Just a Simple Oil Change...

It was a gorgeous day in Belgium, today. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the thermometer registered a very comfortable 9C (about 48F), which is unseasonably warm. And there seems to be no relief in sight for this heat wave!

I've been avoiding this little chore of the oil-change for a while, but there comes a time that you've just gotta' do it. I checked at the local garage to see what it would cost to avoid doing it myself, and just about had heart failure... about 55 euros, plus the cost of the filter! That's one expensive oil change! So I was resigned to do it myself. And today being such a nice one, I decided that this was it.

I had finally been able to find the right filter... they don't have the auto parts stores on every corner over here, so it took a while to find where to buy one (though, I could have got one from the dealer, but that would have been too easy). Then there was the oil... That's pretty easy to find on the economy here, but the price!... about 30 euros for a 5 liter jug... That works out to about $7.50 per quart! And I thought that gasoline was expensive over here! Luckily, I am able to shop at the local Army Base Exchange, where the prices are a lot more reasonable (but they don't sell the filters though... go figure). Anyway, with the purchase of a couple of ramps, a collection pan, finding out where to take the used oil. And so on, I finally had all my ducks in a row.

Of course, I should have paid attention to the signs... you know, those little omens that (in retrospect) you know were telling you that this was not a good day for such things. When things go bad when you just go to mass, you should really amend your plans to exclude adventures... but this was just a little oil-change, right?

We went to mass this morning, as usual, running just a tiny bit late (though still good for an on-time arrival at the chapel). About 5 minutes from home, we get the call... a garbled message on Dorothy's cell phone... we track it down, and it appears to come from our own home phone, which is virtually impossible (cats can't dial phones, can they?). We finally figure it's a call from the alarm monitoring company, and we have to go back home to check it out... but we've missed the exit, the next one will not get us back home (I know, I tried it once to avoid a traffic jam, and decided that a 20-minute wait in the traffic jam would have been faster). So we have to drive another 8 km to get to a very complicated interchange that will actually get us turned around and headed home.

And so we get back to the house. Sure enough, the little strobe light by the outdoor alarm is blinking. I go in to check the house out, and sure enough, the cats have done us in... with our own assistance, of course. We had somehow left a door unlatched to one area with VERY sensitive motion detectors, and at least one of the cats had promptly found it. We don't know which one, but they were all looking very nervous when I questioned them (or maybe it was just the loud alarm that had them bothered).

Anyway, after getting everything sorted and making sure that everything was properly secured, we headed again off to the chapel for mass. And of course, we arrived late, after the readings, after the gospel, and in the middle of the homily. And of course, we got to sit in one of the front rows, since those were the last open seats.

Yup, I should have known that this was not a good day to change the oil.

But after getting home, I went ahead anyway. I dug out my coveralls... which seem to have shrunk about 3 sizes in the last 10 years (nothing to do with Belgian beer, Belgian chocolate, Belgian frites/fried potatos, nor any other Belgian delicacies, I'm sure). But I managed to get those on.

Then I got out the tools, put the ramps down, and drove the car up. So far so good, I'm thinking. I crawl underneath with a flashlight, figure out which wrenches I need, and then start to work. I put the crescent wrench on the drain plug, make sure it's snug, and start to turn...

And I start to turn the wrench... Nothing happens. I push harder on the wrench... Nothing happens, other than a little isometric exercise for my arm. Oh, I see... the last time the oil was changed, it was done in a garage, where they have air-tools... and they overtorqued the plug! I look at the plug, and see the rounded off corners, and I know that this is what they have done. Grrr! I hate so-called mechanics who do that!

So I have to find the right box wrench, use a hammer to get to go over the galled points of the bolt-head, and then beat on the end of the wrench with the hammer until the drain-plug comes free. Phew! Now just to let the oil drain and replace the filter.

And of course, that couldn't be simple, either. You see, for some reason, Volvo has put this little shield around the oil filter. I can't quite figure from what, unless you were to travel coarse-gravelled roads at high speeds, and just might kick up a rock big enough to punch a hole in the filter. Of course, if you could do that, the oil pan would be toast, anyway, so I don't really see that there was a point. Unless it was just to make oil changes more difficult.

So, to remove the filter, I have to remove the shield, which happens to be held in place by two more (yes, you guessed it) overtorqued bolts. But with the right wrench, a bit of judicious beating with a hammer, and some skinned knuckles, the bolts came free.

The rest of the oil-change went pretty well. I cleaned myself up, moved tools back out of the way, started the engine and checked for leaks, and finally, started to back the car off the ramps. And with a Ka-Whoomp! Ka-whang! Clatter-clatter-ping, the car came down off the ramps... or rather, the ramps shot out from under the car, clearing all the gathered tools with them, and scattering them hither and thither.

You see, this house we rent has just a few features that I wouldn't use in a house that I owned (and I think our landlord, who designed the house and lived in it for a few years, learned a lot about how not to design houses with this particular one). For example, the driveway and garage floor are paved with ceramic tile. Not the textured-surface ones that you should use in places like that, but nice, smooth (even shiny-smooth) ceramic tiles that you'd use in someplace like your living room. And when I started back down the ramps, they just slipped across that tile so nice and easy, and shot out of there like a squeezed bar of wet soap!

Fortunately, there was no damage done, but it was a little discomfiting to be sure. At least the job was done. I cleaned up the mess, chased down all my scattered tools (and they did get scattered quite a ways), and decided that I'd tested my luck enough for the day.

I poured myself a beer, and decided that in the future I'll pay a bit more attention to the signs.