I flexed my knees and took a couple of practice swings before stepping up to the tee. “C’mon, Shambles,” I muttered to myself. “This par three is a walk in the park. A straight shot down the fairway – not a hazard in sight!”
I was taking some time off – definitely a rare event. But over the years, I’d played Slumberland’s two golf courses enough times that it was time to drive over to Panicton and try out their new course on the Indian Reserve. I was alone, but it was better that way – it eliminated the annoying disputes that usually took place when I tallied up my score.
My shot was beautiful, straight down the middle, landing three feet away from the pin. Feeling proud of myself, I sauntered up to the green with my putter in hand, trying to ignore the two golfers standing 10 yards off to the right. Having an audience always unnerves me.
I was lining up my putt when one of the golfers actually spoke to me – the height of impropriety on a golf course. “Hey, buddy,” he laughed. “You’re on the wrong green.” He pointed to my left. “The 13th hole doglegs over that way. Now, would you mind getting out of our way?”
“So, how was your golf game?” inquired Quigley when I returned to the shop later that morning.
“Fine!” I snapped. “And don’t blame me if the greens all look alike!”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Did I touch a nerve?”
“Oh, never mind.” I threw my clubs in the closet. “Any messages?”
“Yep.” He reached for his notepad. “Riley over at Block Busters called for you – said it was urgent.”
“Re-man” Riley worked over at the local engine rebuilding shop. He was a great machinist, but whenever he ventured into the area of actual mechanical repair, more often than not we’d get a call to come bail him out.
I sighed and headed back out to my truck. Might as well make the day a total waste, I thought.
A few minutes later I pulled up in front of the engine shop. Bypassing the front door, I entered from the side and found Riley in the back, standing forlornly in front of a 2001 Kia Rio. He looked as lost as a bunny rabbit in a shopping mall. “What’s up, Riley? Quigley said you called.”
Riley cheered up immediately. “Slim! Am I ever glad you’re here!” He grabbed my arm and pumped it vigorously in greeting. “Thanks for coming by. You’re about to save my day!”
“W-well, we’ll s-see about that.” I stammered, my teeth rattling. He let go of my hand and I straightened my glasses. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I got this Kia for free off a customer,” he explained. “The timing belt broke and wiped out all the valves and pistons. My daughter is heading back to college, so I thought I’d rebuild the engine in my spare time and then give it to her.”
I shrugged. “Well, that’s right up your alley. So what went wrong?”
“Nothing…at first.” Riley wiped his sweaty forehead. “But after it was running for a few minutes, the Check Engine Light came on.”
“I assume you’ve checked the trouble codes?”
“Well, I didn’t,” he said sheepishly. “But my buddy Bernie came over and read them with his scanner. It has code
PO121, for the TPS being out of range.”
“And…?”
“And so I replaced the TPS. Should have been simple, right? But now it won’t start at all!”
I got in the car and tried it myself. It would sputter once and then just crank, which was odd, since according to Riley it ran fine right after the rebuild. Getting out, I ran a few quick tests on things like the fuel flow and spark – everything appeared to be working. “Have you still got that scanner around here?” I asked.
Riley hurried over to the workbench. “Yep. Bernie left it, just in case. What do you think it is?
“I haven’t a clue,” I replied. “But I want to check the range on that TPS…” But before I even got that far, the scanner informed me that we now had two new trouble codes: one for the mass air flow sensor and one for the idle air control motor. “Hmm. Did you have these codes before?”
Riley looked at the screen.” Nope. Those are new to me.”
It didn’t make sense. The car ran before, so it had to be something simple. I began looking at the wiring circuits, checking for pinched wires or blown fuses. Then I remembered that several of the sensors used the same 5v reference voltage, so I borrowed a voltmeter from Riley and began pulling the connectors to check for power.
That’s when I noticed that the connectors for the mass air-flow sensor and the idle air control were very similar. In fact, they were exactly the same. And what’s more, the sensors were only four inches apart, allowing the connectors to easily reach to either component.
I showed the connectors to Riley before reversing them. When I turned the key, the car fired up immediately like it didn’t have a care in the world. And why should it? There was nothing wrong in the first place – Riley had just hooked the sensors up backwards by mistake.
“Don’t feel too bad,” I said. “Usually the manufacturers make each connector different so you can’t confuse them. I guess Kia didn’t bother doing that for this model year.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Next time remember to flag the different connectors so you don’t get confused.”
Riley hung his head. “Sheesh, I feel bad for wasting your time,” he said. “You must think I’m an idiot for not being able to tell one from another.”
I was about to make a smart remark about real technicians vs. lowly machinists, when my conscience suddenly smacked me upside the head about my recent golf game – especially mixing up the greens on the 13th hole.
“Not at all,” I mumbled. “Anyone can make a mistake.”
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.
