My father supplied me with my first car in 1979 - a 1966 Ford Fairlane with a 289 c.i. V8 2-bbl. The thing was so freaking heavy for a midsized car, but it could smoke the RR tire on a right turn.
Dad maintained the cars on-the-cheap. He replaced the battery and mentioned it in an off-hand way when I was about to leave for my part-time job. “Go easy, lad - the battery’s not quite secure” (lad - he was an English transplant in New Jersey).
As I sped into the work parking lot, there was a bang, squealing sound, and more noise. And steam. The battery slid into the radiator fan, and the blades cut the battery open, spraying sulphuric acid all over the engine compartment. I called home - dad brought a fresh battery and swapped it in right in the parking lot. This time, he tied it down with a coat hanger.
The paint under the hood didn’t last much longer after that.
Every now and then, I’ll catch the smell of Sulphur in diesel fumes and it takes me right back.
This brings back memories.
My father supplied me with my first car in 1979 - a 1966 Ford Fairlane with a 289 c.i. V8 2-bbl. The thing was so freaking heavy for a midsized car, but it could smoke the RR tire on a right turn.
Dad maintained the cars on-the-cheap. He replaced the battery and mentioned it in an off-hand way when I was about to leave for my part-time job. “Go easy, lad - the battery’s not quite secure” (lad - he was an English transplant in New Jersey).
As I sped into the work parking lot, there was a bang, squealing sound, and more noise. And steam. The battery slid into the radiator fan, and the blades cut the battery open, spraying sulphuric acid all over the engine compartment. I called home - dad brought a fresh battery and swapped it in right in the parking lot. This time, he tied it down with a coat hanger.
The paint under the hood didn’t last much longer after that.
Every now and then, I’ll catch the smell of Sulphur in diesel fumes and it takes me right back.