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Andy and I knew at some point we could no longer put off replacing our 1965 Clark Cortez motorhome’s passenger’s side ball joint. In fact, we knew this day would approach sooner or later because we had purchased the replacement two years before we mustered up the courage (and strength) to do the deed.
However, what we did not know was that we would be forced to repeat this notoriously impossible job directly after completing this, well, notoriously impossible job.
Essentially what I am saying is this post will tell the tale of Andy and I as warriors replacing and installing one 56-year-old ball joint after another.
Let’s backtrack a bit though to when we were first dealt this bad news …
When installing our passenger’s side upper ball joint, we noticed our shock was slipping on the mounting bolt. (A note to those learning about mechanics like me: Shocks are designed to move up and down but not wiggle left and right so ours wiggling about in that way was not good.) A couple minutes later, we corrected the problem so that (once we finished our ball joint work) we rationalized correcting the driver’s side shock would be equally quick and easy.
And it was during this fix that we discovered our second lower ball joint also was split.
The rubber in the middle of the two metal pieces should be one consistent piece.
Instead, ours has pulled up from the bottom (on the right side) due to the split.
“Why?” I exhaled to Andy, but I suppose I meant ‘How?’ How could our ball joint have split when we haven’t even taken our Cortez on a proper drive? How could it be damaged when our RV was given its own little home where it remained sheltered and tucked securely under a covered and, therefore, protected shed? And how could this have happened after we recently checked this ball joint’s condition not long ago only to learn the condition was fine.
But I suppose asking ‘Why?” was the most fitting question because in saying that one word, I meant so much more.
“Why, Coretz, why?” I wanted to ask our fickle friend-turned-foe.
“We love you and dote on you and spend our precious time and saved money on you. We make ritual sacrifices to you in the form of sweat, tears, and blood nearly each time we come. And still, you hate us.”
Why?
“The Cortez does not hate us,” Andy keeps telling me, rolling his eyes. “We are trying to save it.”
“I know,” I tell him because I guess I do … but still …
Some days — like this day — I have to wonder if our inanimate antique actually does harbor a bit of hatred inside.
Yet, all of this means — for whatever reason — Andy and I were stuck adding another job we had not intended to do onto our seemingly never-ending Mechanical Restoration list.
There is a saving grace though — After struggling with our passenger’s side ball joint, we now had in our possession a professional ball joint splitter. And if there is one tool I choose to bring with me to a Mechanical Restoration party, it may be this fellow. (Meanwhile, I imagine I hear Andy in my ear saying he is bringing to this party his new and insanely long breaker bar, which he has named Brenda despite my adamant efforts to ignore him in naming a tool … and now when he reads this, I’m sure his heart will be filled with joy at the realization that I sort of kind of did in fact refer to this bar with its ‘proper’ name.)
Splitter in hand, the ratchet spanner clicked again and again, building tension until I felt my heart would pound out of my chest …
and until …
BANG!
the precise time when we heard the success of our efforts.
So again, Andy and I split not one 56-year-old ball joint but two — We very well may be mechanical Gods.
Saying that, applause must be held because if this ball joint was anything like the other, I knew we had additional hard work to put in. Here’s what is amazing though …
Beyond a major amount of muscle from Andy, along with an injury from Andy to Andy when he thumped himself in the head with his spanner while simultaneously crushing his thumb against the spanner and his noggin …
(See note above about blood sacrifices being required to continue our Cortez work)
our lower ball joint simply fell out. (Thanks, ball joint, for being the lower one — The first was an upper so the Cortez’s weigh and tapered-fit worked against us).
Check out that serious rubber tear that runs from one side to the other!
Admittedly, there were some hinderances as far as getting our new ball joint installed, which is why we took a portion of our wishbone out, cleaned it and the area, bolted our ball joint to it, and went to put our wishbone segment back in place.
I’ll save you the details and say only we struggled for so long our GoPro died (no surprise) during our combat … but we did eventually get our new part in place.
Maybe our Cortez doesn’t hate us.
Still, I confess secretly to you that there are times I feel a bit of competition between our stubborn relic so this was a job Andy and I won! For this, our Cortez could not beat us at our own game, no no no! And I essentially wanted to proclaim this to our antique. “Take that, hardest mechanical job!” I imagined myself hooting while doing a haughty dance around our grimy metal-and rubber part.
… Until I realized that technically the ‘hardest mechanical job’ is an engine replacement, in which case I was more than happy to contain my arrogance and consider ourselves lucky that our V8 was healthy. Small (or large, depending on how you look at it) victories, I suppose.
Regardless, we needed to carry positive vibes with us though for our next job because this task started as one we thought we previously corrected … but turned into our craziest Cortez experience yet (here’s a hint!) … and ended with our concerns amplified. It was so intense that Andy illustrated a T-shirt (which you, too, can purchase) to remember the event.
Yet, all of this, my dear friends, is our next story.
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