I glanced at my watch as the bell over the front door tinkled to life. "Morning, Quigley," I said. "Aren’t we running a little late this morning?"
My innocent inquiry was met with a torrent of indiscernible ranting, and one look told me why. Our normally tranquil service writer had three scarves wrapped around his face as protection from the winter elements. 
“What’s up?” I asked. “Are we at war with Old Man Winter?”
Quigley removed a glove the size of a hockey goalie’s mitt and unwrapped his facial protection. “C-c-can’t s-stand the c-cold!” he stuttered through clenched teeth. “I was b-b-born to be w-warm.”
“Oh, poor baby,” said Tooner, reaching for the coffee pot. “Here. Let me pour you a cup of Slim’s morning gut killer. It ain’t exactly tropical punch, but it’s guaranteed to scorch yer innards.”
“Very funny,” I said. “That doesn’t seem to stop you from drinking your share.” I watched as Quigley removed multiple layers of sweaters and jackets. “Aren’t you being a little extreme with this cold thing?”
“Yeah,” said Beanie. “You look like Porky Pig in a parka.”
“Never mind,” grumped Quigley. “I hate winter, and can’t wait for it to be over.”
“Hate winter?” Tooner gave a snort. “Huh! Some Canadian you are.”
“All right, let’s not get personal,” I said. “Quigley, what’s the deal with that 1998 Ford Explorer sitting in the parking lot? This computer must be broken, ‘cause I can’t find the appointment list anywhere.”
Mr. Thin-blood shuffled over to the keyboard and instantly pulled up the daily appointment calendar, making me look as dumb as a snowball. “You mean this schedule?” He squinted at the screen. “It’s got a 4.0 liter engine that idles terrible when cold. The customer says it surges between 800 and 2,000 rpm, and often stalls.” He blew on his cold fingers to warm them up. “Apparently it doesn’t like cold mornings any more than I do.”
I sent Beanie and Tooner out to bring in the vehicle. While Bean brushed off the snow, Tooner connected his scan tool to get some readings on the cold engine. As soon as the vehicle was in the shop, they were back in the office, supposedly to give us a professional opinion. In actual fact, Tooner was after more coffee.
“Well, what’d you find?” I asked.
Tooner squinted at his mug. “Hmm. Strong corrosive mixture, repugnant odor, badly in need of a warning label…”
“I mean the Explorer, you ditz, not my coffee.”
“Oh. Well, there’s no trouble codes. We’ve got good O2 crossovers, MAF readings that match the rpm, and accurate coolant and air temp readings.” He shrugged. “If you ask me, I’d say a dirty IAC motor, or maybe the throttle body needs cleaning.”
In other words, it was time to go ask Basil.
Our mechanically minded mentor stroked his goatee as we explained our dilemma. “Cranky when cold, you say? I do believe I’ve run into this before, only it was a Ranger pickup with the same engine. It reminds me of a poem I came across on the Internet the other day…” He closed his eyes and began to quote:
“Resplendent waters burst with light
while purple mists reveal the sight
in treasured hues of dawn’s delight,
a jewel to the eye…” *
“Hold it, Basil, you’re losing me,” I said. “What do ‘resplendent waters’ have to do with this Explorer?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Not the waters, Slim; the revealing mists. Let the engine cool down, run a smoke test on the intake manifold, and you’ll soon discover your problem.”
We knew we’d have to work for our answer, so we did as Basil suggested. Sure enough, the smoke machine revealed that the O-rings used for gaskets between the upper and lower intake manifolds had hardened up and shrunk, causing a vacuum leak when cold. We changed the lower intake gaskets at the same time, just to be sure. Once we were finished, the Ford ran as good as…well, a Ford.
“How does he do that?” asked Beanie, referring to Basil’s boundless fountain of knowledge.
Tooner shrugged. “Beats me. I’m just glad he works here and not for the competition.”
“I agree,” I said. “And here’s one Explorer that’s no longer cranky when cold.”
Tooner looked towards the office. “Speaking of cranky, here comes Quigley. Should we warn him?”
“Naw, let’s just see what happens.”
With clipboard in hand, Quigley started across the shop in search of Tooner’s list of parts for the Explorer. Unfortunately for him, he had to pass by Beanie’s oil change that was thawing out up on the hoist. Suddenly a large clump of snow slid off the hood and landed squarely on his unprotected head, soaking him and his paperwork.
“Hey, Quig,” called Tooner, struggling to keep a straight face. “Can’t you read the sign? This is an avalanche area; proper head protection is required!”
Quigley grit his teeth and stomped back into the office, slamming the door behind him.
“Sheesh,” said Beanie. “Talk about no sense of humor!”
I chuckled. “He can’t help it, Bean. He said it himself; ‘I was ‘b-b-born to be w-warm!’”
Rick Cogbill, a freelance writer and former shop owner in Summerland, B.C., has written The Car Side for a variety of trade magazines for the past 14 years. “A Fine Day for a Drive,” his first book based on the characters from this column, is now available for order at thecarside.com. A collection of his past The Car Side columns is also available at that website.
