FINALLY got together with JP.
First time since the wedding. Man, that was a good time.
We ate greasy bar food. We drank way too many beers for a weeknight.
We learned about bitcoin, wallets, and investment.
We even talked about stock options and infosec.
And then we compared trail rash on the trucks.
We gotta do this shit more often.
These are the brakes that were making all the noise these past couple weeks. The rear pads were down to the feelers.
189,525 miles on Fezzik. Judging by the cleanliness of the threads on the guide bolt…
I’m gonna assume the calipers have never been removed, meaning these are likely the original rotors from 1998.
Fezzik ran great across the desert. 75-80mph. Cruise control. Air conditioning running full blast. Not so much as a hiccup. Until just outside Phoenix, when that damned misfire returned. Sort of.
About a mile before the rest area exit, P told us her stuffed animal had to go potty. I asked if she needed to go too. The answer was an emphatic “No!” I remember thinking, if I hadn’t been so sleep deprived (I haven’t got better than six hours sleep in a night in over a week), I’d do the Good Guy Dad thing and pull in so the bright pink and green puppy could go potty.
You can imagine the simmering rage when, just as we were passing the rest area–literally moving left to clear merging traffic back onto the highway–the cry came out from the backseat… “I have to go potty.”
This sort of thing had happened half a dozen times over the weekend. Being a little over an hour from home, I was tempted to let her piss her pants and learn a lesson, but Good Guy Dad knew better.
I punched it and moved left to pass a line of big trucks. 75… 80… 85… 90… misfire… CEL.
We caught the next exit in Tolleson, and while the girls went inside to pee, I pulled Adam’s MUT-II diagnostic tool from the back of the truck and pulled the code. P0300–random misfire.
It wasn’t P0303–cylinder 3 misfire, but it was a misfire. Another goddamned misfire.
Back on the highway, the CEL came right back. It wasn’t misfiring, as far as I could tell, but it was down on power and barely able to maintain 75mph into town. When I checked the code back home in the driveway, the code was now P0125–low coolant temp.
I didn’t even bother unpacking the truck. I cleared the code and let Fezzik sit all day the next day. And I’ll live with the randomly shrieking brakes until Saturday. I’m getting too old for this shit.