The British are Coming!
By Rick Cogbill a.k.a. Slim Shambles
“Wow! ” I mused, putting Sir Rodney’s ‘87 Jaguar through
its paces. “This v-12 is really smooth. Got to get me one of these!”
Coming back to reality, I recalled Rod’s complaint.
“The noise appears when I throttle out of a right hand curve.” Sir Rodney held his teacup in one hand as he adjusted his monocle with the other. “I should think it rather difficult to locate, as I’ve let several fellows have a go at it already.”
I heard the loud tapping noise come right up through the wood-grained automatic shifter console. “Great,” I groaned. “I may have to take the whole console apart.”
Bringing the sleek machine into the shop, I hollered for our apprentice. “Beanie! Put this on the hoist and do a transmission service. Then we’ll check out that noise.”
The Bean eagerly complied, until he discovered that he had to remove the rear crossmember to access the oil pan. Right then he vowed to stick to domestic cars from now on.
An hour later, the Jag was ready for another test drive--a good idea after every repair. “Can I drive it, boss?” Beanie pleaded. “Please, can I, can I?”
His puppy-dog face was making me sick, so I agreed. “Just don’t do anything crazy.”
“Ah, youth,” sighed Basil, as we watched Beanie motor around the block, big smile on his face. But he returned with a frown. “What’s that tapping noise every time I accelerate?” He looked sick, thinking he had broken something.
“On right hand corners, right?” I asked.
“Nope,” said the Bean. “All the time.” By moving the rear mount during the transmission service, the noise had changed.
“That’s terrible,” I groaned.
“No, that’s progress,” countered Basil. “Now we know what the noise is related to.”
As usual, our mystic mentor was right. Up went the Jaguar on the hoist again. “Wow, look at all that shielding around the driveshaft!” exclaimed Beanie. It was almost totally enclosed. “Do we have to take all that off?”
“What you mean ‘we’, White Eyes?” I replied. “You’re the apprentice, so get busy.” The rest of us headed for the lunch room for high tea and crumpets. “Call us when you’re done.”
After exposing the driveshaft, we found that a plastic fuel line running through the driveshaft tunnel had come loose. Torque on the driveline would move the tail end of the transmission to the left, causing the front universal joint to rub on the line.
“By Jove, that’s amazing!” exclaimed Sir Rodney, picking up the car. “Awfully glad you found it, old chap. Could have caused a nasty fire.” He hung his umbrella on his arm. “Oh, by the way, book me in next Friday for rear brakes, would you?”
“Righto,” I said, but I didn’t write it into the scheduler. Wouldn’t want Beanie to see it, I thought, or he might call in sick!
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