APRIL 11
Was a lovely day here in southern Ontario. 22 degrees. Warm breeze from the south. A perfect day for lowering one’s mouse nest off her blocks and taking her for her inaugural drive.
After watching Canada Post do its best imitation of stasis, my master cylinder, flex lines, and yet another seal (this one for the convertible top cover) finally arrived. It took me all of forty minutes to put the four flex lines in place. Took a lot longer to get them out by the way, but nothing terrible.
If you should ever need to replace your master cylinder, by all means bench-bleed it first. This you do on the ground or on your workbench. You simply fill the master cylinder through the two rubber fill grommets where the reservoir is going to go. When the brake fluid stops draining in, you simply pump the piston by hand, adding fluid as you go, until it happily spurts out the three outlets. Takes a surprising amount of fluid. Makes a mess too.
Bolted the master in place last night, and connected the three lines.
“Tomorrow is the day Hank,” I said to my brother on the phone.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replied.
So with the sun shining and the wind howling we went round the car, bleeding the brakes. Right rear, left rear, right front, left front. Then again. Then again. And finally, with the car running and the brake booster working, again.
“How’s the pedal Hank?”
“Firm as a dog turd in February!”
“I love dog turds in February! Let’s bolt on the tires and go for a run!”
The tires we bolted on were Toyo Extensas, 195/70/R14’s. Dave apologised for the lack of 190/75/R14’s. They were perhaps on or not on a boat from Sendai, Japan. As in tsunami Japan. He didn’t know when they might arrive. So I simply bought what he had in stock. I will deal with speedometer error as it might be. Besides, Snow White will probably handle better on such rubber.
Bolted on the tires, put the plates from the Sewing Machine on her, and we were off.
Top down, no insurance, fake plates, and we had transmission psychosis. Hunting up and down despite the fact we were only going around the block.
Back in the driveway, only to find the transmission short of fluid. I put back in what came out, but it was not enough. Put in another litre, and off to the races.
Now we’re talking! Smooth snap shifts, no hunting, no smoke from the tail pipe, nothing.
Grinning like idiots, my brother and I took turns at the wheel. Neither of us has ever owned a Mercedes before. I have driven one, my brother never. So it was fun. And we only went around the block!
We brought her home, topped up her fluids, and had a celebratory beer.
“She might well be the finest mouse nest on the planet,” says my brother.
You have to laugh.
Cheers.