Author’s Note: Slim was on vacation, so this month’s story is written by Beanie, the young tech at Slim Shambles Tire & Auto Repair.
Pulling into the parking lot of the vocational college, I desperately scanned the sea of cars. “Dang! There’s nowhere to park!”
Finding a bare patch of weedy grass next to a light standard, I abandoned my truck, grabbed my books and hoofed it across the pavement. After crashing through the double doors of the Automotive Trades Building, I paused to catch my breath before sneaking up to the classroom door window. It was time to get the lay of the land.
Prof. Thomas was writing on the whiteboard with his back to the class. Easing the door open, I snuck through and found my seat next to Narley Jacobs. “Dude!” whispered Narley. “That’s the third time this week. Man, if old Tom-Tom catches you…”
“Keep it down!” I hissed, burying my head in my textbook. Prof. Thomas whipped around and slowly scanned the classroom for signs of irregularity.
“Students,” he declared, “today we move from theory to the practical. Out in the shop we have a 2004 Ford Focus that is causing no end of consternation to its owner.” He walked over to my desk and slapped his long pointer down on the edge of my book. “You, Beanie, will be in charge of the crew. I want a full diagnostics report by the end of class, as well as a recommended course of repair.”
I began to sweat under his blistering gaze. “Y-yes, sir!” I glanced around the room. “Well, you heard him, guys. Let’s go!”
Ten minutes later we were all gathered around the small car parked forlornly in the middle of the shop. Everyone had shop coats on and tools at the ready. “Okay, gentlemen,” I began, “here’s the scoop. This Focus runs smooth enough, but it’s slow to accelerate. In fact, it only hits a top speed of 60 mph. Plus, you have to drive over 125 miles before the MIL comes on…” I was interrupted by an upraised hand waving frantically from the back of the group. “Yes, Alvin?”
Alvin Bentley pushed his glasses back up on his nose. “What’s the trouble code, Bean?”
I checked my clipboard. “Says here PO192 – a lean condition code.” I looked up. “You should grab the scanner and check anyway.”
While Alvin scurried away to the tool crib, I pointed to my right. “Bert, you pull the plugs and check the compression. Jason, start checking out the fuel system. All right, guys, let’s get crackin’!”
Narley sauntered over to my side. “Dude, what about us?”
I dug into my pocket and found some change. “We’ll supervise. Here, go buy a couple of drinks from the pop machine in the cafeteria upstairs.”
Narley’s eyes grew wide. “Sick! An indoor session! Dude, I’m gonna totally grind that handrail with my clipboard on the way back.”
I sighed. It was hard to keep Narley’s attention focused on anything beyond skate boarding, making us wonder how he’d made it to his senior year. No doubt working at his father’s shop had something to do with it.
My thoughts were interrupted by the guys coming back with their test results. “We got 170 lbs. on all cylinders, Bean,” Bert said. “The spark plugs are worn out, but that’s not the problem. This thing doesn’t misfire at all.”
Jason’s report carried more promise. “That fuel filter is filthy, man. I don’t think it’s ever been changed!”
I looked at the dirty fuel he showed me in the bottom of a plastic container. “Hmm, you got a point, Jas. Let’s change it and go for a test drive.”
Narley began jumping up and down. “Bro, let me drive. I know a great place to ollie this puppy big time!”
I looked at the scratches on the back of his clipboard. “Ah, maybe not, Narl…I need you here.” Narley sniffed and dropped the skateboard he’d been carrying. As he rolled away, I could tell he wasn’t happy with me. Maybe being the boss isn’t so fun after all. But I still sent Jason out with the car.
When Jason returned, he shook his head. “Nope, that’s not it. Narley could beat this thing on his board.”
Since the “check engine” light hadn’t returned, I sent Alvin off to one of the school computers to check up on any TSBs. All he found were references to an updated fuel pump. “Should we get Prof. Thomas to order up a new one? There was a lot of rust in the fuel, you know.”
I was getting nervous. Fuel pumps aren’t cheap, and I didn’t want to be the one responsible for putting in an expensive part that wasn’t needed. “Uh, what other information have we got, guys?”
Bert looked over his notes. “Well, fuel pressure is within spec, and the timing looks fine.” He tugged on an earlobe. “The manifold vacuum readings are a little funny, though. We’ve got 12 inches at idle and only 7 at cruising speed. What would cause that?”
“Cam problem, dude,” said Narley as he rolled by on his board. Apparently he didn’t carry grudges for long.
Jason grunted. “Don’t know if I’d trust Mr. All-Skate’s diagnostic skills.”
Alvin started jumping up and down again, waving frantically. “Alvin,” I sighed, “if you have to go to the bathroom, you don’t need my permission.”
He blinked in confusion. “N-n-n-no. I noticed some very strange long-term fuel trims on the scanner. They’re bouncing from -18% to +20%.”
Someone suggested a vacuum leak, but we couldn’t locate one. I also had the guys drop the exhaust, just in case it was plugged. Narley loved the loud noises, but the lack of power condition didn’t change.
On my way home that afternoon, I stopped by the shop. The guys were playing cards in the lunchroom, so I told them about the Focus.
“The manifold vacuum is too low, Beanie,” said Slim as he stared at his cards. “Should be over 20 inches. You’ve got a cam problem.”
Both Basil and Tooner nodded in unison. “Yep,” said Tooner. “I’d be checking for a jumped timing belt.”
“Timing belt? Why do you say that?”
My boss laid down his cards. “Read ‘em and weep, boys. I win again.” He turned to me. “If your cam is out of synch with your crankshaft, you’ll get these low vacuum readings. It also reduces engine power substantially.”
The next day, we pulled the timing cover on the Focus. “So, Narley was right. The cam is out by two teeth on the belt!” Jason whistled in amazement. “How did he know that?”
“I did some checking,” admitted Bert. “Turns out Narley’s the top diagnostician at his shop. Some kind of wonder kid.”
“Now I feel bad,” I said. “Maybe we should let Narley take the test drive once we replace this belt. Speaking of which, where is he?”
A loud crash from the alignment pit caught our attention. Rushing over, we found Narley lying at the bottom beside his skateboard, a silly grin plastered on his face. “Whoa, dudes, what a bail! Guess my air time was a little sketchy, huh?”
I looked at Alvin. “On second thought, you drive.”
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.
