Changing Brakes

Last summer, I was cruising down the gravel road in my 1964 Chevy fuel truck when it occurred to me that the truck might need some maintenance.

I wasn’t exactly cruising -- meandering might describe my situation more accurately.

Cruising would imply that the truck moved in a straight line, the same straight line I aimed for, instead of weaving from side to side.

Cruising would imply the truck moved easily.

That part was accurate.

It just wouldn’t stop easily.

I thought about how to accurately describe this state of affairs as I pumped the brakes to no avail, scanning the floorboards for the extra bottle of brake fluid.

The term “Wreck Waiting to Happen” came to mind.

My next thought was about my tight-knit community where everyone knows everyone else’s business.

I hoped someone would spot this truck, post on Facebook and possibly save a life or two.

When I mentioned my need to carry two extra bottles of brake fluid to a mechanically-inclined friend, he assured me that changing out brake cylinders is easy.

I should have asked whether that meant easy for him or easy for me.

I bought new cylinders, determined to learn the answer to that question.

Then summer slipped away and the cylinders sat in their boxes.

I drove the truck to town a couple more times, never allowing the speedometer to top 35.

I figured the neighbors would pass me quickly and be safe.

About two weeks ago, my friend Katie came to the ranch to recharge.

What could be more rejuvenating than changing brake cylinders by lying under a truck on the cold concrete inside my shop?

I pulled the ’64 Chevy inside and jacked it up.

One of Katie’s Facebook friends noted the safety of the jack.

We laughed.

“We don’t tell them about the really dangerous stuff we do,” we snorted.

Mr. Mechanically-Inclined assured me that all we needed to do was pull off the wheel, remove the brake shoes, undo the brake line and the cylinder would pop right out.

Oh, and remember to bleed the brake lines when we were finished.

Katie and I were confident.

But the tire lug nuts were frozen.

It took us an hour to get the left tire off.

We sprayed PB Blaster on every nut we could find, then went inside to warm up and learn from a YouTube video.

Later, we managed to pull off the brake shoes and tear the brake hose apart, chilled to the bone but with only a couple of banged knuckles.

We decided we should take the right front tire off.

This wheel came off far easier.

Our confidence returned.

That’s when Katie noticed that the right wheel was tight against the steering mechanism but the left wheel wobbled around like a hula hoop dancer.

“Is this supposed to be like that?” she asked, slopping the left wheel in and out about 3 inches.

I found the nuts that were about to fall off, tightened them back to the steering mechanism and wondered if my neighbors would recognize the truck if it didn’t cross all of the lanes while I drove it to town.

Eventually, we put everything back together -- without any extra parts.

The big test came when I backed the Chevy out of my shop.

A steep drop-off behind the shop would grade our work, pass or fail.

I cranked the motor and eased the truck backward.

The brake pedal resisted.

It pointed the exact direction I aimed.

Miraculously, it stopped before careening over the drop-off.

I’ll be incognito the next time I cruise this truck to town, keeping it between the lines, stopping at crosswalks and testing local news sources.

I won’t even need sunglasses and a trench coat.