The weather where I live has turned into cold, wet, sleet, shitty badness. For the past three weekends I have had plans to fix things on my boat and continue its restoration from abandoned wreck to fun sailing boat, however for the past three weekends it has been bitterly cold and wet - not the conditions I need to get to work.
So my mind turns to other things, I need to keep myself occupied and I had decided to put my garage into a little bit of better order. My kids and their friends had progressively used the garage over the winter to smoke cigarettes (mostly) and generally interfere with the stuff I have in there. I appreciate there is a fascinating collection of objects, I know they are fascinating and that's why I have them! However, they are my objects and some of them do not like being touched by an inexperienced or rough hand. This lead me to banning them from my garage - a step I was reluctant to take because I want them to be free and curious, but I cannot tolerate wanton destruction.
With my own space secured again I set about the process of tidying up. It is amazing how much space mess takes up and how little space tidy things take up. Within a couple of hours I had proper space on the floor to walk about and space on the workbench to "create" again.
I switched on my compressor to get some air to blow away some crap that had collected around my vice but it did not produce any air. Dammit. On deeper inspection I noticed a hiss of air coming from the pressure switch cutoff line. I tried to tighten it (assuming that was my problem) and the metal housing gently collapsed. This is not unexpected as the older alloys weaken over time. I promptly ordered a new unit and waited for it to arrive.
It arrived yesterday and as my wife was out at some meeting of some kind (I don't pay too much attention in case I get dragged in) I thought it would be a good opportunity to fix up the compressor. Into the garage I go, gas heater on and BBC Radio 4 making nice chat in the background. A little tinker with my prototype ship's computer, just to confirm it is still reading AIS and GPS properly, then I lift the compressor onto my bench.
For those of us who do not know about BBC Radio 4 I should perhaps spread the news. It is without doubt the finest radio station on the planet, a talk station which discusses everything. I mean everything, news, religion, LGBT, racism, culture, philosophy, art, politics - everything. It is done with a sense of self-deprecation and it walks the fine line between compliance with UK Government edicts (the shitbags that they are) and as close to the truth as it can. I admire the broadcasters and as you get into the "voice" of the station you can hear the nuances of what is being said. My entertainment this evening was everything "Trans" and the cultural effects. Not something I would select on my television to watch but it made for interesting listening.
As I work on something I often pretend I am showing what I am doing to someone else, it focuses my mind and makes me proceed carefully. For last night's efforts my fictitious friend was trans-gendered (damn you Radio 4 for playing with my mind), but the most important thing was that they were interested and attentive.
We took the old switch gear off and I made a show of preparing the new component, putting on the PTFE tape in the direction of the threads, lining everything up and making sure it was all clean. We rewired the electrical parts, making sure all the compression fittings were tight. My friend asked pertinent questions and usefully reminded me where I had laid various tools. Quite quickly we had the job done and I powered up the compressor expecting all to be fine.
It wasn't. There was still no compressed air, just a light flow. I started swearing and my friend chided me for my bad language. I apologised. The discussion on the radio moved onto how lesbian/undecided girls tend to identify with trans culture as it is better represented than lesbian culture. Clearly I was out of my depth here as I had absolutely no opinion on this at all. My fictitious friend just shrugged their shoulders and indicated that we should proceed with the compressor.
I traced the line back to the compressor cylinder head and disconnected the pipe (that's the big one on the picture above). I started the compressor again and instead of a mighty blast of air coming from the outlet I git a feeble gasp. Clearly the issue was inside the head.
There are 57 genders available on FaceBook the radio told me. I muttered something unrepeatable under my breath about that.
"You think there are only two?", my fictitious friend asked with a barely hidden snarl
"...uhm, yes of course there are only tw"
"Go ahead prick, look at me and pick one, I fucking dare you!", clearly my friend had spent too long with me and some of my more abrasive nature had rubbed off.
"Point made"
Let's get that head off and take a look my friend suggested. I agreed, looking out the 6mm allen key and carefully cracking off the four cylinder head bolts along with the two stabilising bolts. The head came away quite easily and I could immediately see my problem.
Over time the grease that lubricates and seals the piston had become crystalline. Bits of the hardened grease had become trapped in the spring valves and it simply was not breathing properly. I cleaned off the valves and seat, pulled the cylinder out, cleaned the piston and just managed to run my finger and a rag round the inside of the cylinder to remove all traces of the old grease.
I then carefully greased the piston, making sure all the rubber was covered. I also made sure I got my finger right into all areas of the cylinder, ensuring a nice coverage of grease. It went back together like a dream and as soon as the main pipe was on I fired it up. What a difference - very quick pressure, very quiet running. I was happy.
I envisioned a high-five with my fictitious trans friend, who then instantly disappeared.
So last night I learned a few things. Compressors can have bendy metal valves. LGBT folk moan about stuff just as much as everyone else. Maybe a rigid view on gender isn't entirely sensible in the modern day. Just because I am a straight bloke with gnarly hands and a beard, does not mean that I don't appreciate the value of a well lubricated finger.
