Those Strange Noises
Last week, my wife, our dog, Billie, and I were spending a normal evening watching television. Yes, most poodles enjoy television, especially animal shows and old westerns. Suddenly Billy was distracted from his program and stared at the door. I did not hear anything, but I’ve learned not to call the dog a liar. If he alerts us to the fact something is going on, he is almost always correct. I turned down the volume on the TV and listened with him.
The temperature was around 15° below 0 with a stiff breeze bringing the wind chill down to close to 30 below. When the temperature gets extremely low, the ice on large bodies of water makes some very interesting sounds. The three of us sat quietly and suddenly heard a muffled boom that echoed down the valley. Billie looked startled and wanted outside to check it out. He and I both got as far as sticking our heads out the door and stopped. For me it was too cold to go any farther. For him, he was interested in checking out strange noises but not curious enough to go out alone. He was willing to back me up but not lead the way. About that
You’ll Pay for That
I haven’t changed the oil in my car for over forty years. That’s not to say the oil has not been changed, it’s just that I did not personally perform the work.
In high school I was in the vocational auto mechanics program; three hours every day, working on cars, learning to become an auto mechanic. Shortly after graduation, I figured out it was much easier to let Goodyear, Firestone, or any local garage change my oil. I avoided the dealerships, because their prices were always higher. An oil change at a local shop was about ten or eleven bucks back then. I didn’t have to get dirty, nor figure out what to do with the used motor oil even though it was easy to do.
In those days it was perfectly acceptable to dump motor oil in a ditch, or spread it on the gravel road in front of our house to help keep down road dust. Some people would burn their oil in a bon or trash fire and others had oil burning furnaces in their garages. But times have changed. Burning oil requires special approved appliances. Dumping oil in the ditch
or on the road is not only taboo, it’s illegal. So, it makes even better sense to let someone else change my oil. But times have changed; oil changes are no longer eleven bucks.
I was scheduled for a road trip and my van was in desperate need of an oil change. The local tire shops didn’t have any openings available, so I went to a ‘no appointment needed, drive-thru, instant oil change shop.’ Unfortunately, I did not have a discount coupon so I paid over $130 for an oil change! Even with a coupon, the service still costs over $100 with tax. But that’s the price one pays for convenience, and not planning far enough ahead.
A couple of months later, I was due for another oil change. I was tired of paying these high prices, so I went to the auto parts store, bought oil, and a filter. I was going to change my own oil – but it didn’t happen. I would be on the road again Monday, so I went to the same oil change shop as before. This time I was armed with a $25 off coupon to ease the pain.
I pulled into their driveway at 3:40 pm. There were cones behind each car lined up for
the three service bays. A lady came out to my van. “I’m sorry sir. It will be over an hour wait, and we close at five, so we won’t be able to get you in today. Can you come back tomorrow?”
I explained that I had to be on the road very early in the morning.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We can’t get you in today.” I drove back to my daughter’s house in Duluth. I still had new oil and filter in my van.
“John,” I said. “Can I change my oil in your driveway?” (My van won’t fit in their garage.) “The shop couldn’t get me in today. “Can I borrow a wrench and an oil drain pan, too?”
“Sure.” He replied, and we walked out to the garage. John brought out a floor jack and a jack stand. I lifted the van and positioned the jack stand, then placed the cardboard under the van. John brought out a box wrench and a filter wrench, handing them both to me.
I said, “When I asked if I could change my oil in your driveway, I was really asking, will you change my oil?”
John Laughed. “No, but I’ll hand you the tools.” I crawled under the van and went to work.
Even though I had not
changed my own oil in decades, it was amazing how everything came to me naturally, as if I’d changed my own oil regularly. I put on a pair of rubber gloves and then used the wrench to pull the drain plug. My hand was positioned to remove the plug without dropping it, and to keep the hot oil from running down my arm.
none. I even knew how to reset the oil change indicator on my van’s computer. Soon, we were lowering the van, with fresh oil.
HEDRICK, IOWA
P.M.
While the oil drained, I removed the oil filter. “I swear, the people who design cars must never work on them,” I complained. “If they did, they would leave more space to remove the filter.” I gave the filter wrench a little more umpf. It finally broke lose as I banged my knuckles into the oil pan. “I guess that hasn’t changed in fortyyears,” I laughed. Next, I put the new filter on the van, and even remembered to lube the seal with fresh oil first. I made sure the new filter was snug, but did not over-tightened.
I started the motor to check for oil pressure. It was fine, next I slid under the van to look for leaks; there were
We poured the old oil into empty containers John had from previous oil changes. I took my used oil with me, and several containers John had in the garage. “I have a friend who has an oil burning furnace in his shop,” I said. “He’ll appreciate this.”
After not changed my own oil in over forty years, it still took far less time than just waiting in line at the “quick-lube” place - and I saved nearly $100.
I thanked John for his help. I was glad he didn’t just change the oil for me. I had fun, and felt a little more selfconfident about doing other work on my own cars. But cars have changed, and that’s not always possible.
I was driving my van the morning after my oil change, when a notification sign came on the dash board: “Service
BARN RESTORATION
time, the ice boomed again as the expanding ice caused a crack to race across the ice on the lake. This was followed by high pitched scraping sound as large sheets of ice overrode others. We were satisfied nothing was coming to get us and went back to watching zoo animals on television. In the early evenings of most days, a person can hear choruses of assorted owls communicating throughout the area. If a person did not know what it was, those first evening calls would make the hair stand up on the back of their neck. The calls range from screeches to hoots with some sounding almost human. Even when a person knows what is making the strange noises, it can startle one.
The most creepy noise in nature has to be the mating call of a bobcat. Bobcats have a wide range of vocalizations, most of which we do not recognize as a bobcat. I have heard hissing noises as well as low grunts I did not know until after the fact that a bobcat was nearby. Many years ago, on one of my first deer hunts, I was sitting in a tree in bitterly
cold weather waiting for daylight. I was having a genuinely miserable time when I heard what sounded exactly like a woman screaming in the nearby timber. I had no idea what it was, could not see 10 feet away, and was freezing to death. If whatever got that woman came after me, I hope to get a shot in before it attacked me. That experience came really close to my thinking deer hunting was not a good idea. When it was later explained to me that it was only a bobcat, not all deer seasons are painfully cold, and a person does not have to sit in a tree with the wind trying to blow you out of your stand, I decided deer hunting is good fun. It does though still unnerve me to hear a bobcat scream, but it is just another of those strange noises we hear in nature
Nathan Nicholson, MD, FAAOS is now seeing patients in the Pella Regional Medical Clinic in Ottumwa on the first and third Thursday of the month.
“My passion is to improve the quality of life for my patients by treating them through both nonsurgical and surgical interventions in the field of Orthopedic Surgery. I believe in patient centered care and going above and beyond for my patients to get them the care that they need.”
Town Drunk
Curt Swarm, Empty Nest
The town we used to live in on Colorado’s Front Range, was small enough, about 2,000 people, to have THE town drunk. His name was Arnie, or at least we called him Arnie, and he had a dog, Butch, a pitbull mix . Arnie and Butch would wander, or stagger around, the town, trying to bum money. Of course Arnie was filthy and smelled to high heaven, like a two-day-old ripe onion.
No one knew where Arnie lived. It was rumored he had this or that hovel down by the tracks or behind the Legion. He seemed to move around a lot, like the Bible’s Wandering Jew, and ostracized just as much.
“He’s disgusting,” fine ladies in the tea shop would say, as he wandered by the store front, and hold their noses.
“That dog of his is mean, too, I’ve heard. If Arnie’s passed out in the gutter, that dog will be standing guard over him.”
There were a few business owners, men, who trusted Arnie. Arnie would stop in to bum money. “I’m doing real good, haven’t had a drink in two days,” he’d say, holding up two dirty fingers in a fingerless glove, real proud of himself.
One store owner
in particular, a veteran, trusted Arnie. “He was a Ranger you know. Korea. Went through hell. Killed a man with his bare hands, I heard. He gets a pension, I think, and always pays me back. I know he’s taking that money and going straight to the liquor store. Buys cheap wine. But that’s okay.” The store owner holds his hands palms up, raises his shoulders and scrunches his face, as if in a question. “Maybe it keeps his demons at bay?”
Arnie worked occasionally, odd jobs or for the garbage company, picking up trash. He was real strong through the shoulders and could empty trash cans into the back of the garbage truck before it hardly got stopped, if he was sober enough that is. The garbage company wouldn’t let him work if he was drinking.
Arnie loved dogs. Butch was usually running along behind the garbage truck, getting all the other dogs in the neighborhood or alley barking. Arnie saved food scraps, like old pizza and meat bones on one side of the garbage bin. He threw these food scraps over fences into yards to quiet dogs down. Dogs got to know he was coming by the sound of the garbage truck, which made them bark and howl all the more, knowing food was at hand, creating quite a ruckus. This did not endear property owners to Arnie.
What really got some property owners upset, if they had a dog or dogs, was Arnie feeding their dogs garbage. Calls were placed to the garbage company owner complaining about Arnie. “I do not want my pedigree dog fed garbage!” The garbage company owner would apologize, and explain that Arnie just loved dogs. This did not appease the property owners, and Arnie was fired.
Arnie was found dead one day in the alley behind the Legion, Butch standing guard over him. He died of “unknown causes”--probably alcoholism. The police had to tranquilize the dog before they could touch the body, wearing gloves and masks of course. No one came forth to claim Arnie’s body or the dog. Arnie was given a small veteran’s salute when he was buried. Butch was put down. The position of town drunk was now open, like a beauty contest. Three viable candidates stepped, or stumbled, forward vying for the position. They crossed streets in zigzag fashion in front of traffic, tried to bum money in the grocery store, and practiced sleeping in doorways. They worked hard at not bathing and smelling ripe. The winner however was the only one who had a dog.
The town was now satisfied. They had their town drunk once again.
(Outdoors cont’d from pg 1)
Belt Minder.” I thought that was strange. I’d never seen this message before. My immediate thought was that my serpentine belt may have failed – that’s the one belt that runs most everything on the motor. I turned into a parking lot to investigate.
I soon concluded it could not be the serpentine belt because my power steering and brakes were still working. I would have lost both without that belt. Also, my alternator, or charge light would have come on immediately if I’d lost the belt, but it did not. Without the serpentine belt turning the water pump, the engine will quickly overheat, but the temperature was normal. I left the motor running and popped the hood to have a look.
The serpentine belt was just fine so I closed the hood. When I got back into the driver’s seat, the notification was gone. I pressed through the buttons to see my notification, but the van indicated there were none stored. Hmm. Since the light went off, I continued my journey.
Over the next several days the light briefly reappeared occasionally, so I contacted a repair shop. The mechanic told me he’d never heard of such a thing, and didn’t know what to say. A couple more mechanics also never heard of a belt minder. Finally, I did what no man wants to admit to doing – I checked the owner’s manual, which
was no help what-soever.
The manual simply said the belt minder is what causes the annoying ‘ding, ding, ding.’ When one fails to fasten their seat belt. I called a Ford Dealership. One mechanic said there was nothing in their manual on servicing a belt minder, only how to change the device.
During this period, I noticed my battery was having more trouble holding a full charge, and starting on cold mornings. I connected my cheap little code reader to the van, which showed a low voltage code. I went to visit a friend who is an excellent mechanic.
Sean has a very nice, far more sophisticated code reader, which he connected. “You have a ton of low voltage codes in here,” he said. I asked if there were any ‘service belt minder’ codes. “Nope,” he replied. “They’re all low voltage codes.” Sean was not familiar with a service a belt minder code. Finally, I turned to the last source available
for help: Youtube.
I typed in the search bar, “Service belt minder, 2018 Ford Transit 250.” Even Youtube didn’t seem to have a solid answer, just what a belt minder does. In the meantime, my battery condition was worsening, often requiring me to charge the battery every few days, when I wasn’t driving for extended periods. I made sure to always carry a battery charger, extension cord, and jumper cable with me.
I turned to a few different Ford forums, online. They all said the same thing: replace your battery. But why would that show up as ‘service belt minder,’ opposed to ‘service battery.’ Ours
is not to question the genius’ who build these things.
I watched videos on how to change my battery. The battery is mounted under the driver’s seat on a Ford Transit. “What a pain in the behind,” I complained. On one trip to Iowa, I stopped at Beggs Electric. Ed tested my battery. “You have one dead battery cell,” he said. If I bought the battery from Ed, he would install it for me.
“I don’t have one in stock,” Ed said. “Go get one from O’Reilly’s.” I told Ed I didn’t want to install it because it was under the front seat and I’d never changed one like that. Ed shook his head. Conceding I would have to change the battery myself I called O’Reilly Auto Parts the next morning.
“O’Reilly Auto Parts, this is Anna,” said a pleasant voice on the phone. I told her what I needed and she gave me my options. I decided to go with the better battery. “We have plenty of those in stock,” she said. I drove to the store right away.
Pulling into the parking lot at O’Reilly’s, I smiled. A sign on the front window read, “Free Battery Installation.” I ordered my battery and Anna said, “There’s a $22 core charge, which we will refund when you bring your old battery back.”
“I was going to have you install the battery,” I said. Anna told me they wouldn’t install batteries
in a Transit Vans. “Why do you discriminate against Transit Vans,” I questioned in jest.
“We don’t install batteries mounted inside the vehicle,” Anna said. “Your battery is under the front seat.”
“I know,” I said. That why I want you to change it. Your sign says ‘free installation.’”
“Yes,” Anna agreed, “But there’s an asterisk. You’re an asterisk.”
“Well,” I declared. I’ve been called a lot of names, but no one has ever called me an asterisk!” We shared a good laugh about that. I paid my bill, and left with my battery. It was bitterly cold outside. Fortunately, my nephew let me pulled my van into his heated garage to change the battery.
Changing the battery wasn’t difficult, except the battery fits very tightly into its compartment. “I swear, the people who design cars must never work on them,” I complained. “If they did, they would leave more space to remove the battery.” I scrapped my knuckles getting the old battery out from under the seat.
There are a lot of things in life, like changing oil, or replacing car batteries that are simple. But I/we tend to make a bigger deal out of doing them, than is justified. Of course, there are always people who will do these tasks for us, but you’re going to pay for that convenience.
