Hauling Wheat

     The price of wheat crossed the $6 mark a week or so ago, on the way up from the $5.50 range.  The weather felt more like October than December, reaching into the sixties at midday.  I was growing soft, lazing around till the sun gets up before I rise, taking a nap in front of a boring tv show in the evening. 

     In the back of my mind lurked a binful of wheat and the specter of a huge blizzard roaring down the plain, leaving unnavigable drifts across the yard.  (I inherited the ability to worry about every imaginable catastrophe from my mother.)  The price of wheat would rise with the drifts and ebb as the obstructing snowbanks slowly melt in the spring, and I would be unable to take advantage of the bad weather market rise.

      Add the chainsaw sans fuel or chain oil, leaving me no real excuse to get outside into the sunlight.  The weather, the wheat market, the mental irritants, all got under my shell enough to provoke a little action.  We shall have to wait to see if the result is a pearl or some other less worthy secretion.

     The factors all came together with enough critical mass to overcome the winter inertia.  I took the next step.  I put it on the calendar.  I would be gone, hauling wheat from Tuesday till Saturday, probably. 

     Monday was already taken.  The barbershop “boys” (I’m pretty sure I was the youngest singer) sang Christmas carols at two Fort Collins assisted living facilities.  Otherwise, I could have given myself another day to meet the challenge of man and machine versus Murphy’s law.  You do have to have priorities straight.  By leaving on Tuesday, I still made a mighty sacrifice, the first barbershop gathering in my new residence where we would do something other than Christmas carols (Bathless Groggins shudder.) (If you understood that allusion, I know two things about you:  You are older than dirt, and you read the Sunday funnies.)

     Off I went early (9 o’clock) Tuesday morning.  I had a few calls to make in Limon, insurance agency, barbershop (the real haircutting kind, there were five guys in there, I’m still shaggy), e-waste stop, hardware store for a dust mask for when I have to enter the grain bin and scoop—pretty optimistic, eh?

     Around one p.m., I pulled into the farm and set the house to warming—started a fire in the stove, turned up a couple of heaters.   I ate a little lunch which I had thoughtfully provided, and I tended the wood fire.  Then I turned to the matter at hand, hauling wheat.

    I had four motors to get started.  Three might be difficult but doable.  One was very questionable.  It was the Willie Suchanek Lawson auger engine.  It hadn’t run for at least ten years.  It must be fifty years old. 

     No sense in doing anything until I got that engine started.  It was still mounted onto the sprayer deck on the “water trailer” in the red barn.  Off the engine came and out into the warm midday sun where I attempted to start it.  Priming it by putting a few drops of gas down the air intake produced no result. Neither did a few drops of gas in the spark plug hole.

      This is serious.  No spark.  The flywheel has to come off to get to the breaker points.  Remove fuel tank, cowling, then the flywheel.  It can be difficult, but with a gear puller putting pressure on it, it popped right off with a pry from a screw driver.  I filed the points flat and reinstalled everything.  It now sparked.  I couldn’t see the spark, but I could hear it snapping. 

     This time it took off when I primed it.  After two hours of work, that was a positive.  But it would only run as long as I dripped a little gas down the air intake when it sputtered.  Carburetor time.  Pulling the carburetor off reminded me that once while transporting the engine from sprayer to auger, it bounced off the golf cart and broke the bracket that holds fuel tank, air intake and carburetor mount.  That repair involved a weld, some silicone gasket goop, and some JB Weld.  I ended up having to redo the silicone and the JB Weld.

      That ended day one of the wheat hauling adventure.  Time to let the goo dry.

      Wednesday morning the thing started right up and ran a little better.  I drug out the sixteen foot auger from the combine shed and hauled it to the grain bin with the golf cart.  Some digging was required to open the channel under the granary floor.  That auger got a lot heavier over the past ten years, but I got it into place and mounted the engine.

     The Mayrath auger took a little work, but started right up.  Add belts and it was ready to go.  Both trucks cooperated.  By about 1 p.m. I was set to give it a try.  For a while, I would start one auger engine.  When I went to start the other auger engine, the first one would die.  Finally, the Briggs decided to keep running so I could attend the Lawson.  It would run just fine as long as I stood right by it.  When I left to open the grain slide under the granary, it would die.

    Finally I got the slide open, both engines running, and some grain actually hit the truck floor.  The Briggs decided the load was too much, so it died.  While I was starting it, the Lawson died.  Back and forth I went.

     During this time Neighborly drove up, unnoticed by me.  He saw the open door on the east end of the combine shed and thought he better investigate.  When I failed to notice him, he yelled.  I jumped, a big.  He caught me totally by surprise.  We had a short visit and back I went to rope-pulling wind sprints.

     When it came time to move the truck, the Lawson would stop when I left it.  I must have pulled that starting rope a mile if you add up all the three foot tugs.

     As the truck filled I had to move it four or five times.  About two more moves and it would be full.  The Lawson died again.  I shut the truck off, restarted the Lawson, went to move the truck one last time.  It wouldn’t start.  Quickly I released the tension on the Lawson belt, stopping the flow of wheat.  Now I had leisure to find the problem with the truck, but with both engines running, I couldn’t hear what the truck was doing.

     So I had to shut both auger engines down.  A corroded battery cable was soon diagnosed and cured.  (I just realized how dependent a mechanic is on hearing—better he should lose his sight than his hearing.)  “Pulling dem ropes” yet again, I topped off the load and tarped it.          

     The truck loaded, I got to town about 4 o’clock.  The boys at the elevator had a tomorrow deadline to get ten train cars loaded, so I had to be worked in.  It was dark when I got about halfway home.  Pulling the truck light switch lit the instrument panel, the tail lights, the clearance lights, but nary a headlight.  I carefully felt my way home the last three miles.

     Day two, one load down.  Thursday morning, the Lawson was back to stage one, no spark, no fire, not even a pop when treated to a little ether.  This time flywheel removal revealed that I had not tightened the flywheel onto the crankshaft tight enough during the first surgery.  What running it did had completely chewed up the square key that holds flywheel to shaft.  Worse the key ways in both the flywheel and shaft were buggered.

      I began to entertain the thought that I would need a new engine before I could haul a second load of wheat.  I had no eighth inch key stock, so a trip to town was necessary.  I cleaned up the key way on the shaft and flywheel, but I hadn’t a lot of hope that I could hold the flywheel in time with the shaft.  J B Weld to the rescue.  Hey if it was good enough for the carburetor, why not the flywheel?

       I put some goop around the key way and mounted the flywheel.  No spark.  Quickly I removed the flywheel before the glue set up.  I filed the points again.  They may have been fouled by metal flecks from the disintegrating key.  Reglue and reassemble.

     While I waited for the glue to set up, I found another thing on the carburetor to clean.  Fortunately, I could remove the jet without removing the carburetor.  A brief soak in some solvent followed by some good air blasting and a light wire brushing returned the jet to a normal state.

       This time, priming with a few drops of gas followed by a tug on the rope resulted in a smoothly running engine.  A miracle!

       Mount the Lawson on the auger again.  It started right up again.  The Briggs gave me a little trouble, but when I went to attend to it, the Lawson kept running.  I got loaded and headed for town between 2:30 and 3:00.      

      By four o’clock, with the sun threatening to die on me (starter rope not long enough to reach it) I was in position for a first.  When I started both engines, they both ran straight through, getting the truck fully loaded without once having to restart something.  Tarp the truck and call it a day.            

      Friday morning I scaled the truck a few minutes after eight.  I was there again at eleven.  I returned the third time about 1:30.  So I should have tried for a fourth load?  A check of the bin revealed I would get about 100 bushels loaded, maybe 200, and then the rest would have to be shoveled.  I wasn’t up to that.  Besides, I wouldn’t be done.  It will take two trips to town.

       I was faced with removing the auger from the bin, putting everything away, and starting all over again another day.  The elevator keeps no Saturday hours this time of year.  The weather is predicted to take a nasty turn for the weekend.  I really didn’t want a truckload of wheat sitting in the shed for who knows how long.  Remember that vision of a blizzard roaring down the plain?

    So I used the remaining afternoon to put everything away.  Next time it will be easier to get everything running because I know it can be done.  Well, unless I have to pull that Lawson flywheel again.  JB Weld can be pretty strong.

      Maybe I’ll take what’s left to the farmer’s market.  Let’s see, about 800 bushels equals 48,000 pounds, about 4,800 ten pound bags.  The old Dakota pickup can haul about . . . .