All I wanted to do was repair the transmission brake on my Discovery. That’s all. Apparently the shop that quoted me nine-hundred damn dollars for something that is, at most, $60 in parts knew something I did not.
The problem is whoever did this repair last really botched it in a variety of ways. Last night’s fiasco was that the operating cable was at maximum tension and, as a result, impossible to put back on. I assume this was done to compensate for the lack of tension in the shoes because, spoiler alert, the neglected to put the adjustment plungers back in.
The adjuster is, for some reason, on the underside of the car and therefore the threads have the natural thread-lock of rust and about two inches of caked mud.
It took me all evening to get the tension dialed down and the cable back on.
Then I drank.
A lot.
Hopefully I can finish tonight or tomorrow, but I may be headed off to Dallas to help a friend to buy a car. (This will be the third person I’ve converted to driving stick, thus securing my place in Oppo heaven.)