Hackers Never Win

In part one, yesterday, of our two thousand part series on the birth, rise and death of American dependency on fossil fuels, we looked at one example currently locked in the headlights of time like a four-point buck. The deer, in this case being my 2003 Ford Ranger. In trying to be pro-active and downsize my puny possessions prior to the demolition of the cabin, scheduled for mid August, I am selling off the big stuff first. Already gone to new homes are two of my favorite bikes, a tent canopy and a box of assorted books by authors from Twain to Bourdain. 

Yesterday you will recall, I showed the Ranger, la champignon, to a guy I fully expected to become its third owner/operator. Interestingly we have some friends in common, always a good starting point when dealing with Criag’s List bargain hunters. We talked as he looked at the body (good), the tires (OK) the engine (oil on the manifold), the interior (a few stains), and then took her for a test ride. I continued my work on the van conversion as he test drove, deciding to remove the sofa-bed because of it being exactly two inches too long for the short Transit box, all the while thinking about his response, reaction and reply. And then I shuddered in recollection of the fact that I never test drove it after the front brake pad replacement. I merely replaced the old pads, installed the new chatter clips, slapped the tires back on and torqued down the lugs in proper order. Once she had all fours back on the ground, I rolled it around the driveway to check pressure and adjustment and then went back to the office, happy with my effort. 

I shudder thinking about the liability. What if the brakes fail while he is speeding down one of our hills and broadsides an innocent soccer mom in a Escalade? I shake my head in disagreement with the notion, placing my trust in the massive amount of good karma I have so secularly stockpiled since 1952. Still…..

He is gone a little longer than I had anticipated, par for the course as he is a firefighter, and among the many noble traits of that brotherhood is the fact that they are meticulous when it comes to tools and equipment. I hear his approach and act busy. He doesn’t know that I have placed the title and a fresh Bic pen (black) inside the kitchen where they wait patiently for the two signatures required for a transfer of ownership. 

‘Runs pretty good’, he says stepping out.

‘She’s been good to me, 66,000 miles in 5 years, never an incident.’ I repeat. 

I am waiting for him to make an offer and I am ready to consider no more than a hundred dollars less than advertised. A good-faith OBO. Except…. that….

“She’s got a pretty good front wobble when breaking.’  With an astonishing amount of transparency I tell him of the new pads and my failure to test. He nods appreciatively and says that explains the smell. “They should wear in OK.’ 

Our negotiation ends with him saying that he needs to think it over and will call me back shortly. One hour later I am back at Les Schwab making an appointment to have the rotors turned. 

When it comes to karma, politics and brakes, hackers never win and winners never hack.