no reason to doubt

My friend Terry Sanderson asked if he could come up and help me work on some equipment. An unusual request since, as Holden Village's mechanic, all he does is work on equipment. Regardless, I wouldn't turn down the offer.



That's Terry on the right next to the 1948 Sterling Petrel engine we pulled out of an old mine pump house...but, that's a whole nuther story.


Terry is a great guy to have a round. When there's a problem that I can't figure out, I just let Terry at it. I know he's crunching the data when he's got his hand rubbing his chin and no words being spoken. He's from the farm lands of South Dakota, a place of few words. Finally the word that I wait to hear: "Huhmn." That's right, just a "Huhmn." And then he'll say something that I hadn't thought of and probably would never thing of. But it'll be elegant, creative, and get the job done.

Since he was the guest, I gave him the choice.
"Would you like to get the Sullair compressor woken up or breathe new life into the old Wisconsin engine/Hobart welder?"
He chose the compressor. Good, because since purchasing this thing 2 weeks ago and towing it home from Seattle, I had been having doubts about whether this was one of those too good to be true deals.

Well, with two seasoned mechanics set loose on it, it didn't take long at all to have tools and parts spread out like a garage sale. I drained about a half gallon of gasoline so old it looked like varnish. Terry got the points set and timed it by putting his thumb over spark plug hole number one until he felt the whoosh of air coming out. I fiddled with the carburator, an old up-draft zenith. Not trusting the governor, I disconnected the throttle. Terry couldn't get voltage to the coil, so he jumped from the starter terminal to the ballast resistor. We were ready to start it up. I controlled the starter, the throttle and choke; Terry had the hot ignition lead, and the starting fluid.
Gave it a try. A bunch of pops.
"Wait a minute, Martin...the spark plug wires are connected wrong. Alrighty, now try again!"
And that's all it took. Fired right up, ran smooth. Compressor built up pressure to the regulated 120 lbs. I opened the air line and the throttle kicked right back in. I closed the line and the unloader opened.
Everything as it should be. And, why not? True, most compressor's of this type go for 2 to 4 thousand dollars--not $550. And true, the successive stories I got from the folks that were selling it didn't always add up. But, bottom line: I trusted the guy. He looked me in the eye. My gut said "yes."
And now I have a good compressor that I can use to sand blast the Sea Mule. Well, accept for the fact that, when we shut it down a small geyser of pink, pepto-bismol looking compressor oil shot up and out the air intake. I'll have to figure that out next.

Still, a good day. The sun was out, meadow larks were singing and, for the first time since last fall, I felt the warmth of the sun on my back. Could be Spring is finally decided to come around after all.