Getting my Bearings

The replacement bearings arrived yesterday. Still hoping to have a flyable airplane for Saturday, I fired off a text to the guy at the airport that knows a guy that has a suitable press for removing the old bearings and pressing in the new. That's the flying community for you. He asked that I call him back; he was just sitting down to watch my alma mater play basketball in a conference championship game. I have so little interest in the game of basketball that I hadn't even been aware that they were playing.

His estimate of a 4:30 completion time was just that - no one really knows when a basketball game will end. After all, the last 1:30 on the clock can easily take half an hour. Just to be sure, I turned on the TV. Our team was down by eighteen in the second half. "Heh," I thought, "I could probably just go now!  Who's going to sit through another hour of that debacle?"

Me, as it turned out, because contrary to what always happens when I tune into a game, our team actually started playing better, not worse.  The game just kept getting closer and closer until eventually I ended up sweating out the thirty minutes of the last ninety seconds. They won by four!  They lost today, of course, but I don't care - I wasn't watching.

Fifteen minutes after the game, I was at Daryl's house, and from there it was just a quick drive to his friend's place. The press was apparently out in the guy's garage, so that's where we went. My eyes bugged out of my head when we walked in and I saw this (well, these):

I asked if it was okay to take a few pictures; I could understand him not wanting these gems well publicized.

"Sure, feel free."

Wondering if I might me on a roll of incredible good fortune, I went for the brass ring:

"Mind if I take the green one out for a spin?"

Yeah, not a chance.  Worth a shot though - one never knows.

This is not to say that my pool of luck had fully evaporated - I was still able to 'Tom Sawyer' those guys into doing my work for me.

By now you're wondering if I asked about buying one or both of the cars... because, who wouldn't? We actually did reach and agreement of sorts: he wasn't selling, and I wasn't buying.  

Win-win.

I stopped by the house to pick up Co-pilot Egg, thinking it possible (if not likely) that an extra set of hands might come in, well... handy.  I over-estimated her potential contribution by an egregious degree; in the event, her sole purpose of being there was apparently to make peurile "That's what she said" jokes every time I made reference to "nuts being too small" or "not being able to get it in the hole."

 

I had to dig out Gucci, my trusty rivet gun, to re-attach the anti-spin doohickey due to the lack of a squeezer. That's the downside of borrowed tools: eventually you have to give them back.

Egg had found a new job by then; taking goofy selfies with my camera while my attention was diverted.

I thought about asking her to help with getting the bolt pushed into the hole, but thought better of it. She had finally stopped with the TWSS jokes and I sure wasn't keen on getting her started again.

Look at it spin!  I'm calling that fixed!!

My victory went unnoticed. Both Egg and my camera had departed for the warmer climes of the car.