Slaying the giant
By VALERIE BORDERS
Published July 18, 2004
"It's automatic, right?" I ask my brother.
"Last time I drove it," he says. "I hope it's still automatic when you bring it back."
He's remembering the weed whacker, the one that no longer whacks.
I'm borrowing his truck to take my lawn mower in for a tuneup. I skipped last year, never got around to making the effort. But the oil stick is showing very dirty oil. And the blade needs sharpening, the spark plug replacing - and whatever else they do in that mysterious shop realm.
I grew up with the males in the family taking care of those chores. Since I'm widowed, I've learned to do some maintenance tasks, but not this one. My youngest son used to do this sort of chore for me, but he and my other kids live with their families out of state now.
When I asked to use the truck, I'd hoped my brother would offer to come get the mower for me and deliver it to the shop. He didn't. I tell myself to be grateful for his loan of the truck.
My mower is a heavy, self-propelled model, a Goliath to my Davita. I don't know whether I can push it up the 2-by-6 ramps into the back of the pickup. I'm a small woman, a little over 100 pounds, and ever since I was diagnosed with "severe bone loss" in August, I've been more cautious about heavy chores. And I'm only 5-2, so I can't get much leverage.
I envision a headline in tomorrow's paper: "300 lb. Mower Crushes 100 lb. Granny in Carport." I'm also worried about the cab on the back of his truck - will I be able to figure out how to bend the handle of the mower so it'll fit under the roof? If all else fails, I'll have to wait till one of my neighbors is available. But I don't want to wait. It's sometimes difficult to distinguish between determination and stubbornness.
When I get home, I back the truck into my carport. Pocketing the truck key, I dig out my keys, unlock the storage room door and pull out the lawn mower. As I look over the inverted U of the handle assembly, the wires, rods and levers sprouting from its metal arms confound me. I can't figure out how the handle will fold, but I'll probably need a screwdriver.
I'm always optimistic with a manual in my hand. Inside, I consult the illustrations in the manual, then grab my blue metal toolbox. Back outside, I peer at the handle again, hoping it'll divulge its secrets. A flat metal bar with a semicircle of holes catches my attention. It allows the handle to be set for different heights, with a metal point in one of the holes on both sides.
I don't see a slot for the screwdriver - the bar's bolted on with no way to release the bolt. Selecting my favorite large screwdriver, the slotted one with the yellow handle that has seen me through past mechanical challenges, I hope it will act as my slingshot to slay Goliath.
When I pry the metal away from the point, the handle sags, a little. I stand back. Something's happened. Is it what I want to happen?
I repeat the process on the opposite side, and the handle collapses. Uh-oh.
I try to fold the handle toward the front - no go.
Checking to see what's holding the handle back, I note that the flat metal bar sits to the rear of the tubing, preventing forward movement. With the screwdriver, I force the flat metal bars over the points and in the opposite direction from where I'd first placed them. Yes! Now I can fold the handle down.
A rumble in Goliath's bowels. Could the pull rope dangling from the handle have made that noise? The metal rod with the ball on top looks twisted - was it twisted before I folded the handle down? It's attached to the handle with one of those hairpins, the kind that require a string of energetic cussing to remove. I'm afraid I just exponentially increased the repair bill.
Satisfied that the mower will now fit into the truck, I pull out the 2-by-6's with angled metal ends that hook onto the truck gate. My brother, like the proverbial Boy Scout, is always prepared. The ramps are heavy. I encounter splinters. Now the moment I've been dreading (the headline, remember?).
The mower feels much more compact with the handle folded. I guide the wheels up the wood ramps without mishap. To prevent shifting during transport, I grab a couple of bricks and wedge them behind the mower's rear wheels. After locking the gate into its upright position, I slide the ramps in and tie them down. Just a bow, he said. I drive out of the driveway at slow speed. Okay so far. I select sedate city streets. I deliver Goliath to the shop.
When I return the truck after dropping off the mower, it's still an automatic.
-- Valerie Borders is a freelance writer who lives in Baton Rouge, La.