It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing – the perfect time to check out the level in the used oil barrel.
But as I headed around to the back of the building, a forlorn lament warbled down from a stack of used tires, and it wasn’t a love-sick robin; it was Beanie.
“She loves me…she loves me not. She loves me…she…” And with each ‘she loves me’ Beanie would climb one tire higher in the stack.
“Beanie!” I hollered. “Get down from there before those tires fall over and bury you!”
The Beanster stopped climbing and sighed heavily. “Put me out of my misery, Slim. I’m so confused.”
Tooner had heard all the hollering and came out to size up the situation. “Yup, Spring Fever. Looks like he’s got it bad, too.”
We helped Beanie down off the tires and led him back inside to the lunchroom. “Okay, Bean. What’s this all about?”
Basil brought over a soft drink from the fridge. “I have a feeling our young protégé is wandering in the wilderness of unrequited love.”
Tooner wrinkled up his nose. “Un-retreaded what?”
“Beanie’s got girlfriend troubles,” I translated.
“Oh.” Tooner settled into his chair and hoisted his greasy work boots onto the coffee table. Folding his hands behind his head, he said, “Okay, out with it, Bean. Tell Uncle Toon ‘bout yer troubles.”
Beanie sighed deeply and spilled his tale of woe. He and Samantha had been dating seriously for the past year, and her birthday was coming up. “We always go to the racetrack on the weekends where my buddy runs his car, and when I suggested one of those cool racing jackets as a birthday present, she just shrugged and said, ‘whatever’.” Sam’s cool response had Beanie wondering if their relationship was on the skids.
“Whoa, I see why you’re upset, Bean,” exclaimed Tooner. “Those jackets are awesome! If she doesn’t want one from you, well then, buddy, I’m afraid it’s over…”
I jabbed him in the ribs. “Tooner, that’s not helping!”
Basil stroked his chin “Well, Beanie, maybe you need to listen to what Sam’s not telling you.”
“Huh?” We figured Basil had finally lost touch with reality – it happens in this trade. I cleared my throat. “Uh, Bas, Beanie’s already confused enough without…”
Basil waved me off. “Allow me to explain. It’s like that 1993 Ford Explorer we worked on last week.”
I grimaced. “You mean that sucker with the overactive antilock braking system, the one that would activate even at slow speeds in a dry, paved parking lot?” I scratched my head. “But what’s that got to do with women?”
“Hey, I get it!” interrupted Tooner. “It’s like when my wife keeps nagging at me even when I think everything’s cool.”
Basil sighed and rolled his eyes. “Alas, I’m surrounded by Cretans. Beanie, ignore them and pay attention to what I’m saying. Do you remember the trouble you had with that Explorer?”
Beanie nodded vigorously. “I sure do. It came in with a whole mess of fault codes that had nothing to do with the real problem.” He listed them off. “There was 17-no reference voltage; 11-defective ECU; 63-pump motor fault; 65-pump motor; and 67-acceleration switch fault.”
The older Ford had given us all a runaround until Tooner finally remembered a service bulletin about common causes for over-sensitive ABS, or what Ford calls False Activation. The wheel speed sensors must have the correct air gap from the reluctor wheels or tone rings. In the front sensors especially, rust will build up under the mounting pads, pushing the sensor away from the trigger wheel.
The first rule of thumb with False Activation is to make sure all sensors are fully seated before going on to any other repairs – including replacing items like ECUs just because there is a code for it.
In this particular case, the right front wheel sensor was deformed by rust, producing a weak signal at slower speed. We isolated it by rotating each wheel by hand and watching the AC signals for consistency.
Tooner frowned. “I still don’t know why we had no code for that sensor.”
Beanie’s face brightened. “I know! Before it can set a code, the computer needs to see no signal. But because it was still getting a weak signal, it thought one of the wheels was just locking up. Through the fault codes the computer was telling us one thing, but the real problem was something else.” He paused. “So in regards to me and Sam…?”
Basil shrugged. “It’s obvious, Bean. Sam is telling you the jacket’s fine, but she really wants something else – something that she isn’t saying. You just need to figure out what it is.”
“How?”
“Look for the weak signals.”
The light came on as Beanie recalled how Sam always window shops at a small jewelry store they pass on his regular visit to Tool Town. I gave him some time off to run down and choose an appropriate necklace – hopefully something not related to automobiles.
We started to get up when Tooner cleared his throat. “Say Basil, that was impressive. How ‘bout some marriage advice for me and Mabel?”
“Sorry, Tooner,” said Basil as he headed out to the shop. “I’m good, but I can’t do miracles.”
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.
