are worn badly – note the rim top and bottom on the braking surfaces. All of this will need to be replaced.”

Beth had not been passive, peering into the wheel as Al had. “Al, the calipers on this thing are HUGE! Whatthefuck does this thing have for brakes?”
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Al chuckled. “The brakes on this are Brembo racing brakes. Rotors of this size would normally be found on a heavy truck – a Ford F-250 is a good example. The calipers are aluminium racing calipers – and I pray to the Gods those aren’t buggered as the miserable sods are 750 dollars – EACH – and that’s my cost.”

"The customer was complaining of poor brakes and poor handling when driving - and loud noises from the front end. This...is not going to be difficult to find."

Al shook the wheel, first side to side then up and down. In both directions the wheel clunked noisily with far too much play.

"Wow. That SUCKS! Wheel bearings?" Beth asked, eyes following the horrible amount of motion.

"Got it in one, Ms. Janik. Range Rovers and LR3s of this vintage are noted for wheel hub issues - and as this one is supercharged, it is basically a 400-horsepower aircraft someone's knocked the wings off. Because of that, the running gear takes a pounding - and you get things like this."

"So what do we do about it?" Blossom asked. "Is this replace the bearings or the assembly?"

"Good question. Were this a Classic or a Discovery 1 or any Rover built up till the millennium it would be the bearings - simple and cheap. With this car it's the assembly - the bearings are available but the design is annoying to replace parts in. So the assembly gets the heave-ho into the scrapbin and we bolt on a new one." Al then went on and detailed the sequence of disassembly, then suggested that Beth and Blossom consult the manuals on the screen.

"Pretty car, but it's beat to shit. No maintenance and just not cared for. Why would anybody do this? More the point – there must have been better ones out there somewhere – why bother dealing with this train wreck?" Beth asked.

Blossom pointed upward underneath. Beth glanced that way, taking in the condition of the underpinnings.

"This thing isn’t rusty at all. Impression I have from what Al said at lunch is that most of these have bad tank guards, and everything else is corroded to a nicety. This one is nearly pristine.

"As Al said, the car was owned by a nice guy who couldn't maintain it. There are lots like that - buy an expensive car and can't afford the shop time to keep it up. This one's a perfect example - it was driven till the brakes were paper-thin, and the failed hub got it sold off. Sad, really."

"Yeah. Sad. Sucks to see a nice car treated this way. I can see why it's here - nobody'll treat it better than us." Beth patted the wing affectionately, rather like one would console a tired animal.

"Speaking of treating it, let's get at it. Al will not be pleased if he returns and we've done bugger-all".

"True enough. Pass me a 21-millimeter socket, willya?"
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Red Rover

Post by Just Old Al »

CHAPTER 3

With the car on the lift the work began. The wheels were removed and stacked, and the condition of the damage evaluated.

“So, ladies – what do we have?” John asked, wandering in after an hour or so.

“Brakes are right buggered, Mr. MacDonald.” Blossom replied. Beth snickered, as did John.

“What?” Blossom was puzzled.

John shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Blossom – I never should have forced you to work with Beth. All that fine breeding and proper etiquette gone in a short week or two…”

“HEY! I’m not THAT BAD!” Beth said, hands on hips. “What the fuck?”

John gestured toward Beth. “You see what I mean….I am SO sorry that rubbed off on you. I do hope you will recover…I would hate for your parents to blame Al for this.”

“HEY! I have not rubbed myself off on ANYBODY!” Beth stopped and clapped her hands over her mouth, horrified at the multiple meanings in that sentence. John and Blossom laughed heartily, and John remarked, “And on THAT note I am going to say NOTHING. Blossom, expand on your last statement, please.”

“Mr., MacDonald, the brakes are completely gone. Pads are down nearly to the metal on all four wheels, and the rotors are scored – not deeply but scored. I doubt they could be turned – they’ve a fair amount of wear on them even discounting the scoring.”

“Beth, what else have we got here.”

Still blushing, Beth attempted to redeem herself. “Al was right about the right front hub – the bearings are shot – the level of movement in the hub shows there’s nothing left of the rollers. Left front hub is reasonably tight, but if it were me I’d shoot them both – if one’s bad likely the other one’s worn as well.”

John nodded. “Astute observation. Now, drill-down: Do you think the power this car has will help or hurt that assumption?”

Beth thought, then answered. “The power this thing has is just going to make it worse. Small car with half or less the power of this thing would have gone a half-million miles on that hub and been scrapped with it in perfect shape. This thing’s weight, and the power going through those hubs – no brainer they’ll wear out faster.”

John turned to Blossom. “What else would have an effect on the hub wear?”

Blossom, not expecting the question, thought hard, then gestured to the pile of tyres at the side. “Those don’t help. Lots of power, and a big contact patch with the ground. Add the power steering to that dragging them across the pavement and that’s a big torsion load on the bearing.”

“VERY good – both of you. Yes, Beth – we are going to change both – Al completely agrees with that as a policy on jobs like this. It’s worth the few hundred extra in parts if the customer can stand it.”

“Thought so – it’s kinda dumb to do half a job like that unless you’re pinching pennies – and this is not one of those jobs.”

“Good enough, eh? Now, get at the front end on this thing – let’s get that done.”

An hour later, the sheer level of cursing from the Range Rover’s bay had John worried. Usually an attentive but not micromanaging teacher, the sheer imagination and volume of cursing coming from the bay had set off his sensors.

”What’s wrong?” he asked as he stepped into the bay.

“That useless piece of shit of a hub WON’T COME OFF THE FUCKEN CAR!” Beth cursed. It was obvious that Blossom felt much the same, but was handling it in a less vocal manner.

“They do stick – rust holding the assembly to the knuckle. Let me have a look.”

John looked into the wheel well. The disk and caliper had been removed, and the hardware securing the hub to the driveshaft and the steering knuckle as well. The hub itself had the spider from the slide puller kit attached to the lugs, and two slide weights were on the shaft.

“Won’t move, eh?”

“No, it doesn’t. We slide hammered it, sledge hammered it and generally pounded it a good one but it refuses to move.”

“Okay – time to get imaginative. Blossom, get me the two-jaw puller from the tool kit, please. Beth, a two-pound sledge please.”

Beth brought the hammer as Blossom dug for the puller in the tool kit. “Mr. MacDonald – there’s nothing there to pull against. Blossom and I talked about that and we couldn’t figure out how to do it.” It was a measure of Beth’s frustration that her normally obscenity-laden speech was clear of its usual embellishments.

“You’re right – there’s no way to pull it off barring the slide hammer you’ve had no luck with. Now, let’s get that off there and I’ll show you a trick.”

It was a moment’s work to remove the slide hammer from the hub, and by that time Blossom had returned with the puller.

“When you are dealing with a situation like this, you need to look at the entire picture. One of the big problems you have here is that you have nowhere to pull from to extract the hub assembly – and as you found out sometimes they stick.

“However, looking at the whole problem sometimes suggests a solution that a little lateral thinking can reveal. Watch.”

Using the sledge hammer, John knocked one of the lugs out of the worn-out hub. Disassembling the puller he took the arms off the cross piece, then pushed the threaded shaft of the puller through the hole vacated by the lug. Onto this he threaded the cross piece from the puller, and oriented it to bear against the cast-steel knuckle that held the hub.

The exclamations were immediate, “Bloody HELL!” from one side and the other.

John looked up, amused. “Nice to see the cultural cross-contamination is going both ways. You might civilize her yet, Blossom!”

While Beth spluttered John pointed to the lash-up.

“Do you see what I’m doing?”

“That is bloody BRILLIANT!” Blossom said, with Beth nodding enthusiastically.

“Basically, you’re levering the screw against the holder, and you’re going to use that to drive the hub from its mount.”

“Correct. This is horrible abuse of the puller – if this thing is well and truly stuck Al is going to end up buying another puller – and he is going to be annoyed with me. However, I am doing this as an example – there are times you need to re-evaluate the Book procedure and work out another way. We’re discarding the hub anyway, so knocking out a lug like that means nothing.”

“What about the bottom? We’re gonna cock the hub in the well and it’s gonna get stuck worse.”

“Good point. In that case what we’ll do is put a steel bar across the opening for the screw to bear against and walk the hub out a step at a time. It’s slow, but it should work. Now hand me a ¾” socket for the air gun and let’s get this moving.”

“Shouldn’t we do this by hand? The impact gun is a bit rough.”

“No, Blossom, this is one time we WANT it to be rough. The torque combined with the impact shock will help walk the hub out of the socket. Think of it as rapping on the socket with a hammer – the vibration will help.”

John applied the impact wrench and a few seconds of hammering saw the hub parting company with the mounting surface, Rotating the hub to the bottom and bearing it against a steel bar saw the bottom level with the top. A few more iterations and the hub parted company with the knuckle, coming free.

“There you go. Clean the socket the hub was sitting in thoroughly, and coat the hub with anti-seize when you go to put it in. Torque everything up, then call me before you lock down the driveshaft – I want to check things.”

“Yes, Mr. MacDonald.” chorused Beth and Blossom.

After John left, Beth remarked “Fuck, I NEVER would’a thought of that.”

“That, ducks, is why we’re here. It’s also a lesson on design – the designer who didn’t allow for some way to replace the hub should have been horsewhipped. The fact there was no ‘real’ way to get that thing out of there…bad design.”

“Good point. Look, I’ll get at the socket with a wire wheel and clean it up – you want to prep the new hub?”

“Indeed.” With that, they set to work again.

Beth cleaned the socket, then coated it with nickel antiseize. “Bastard’s not gonna stick this time!” she mumbled. Stepping back, she looked down on the knuckle, sitting with the axle protruding.



“Blossom, this just looks weird.” Blossom nodded, agreeing with the sentiment.

“Soon enough we’ll have her ready to go again – here’s the hub. Got the mount cleaned?”

“All set – let’s get it together.”
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*~*~*~*~*

Ari wandered into the bay with the Range Rover and its ministering interns.

“Beth, would you be OK if I borrowed Blossom for a half-day or so? I need some help and Al has Phil tied up at present.”

“Sure. Not to say I don’t need Tall, Dark And English, but I can manage for a bit. We got the front end done yesterday except for one caliper Mr. MacDonald has in the machine shop, and I’m starting to work on the backs. We don’t have the wheels on because we need to bleed the hydraulics – this poor girl’s trying to stop with tar in her lines.”

“Ow. Ewwwww. That bad?”

Blossom spoke up. “This should have Castrol LMA in its lines, or an equally quality fluid like Pentosin DOT4 LV. It should be a light amber – what is there now is black and utterly opaque. I don’t think the poor thing’s ever had a fluid change. On that note, does RE have a brake fluid pressure flush rig?”

“Yes, we do, several of them depending on the fluid needed. Beth, ask Mr. MacDonald for it when he comes back – the one for Brit DOT4 is likely in the supply room with the fluid.”

“Thanks, Ari. Will do.”

Ari left with Blossom in tow, and Beth set to work.

Removing the caliper and pad brackets, she stowed them safely, then turned her attention to the brake disk. Removing the flathead fastener retaining the disk, she pulled…and pulled.

And twisted, and pulled. Cursing, she started again.

And again.

Beth squatted in front of the rear hub on the Range Rover Sport, disgust writ large upon her face. Al, wandering by, sensed the disturbance and walked over.

"Beth, you seem annoyed. What can I do to help?"

"Al, this whoresbeast of a fucking brake rotor won't come off. I've pounded it, whacked it, yanked it with a slide puller and the damn thing just does NOT want to move."

"Very well, then - let's have a butcher's at it."

Beth stood and leaned forward into the wellspace, gesturing to things she'd done. "First, I undid and hung off the brake caliper - damn thing's not in bad shape though the pads are bad. Pad bracket came off, then I undid the mounting of the wear sensor and moved it off. Dropped out the fitting screw with an impact driver, and the damned thing won't move. It rocks, but it won't come off!"

She stood, face basically against the rear wing, and grabbed the rotor. Pulling alternately left to right the rotor moved, the CLUNK of the rotor hitting the obstruction loud in the confined space.

“This ill-mannered bastard child of a LeSabre and a Gremlin won't fuckin' come off. What do you think?"

"Well, I might-"

More clunks, and a rising note of irritation. "Come OFF you bargain bin hunk of scrap! Al, opinions?"

"Beth?"

"Yah?"

"Pardon me for saying this, but as you are now I can see NOTHING. If you stand back and extract your...bosom from my field of view of the assembly we MIGHT be able to figure this out." The acerbic tone of voice was not lost on the young woman, nor the tight control.

"Oh, sorry." She stepped backwards on the mat, opening the view of the offending assembly to the elderly engineer's gaze. Al gave the assembly a wiggle, then satisfied began to pry out a rubber bung from the rotor surface, said bung nearly invisible with the rust and dust on the surface. Beth looked on, interested.

"What the unholy fuck is that?"

"Parking brake adjuster. Haven't you ever seen an integral parking brake?" With the plug out Al rotated the hub till a small ratchet wheel became visible.

"Fuckno. Never seen a setup like that."

"It's not uncommon on 4-wheel disk systems that don't have a separate parking brake. Mazda and late-model Ford use it, as do many manufacturers along with Land-Rover on these later models." As he spoke, Al stuck a screwdriver through the slot and a clicking sound was heard as he rotated the ratchet wheel.

"Ah, that has it." Al set the screwdriver down and with a grunt of satisfaction slid the rotor off the hub studs, revealing the parking brake underneath. "Very good. Beth, two things. One, clean that parking brake assembly before you replace the rotor. Second, if you have not performed a particular task on a particular car, read the manual - it's in the computer on the wall.

“As you’ve never had the pleasure of the Corvette brake, let me inform you of a few small items. First, they will need to be adjusted again when you install the new rotor. Normally, one takes the adjuster up to the point it locks the rotor, then back it off 6 clicks. I tell you this because the manual procedure will have you believing that this cannot be done without the computing power of King’s College physics lab and a virgin goat to sacrifice.”

“Seriously? Why the hell is it so complex?”

“If one goes in and buggers about with the shoes and the drum assembly (the inside of the rotor) then yes, there is a certain amount of burnishing that the manual calls for. I’ve never seen it make a whit of difference either way. In short, a lesson learned – sometimes there IS a time to ignore the manual – but only when you know what you’re doing.

“Now, do carry on."

"OK, Al. Sorry about that."

"This is why they call it an internship - experience."

As Al wandered off and Beth began the cleaning a voice spoke behind her.

"Miss Janik, if you sit back and extract your...bosom out of my field of view of the assembly we MIGHT be able to figure this out." The creditable imitation of Al's phrasing ended on a rising note of humor, followed by a bellowing laugh. "In short, Jugs, MOVE YOUR KNOCKERS!" The laugh began again, going loud and long.

"Ha, ha, very funny Miss I Have A Funny Accent And I'm Not Afraid To Use It. And what the fuck would you have done in that circumstance?"

"Likely the same you did. However, working half-stooped like that is uncomfortable. Why didn't you raise the lift?"

Beth looked chagrined. "Blossom, it...never occurred to me. I just dove in. Gotta be honest I'm not used to working with real setups. Why the hell didn't Al say that?"

"Because he knows you're new to this as well. I'm sure he'll remind you of it - but in the middle of the job is not the time."

"Well, Damn."
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Red Rover

Post by Just Old Al »

CHAPTER 4

John dug out his phone and made a phone call that he hated to make.

“Al, I’m in the machine shop – can I have your help here for a few minutes? Good…thanks.”

Hanging up he contemplated the mess on the bench in front of him. A huge mass of aluminium in the form of a brake caliper, clearly labeled BREMBO sat there, quietly dripping hydraulic fluid.

Al arrived, as usual toting a mug of tea. Sipping, he asked breezily, “And what can I do for you, O Master Of Minions?”

John smiled wryly. “Right now I feel no brighter than them. The pad pins are stuck in this caliper and I just can’t for the life of me shift ‘em.”

Al grunted. ”Hmmm…let me go back to my office – this calls for the Webley.” Al made to leave, and stopped at the panic-stricken look on John’s face.

“Don’t trust I can shoot those out?”

“Well…no.”

Al laughed and slapped John on the back. “Good on you – I wouldn’t trust me to do it either.” Examining the caliper again Al mused, turning the caliper over in his hands.

”Hmm. An altogether too common problem when the shop doing brake work is inattentive. Stainless-steel pins in aluminium housings adds up to differential corrosion unless there’s a neutral medium to exclude oxygen – copperslip or the like.”

“That’s what I figured, too. Problem is – what do we do? The Bs pounded on them and couldn’t shift ‘em – then I took the caliper off and brought it in here. I tickled it with a torch – no go. Penetrating oil – ditto. They won’t move.”

“Very well. First things first, though…” Al pulled out his phone and dialed.

“Ari, get hold of AB and get them to send out two sets of Brembo caliper pins for the 2008 Range Rover. If we can get them overnight so much the better.”

”So you want me to try the local suppliers and see if I can scare up a set?”

“You can try, but call AB first. Now that this thing is on the service roster instinct tells me we’ll be seeing more of them – so worth having spares.”

You got it. Anything special I need to know?”

“No. You have the model – and those pins are a common item. 2 sets…just in case I bugger one up.”

Not to doubt you – but should I order a caliper?”

“Nooooo! Not at 750 dollars each. We will fix this one, never fear. Just get the pins.”

Al hung up, then addressed himself to the caliper again.

“We’re going to get a bit brutal with this. Once we get the pins out the caliper will be fine, but we need to shift them. First things first – rig me out a die grinder with a cutting wheel, there’s a good lad.” The ‘lad’ in question snickered but held his peace – John and Al had had that discussion before.

Al took the caliper over to the hydraulic press, hulking in the corner. Snapping on the overhead lights he set the caliper on two press blocks and clamped it in place with the ram, a block of plastic between it and the caliper.

John, intrigued, asked “What’s with the press, eh?”

“Nothing – as a press. One of the problems with applying force to such an item is getting it to hold still – and this should hold it neatly in place.”

Squatting next to the caliper, Al delicately cut the pins with the die grinder, leaving short protrusions at each end. He then removed the brake pads, setting them aside. The surfaces of the pistons were covered in a heavy layer of duct tape, protecting them in case of misdirected sharp edges.

“Now, we can have at the pins.”

Going to the tool cabinet Al extracted a set of long pin punches. Selecting one, he slipped a small bit of PVC tubing over the end, which neatly held the pin punch in alignment with the stub of the caliper pin.

John admired the forethought. “Sneaky. Tubing’ll hold it right in line – no slipping. What’re you waitin’ for – Give ‘Er!”

“A mallet, if you would, Mr. MacDonald.” John passed Al a machinist’s hammer, and a sharp RAP from the hammer dislodged the cut ends of the pins. Al looked pleased.

“It’s lovely when a plan comes together.” John chuckled, then sobered. “What about the other end – those don’t come out that way.”

“Patience, my dear chap – patience.” Al stepped to the lathe and a convenient bin of castoff metal scraps, and soon returned with a special punch. A few inches long, the stepped end had been reduced to a pin of only three millimeters or so.

John looked confused. “What’s that for? I used a good sized punch myself – and I couldn’t shift ‘em with that.”

Al sighed. “That is the problem. You and the ladies assumed, because of the corroded condition of the through hole, that the pins were the same with all the way through. As a matter of fact they’re not.”

John looked disgusted. “You’re right, damnit. I remember seeing that on the other side and I didn’t put 2 and 2 together. So, we were hammering against the casting?”

“I suspect so. They WERE quite seized though – I suspect a smaller pin punch would not have shifted them without bending. Let’s give it a try with this.”

Al carefully wirebrushed the pin ends and the surrounding aluminium, then took a magnifier and put it on. “Do stand back – I didn’t temper this punch and I would prefer you not collect the debris if it snaps.”

Unclamping the caliper he repositioned it so the ram was directly over the pin. Clamping the caliper in place with a G-Cramp, he stood the punch over the pin end, centering it, then began to pump the press.

With a CLICK the cut-off end of the pin exited the casting and skittered across the floor. A few more moments work saw the other clear and the caliper was free.

“Here you go. You can refit this and get the ladies to cleaning up the hydraulics, and the new pins will be in tomorrow. In the meantime fit the pads with a few dowel pins just to hold them up.

John was chagined. “Damnit, Al, I’m sorry. I screwed up.”

Al laughed. “And how, dear John, do you think I learned about this? I committed the exact same mistake – and that cost my customer a caliper. Don’t mention this directly to the ladies – but DO point out the end shape of the pins and mention a smaller punch is in order – I’m sure they’ll figure it out for themselves.”

“Good call. Thanks, Al – even at my age I learn something new every day.”

Al slapped John on the back, chuckling. “As do I, mate, as do I.”

*~*~*~*~*

Beth plugged in the computer and turned on the key. The dash lit up, scrolling through its litany of failures, and the radio hissed. The headlights and marker lights came on as well, lighting up the wall of the bay in a lopsided fashion.

“Hey, Blossom!”

“Yes?” Blossom answered from below.

“Headlights are on but look funny. Want to have a look at the front end?”

“Surely.” Walking to the front of the vehicle (4 feet up on a lift as it was) Blossom squinted at the lights. “Front passenger headlight is out, as is the marker lamp. Trigger the high beams.”

Beth did, and Blossom nodded. “All good. Just a mo – I’ll check the back.”

“Hit the brakes…good. Registration plate lights are out – everything else is good.”

“Thanks. I’ll note it and we’ll fix ‘em after we get this thing off the lift. Need me to pump the brakes?”

“No – the bleeder is hooked up and I’ve already siphoned out the old fluid. We should be lovely – you just keep on, then.”

Toggling through the local stations, Beth settled on a rock station and left it on. Reaching in to turn off the headlamps, she tapped a button on the side of the steering wheel.

BEEP! The radio went off.

“What the hell?”

“Sorry.” remarked an English accented voice. Paying little attention to the voice, Beth mused, “What the HELL happened to the radio?”

“I didn’t understand that.” The English accented voice said apologetically. The BEEP sounded again, and the radio began to play.

Puzzled, she toggled the button again, and the beep sounded as the radio turned itself off.

“Radio”

BEEP! “Sorry.”

Beth had an inspiration. “Radio Help.”

“Radio help. Radio commands are – Radio Play, Radio Off. Radio Preset One through Nine-“ The cultured voice continued, listing the various commands that could be used for controlling the entertainment system.

Beth guffawed, a loud sound in the otherwise quiet workbay. Blossom called up from the rear wheel:

“What are you bloody laughing at you TWIT?”

“It sounds like YOU!” and Beth went off again.

Climbing the short ladder to the Sport’s cockpit Blossom stuck her head in. “What sounds like me?”

“Listen!” Beth pushed the button on the steering wheel again. “Radio help.”

“Radio help. Radio commands are-“ and the voice command system again did its party piece, listing the available commands for the entertainment system.

Blossom laughed, shaking the ladder. “Oh, my. Oh, DEAR. It sounds like Mummy!”

“It sounds like your mother? How very, very posh!” she quipped, trying and failing to achieve the proper accent.

“Only Land-Rover. Only bloody Land-Rover would have a posh British accent for its in-car systems. Let’s see if it can understand you – say ‘radio preset nine’.”

“Radio preset nine.”

BEEP! “Sorry.”

Blossom tried. “Radio preset nine.”

“Radio. Preset. Nine” BEEP! and the radio changed channels to the ninth preset.

“Heathen American. It refuses to acknowledge you.” Blossom said, in her very best upper-crust accent.

“Jackass. Not my fault, I tell you. Fucken thing’s ignoring me.” Beth laughed. “Better reset the learning on that while I have the computer set up – let it relearn the voice patterns of the new owner.”

“Oh, do. Note down you’ve done it and then try it – the defaults should work. Get anywhere with the reported faults?”

“No, just started with ‘em. Noting them down, then gonna reset them and see if they come back. Al figures this thing is confused – its battery went dead while it was parked.”

“Good on you. Let me know if I can help. Till then, the hydraulics await.”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Re: Red Rover

Post by Just Old Al »

CHAPTER 5

The five sat at a workbench in the bay with the Range Rover.

Externally and internally the car was transformed. The dust and grime were gone, and a thorough wash, polish and detailing had cleaned the prior ownership from the car. Glass sparking, paint gleaming and wheels and tyres cleaned and blacked, it stood regally in the bay.

“So, where are we with the fine lass here?” Al asked, gesturing to the car.

John smiled – he was going to enjoy this. “Beth and Blossom have got the old girl in top shape. Want me to walk you through the task list?”

“Yes, please do. Specifically, is there anything safety-related that would prevent it from leaving in the next few days? Time is growing short, and Ari needs to schedule the truck.”

John nodded. “Blossom, why don’t you lead off, and you and Beth can walk Al through what’s been done.”

The Bs looked at each other, and Blossom began.

“As you know, the poor thing was in awful disrepair – both known issues like the brakes and other things we discovered as we worked on her.

“First as you know was the brakes – they were well past it, as were the rotors. Beth and I rebuilt those, and flushed the hydraulic system.”

“Did you flush the ABS pump using the diagnostic computer, or just the main lines?”

Beth spoke up. “I was working with the computer as Blossom was working on the bleeding. When she got done running the main lines, I did the ABS pump and its hydraulics, and Blossom ran the lines a second time. The old girl’s as clear as we can get her.“

“Very good. I take it you referred to the manual procedure on that?”

Blossom this time. “Yes, we did, specifically on the allowed pressures for pressure bleeding. We were very careful with it.”

“Good. Proceed – Beth, you this time.”

“As you know the front hub was shot. I recommended and you agreed we should replace both – and we did. Ran into trouble getting them out of the knuckles, but Mr. MacDonald showed us a good way to break ‘em free. Got everything in, Loctite where called for, and torque specs right out of the manual.”

“What about the parking brake – did you look up the procedure on that?”

“I did – and I’m glad you told me the shortcut ‘cause that was a friggin’ nightmare between the settings and the computer. I set ‘em up like you told me.”

“Very good. What else did you find in the meantime?”

“Fluids were all low. Other than the brakes, we topped them up as required. The oil was changed – another nightmare, because the sodding oil filter was seized onto the mount. That we ended up having to remove with a hammer and chisel – nasty mess. Also, there were six or seven lights out – bad bulbs. Replaced them all, and on the low-beam headlights and front marker lights replaced them both, as if one was gone the other was likely on the way out.”

“Good, Blossom. Beth – what if anything was NOT done?”

“Couple things – both due to time constraints. We talked to Mr. MacDonald on it and he agreed.

“There’s a crack in the rear bumper cover – either needs a riveted patch or a replacement cover – but doing either was not on because of paint dry time for the eight bajillion coats of base and clear that metallic would need.”

“Agreed. My friend can deal with that whenever – it’s not a safety issue. Anything else?”

“Yup. Bad parking sensor in the front. We’d have to have the whole front end apart to deal with it, and the sensor was backordered anyway per Ari.”

Ari spoke up. “Sensor for this would have been a hundred fifty from the dealership, a hundred from AB, or forty dollars from the UK directly. Want me to order one on our next parts order and send it along?”

“Yes, please do. My mate is going to have his hands in it anyway, so might as well get him the part at our cost. Proceed.”

John picked up the narrative. “That’s really it. We washed and polished her inside and out, and other than a few nicks and scratches she’s in candy-box condition. Only thing we haven’t done is run her in – she needs some time and miles. I’ve had her out and about, but not at speed and not a lot of distance.”

“Very good. Ari, please schedule the truck for two days from now – that will get the car to him on plenty of time for licensing and inspection.” Ari nodded and took a note.

“Tomorrow, I want all of you here at 0700 – we’re headed for Brainerd.”

John held up his hands. “Oh, no, I’m not. I have been in the car with you on road tests, and I am NOT letting you do that to me again. You want to take the cannon fodder, er interns you can, but I am NOT going.”

Al laughed. “John, you campaigned a modified Corvette in SCCA road racing events against Jaguars and Austin-Healeys back when you worked for GM. And you question MY driving?”

“Yep. I was fast – YOU are just plain crazy. Have fun.”

Al was no stranger to this argument. “Oh, very well. I take it the rest of you have no objections?”

Blossom spoke up. “Al, what is Brainerd? I assume it is some type of a course from what Mr. MacDonald is implying.”

“Blossom meduck, Brainerd International Raceway is a major race track in Brainerd, Minnesota. They have two road courses, and I’m going to arrange time on the long one – the Donnybrook course. Ari, go on Brainerd’s website and acquaint yourself with the course layout on Donnybrook – you’ll be driving it.”

Ari squeaked “ME?”

“Yes, in the Aston. Nothing against your Mustang, meduck, but I’m not sure it could keep up with that firebreathing brothel limo at full chat.”

“No. Not. I’ll take WNGWMN. I am NOT driving that four-wheeled arsenal on the street – I’m not licensed for all the toys in that thing, remember.”

“True enough, true enough. I will slow down enough for that Ford thing to keep up.”

Ari bristled, and Al saw the tips of her claws begin to appear. “Very well – moving on, I am sure I don’t need to tell you to dress appropriately. Boots and civvies – no coveralls.”

"Why? Not complaining, mind you, but shouldn't we be getting on to other work?" Blossom asked.

“Blossom, while I admire your conscientious attitude there is a method to my madness.

"Why? Why is simple. The first person to risk his arse on your work should ALWAYS be you. One thing that is NEVER done in my shops is to finish a piece of repair or modification and just hand it off to a customer. I don't care if it's just a simple hose replacement or leaky gasket repair - YOU need to proof your work and make sure that it is right and the customer is safe.

"I have seen far too many instances of simple stupidity risking a customer's life - a badly set gasket on an engine allowing the coolant or oil to leak, or a brake caliper whose bolts were not torqued properly. EVERYONE makes mistakes-"

"Some more than others" muttered Ari sotto voce, which Al loftily ignored as he continued.

"- and this is your opportunity to catch them before you inflict your work on the customer. They are NOT your quality control - YOU ARE."

"Then why are you going?"

"This one is - family. An old friend of mine's daughter is going to trust her life and children to this car - she will I have no doubt never push this as hard as I will tomorrow but I want to be sure on my own honour that it is right."

Beth bristled a bit and Al noticed.

"Miss Janik?"

"Al, we did this RIGHT. Blossom and I did the work, Mr. MacDonald checked us and he's had it out for a test drive. Don't you trust us?"

"Yes, implicitly. However, this one's going away - and I owe the person it's going to. This is not a reflection of your work, but of the debt I owe the recipient. Are you going to complain about a bit of a day out and a few laps around a fast track in the passenger seat?" Al held his finger up and waggled it. "No, you are NOT driving. Next question."

Gaze steely, Beth responded coldly through gritted teeth.

"Al, can we talk in your office, please?"

"Certainly." Al’s gaze queried the others and then he asked “Any questions? Good. 0700 tomorrow, and bring ear defenders.”

The pair ascended the stairs and entered Al's office. Back in the work bay Blossom looked nervously at Ari and asked “What do you think is going on there?”

Ari thought for a moment, reviewing the interaction between Beth and Al. “Seems to me someone objects to being told she’s not driving.”

“But why? That’s a very expensive car, and she’s an intern. While I understand I wonder at the attitude.”

Ari nodded, then spoke slowly, obviously thinking through the issue. “I think it’s Beth specifically. She’s had no end of trouble with people treating her poorly because of her gender, and she’s got a hot-button on being told ‘no’. We shall see what happens. Until she gets back why don’t you check out the Sport – walk the fluids and everything. I’ll give you a hand with the checklist.”

“Good-oh. Thank you!”

When they were comfortably seated in his office Al turned to Beth and spoke. "Beth, obviously there's a problem with my statement that you're not driving. Please explain."

"Al, I'm not stupid. I drove a Quad Cab long bed pickup loaded with gear and people for a job. Got paid shit and treated like a pair o' tits, but I drove her all over the Midwest and did the work anyway. I KNOW how a big truck is supposed to handle. So since you trust me boss, and I'm going anyway, why won't you let me test out my work?"

"While you may have experience with large vehicles, Beth, there is a certain level of customer liability here. I sincerely doubt you have any experience with them at 120 miles an hour or faster - and that supercharged Range Rover is capable of MUCH faster."

Al examined Beth’s emotions, which were a mixture of anger and sorrow. He remembered where she came from, and how she was treated by the general gearhead public, then mentally applied his palm to his forehead.
Beth continued, still tightly controlled, but the anger present in her aura was enough to take Al aback. "Al, I'm not stupid. What's the problem - is it the attitude or the fact that I'm a woman? Given Ari being here and all that's the last thing I would have expected from you."

"Neither, actually. It is more concern for the customer's vehicle, and for your experience level at speed. Judging on these, I shouldn't let you anywhere near that vehicle. My decision should stand."

Beth's gaze changed, as did her aura. Anger held tightly in check, shame, sadness - all were present. "Fine. Don't bother waiting for me for tomorrow-"

"Why?"

"Because I'm not going to waste my time going out there and back if you don't trust me. I should be here, learning what you're willing to teach me. Mr. MacDonald and Mr. Stratton will be here, and I’m sure they can give me things to do."

Al TSKed and shook his head. "While I said I should let my decision stand, I didn't say I was going to. Be here at 0700 tomorrow - and come prepared to drive on the track." And up or back - I haven't decided which yet. You, ducks, are going to be the death of me.

The change in Beth's aura was immediate and dramatic. From the desultory colours it had shown it flared brightly with joy and anticipation.

"YOU GOT IT, BOSS!"

"HOWEVER!" Al began.

"What?"

"I get to decide the speeds you drive at, and you will do so AFTER I have checked the vehicle myself. Come the end of the day you are still an apprentice and I have a responsibility to my customers and the public to check your work. Am I understood, Ms. Janik?"

"Yessir, er Yes, Al."

"Very well, then. Until then you have preparation work to do on that vehicle, and I have work to do as well. If you let it slip that I am going to also let your partner in crime try it - though knowing Blossom she may well refuse - I will tolerate that. Off with you, now."
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Re: Red Rover

Post by Just Old Al »

CHAPTER 6

“Good morning folks, and welcome to Brainerd International Raceway. My name is Bob Kitamura, and I’m going to be your course guide this morning.”

The spare, pleasant-featured man spoke to have himself heard above the din in the training room. As well as the RE group there were two others, each discussing their plans for the course segments they’d rented.

“Now, the RE folks have the Donnybrook course for two hours. I’ll go through what that’s like right now, and let them get on with what they’re going to get on with. Then, we can talk about the drag strip that the Funny Cars Interstellar group will be using, and the Competition Course the Deusche Kleinen Auto group will be practicing on.”

“Al, who of your team are going to be driving, and what?”

“The test subject today is the Range Rover. The Mustang will be on the track as a chase car in case the RR does something odd. There will be two in each car – one driver and one recorder. The cars will be in communication via phones.

“All of us will be piloting at one time or another. Ms. Wardoff will probably be staying at the helm of her own car – the Mustang – and the other ladies and I will be handing off on the Range Rover, I suspect, unless Miss Wardoff tires.”

“Very good. You all need to sign waivers, but that can happen after the briefing. Now listen up, folks – I’m going to go over the approaches to the track. I recommend you take your first pass per driver at no more than 75, and PAY ATTENTION to the track surface.

“Also – unless the car BREAKS DOWN do NOT, I REPEAT NOT, stop on the track. If you do I will have to pull you off. Understood? Good.”

Bob pulled down a roller blind at the front of the room to reveal a map of the site. The curves for the courses were marked on the map, and using a laser pointer Bill began to call them out.

“OK, folks. You’re going to start out about the center of the straight by the timer’s stand. From there it’s down the straight into Turn One – this is the place to put your foot down, because the straight is made for it and so is Turn 1. Keep it to the line and you can go through without scrubbing off much speed.

“The straight and Turn 2 are much the same – the turn’s flatter but wide and a good sweeper – you’ll do fine on it at just about any speed. Coming out of 2 is another straight – good to build up some speed.

“Turn 3 is a slower turn than the first two – you’ll be braking hard coming into it. Keep to center – there’s a curb to the exit and that will make a helluva mess of your car if you misjudge it.

“4, 5 and 6 are S turns – 90 degrees or so each. Not going to run these real fast in that boat – just be aware of your lateral Gs and don’t push it or it’ll get expensive.”

“Boat indeed!” Al exclaimed.

“Yes, boat. It’s got power but a high center of gravity. Don’t forget this isn’t your Aston, Al!” Bob grinned – obviously he knew Al and his taste in cars.

“7 and 8 are nothing to trifle with – listen up. When you come out of 7 don’t peak too early, and stay to the LEFT to be set up right for 8. I repeat – stay LEFT. If you don’t, it’s going to get expensive.

“9 and 10 are deceptive. On 9 make sure you don’t take the apex of the turn too early, or you’ll have a bridge abutment to deal with. That would NOT be good. Coming out of that turn 10 is fast and a real sweeper – 120 degrees. That’ll dump you back into the straight. The top end of the straight has the entrance to pit row – if you need to change drivers or anything do it there – remember, NO stopping on the track unless you break down.”

“Any questions?”

A few minutes later the Mustang and Rover were on the approach to the course on the ramp. Both had been warmed, their tyre pressures checked and were ready to go.

“All right – who wants to ride shotgun first?”

Beth and Blossom turned to each other, and Blossom said, “Match you for it! – One, Two, Three GO!” Fingers flashed, and there was a howl of disappointment from Beth.

“Blossom, get in and strap down.” She obediently trotted over to the Range Rover and got in, closing the door and locking herself down. Donning the rental helmet she looked nervous but eager – much like a skittish colt.

“All right then. First lap at 75, then we’ll push it up from there. I’ll call you before we pull out. Beth, camera. Movies of the Sport when you can get it - side and rear view – I want to see how it handles the curves. Questions?”

“How close do you want us?”

“Not too close – if the car goes bad I don’t want you to hit it. Give me a good distance – half-dozen car lengths. Ready?”

“Ready.” Both donned their helmets and strapped into the Mustang. Al strapped on his Bell, and sat in the driver’s seat.

“SO, feeling confident in your work?” Al asked. Blossom nervously nodded yes – but all Al was sensing was excitement from the young filly.

“Very well then.” Al keyed the phone in the Range Rover’s cockpit and dialed Ari.

“Shall we be off then or has WNGWMN decided not to play?” Al jibed, knowing quite well the answer.

“Bring it, old man. If we have time I will take a solo lap of the track and we’ll see how good Ford iron stacks up against that creampuff!” Ari was feeling her oats – and beside her a helmeted Beth fist-pumped in silent agreement as Al could see in his mirror.

“Very well, then. First lap at 75-80, then we’ll take it up from there. Follow me.” They idled up to the starter at the ramp exit, who waved them to a stop, then flagged them through.

Al gave the Range Rover its head – the speed rapidly mounted to 80, and he swung it into the inside edge of the first curve with no braking. Swinging in a ballistic arc from there he held his speed, taking the second right in much the same fashion.

Glancing up in his mirror on the straightaway he saw the white and blue Mustang and its occupants. Ari’s face was a study in concentration, and Beth’s a study in adrenalin. Despite that fact, she was filming and taking notes, holding to her tasks.

“How’s the computer look, Blossom?”

“Perfect. No errors, and no warnings. Temperatures and pressures are perfect.”

“Very good. Keep an eye on things – with the trip up here at 75 I hardly think we’ll see issues at this speed, but use this as a baseline.”

Braking hard into the third turn Al slingshot the curve, taking the track diagonally into the tight radius of the fourth turn, slinging out diagonally into the inside of the fifth turn.

Sixth was a 90-degree bend, and Al pumped the brakes of the Range Rover hard – quick stabs to reduce velocity as he drove hard into it and harder out.

“Creampuff, eh? I see more body roll in that Mustang than I do in the brothel limo!”

“I don’t have an active suspension – you’re cheating!”

“Not cheating. Pay attention – turns 7 and 8 are tight and nasty.”

“Got it.” Ari fell silent and Al accelerated, aiming for the tight line into 7 which would align him for 8. A quick 45-degree turn into 7, then the long curve into another 45-degree jog in 8. Al fell silent, aligning himself into 9 to avoid the restriction of the bridge abutments, then the long straightaway into 10.

Through the curve at 10 and onto the dragstrip section they flew, bleachers and stands whipping by like picket fence posts.

“Now 100. You game?”

“Bring it, Al!” Al smiled to himself – this was turning out to be a grand day out as well as a comprehensive test of the Range Rover – and the interns.

A glance to his left showed a thoroughly possessed Blossom noting temperatures, pressures and systems indicators despite the throwing about she was getting on the track.

“Enjoying the ride, Blossom?” Al asked over the whine of the supercharger. An enthusiastic thumbs up was his answer, with a set of sparkling eyes in a flushed face pointed in his direction for a moment.

“Note: At this point we’re going up to 100 miles an hour – note that. I want to be able to separate the data sets.”

Another thumbs-up and she scribbled a note in the margin.

Al pushed the Sport to a steady 100 MPH and the dance began again. The brakes were little-used – Al was experienced enough as a high-speed driver to need them only where absolutely necessary, preferring to use his drivetrain as needed.

Through 1 and 2 the course was much the same, though the reaction times required were stricter than the first run. Brake hard into 3, slower into 4,5 and 6, then accelerate and brake into 7 and 8.

Accelerate through 9, then foot down into 10 and into the straight.

“120. You up for it back there?”

“Try and stop me, old man!”

Al laughed – the adrenalin wasn’t affecting only Ari’s passenger, it seemed.

Again – at the higher speed the intervals between turns and the need for precision driving even more evident. A few times Al clipped the inner verges of turns, resulting in an edgy moment or two as he straightened it out.

As they swept through turn 10 Al called out “Ari, pull off. I’m pushing this thing to 130 and I want to do it alone. I’ll be back around.”

“Done.” Ari said, and Beth complained ”Aw, come ON! We can do it –“ with a click as Ari muted the microphone.

Now the test was nothing but serious. At these speeds the Range Rover was more than competent, but the driving took much of Al’s skill. He did spare a glance for his passenger, though – still seriously taking notes.

“Enjoy the ride!” Al shouted, and Blossom looked up, her face split in a wide grin. “WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” she shouted, and continued with “Mummy and Daddy will never believe this.”

“That is why Beth was filming – I wanted to see what the Sport suspension would do, and give you a bit of proof to send home.”

Finally, turn 10 reared up as Al shot the center of the bridge crush. Decelerating, slowing, Al pulled into the pit area and parked next to the Mustang. Letting the Sport idle to cool its oil Al asked nonchalantly “Have fun, Blossom?”

“Oh, very much so, Al. THANK YOU!”

Leaving the car running Al stepped out and walked over to the Mustang. Ari, eyes alight and flushed stood next to Beth who practically vibrated with energy.

All business, Al asked ”How did the Sport look? Beth, you were filming – any sign of instability or lift?”

“None. I was watching for corner lift. The dynamic suspension on that thing WORKS – even throwing it through the curves at 120 there was almost no body movement – it tracked like it was on rails. I did notice it hopping a bit in a few spots – did you feel anything coming out of 10 into the drag strip, and at the beginning of the drag strip?”

“Yes, I did. Coming out of 10 there seems to be a bit of off-angle pavement that made it skitter a bit, and the burnout area before the Christmas tree on the drag section has bugger-all for adhesion. Good eye.”

“Thanks.” Beth said, trying to appear nonchalant. This lasted for about five seconds then she began bouncing on her toes and asking “My turn? My turn? My turn?”

“You have just been around the track at 120 miles an hour in a five-liter Mustang and you want to tour it in this SUV?” Al asked, mock-incredulously.

“YES! YesYesYes!”

“Very well then – get in.” Al walked to the passenger’s door and opened it, seating himself and belting in.

Beth stood in shock. Behind her, Ari and Blossom snickered. “Looks like Jugs is going to get her wish.” Blossom said for Ari’s ears. Ari nodded, and called to Al.

“Do you want us on chase?”

“Not at present. After Beth and Blossom have their chance with the Sport I am going to give you those laps you wanted, if you’re not averse.”

Looking at Beth Al shouted “Well, are you coming? The clock is ticking, and if I can release the track early I intend to.”

“FUCK YEAH!” Beth bounded into the driver’s seat and closed the door, adjusting the controls and seat position to fit her comfort levels.

“Beth – serious time now.” Al said, quietly. Beth looked at him and her face immediately sobered.

“No faster than 80 on the first lap, understand? Do NOT try for the tightest line – you have no experience at this and I want you to do this conservatively, understand?”

“Understood. I get it, Al – you’re takin’ a fuckin’ big risk here letting us do this.”

“I am. Be conservative, and while I want you to enjoy yourself this is a learning experience – and a classic example of eating your own dog food.”

“I get it.”

“Let us be off, then.”

Beth put the big car in gear and slowly idled to the gate. The starter waved her though, and she pulled out, accelerating slowly.

“What, pray tell, are you waiting for? I said eighty!”

With a huge grin on her face Beth pushed the pedal down firmly, and the Range Rover quickly found its speed.

“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” came the scream from the young woman’s throat as she flew into the first turn. Slackening none of her speed she flew into the second turn, then into the straight to the third.

“BRAKE! BRAKE YOU DAFT GIT!” Al shouted as Beth hurtled toward the third turn. Beth stabbed at the brakes – short, hard stabs with cooling stops between them, taking a tight line inside the turn she flew out at 90 into the fourth turn and beyond.

Turn, brake, turn again. Sight line into the next turn and minimize travel to maximize speed. Through 9 and 10 and into the straight Beth looked at Al. “Pull off?” she asked.

“100. No more. Stay conservative.” Al said, seemingly relaxed.

“Done.” Concentrating, Beth pushed the big car to 100 and held it.

For its part the Range Rover showed its breeding. As stable and quiet at 100 or more as it was at 70, it handled the curves, bends and variable surfaces with no concern and less anxiety. The huge contact patches of the racing tyres, active suspension and huge power reserves all banded together to give the behavior of a show horse – finely bred and capable of extraordinary performance.

Through Turn 10 again Al spoke. “Once more, Ms. Janik, and then it’s Pam’s turn. You do remember Pam, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. Bet she turns you down.”

“Somehow I suspect not. Proceed.”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Red Rover

Post by Just Old Al »

CHAPTER 7

The next morning the five again gathered in the bay. The Range Rover stood there, a bit less tidy than the previous day but sporting an insufferable air of “I am SO good.”

Coffees in hand they discussed the next steps, as the trucker was due that afternoon.

“Beth, Blossom – a few items that need to be done.

“First things first – oil change and transmission filter, fluid and pan change. I felt a few minor shift irregularities yesterday and it’s due in 15,000 miles in any case, so get it done.

“Bring me the oil filter – we’re going to cut that open and look for metal in the filter. I do not expect to see any, but belt and braces and all that.

“When you get into the transmission oil change the plastic pan has to go. Install the conversion kit with a metal pan and separate filter. The concept of a plastic oil sump on an off-road vehicle is ludicrous, even if it’s shielded with all the armor plate the bottom of this thing is wearing.”

“Plastic? That’s daft.” Blossom shook her head unbelieving.

“You can thank Ford and ZF for that – daft is a very good description. However – I digress.

“Wash it, clean it out. Check all the consumables when you get it done, and walk around it and make sure everything is working. Fill the fuel tank.”

Beth had been scribbling notes, and when Al stopped she looked up. “Anything else?”

“No. Wait, yes. Take my SLR and walk around it and take a clear set of snaps of its condition. This way if the trucker damages it we have recourse.”

“No problem. Done.”

“Oh – one other thing. John, do we have any indicator markers in stock?”

“Yes. Red and yellow.”

“Good. Ladies, when you remove the guards mark the bolts you need to remove on the heads – especially the ones for an oil change. A nice bright dot of yellow on the heads will tell the poor suffering oil change jockey – or my mate – which ones need to come out.

“I don’t need to tell you to leave fetching fuel for it to the last – this way you can confirm the fluid changes aren’t leaking.” He stood, dusting the crumbs of his breakfast from his hands. “Have at it and make sure you do your jobs well. We’ll not see her again soon.“

The bay rang with the sound of air tools. Beth and Blossom, now well used to working together, stripped the shields from the bottom of the Range Rover and set the fluids to draining.

“God, look at the cruft.” The bottom of the engine was covered in the white fuzz of aluminium corrosion, soiling the otherwise clean area. The steel of the frame and bracing was still in good shape, but telltale corrosion showed at the welds.

“That’s what happens if you leave bare aluminium out in a damp environment. This all happened when she was sitting in the weeds, from what Al said of the car’s story. Nowt to do for it, I’m afraid…or is there?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Corrosion protection. Al has the stuff in bulk. If we’ve got the pans off it seems an auspicious time to spray the chassis, the ally bits and the inside of the pans.”
“When you’re right, you’re right. Get the stuff and let’s do it.”

“Just a minute.” Beth stepped away, and returned with a charged spray gun. “I asked Mr. MacDonald – he agreed. Al’s friend is going to rustproof the whole underside, but doing the normally shielded bits is a good idea.”

“Save it for after we get done wrenching under here – that stuff’ll make a mess.” Beth set an oil filter wrench on a socket and pulled the nearly-new filter. “Need to drain this and get it to Al – he wants to cut it open and look for metal. Be damn surprised if he sees any, though – not the way this thing ran.”

“True enough. Belt and braces, though.” With that Blossom went back to work on the transmission’s oil pan, undoing the bolts and setting them neatly in a container before removing the pan and letting the oil drain.

“I heard Al say that. What are braces?”

Blossom laughed. “Braces are the things some men wear to hold up their trousers instead of a belt. Haven’t you ever heard of them?”

“Oh, you mean suspenders! Why didn’t he just say so?” New oil filter on and torqued properly Beth wiped up the spillage, tidying the area.

Blossom laughed again. “No, they are NOT suspenders! That may be what you call them here, but at home suspenders are the lady clothing bits used to hold up silk stockings.”

Beth guffawed. “Oh, yeah. A garter belt is definitely not Al’s style…though who could tell under those coveralls?”

The work continued. Filters replaced, oil in on both engine and transmission, a close inspection of the underside done to check for issues from the run the day before.

“Blossom – we want to pull a front wheel and check the brakes? I know I rode ‘em hard yesterday on the track…kinda want to check ‘em.”

“Good thought. Let’s wait till we get the transmission fill procedure done, then we can do that. Need to leave her on the lift, anyway, for the procedure.”

Transmission done, engine oil done, the pans went back on and the bolts marked. Lift lowered, the front wheels were dismounted and the installation checked.

Beth fingered the disk surfaces, still shiny after yesterday’s extended run out. “Not seeing a damn thing wrong here – you?”

“No, nothing on this side. Get a light and check the backs through the wheels – that’s good enough.”

Item after item the work continued till there was nothing left.

“Time to take it out and fuel it. You want to drive or should I?”

“Shouldn’t Mr. MacDonald do it?”

“I think after herding this thing around a track yesterday at 100 MPH we can go to the local Culver’s and fill the gas tank, don’t you?”

“True enough. I’ll drive.” Blossom said.

“NOFAIR!”

“Fine – you drive back.”

As they turned on to Chesnut Blossom noticed a smell, but discounted it as an artifact of the undercoating. Turning onto Alexander parkway the smell grew stronger, till they stopped at a light.

As the car came to a rest white eddies of smoke began to waft up from the front end.

The reaction was immediate and quite loud.

Beth shouted “FUCK!PULLOVERDAMNITSHE’SONFIRE!”

Blossom pulled over into a parking lot and the smoke continued to waft.

“QUICK! Lift it up on the suspension – let me see if I can see what’s burning!” Blossom did so, manipulating the control on the Range Rover’s console. As she did the car raised itself to off-road height and Beth shimmied underneath, looking for the source of the smoke.

Suddenly, bellowing laughter sounded from underneath and Beth appeared again, brushing herself off.

“So what is it?”

Two things. One, even lifted getting under this thing is a bitch when you’ve got tits. Two, next time you rustproof a chassis DON’T SPRAY THE EXHAUST HEADERS!”

Blossom looked chagrined, then laughed. “On me, indeed. Shall we continue?”

“Yeah – let’s get moving.”

At Culver’s Beth stepped off into the convenience store as Blossom filled the tank. Returning with a slim paper sack she climbed in as Blossom finished the fueling, then they carefully motored back to RE.

“What’s that?” Blossom asked, indicating the package.

“You’ll see when we get back.”

Pulling into the bay again they gave the Range Rover a last inspection, then stood back.

“There’s a job well done. Al’s mate is going to have QUITE the pressy for his daughter, and she is going to have quite the motor!”

“Blossom – c’mere.” Beth pointed over to the bench, and walked over with the sack in her hand. Mystified, Blossom followed.

Reaching in Beth pulled out a card with its matching envelope. Reaching into her pocket she rummaged through her change, extracting an odd-looking silver coin.

“Grab the clear tape out of that cabinet, willya?”

“Certainly. What are you up to?”

“Just get it. I’ll show you.”

Beth took the tape, and cutting a small square off of the roll used it to adhere the coin into the otherwise-blank card. Writing on the other side, she penned “A lucky penny, and a bit of American steel to keep the English iron company.” She then signed her name, and handed Blossom the pen.

“Sign it.”

“I don’t understand.”

Beth sighed, and made an effort to collect her thoughts.

“This one’s kind of special. It’s not the points and plugs on the Roller, or the general stuff we did the first few weeks here. This is one we carried through start to finish – and kinda brought this thing back.

“Think of this as ‘signing’ the job. The penny is a 1943 steel penny made during WWII – good old American steel. I thought it would be a good good-luck piece for the lady who was getting this.” Beth said, making air quotes over the word ‘signing’.

“I know how you feel – and that all said… I’m in.” Blossom signed the card, and Beth put it in an envelope and tucked it into the top glovebox of the Range Rover.
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Minutes later Ari entered the bay. “All ready to go? Fueled up, oil changed? Truck’s here!”

“Yes, ma’am!”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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