Although Mercy, our well-traveled Wrangler, is a perfectly capable backup vehicle, we lean heavily on my truck for all manner of fetching and hauling and errand-running. It’s our primary, the brute of the fleet. And when it goes down, we’re lacking.
That’s why first thing this morning I attacked the task of replacing the thermostat. I nosed the Silverado toward the shed, parked it and let the engine cool before digging in.
It’d be the first time I did a swap like this, so I surveyed the wwWeb briefly for tricks, tips and trip wires. The tools and supplies I needed were basic and few: a 10mm socket, extension and ratchet (to disconnect the battery and remove the three thermostat bolts); a flat-blade screwdriver (for loosening the clamp holding the air plenum to the intake throat); and slip-joint and needle-nose pliers (to release the infernal clamps on the coolant hoses); plus the new thermostat, a gallon of 50/50 coolant (to replace what inevitably would be lost in the process) and a shop rag.
It was pretty straightforward, not at all difficult. I advanced deliberately through the procedure and triple-checked my work along the way. Nothing was hurried.
With everything buttoned up, the battery reconnected and three quarts of coolant added to the expansion reservoir, I started the engine and let it idle for several minutes. I shined a flashlight on my work — no leaks.
Inside on the dashboard, the needle on the temp gauge began to creep away from the low peg, which was a good sign. I closed the hood and took the truck for a quick drive, just to the bottom of our road and back.
Parked again by the shed, I popped the hood and looked around — still no leaks. Then I noticed a trail on the gravel leading away from the truck, chuckling to myself when I realized that it was lost coolant that had run off the frame as I backed away for the test drive.
I re-checked the thermostat bolts now that the engine had warmed, and ever-so-slightly I took up what little slack there was. (The housing is plastic, and over-torquing could distort or even crack it.) Finally, I looked at the temp gauge — 210°F, straight-up normal.
So is it fixed? I have no idea. All I know for sure is that my Silverado has a new thermostat. We’ll see.
The exercise was satisfying, though, I can say that. This sort of thing always is.
Deb’s cousin’s daughter and her boyfriend have been visiting for the last week or so. This afternoon they came up to our place for beer and conversation, much of it centered on what Deb and I have done (so far) to scratch out a homestead on The Mountain.
They seem to like it here.
For all my talk yesterday about missing the tools I left stored in Ohio, there’s something I could’ve done but hadn’t — organize what I do have. I’m surprised that I haven’t gotten around to that, actually, because organizing stuff is one of my favorite things.
Today I pulled together tools from a number of places. I had three stashes in the RV and two in the shed, plus odds’n’ends that had made their way into the cabin. The tool box in the Silverado had to come into play, too, as long as I was doing a full inventory.
I dropped everything in the cabin, in front of the rollaway we picked up on Facebook Marketplace, and set off in search of tidiness. Stuff got allocated and reallocated, and the result reflects the order I prefer.
So you’re looking at these images, and I know what you’re thinking — it won’t stay this way for long. Am I right?
That’s ’cause you don’t know me. It will. It always has. (Ask Deb.)
Doing this today, at long last, does more than merely scratch an itch. Order serves function, or at least it does for me. It makes whatever I do more efficient — I spend less time looking for stuff and more time on the work.
Again, that’s me. As the saying goes, you do you.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB