I Can't Get That Part: What to Do?

Though one of the primary rules for this blog has been "no politics," I am going to sound out about tariffs, in general. In my Macroeconomics class way back, we studied how they tend to punish the populace of the nation that levies them, especially when import-substitution may take years or decades to accomplish. 

Our 2006 Honda needs bushings for the rear differential. Our 2003 Silverado needs oxygen sensors. Both are DIY jobs, but the Honda's work will be tedious so I asked a mechanic doing some brake-work to replace the bushings.

 "Sure, if I can get the parts," came the reply.

That prompted me to order the Oxygen sensors for the pickup NOW. I'm certain they are Chinese made. I think lots of Americans are panic-buying ahead of the tariffs taking effect, hedging their bets against chaos. Costco the other day was rather feral.

But let's play along with our so-called leader for a moment. In particular I want to test his crazy notion that we can bring manufacturing back home fast.

Let's say I wanted to open Tractorpunk Bushings LLC tomorrow. I'd apply for a loan, find a location in a light-industrial park, purchase equipment. In theory, I might get my first bushings molded and listed for sale in a year. But how many could I produce, even if one could 3D print them in polyurethane or rubber? And how would I buy rights to bushings patented by major manufacturers, domestic or foreign?  Where might I find employees skilled at running the machinery, which these days requires computer skills? I'd need someone to manage the advertising, shipping, and order fulfillment.

And how many vehicles in need of bushings are on the roads and in the fields of this nation?

 As a Distributist, I think we should have local manufacturers: tens of thousands making and selling things from open-source designs licensed in the Creative Commons. I could even foresee a galaxy of small firms building a hundred cars and trucks locally each year, based on low-tech utilitarian models with good pollution controls and safety features. Customers wanting high-tech or luxury in their vehicles would pay more or pay a specialist to come to Tractorpunk Cottage Motors to install that infotainment system or leather heated seats.

My idea goes back to something I wrote about before: vehicles have gotten too complex and it's best to buy a really old one and fix it yourself if possible. YouTube makes that work. Where do you think I learned to change O2 sensors and bushings? The best videos come from small companies that sell the parts. But where do they get them?

My Distributist alternate reality for a million cottage fabricators would be even harder than the Free-Market, patent-driven Capitalist model I described. 

So for now, stock up and watch YouTube. You may have to DIY things for a while. If you are serious, invest in jack-stands, a creeper, work light, and a good set of wrenches. You are going to need them.

Plant a garden too. Learn to can and dehydrate. Save seeds. Think about how to defend yourself. Meet your neighbors and share work, without talking politics or religion. Put down the phone on which you are doom-scrolling, turn off the TV for a few hours, and learn a craft for making, mending, sewing, knitting, building.

These are troubling times. I don't see them improving without a crisis of the sort we in the States have not witnessed in many, many decades.

This post may be one of the gentlest slams on our leadership, such as it is, as you will ever read. Maybe we should be screaming. I think we will, once the real price of arbitrary tariffs sink in and cut into our household budgets.

Why You Should Buy a Really Old Vehicle

Yesterday I walked into a chain auto-parts store (there being no other options) for a cabin-air filter and set of wiper blades for our 2003 Chevy Silverado 1500. It's a truck we bought from my father-in-law's estate, and it has been lightly used, sporting just over 76K miles. We don't plan to sell it; I can do a great deal of mechanical and electronics work on it myself.

A small annoyance of my shopping trip involved the parts books in the shop; they only go back to 2004. A grumpy manager explained to me that "the companies don't care much about vehicles more than 20 years old." Well, they better.

A recent story from S&P Mobility shows that older vehicles are getting more common on our roads and in repair shops, with light vehicles 16 or more years old increasingly common.

Therein lies a problem, as used cars "will be increasingly loaded with sensors for infotainment, communications, and advanced driver assistance systems like adaptive cruise control, lane departure warning and collision avoidance. Adaptive cruise, in particular, has been on a steady upward penetration trend since 2015; it is projected to be in nearly 70 percent of model-year 2023 vehicles, according to S&P Global Mobility estimates." 

Our Chevy, like our 2006 Honda C-RV, lacks a backup camera, touch screen, or lane-departure sensors.

Good. It's harder and harder to find minimalist vehicles. Convenience and Comfort are wicked deities; they make our lives easier 95% of the time, only to leave us stranded and helpless. There must be a better way.

I don't want any of that stuff. On the other hand, I do want passenger, driver, and side-impact airbags, antilock disc brakes, and power steering. I also don't want components that require dealer-specific software. A relative's new Ford Explorer became a brick after the assisted-parking feature broke. The dealer not only quoted an outlandish price but a months-long wait for repairing this (to me) frivolous feature; one should learn to park, not let a car park for you. Luckily, a local shop agreed, if our relative purchased the $1500 Ford-specific software. The repair still proved far cheaper than the dealer's price. The Ford is back on the road.

I'd recommend that for a daily driver, you shop for a low-mile vehicle in the sweet-spot between about 2000 and 2010. These cars and trucks are out there. If you can turn a wrench, excellent. But first go to drivers' forums to ID common issues for DIYers. My wife's Volvo S60, a 2013 model, had to go to the dealer for a battery replacement! I grumbled but have a pal at the service desk who showed me the song-and-dance routine to reset the car's computer. All the dealers know I'm a self-trained gearhead, and Nan is a mechanic's daughter who bought lots of parts for Big Ed. She can tell a scam in the service department when she hears it. She since sold the Volvo, not without some lamentation, for a 2017 Mini S convertible, a very cool car but so complex that it gives me shivers. I can change the oil, filters, and rotate the tires. That's about it. We'll see what happens when the warranty expires. One option? Sell it and buy an older low-mile Volvo C70 convertible with the simpler soft-top, not the retractable hard-top.

I also found, for instance, that in 2004, GM (in their infinite lack of wisdom and abundance of greed) moved the fuel filter from under the Silverado into the tank, so a DIYer must really work hard to replace it. Mine can be changed simply and quickly, with the vehicle parked on the ground, as long as the fittings have not rusted solid. I spray-painted mine after a shop had to change the locked-shut filter for me. Now, at every DIY oil change, I fix any rust on the chassis of each car and touch up the paint there.

You can get parts for the types of vehicles I advocate driving, too. You will need to know parts numbers and specifics if the clerk at the register cannot help, which will be likely given the state of hiring at these stores.  I don't tend to recommend specific franchises, but NAPA seems to have the most knowledgeable helpers. Pity that our local NAPA is staffed by grumps! I go to one in town.

Some innovations have surprised me pleasantly. I replaced a window motor in the big Chevy truck easily and for $75. A few YouTube videos showed me how to remove the door panel and swap out the plug-and-play electronics. Once I was a staunch crank for crank-windows. Now I'm good with power. Likewise, when my dash went out on the truck, a mail-in repair shop that advertises on eBay replaced all the "stepper motors" that control the dashboard lights, speedo, and other gauges, with shipping for that same magic number of $75. The truck could still be driven while I waited for the instrument cluster to be returned. I got it back with better backlights, too, and I installed it in five minutes with simple tools.

I'm looking forward to reading Matthew Crawford's Why We Drive: Toward a Philosophy of the Open Road. I met Matt and had a few interesting chats with him when he lived in Richmond. I love his book Shop Class as Soulcraft. He argues passionately for us being doers with skills, not consumers who press a "pay now" button. Like me, he favors old, if inconvenient and less comfortable, rides. You, your sense of purpose, and your wallet might, too.

There are other kooks like me or Matt out there: we might own a handful of cheap used vehicles; if one breaks, we use another while we fix the other one. It beats a car payment and you can do most work with jacks, stands, or ramps. So much can be done with the hood open and nothing else. Maybe we need a new automotive deity: Self-Reliance?

A (Darn Straight) Right to Repair

 I have begun using the term "stealership" when referring to the automotive dealers' service centers.

Granted, I know some dudes at Mini, and they have given me sweetheart deals over the years. They knew I'd be coming in to buy another car, eventually. Granted, I used to know a tech or two at Honda, before I got the chops to fix on my own the two CR-Vs I've had. But, still.

 With my wife's 2019 Toyota Tacoma due for its first non-free service at 30K miles, I asked her to get a price on the work: oil change, filters, checking differentials and transfer case, lubing the few points on the chassis that are not sealed. Price? Nearly 300 bucks.

"Get out," said I, looking at the owner's manual. I knew that I could do the same work for a lot less. I made a list, because modern companies still give you a maintenance schedule in your owner's manual. Use it.

This post is not a "tsk tsk" for those of you who don't have tools or time to DIY maintain your rides. I have been blessed with an inherited lift we got back in service last year, time to learn how to use tools, plus a decent collection of same. I write for an automotive publication. I should be able to turn a wrench by now.

My family was famous for its mantra "call some guy!" I've written recently about this philosophy. My mom's brother-in-law, Carlyle Rourke, resisted it. He had a 1964 Mercury Comet 4-door that he kept into the late 1980s. He did everything on that car, and when my first Buick Apollo needed an oil change, he showed me how. My old man told me "get a real mechanic to check your work, boy." I told Pop that if the car was not puking oil into the street, and the dip-stick was right, I'd just take my damn chances.

Today's vehicles are a long way from that Comet, but there are many things one can do on modern vehicles, and thank you, YouTube mechanics, for showing us how. For Nan's truck I soon had torque-specs for all the bolts I'd need to tighten, techniques for doing things without spilling oil on myself (here I failed. Toyotas are odd that way), and so much more that would put you to sleep if I listed them.

Like the OCD person I am, I wrote it ALL down in order of service, with numbers for torque specs beside each item on the 30K list.

With three hours of backache-inducing work, it all was done. I did have to order sockets from Amazon in sizes I didn't have. I tried local businesses but they either put me on endless holds or told me I'd have to buy a set.

Pffft. I got next-day delivery from Bezos' company and a good price. At the end, for $76 including the half-case of Amsoil 0w20 plus filter and Toyo-specific filter-wrench I needed for the oil change, I handily came in at 1/4 the price of the dealership.

Now that many states are pressing for right-to-repair laws, may I humbly suggest you go to Harbor Freight or Northern Tool, buy a cheapass set of wrenches, and watch some YouTube videos? See a few how-to examples at other sites? Some of them have wonderful senses of humor.

It's the 21st Century version of sticking it to the Man. Come bust a knuckle or two with em.

The Day Everything Broke

Today, so close to Halloween, offered up a share of tricks.

Last week, we cruised in our 1968 Chevy truck to go to an apple orchard. I rewarded the truck by putting it on the lift and changing the oil. Afterward, it would not start.

I was not quite ready  to curse. When our John Deere 1250 backhoe would not start, I cursed plenty. I needed it for digging holes to plant some bushes and trees.

I cursed in private, then recalled my recent lessons about turning frustration into gratitude.

So I got serious about diagnosis. The truck? I'd flooded it trying to start it by the throttle under the hood instead of the gas pedal. Solution: pull the spark plugs (due for a change anyway) and let it sit on the lift (for whose repair I'm thankful) and try  again when the new plugs come from Amazon (than you, Jeff Bezos: our local auto-parts store was clueless). While I was at it, I prepared to update everything to an electronic ignition: an invisible and relatively cheap (under $400) upgrade that makes starting an antique vehicle vastly easier.

The backhoe? I spent about $150 for a new battery (being thankful that I had diagnosed the starting problem) but after the beast ran for 5 minutes, it quit. Would I curse more?

A little. I cursed once or twice, until I recalled how my talented brother-in-law Joe fixed a similar problem on a different diesel: a small fuel leak made that tractor stall after a few minutes, as the fuel system pressurized.

I checked the lines on our backhoe. Sure enough, a plastic bowl that separates water from fuel had cracked, and fuel leaked out, starving the big Yanmar motor as it warmed up. A bit of epoxy provided a quick repair, lasting long enough to move the tractor and dig one hole in the ground for a shrub.

A new fuel bowl is on its way. 

By the way, I recalled how my father-in-law pinned himself under the rear tire of that selfsame backhoe, when he did something in haste. He survived, a miracle, but was never the same again. Life is short: make haste slowly, or festina lente, as the Ancients Romans said.

Let's face it: machines are easier to fix (and break) than humans, at least if you know something about machines. Yet some of these same Tractorpunk ideas might help with a difficult, even broken, human.

But first, let's dig some big holes in the ground and burn some rubber!

The Perfect Farm Truck?

Audrey and Michael Levatino’s book The Joy of Hobby Farming provides a list of essential gear for the would-be rural homesteader. I think "hammer" and "tape measure" are on there, forged from the author's experience at Ted's Last Stand farm, up the road from us in Gordonsville.

It was pleasing, in a culture that often makes a fetish of the pickup truck, to see the vehicle in the book as just another essential tool.

So which truck should a Tractorpunk own?

First off, there probably is no such thing as a perfect truck. I could also care less about brand loyalty. I'm partial to Fords because my dad drove big ones to haul produce, but any truck that runs well is a good truck to me.  Every truck owner can describe the truck that felt right, that did the best work before, sadly, it  had to be "put down" like a beloved farm animal who had reached the end of its life.

Second off, I've never owned that perfect truck. My closest-to-perfect one was a '95 white contractor's F-150 called "The Bull" (that's me and The Bull outside Brewer's General Store in Camp, VA). It came pre-dented and lacked four-wheel drive. It also rode like a buckboard wagon, though in the end getting stuck in mud too many times in the back parts of the property, even with a locking differential, meant a change had to come. I'll probably buy it back one day if Jimmy, the present owner, tires of it.

My current truck, an '03, Chevy, has 4WD but also the personality of a recliner. It's unassuming and useful, but rather bland. I miss the old buckboard ride and hand-cranked windows of The Bull or a '98 Dodge Dakota that was great on gas and the right size, not too big or small, but very unreliable.

I'm surprised how few miles we drive our truck, which is good because it drinks gas. I'm also surprised how often it hauls things about. It would seem that work-trucks have three categories:

• Small four-cylinder haulers for dump runs or moving stuff from house to barn or field. Often I see older 2WD  trucks in this role, since compacts are scarce on the late-model market. These trucks won't tow much.
• Larger contractor or used trucks like The Bull or my Chevy. They are great for lots of purposes, including light towing. The 8' bed on many of them makes hauling lumber, gravel, or firewood a reasonable chore.
• The big dogs, often full-sized diesels of the "one ton" category. These can tow a big tractor or haul lots of gear in the bed or on a trailer.

I don't include any ideas about trucks for commuting. In fact, I think that to be a great waste of money. Buy a car. The older rural folk I knew scoffed at the idea of trucks for "going to town," partly because when they came of age, all trucks rode like The Bull.

I suspect that many new homesteaders would love to go straight to the big dog, since it could do anything, but we decided against that sort of expense ($40,000 plus). We do occasionally move farm equipment, but we found that for $100-$200, the guys who service the tractors (when I can't) will transport them.

In time, I'll find the perfect truck. It would be something like the diesel Hilux Toyotas I see in England, or my dream Jeep pickup, like the J12 concept they rolled out last year. . . maybe one day, and used, given my budget and propensity for punishing my trucks. I don't want to put in the first scratch.

Before buying a truck, my wife and I made a list of what we absolutely needed. It ran:

• 4WD: not everyone needs it, but if you go back into the mud to work the truck, you'll thank yourself for the extra expense
• Extended cab: even with a nice roll-down tonneau cover, water seeps into the bed. Things that need to stay dry could go into a tool box (especially on a beauty like the J12) but extended cabs still permit a truck bed that is not a joke
• 8 Foot Bed: at the time, we planned to renovate our farmhouse. I saved thousands of dollars by running the crew materials. When I ran into 16' lumber, however, I had to have it delivered. But a 6.5' bed would still have worked, had I installed a ladder rack on top.

Your list will be different, but if you farm, you are going to need a truck in the toolbox, along with a hammer and tape measure.