It was about 10 o’clock in the morning. It was already about 90ºF and there was not a trace of a cooling breeze. We were somewhere in the remote wilds of either Elmore or Owyhee County, Idaho. Far enough from civilization that unless one had paid attention to the terrain getting there, it would be a gamble to find civilization.
My friend Leo Ritthauler had once used this remoteness to keep a helper from deserting him with a truck and trailer only a quarter loaded. Plan “A” had been to call my brother Lyle and have him drive out and help Leo load. When Leo stopped at a truck stop to make the call, he was approached by a healthy-looking young man who looked to be plenty big and strong. He said he was desperate for any kind of work. Leo asked if he was robust enough to put 650 hay bales on his conveyor. When Leo said that he’d been paying 50 bucks to a loading helper for actual work that was usually less than two hours, the fellow was all in.
Thirty miles farther, Leo positioned the truck and trailer beside the haystack and proceeded to set up the hay elevator. Leo showed his guy how to place bales on the elevator and told him to send about six bales, then pull the elevator toward the layers of hay he was working on – so he didn’t kill himself by trying to carry bales. They started.
Fifty bales later, the new helper shut off the elevator engine and announced that he quit. He wanted Leo to drive him back to town. Leo refused. The truck wasn’t moving until it was fully loaded and tied down. He said then he’d wait while Leo loaded by himself. Leo told him that he could stop and rest, and drink as much water as he needed, but unless he filled his promise to help load, that he wasn’t getting a ride anywhere.
He then said that he would just start walking. Leo laughed at him.
“You slept most of the way getting here from the truck stop. You don’t even know which way to go. That’s about 30 miles and you don’t even have any water.”
Leo said he finally agreed to stay. It took them closer to four hours beside the haystack. Back at the truck stop, Leo paid him. Said he thought the fellow was headed to California, but that he may be afraid of something there. “He mumbled about something being mean and sunny beaches as he left.”
Back to my day. The 3-horsepower engine that made the hay elevator go was being cantankerous. After about half a load, it quit completely. Most of the hay haulers ran this same brand and size of engine. Most got six to eight months of service before they needed replacement. Something about clogged air filters, or no air filters, being run too low on oil and being dropped from the top of a load of hay three or four times …
My little engine was pushing 2 years of age. An engine needs three things to run. Fuel, a spark to ignite the fuel and something to compress the air and fuel mixture so the resulting fire in the cylinder robustly pushed the piston down, spinning the crankshaft.
The fuel was clean and since the tip of the spark plug was wet, I knew it had been getting inside the engine. I laid the spark plug down, with its body touching the engine and pulled the start cord. The plug sparked nicely. Then I put my thumb over the spark plug hole and pulled the start cord. There was not enough compression to put pressure on my thumb, let alone blow if off.
This engine was valve-in-block, or flathead design. It was simple to pull the cylinder head to diagnose further. The exhaust valve was not closing all the way, letting air escape instead of compressing into a mass that exploded and drove the engine. I disassembled the engine further and found that between heat and wear, the valve had grown too long. Probably eroding the surface the valve met to seal the air, or valve seat.
Lady luck was with me. My file actually removed enough metal from the tip of the valve stem to make it close again. I was ecstatic! It ran perfectly for the next several loads but as soon as I found the cash and the engine, I replaced it with another brand. It cost almost three times as much, and the Japanese company that made it was also filling American highways with their motorcycles and cars.
Oh – and while I had that little engine apart and scattered across three hay bales, my fresh helper asked if I normally just overhauled engines right there by the haystack. The look on his face was incredulous as I answered, holding as straight a face as I could, “I’ve never even changed the spark plug on one of these things before!”
