The Clutch Can't Get Joe Cool

There are a few benefits to owning older cars. No monthlies, cheaper insurance, lower blood pressure over paint jobs vs. two year-olds' Matchbox cars, and the privilege to say, “I'll take the Bogus” when heading to Winco. Another one is the exciting learning activity and get-yur-fingers greasy with some wrenches... oh, are those my muscles bulging out of this old T-shirt? sorry I'm just holding the crankshaft in place...

I've only been a mechanic in my mind, and at that, only feigning some knowledge of internal combustion and more imagining, from high school shop and college physics, what might be going on under the hood. I felt reassured when super-mechanic brother-in-law (school) whom I'll call Ahab, ur, uh, I mean, Michael Henchard, concurred with my diagnosis that the '94 Ranger's clutch was worn out. Since he was in town and willing and able... alright, let's replace it ourselves.

Ordered parts, had a manual, Michael's bro's tools, cuz yo, with my amazing screwdriver collection on traveling exhibition with curator Little T, my remaining crescent wrench –though mighty-- seemed somehow insufficient. Anyway, a few bolts and screws off later, I called up neighbor Benchpress Bremer who's lent me wrenches in the past –needed a 12point something. Bremer didn't want to miss a clutch party and immediately joined the team. With M & B's skills (and tools) we dumped the truck's bowels on the garage floor in no time. Wow, so that's what a clutch looks like, and that's how it works. I was soaking it up.



Night #2 - putting it back together. Benchpress Bremer, you're the man! He benchpressed the whole transmission and held it in place while Michael and I tried fast fingers on the bolts.

Everything zipped right back together. Only one step left: “bleeding the clutch.” That's where you have to get all the air out of the hydraulic line. It involves a coordination ritual with me on the pedal, Bremer on the bleed valve, and Michael on the reservoir. The incantation goes something like this: “push it in” “in” “let it out” “out” [repeat, over and over...] Despite our darndest faith and observance, the ceremony did not put any pressure on the pedal. We puzzled and puzzled, and pried and puzzled. Then my sister cell-phoned Michael for the second time that night, and we knew the curfew bell had sounded.

Night #3 – blogs revealed that the early-90's Ranger series had a very poorly positioned master cylinder, at an angle where air could get trapped. So, we took off the whole clutch line system... Bremer aptly referenced the classic Far Side of the Native American holding up an oddly shaped organ with a few tubes hanging here and there, saying: “[We don't have a clue what this is, but it's the only part of the buffalo we don't use.]” Anyway, we got pressure in system off the truck, put it back on (no small task!), started bleeding the slave cylinder and... whoosh. No pressure! ARG! Took it off again –couldn't get any pressure in it this time. Well, what do you do when you can't figure something out? Yes, you start hitting it with a wrench! That's exactly what Bremer did, and lo, pressure!! Once again, we mounted the hoses and cylinder to the truck, but no pressure by the time it was back on. Well, let's hit it with a wrench again. Hey, pressure! Ok, don't touch anything!!!

First test drive was scary, but it worked. We have our own little theory about the hydraulics, and why it's ok that I'm driving the truck now. I must say there's a great feeling of satisfaction to pull off a job like this on your own, and to picture in your mind exactly what's going on now when you push in that pedal. Thanks Michael and Bremer!!