DIRECTOR’S CORNER

About fifteen years ago I decided it was time to invest in an “air compressor”. It seemed like a sensible purchase. Our family consisted of two teen-aged boys, the wife, myself and my parents residing not far away. I had long been a motorcycle enthusiast/rider as well as always seemed to have an older collector car or two leaking oil on the garage floor. As everyone who owns anything motorized knows, keeping everything in good operating condition requires constant repair. Repair shops are not cheap; therefore the “shade tree” or “back yard” mechanic was born out of necessity. That would be me. Plugs, brakes, carburetors and the occasional re and re of a water pump, starter, generator, radiator or fuel pump became routine weekend maintenance for the aging fleet.

The “air compressor” made simple work of removing wheels, blowing out lines or cleaning debris from hard to reach places in engine bays. I loved it and wondered why I had waited so long to have this simple luxury. I had struggled with using tedious brute strength for years. I had moved from being a “back yard” mechanic to a “front street” mechanic. I would hook up my air tool; work away for a few minutes and then the soothing hum of the “air compressor” firing up would fill the garage. I had come of age, an almost real service man. I even got some coveralls, no name on the pocket, but that’s all right, I was feeling good.

My seventeen-year-old son took a limited interest in assisting or watching as I squirmed under or around the bikes or cars. His grandmother had recently given him the old four door Dodge Omni. Standard trans, four cylinders, a lovely shade of light blue. That’s a whole other story. My son had observed me on numerous occasions washing and drying one of my pride and joys and had even helped a few times. Oh well, I thought, he may not have much interest in mechanics, but at least he does take pride in keeping his grandmothers car clean.

Sitting in the house one day, my son announced he had a date with a “hottie” and was going to give his car a good cleaning to impress the young lady. “Great”, I thought. About half an hour later I heard my “air compressor” start up. “Hum, must be airing up the tires”. Twenty minutes later of the compressor continuously running I decided to check on “how low can these tires be”? There stands my son with the “air wand” in one hand and a juice box in the other. He was blow-drying his car!

I had never witnessed anyone using compressed air to dry a surface. Can this work, or how well does it work? I had to admit, other than almost burning out my compressor the idea did have merit. So the question must be asked, “Which is better, wiping or blowing?” As an old school guy, I will always be a wiper. Just seems to make more sense, it’s a lot quieter, you know where the water goes and if you missed a little dirt, the wiping will pick it up.

One thing is certain, whether you are an “old wiper” or a “young blower” the pride taken creates the same feeling of satisfaction with a job well done. Clean on - for tomorrow it rains………..and we'll do it all over again.

Cam