P.B.D. Preskitt & The Elusive Accent

A really neat little title for a stupid little blog post that didn’t turn out the way I wanted.

Andrew shared a funny article on Facebook about Peabody, Mass. The locals don’t pronounce it right. Kinda like the locals here in Arizona don’t pronounce Prescott right. Or how people in Kansas and Arkansas don’t agree on pronunciation, either.

Then again, maybe ONLY the locals get it right. They’re the ones who named the place all those years ago. In any case, I thought it novel and wanted to write something pithy about the subject. We may sound different, but we’re the same in how we’re different, ya know?

All I can say is, I only really notice Andrew and Brad’s accents on the Auto Off Topic podcast every once in a while. And when I do, it’s so damned subtle, I lose it before I can even make sense of it.

It’s not the stereotypical “Pahk the cah in the Hahvahd yahd.” It’s not Kris Marciniak’s perpetually entertaining story about the Statie and the California driver’s license. It’s not even Mark Wahlberg playing said Statie in the latest, national tragedy exploitation flick.

The closest I’ve been able to put my finger on it is the way Brad says “body.” And it’s so subtle, I can’t even type it up phonetically. “G-bwoddy.” “Bwahdy shop.” Damnit.

Maybe I should have just titled this one “Brad’s Peebuddy Bwoddy Shop.”

Really, Fezzik?

This is no joke. Literally three times in a row now—since June—within 24 hours of telling someone (usually V) that the check engine light is gone and I’m feeling good about how Fezzik’s running, that damned CEL comes right back on.

The last few times it’s come on—and there have been more than three, mind you—it’s been a simple case of a stuck thermostat. I’d be driving, a storm would roll through, the ambient temperature drops, and Fezzik actually runs too cool to get into open or closed loop fuel calculations.

I confirmed this theory with the MUT-II factory scan tool I borrowed from Adam back when I was troubleshooting the misfire before MOD. No big deal.

[ For the non-gearheads in the audience, the thermostat is a valve in the engine cooling system. It stays shut until the engine warms up, then opens to allow coolant/antifreeze to circulate through the radiator and heater core. If you get hot air from your heater vents, your thermostat is open and coolant is circulating. ]

Anyway, when Super Shuttle dropped me off after the Shootout, I noticed a sizable leak under Fezzik. Coolant. The next morning, I added half a gallon of distilled water to the radiator. Awesome.

No leaks all week, though. Temp gauge functioning normally.

Come home from Sedona this past Sunday to find another puddle under Fezzik.

Really, dude? C’mon. You broke down just sitting there? 

I suspect it’s the coolant line to the throttle body. Keith’s going to let me borrow his pressure tester to know for sure. Hooray dealing with filthy shit on the back of the engine!

Shootout III: 250 Jets

Neat work life parallel story developing alongside my own. A couple years back, one of my long time gearhead brothers’ sons decided to skip college to build race cars.

He recently made about 500 wheel horsepower with a car he bought from another one of my gearhead brothers. Then he showed up in Norwalk with it and ran 11s.

20 years I’ve been a 2GNT DSMer. They make a little over 100whp stock. Few of us ever made more than 400. And only one of us ever ran a faster ET in the quarter-mile.

Saturday night, said “kid” was coordinating with the teammate tuning the engine he built in the company race car.

They’d been in the hunt for the 7-second Evo bounty. With almost $20,000 and a tropical vacation on the line, they were hell-bent on being the first into the sevens.

After running consistently low, low eights all day–assploding all sorts of really expensive race car parts (nitrous backfires are a helluva bang)–the engine was back together. They were tuning for a 250hp shot of nitrous oxide. A slight bump from the 50-shot they’d been running.

They made a couple good, hell-bent-for-leather runs the next morning. Sadly, though perhaps expectedly, things played out more bent-to-hell. That’s what happens when you run the back end of the track on pure, straight, nitrous.

It wasn’t their time. It wasn’t anyone else’s time either, though. Here’s hoping they stay All In.