Frost Attempts Own Vehicle Maintenance. Makes Things Worse.

I'm not entirely stupid when it comes to automotive work, but I do get stumped once in a while. As fate would have it, today was one of those days.

Now that my truck is my primary vehicle again, I figured I'd better keep it in good working order. One of the cylinders wasn't firing, so I decided to overhaul the ignition system. Simple, right?

My roommate had previously done the spark plugs, distributor cap and rotor. So really, the only thing left to replace was the wires. I bought a set, drove home, and popped open the hood. Replacing the wires took about 30 minutes. I looked up the firing order online for my 1995 Ford F150 and the diagram was clear as day. No problem!

I turn the key, and it cranks, but doesn't start. Ummm... What? I re-check all of the wires. Everything is seated correctly. I re-check the firing order for my 95 F150 on a different website. It was different! I tried that order. Nothing. Not a single cylinder would fire. This scenario goes on for another hour: re-checking the firing order, and nothing works.

Suddenly it occurs to me that I'm at home, on a Saturday afternoon (quickly becoming Saturday night) with an inoperable vehicle. Correction: TWO inoperable vehicles. I'm stranded! Par for the course, I come to the conclusion that it's time to start drinking. I crack open a cold one and call up my roommate/mechanic. He's home within an hour of my call, and has some ideas. I can't help but smile at his Russian accent.

"This is part of your problem." He pulls 2 burnt fuses out of my fuse box and throws them over his shoulder. Then we try getting a spark from a spare plug, using my new wires. Nothing. I let out a sigh of frustration. The Russian says, "You can keep standing here and trying to guess what's wrong. I'm going to go look it up online."

In a matter of minutes, he's found one of two possible problems that would cause these symptoms. "You're sure you get firing order right?" he asked. I showed him the diagram I looked up myself. "Well, there's another part of your problem. You drive a '94 F150. You got wrong diagram." *palmface*

He gives me the correct diagram, and I rearrange the wires in the correct configuration. A few more checks with the multitester, and we narrow the problem down to the ignition coil. He concludes that when I had the wires hooked up wrong, it shorted out the coil and blew the fuses.

A quick call to the auto parts store where he has a preferred account with mechanics privileges, and $18 later, I have a new ignition coil. We picked it up, and brought it home. It's only 4 bolts, but the Russian shoos me away from the toolbox and instructs me to hold the flashlight for him. He has selected the correct size of socket, appropriate u-joint, extension shaft, and swivel-head ratchet on the first try. I drink some more, and chuckle as he goes into a monologue.

"This $85 dollar ratchet. Guaranteed for life. I see Craftsman break. I see Snap-On break. Never had one of these fail yet. See how fast is going? If you don't have right tool, you don't belong in auto industry. Go play in different sandbox!"

I'm shocked, but he had that ignition coil swapped out in less than 3 minutes. He double-checks my work on the ignition wires, replaces the 2 burnt out fuses, and tells me to fire it up. Sure enough, the truck starts on the first crank. I'm also a tad pleased with myself, because all of the cylinders were now firing and running smoothly.

A job well done, we head indoors for a drink. Again, he shoos me away from the fridge, and pulls out this Russian thick brew called Baltika 9 Extra Lager. The label says it's over 8% alcohol by volume. I shrug and begin sipping away, thinking that maybe there will still be time for me catch up on my Saturday evening plans.

The Russian slaps me on the shoulder and says, "What we learn from this? Not try to fix truck by yourself! Call me first!" He hands me a stack of business cards and instructs me to hand them out to friends. This guy has pulled my ass out of the fire more than a few times, and so I gladly oblige. He does good work, knows his stuff, and his labor rates are extremely affordable.

I went upstairs to get ready for weekend shenanigans, excited to see some friends. I got so far as to change clothes. I woke up this morning at 6am, passed out on my bed with the lights all on and a third of a bottle of Baltika still in my hand. I can't read most of the Russian on this label, but I'm positive one of the primary ingredients is roofie. There goes my Saturday night. Dammit anyhow.

PS. I highly suggest visiting the Baltika website because it's fucking laughable.