While I could easily entertain you with what we did that weekend, the food we ate, the movies we saw, all with cleverly-timed quips and supporting Google images, this is, in fact, a sailing blog, and I imagine (scratch that, I know – because several of you have pestered me about it) you all are far more curious about the boat and what the heck is going on with the engine than anything else. Well … join the club. The boat was our main concern too.
Thankfully, Mechan-Eric called on Monday and said he had found the problem. It was the transmission. Of all things. Turns out we had run it completely out of fluid and it over-heated and locked up. While we certainly appreciated the news, it was not well received by the lawn mower focus group. We were still standing around scratching our heads:
The transmission?!? That thing ain’t got no transmission!
(And, just for fun – check out this creative bunch of eligible bachelors):
Some people clearly have too much time on their hands. They must write blogs or something.
We really were surprised by the diagnosis, though. I mean, like a car, the transmission fluid is not something you regularly check on a boat. At least not as much as the oil or the coolant. And, we’d had a survey done just a few weeks prior (which we assumed had entailed checking the fluids). We had also had no problems with the transmission – no issues shifting gears – no sign at all that the transmission was struggling. Like I said before, that engine ran perfectly, up until the moment it didn’t run at all. So, needless to day, it was incredibly irritating to find the reason we had to call The Crossing and leave the boat docked up at a diesel mechanic’s marina in Carrabelle was a lack of transmission fluid because: a) it’s super cheap, like a buck forty-nine a jug or something, and b) we had some on the boat anyway.
What’s worse – and this is Mitch’s ultimate redemption – when Phillip was checking the fluids that fateful morning (the oil, the coolant, the gas, etc.) he asked Mitch to hand him the engine oil so he could top it off, and Mitch had inadvertently handed him the transmission fluid instead.
Yes, irony – the opposite of wrinkly. And, when used in a sentence:
No, Doug, I don’t think your elbow handshake is awkward at all, I just want to know how Ted here got his shirt so crisp and irony.
While that usage is fun (obviously I’ve had a little too much fun with it), I meant it just as Alanis intended, like rain on your wedding day. When we looked back on it, we couldn’t believe Mitch had almost saved the day. Almost. But, more so, we couldn’t believe we had run the thing slap out of fluid. Really?? Thirty-eight cents worth of that pink nectar dumped in there and it would have saved us? But, we learned a very valuable lesson. Always, ALWAYS, check all (and I do mean ALL) of the fluids before you crank the engine. We do it every time now – even the transmission fluid.
Of course, that is now. This was then. And, we were looking at shelling out another $2,500 for a new transmission (not to mention the labor to have it put in). Kind of sucks, don’t you think?
And yeah I really do think.
My favorite yet! Irony!! Ba-ha-ha-ha-ha
I know. As embarrassing as it sounds, I’ve been excited about the “irony” post for weeks, ever since I found the “opposite of wrinkly” definition. (Because that’s how cool I am). But it’s nice to know we share the same ‘ironic’ sense of humor. Plenty more where that came from. Stay tuned and thanks for the comment!
I am so glad you sent me the link to your blog! Clever and funny, even if the face of epic disappointment. 🙂
You’re more than welcome. Send it to ten friends and get them all signed up. (Shameless blog promo there – I know). But I’m thrilled you’re following along and enjoying it. There’s even more epic to come (as well as a few more, minor disappointments). Love the comments. Keep them coming!
Another of life’s fine lessons. Nothing that money can’t fix. Certainly better than an arm amputation. But, me thinks, per chance, you may have a leak in said transmission system. Did bubba tell you what the problem was? Transmissions do not drink tranny fluid as a rule. They either smoke it and you usually see smoke and smell that burnt smell (oooh-oooh that smell) when CHECKING SAID FLUID which will also appear brown and thin and or grimy (meaning there are bigger problems in the making) or they spit it out. This is normally noted by a light and colorful rainbow sheen in your bilges and or in the water around your wessel Mr. Chekov. Not something you want the turds and grease guys from the USCG to notice before you do. That’s a whole other headache you just don’t want. Worth asking ole Mac if he noted any bad seals or worn gasket where from whence the fluid could have escaped from. Else, the new stuff will in all likelihood do the same thing. Btw, do they teach that elbow grab hand shake at that fancy lawyering school you went to? What do you think ole Reggie the young Republican is thinking in that picture? he he he. Love me some Alanis, but that picture is rough!
All good questions and keen observations. We talked to Mechan-Eric about that. Apparently this transmission is just a “splash” transmission – meaning the only method of lubrication from the fluid is just a splash. There was no sign of a leak and no Lynnard Skynnard smell. The only conclusion he could come to was that it was terribly low when we bought it and no one caught it. Then we took it out for a three-day Gulf Crossing and ran her happy ass for 37 hours straight. Drabbit! It was definitely a costly and irritating setback but mourning it after the fact wouldn’t help anything. It happened. The transmission was toast. We just wanted the darn thing replaced so we could get her home and get her out sailing STAT.
And, clearly, I named the guy Doug. Not Reggie. A ‘young Reggie’ would have a much bushier fro. C’mon Casey …
I did note that you had named him Doug, and must concede that a Reggie would likely have a bushier fro. However, I still contend his middle name is Reginald (which is why I called him Reggie -which of course he detests as much as being called Doug when you know full well that his full christian name is Douglas. Douglas Reginald Farquhar III. However, the question was what do you think he’s thinking? The answer being: “I really hope she will vote for me as president of the young republicans club, and then I can take her to the fall cotillion and slip her a rufie. Though I will probably have to have daddy’s lawyer get me off on a technicality.”
What a perv that Douglas is. Another politician in the making. Very Irony!
Very irony indeed, and far too politically accurate. Bad Dougie! Baaaad!