Looking for Five to Nine Horse Outboard Motor

                                                  Looking for Five to Nine Horse Outboard Motor

                                                                By Donald Holmes Lewis

 

Published June 26, 2009 in the Cheboygan Daily Tribune.

 

       I made a new year’s resolution this past January in secret. I didn’t tell my wife because most of my promises about changing my very nature have the life span of a mayfly. I resolved to learn to do things myself—to fix all the broken things around our cottage, to paint and chop and dig and replace and beautify. Unfortunately, I’m no good with mechanical and electrical things. A number two spade maybe, but not much else. The toaster scoffs at me and burns my bread. The door knobs come off in my hand. In fact, my Jeep ran away from home last week.  

       As I was about to pack the last few boxes in my car for our move up here from Ohio, I walked outside for fresh air on a bright sunny day, looked up and down the street with keys jingling in my hand, and couldn’t find my Jeep. Where did I put it? How could I lose something as big and black as a car? I’ve only loved and felt affinity enough to name two cars in my life and Betty, the Jeep, was one of them. Where had she gone? Did she run off for a quick oil change or a much needed pass through the car wash? I called the police. These things take time, they said. No doubt your car will turn up in a few days.

       I took a plane up north after finding a pretty good fare and pondered the loss of stalwart Betty the whole way. I decided the cure for my ills was to buckle down and get started on my New Year’s Resolution. I would make sure everything around our cottage was in proper working condition: electrics, plumbing, power tools, everything.

       Standing in my grimy garage, I faced the real problem. I don’t know much about how anything works.

       Begin with the simple things, I whispered to myself. The wily Weed Whacker? No weeds to whack at the moment. Maybe the manly Circular Saw? No carpentry needed. The Snow Blower? Wrong season. Leaf Blower. No leaves and wrong season again.

       Then I saw it under the boat tarp, the perfect choice for a man without wheels or any other method of propelling himself into an uncertain future. THE OUTBOARD MOTOR—an engine to take me anywhere from Cheboygan to Mullett to Burt and beyond! It was the little five-horse-power beauty I’d grown up with as a kid on the lakes of northern Minnesota. I had hundreds of hours of flight time with this handsome, white topped 1961 Evinrude, a housewarming present from my older brother for our move up north. Our wooden Lyman boat was licensed and already in the water just waiting for its maiden voyage of summer.

        Beside the motor stood a gas tank, its hose anxious to be clipped into place, yearning for partnership—all the planets were aligned!  I was in business and there was plenty of fuel for a good long test ride around the lake. Maybe I’d do a lot of fishing this year and bring home the bacon the old fashioned way. Free at last.

        I changed into my swim trunks and lugged the motor and tank to the dock. The sun came out but the water was still 50 degrees and I felt my legs go numb as I locked the motor in place at the stern. This was a new era. Look how easily things were falling into place. See how logical and satisfying a man, a boat, a motor, and a tank full of gas can be. It was beautiful in its simplicity.

        I got in, put the throttle on start and pulled the cord. It started like a veteran of a million voyages, the low throated murmur of neutral with bubbles rising. I shifted the gear bar and taxied out past the buoys. Cruising along with a five horse isn’t exactly racing speed but exhilarating nonetheless. I was pretty darn proud of myself. I rode in circles in front of the dock, steered a straight line to Dodge Point and back to really warm her up.

         Then I heard a vaguely familiar sneeze and wheeze, that unmistakable sudden bit of huffing and puffing. Then a terminal cough. I imagine it’s the noise you’d hear if the earth stood still, the sudden stopping of time.

        It only took an hour to row home. I borrowed my wife’s car and drove into town with the outboard and the fuel tank. At the marina, Jerry gave me the bad news.

       “This tank doesn’t have any oil in it, man. You burned it up, and they don’t make parts for these anymore.”

       “Oil?”

       “You need about a twenty to one mixture depending on the engine. All these little motors run with oil in the gas.”

      “My brother gave me the motor and the tank. That’s not possible.”

      “Call your brother.”

       I called. Jerry was right. My brother didn’t leave me a tank. He figured I’d remember about the oil when I got my own. I’d attached the little outboard to an old tank left in the garage years before by a summer guest who hadn’t mixed it with any oil at all.

        Despite this setback, I’m still committed to doing things myself and fixing things myself. Two steps forward, one back. That’s the story of life itself.  Nonetheless I’ll take this opportunity to place a free classified with the Daily Tribune: Looking for a Three to Nine Horse Outboard Motor. Call 1-231-268-3688.