Time Machine

My "Time Machine" (GHN4U167049G) has a swirl signature in the paint on top of the battery scuttle passenger's side. I owned its twin GHN4U167048G and cannabilized it to make my current car. 48G had the same initials in the same place.

Does anyone else have a signature in the paint near the batteries in their car?

Lesson learned in past several days: do not overtighten jet connector nut to the fuel chamber.

Found fuel leaking from bottom of front carburettor. Nut found loose by son and finger tightened back in and tightened enough to drive home.

Restarted car but rough on 2+ cylinders. Still leaking. Tightened nut with 7/16 wrench. Stopped leak but engine would not run properly. Determined a fuel problem since "Easy Start" ether caused smooth running.

Fuel chambers checked; float valves disassembled and cleaned with isopropanol. All looked fine. Removed carburettors and found gland for the jet line "smushed" in the receiving entry to the chamber.

Parts ordered. Confident that car will run properly again once line is reconnected with new gland.

Here is a tip from the north-- plug in your block heater to warm up the engine before changing your oil. I did this recently, rather than starting the car and letting it run until warm up. For the first time in years, there was minimal drainage from the oil filter. Also jacking up from the front cross member gave a slight slope towards the drain plug and allowed sufficient clearance to put an oil collection pan under the drain.

Her Scottish skin was like porcelain and her hair was shiny black. At first there were drive-in movies with the convertible top up. Then there was costuming and face painting of her little brother one Halloween evening. She and I exchanged gifts at Christmas and she gave me a black polyester shirt with twisted paisley teardrops and a butterfly collar. There was a May storm with snow so deep that I had trouble driving the MGB, due to high centering. I remember fondue dinners and double dates. We ate dinners at my parents and I met her parents too. Our friends began hinting at engagement.

Of course we went to house parties and discos too. Saturday night fever infected most of us in the mid 1970s. Elevator shoes and bell bottom pants were de rigueur. The Bee Gees songs were super hits. I preferred Calgary Folk Club music; wore penny loafers, GWG jeans and alpaca sweaters.

At one of the house parties, there was a huge pile of platform shoes at the front door. When we left, I mocked the attention getting men who wore those disco boots. “How could you even drive in such things?”

I became a Yahoo that night: a smug young man judging a person’s value by heel height. I had become a filthy uncivilized creature who regularly poisoned his body with beer.

She married the man who wore those platform shoes. He was the host of the party and I was a Lilliputian.

C. B. Sikstrom

Posted on CBC web site “Worst Dates” March 6, 2010: http://www.cbc.ca/books/strangerthanfiction/yourstories/date/by-c-b-sikstrom-cold-lake-ab.html