While hurrying to pick-up his girlfriend from work in
his '73 Beetle, my brother snapped the throttle cable.
Rummaging around in the trunk, he found a bunch of
fishing gear, including a spool of monofilament line.
Tying the end of the line to the throttle arm, he
carefully threaded the spool around the back seat and
into the passenger compartment, finally attaching the
other end to the driver's windshield visor. Gently
tugging on the line, like a trucker on his air horn,
he found he could control the throttle well enough to
drive, even while shifting thru the gears.
When his girlfriend complained that he was five
minutes late, he simply muttered "Don't ask ..." and
yanked on the string. Vroom, vroom!

While bombing around in a lonely rural area with my
buddy in his MG, the car's radiator sprang a leak. He
quickly wheeled it into the parking lot of a tiny
country grocery store and hurriedly purchased a pair
of Morton salt-and-pepper shakers. He opened the
radiator cap and poured about 1/4 of the ground black
pepper into it, then capped it and started the engine
again. As we watched, the tiny geyser of coolant
squirting from the radiator slowed to a trickle and
finally ceased entirely. We topped-up the coolant and
drove away.
As far as I know, he is still driving the MG with its
black-pepper coolant clot, and I think the shaker of
salt ended up in my Westy ...

Jeffrey Earl
1983 diesel Westfalia "Vanasazi"

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