Working Under Pressure - Tire Review Magazine

Working Under Pressure

Fuel pump troubles require some major reflection - and a dash of patience.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Basil, what are you doing?”   My lead technician opened one eye and gazed calmly in my direction.

“Just a simple relaxation technique, Slim – picked it up in my college days during my travels to the East.”
Beanie’s eyes bugged out. “Wow! You mean the Far East, like China?”

Basil chuckled as he unfolded his arms and unlocked his legs. “No, I mean east, like in New York City…Greenwich Village, to be exact.” He bent down to lace up his work boots. “That’s where I discovered that life’s too short to live it under pressure.”

Tooner grunted and rooted through a box of stale donuts. “When I wanna relax, I go for the Lotus.”
Basil looked at him curiously. “You mean the Yoga Lotus position?
“Naw, I mean the Lotus bucket seat – most comfortable thing I ever sat in.” He tapped a rock-hard éclair with his finger and studied it. “One day I’ll buy me a pair for my ol’ Chevy truck.”

Sometimes I really wonder about this crew. “All right, break time is over. Tooner, bring in Mayor Dewgood’s ’96 Blazer – he’s having a hard time getting it started cold.”

He groaned and tossed the stale pastry into the garbage. It landed in the trashcan with a thud. “Mayor Dewgood! Now there’s someone who lives under pressure. Ya couldn’t pay me enough to do that job.”

“So here’s your chance to lower his stress levels.” I handed Tooner a set of keys. “Do your magic, Mr. Dali Lamborghini.”

But neither magic tricks nor meditational positions were of any help today. A thorough investigation of His Worship’s Blazer failed to turn up any clues. Having already been warmed up, the little 4.3 liter V6 wouldn’t miss a beat. So we decided to let it cool down overnight with a bunch of diagnostic gear attached.

The next morning Tooner was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he got into the Blazer and turned the key. Just as the mayor had predicted, it cranked but wouldn’t fire. Mumbling some homemade meditational chants of his own, Tooner checked the fuel pressure gauge he had taped to the hood. “Huh. Says here we got 58 psi. And she’s holding pressure, too.” He glanced at Beanie, who was standing nearby, half asleep. “Hey Useless, d’ya remember what the specs are for this fuel system?”

Beanie’s eyes popped open as he grappled for his clipboard. “Uh, well, for the CSI models it’s supposed to be 60-66 psi. But this is a SFI engine, and the specs for that are 56-62.” He yawned. “I’d say you’re fine.”
Tooner was inclined to agree. Further testing showed that he had good spark, as well as good readings on all the sensors.

“Harrumph. Time for some good ole joy-juice…” Disappearing into the shop, he soon returned with a can of starting fluid. “Let’s see what she does with a whiff of this up her nose.”

Seconds later, the Blazer roared to life, which was a good thing. Unfortunately, Tooner was unable to make it falter for the rest of the day, and that didn’t sit too well with the mayor when he stopped by later to check out the progress. Our highest elected official might be small in stature, but he more than makes up for it with his forceful personality.

“Shambles!” he demanded as I came into the service bay. “It’s almost five o’clock and I’m told nobody knows what’s wrong with my truck! What kind of useless staff do you keep around here anyway?”
Tooner bristled. “Hey, watch yer mouth there, mayor, or next time I’ll have t’ vote with my conscience!”
I quickly stepped between the two men. “Calm down, everyone! Obviously this problem is proving to be elusive, and we just need a little more time to sort things out.”

Mayor Dewgood grunted. “What’s elusive is how I’m going to get all my work done when my vehicle’s in your shop!” And with that he stomped out the door and got into the cab that was waiting for him.

“I sure wouldn’t want to be that cabbie right now,” I said as I watched them drive away.

“Well, I can’t work under all this pressure, Slim,” complained Tooner. “Ya better keep that stuffed shirt outta here, or I’m gonna rip a plank outta his election platform and beat him over the head with it!”

Tooner went off to search the service bulletins, but that didn’t help, other than to reveal a recall due to insufficient fuel volumes in some models. It didn’t apply to our situation. Tooner’s stress levels were mounting by the hour, so I went to consult our lifestyle guru.

Basil was humming to himself as he assembled a constant velocity joint at his workbench. He was doing it blindfolded. I coughed politely. “Don’t mean to disturb you, Baz, but I think Tooner’s losing it over there. Got any suggestions?”

The humming stopped as Basil removed the cloth blindfold from his eyes. He thought for a moment. “Seems to me I’ve heard about this once before. In that case, it was an under-pressure problem.”
I threw up my hands. “Tell me something I don’t know! Tooner’s already under all the pressure he can handle and…”

Basil smiled and held up a hand. “No, I don’t mean that. The problem is that the fuel pump isn’t creating enough pressure to open the poppet valves in the fuel injection system when it’s cold. Tell Tooner to hook up the battery charger directly to the fuel pump. Then see what happens when you give it that little extra boost of current.”

What happened was that the pump pressure snuck up to just over 60 psi, and to our surprise, the truck started instantly. Once we installed a new pump assembly, the pressure was a consistent 62 psi.
“Well, I’ll be a Tibetan monkey’s uncle.” Tooner rubbed his aching forehead. “So much for going by the service specs – according to them, this should have worked at 58 psi.”

Basil agreed. “These engines will run all day at even lower pressures than that, but it’s not enough to get them started in the mornings, especially on a cold day. He grinned mischievously.
“It’s like I said before, Toon. Life’s too short to live it under-pressure!”  

 

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.

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