As I've said elsewhere, I have a bad temper. Always have. It came boiling up today, in spades.
I was out on the old Morgan, doing some needful chores like changing the racor filter. I made a mistake in the process and got an air bubble in the
line, so I had to bleed the injectors. No big deal. Loosen up the fittings on 4 injectors, swaddle them in paper towels to catch the diesel when it comes out and to let me know they're 'wet' again, tighten the fittings back up, and finito.
All went well. These fittings have anti-seize on them to make sure they're easy to loosen, I've got the correct sized fitting wrench which resides in a little pocket in the engine compartment. Etc.
Turned the engine over, got the
fuel up to the injectors, and had tightened three of the four fittings. As I was tightening the last, nearest injector fitting, the neighborhood idiot rips past in his 'yacht' (His term, not mine.) A Luhrs fishing boat. Wake hits Ruffian's stern, causes her to pitch violently, and I go flying forward--with the wrench still wrapped around the fitting in my right hand.
Broke the steel compression fitting quite neatly. Split the unsupported flat slick as a whistle. I got to my feet, looked out the companionway at the neighborhood idiot and growl to myself yet again.
Then I came in and found the part, and that's when my temper went off. Just one too many straws, I guess. Now here I am, with a broken high-pressure
fuel line that's busted. Cost for said little 12" long piece of 1/8" pipe with two compression fittings? $120 bucks. In the meantime (2 weeks lead time. They don't keep them in stock--they make them up when ordered--and paid for) Ruff is hard down for two weeks, at least. I'm out $120 bucks. And the village idiot is out running around the river. I honestly hope he catches nothing but old tires and that the crab-trap buoys actively seek his props out and leave him stranded next to a mangrove that is alive with mosquitoes.
Meanwhile, I have to resist the urge to pay him a visit, or this time, I know I'll end up in jail. I've asked nicely, begged, and stopped just short of threats to the guy. Naturally, such things as 'no wake within 300 feet of the nearest structure' don't apply to him. Just ask him, and he'll tell you so.
Does anyone know where I can purchase some nice military surplus floating mines?
Oh, well. I guess I'll just have to resist the urge to throttle him...again.
Resisting the urge
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