Despite a solid eight+ hours of sleep, Boone and I lacked any sense of urgency Wednesday morning. We stopped for breakfast at Waffle House, grabbed some parts at O'Reilley's, then grabbed a few 20lb. bags of ice for the coolers. We've found over the years that the best way to keep everyone hydrated during Hell Week is to have six or seven coolers under a shade tree in the back yard stocked with water, soda, tea, energy drinks and the like. This cuts down tremendously on the traffic through the house, meaning Dale's wife is less fussy and more inclined to feed us. It was around ten before we showed up at Dale's, and his stepson Cody was the only other person around.
The weather was fantastic, a good twenty degrees cooler than it was the day before, and coming from Phoenix it was a welcome change. "We may have overdone it on drinks this year", I commented as we stocked the coolers with ice. "Yeah, if this weather holds, and it's only the two of us", Boone agreed. "Dale came home late last night", Cody informed us, "just to grab a shower, some clothes, and some parts, but he made it sound like he wouldn't be back tonight!" "What did he say about the car", I asked. "Said he had a bunch of work ahead of him", Cody shrugged, "I told him I would come up and help, since my girlfriend wants to spend some time in Miami anyway."
I pulled the tires and wheels off the Valiant, so I could take them to Robertson Tire in Owasso to get the new Hoosier Quick Time Pros mounted. I was in possession of the tires for over two weeks, but Phoenix is suddenly without a true full service tire shop, and no one there wants to touch anything with a tube in it. Boone had pointed out a large bubble on the side of my bias ply trailer spare also, so I felt compelled to replace it as well. I had them loaded up, and was working on the hard brake lines for the discs on the rear when Boone walked over and explained that Dad wanted him to come over and help on Darren's car again. "I'll ride over with you", I quickly decided, since I wanted to see Darren's progress so far with my own eyes. "Did he say what the problem was?" "He said the engine just locked up, and they can't turn it over, so he wanted me to take a look".
The Charger was sitting half in, half out of the shop, at a weird angle, with parts, tools and debris strewn all around it. "What were you working on", Boone asked Dad, who was leaning on one front fender. "I tightened the first two converter bolts, then when he went to turn it with a bar so I could get the third...it just locked up!" "Dang it Dad! Why didn't you tell me that on the phone", Boone tossed his hands in the air. I bit my lip to avoid laughing. "Well...I don't know what happened!" Dad stated firmly. "You pulled the converter into the flexplate and caught one of the other bolts against the block. How many Mopar torque converters have you installed!" "Yeah, that make sense", Dad looked at the floor, "so I'll have to back those two out, and bring it in slowly until all the bolts clear". I stood there in stunned silence. Finally Dad pointed out that they had yet to conquer the bolt that held the dipstick and one of the bottom bolts that thread into the transmission. Boone managed to get the dipstick in place and the bolt started, but quickly realized that the bottom hole, where he installed the heli-coil in the trans case slightly crooked, and it wouldn't allow that bolt to start.
We were several blocks from Darren's place before I addressed Boone. "What's up with Dad"? Boone drew in a deep breath and paused before answering. "He's slipping Dave...he's 73! It really only shows when he's tired or stressed, most days he's good. He knows it too, and he gets frustrated and angry over it...it's been tough, and it ticks me off that Darren depends on him like this!" "How long? This is the first time I've noticed!" "No, it's the first time you've had to come to grips with it! You're not around him daily or weekly like we are", Boone let the harshness in his voice trail off, clearly not intending to attack me with his analysis. I let the silence hang for a few miles. "Twenty years older than me, you know, so I often look at his life as a road map for mine...I'm not sure this is what I wanted to see." Boone gave me a sidelong look, "As fat as you are right now...you don't have to worry about seventy-three!" We both burst into laughter. "Thank's a bunch little brother!"
