A New Year’s resolution worth breaking

Just like I did twelve months ago, and virtually every week in between, I spent last Sunday night piddling about, cleaning up my home shop. It was the perfect time to both reflect and look forward. Thinking like that in late December leads neatly to a polarizing word: Resolutions.

I’m not great with resolutions. That doesn’t keep me from continuing to make them, even if the activity feels increasingly absurd. Somehow my lack of seriousness about resolutions allowed me to discover their core purpose: To force a small bit of evolution into a better version of Kyle Smith. Resolutions to “stop this” or “start that” have fallen flat year after year, and it’s finally become all too clear that subtle changes go a hell of a lot further than attempting to revolutionize or reinvent myself.

So this year will continue the trend of measurable but attainable goals that are also soft pitches. I thought last year’s were beer-league-softball stuff, quite honestly, yet when the season ended, I was batting below .200, stone sober. I swung and missed at making all my cars run. Saved myself from striking out by buying a couple of investment-grade tools. Watched a lazy one come right across the plate, then whiffed and bought a non-running project bike—which I swore I wouldn’t—at the last second.

I’m only making two resolutions for 2024. First, stop using sports metaphors. Second, break something.

Let me explain with a brief trip down memory lane. The 1965 Corvair I love so dearly has always had a few problems that I simply tolerate. One is an oil leak from the rear crankshaft seal, a leak that has been there since day one of my ownership. After a year of driving, the oil soaked the clutch so thoroughly that it flung off all its friction material and clogged the starter bendix. I took the whole powerpack out and put it back together with new seals, flywheel, clutch, and pressure plate. Three days after reinstall, I drove the Corvair 1000 miles to a car show.

The crankshaft still leaked. But it wasn’t bad enough to worry about yet, so I embraced the trope that “they always leak” and decided to enjoy the car in spite of its territorial behavior.

I’m currently staring at the tail end of the crankshaft of the Corvair. The leak got worse this fall, and this winter seemed as good a time as any to buy $50 in gaskets and seals and knock the job out before the leak ruined another clutch disc. Three hours into disassembly, I arrived at the last step, the bellhousing bolts. They’re loose. Did these 9/16″ coarse-thread bolts back themselves out or did I fail to tighten them in my thrash to get the car back on the road?

At some point, the reason doesn’t matter. I only sit here with greasy fingers dancing over a keyboard because I realized this might be the first time I can recall that something I did (or didn’t do) caused a machine to need repair.

I have sought out all of the broken stuff I own, often paying to bring it home. We chronic mechanics all agree such behavior is normal, though, so I’ll set that aside. That crankshaft seal sticks in my brain because points to a lack of use.

In my garage, the restored and rebuilt seem to sit on stands more than anything, engines and machines doted over a kid picking dandelions in the outfield of the T-ball field, their helicopter mom holding triple antibiotic and bandaid on the sidelines. I’m so ready to fix things that I am doing preventative maintenance on preventative maintenance.

This year’s resolution is to put down the tools and use one of the motorcycles, cars, or other motorized objects until something breaks. My true goal is to wear something out. Could be the 520 non O-ring chain on the trailbike, or the tires on the Corvair—something that demands service due to use, not decay.

I choose vehicles for their durable nature, so the ones in my garage are not the ideal group to choose from, but if I fail to break anything while taking Corvair on a good road trip and hit the single track multiple times on the Honda XR250R, was the time really wasted?

The tools are clean and in their boxes now, the top of the workbench wiped down as if I’m closing a bar. Really, I’m cleaning enough space to lay out a map and do some thinking about where I’d like to drive this year. Suggestions welcome, especially if you offer to help out when I break something on the road. Might be my arm …

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