So the second Ride Rite kit arrived last week, and I was shocked to find that it appeared to be a complete kit with no manufacturing errors or missing parts. In the interest of capping off this boring saga, I present the next and hopefully last chapter in Lovecraftian form:
"Can this be true?" I asked myself, my eyes flitting suspiciously from part to part. "Surely there must be a missing nut, a metal void, some rust, or...something?" Try as I might, I could find nothing wrong with the kit. I tried to ignore the Air Lift Wireless Air box in the corner of the carriage house, but a creeping darkness seemed to exude from it like some foul breath from the underworld. I felt my feet begin to take me out of that den of horrors, as though they had a will of their own, a will of pure self-preservation. Only the mind of a mad man could fight that will, the mind of a man mad enough to attempt such dark experiments and machinations under his own roof.
I began to lay out the instruments of my madness, muttering to myself in ancient tongues of the insane. "...ah yes, I must have the 1/2" drive 9/16" socket, the deep one, for the regular one will never fit completely over the u-bolt, and of course I must have those cursed metric sockets at hand, particularly the 15 millimeter...but how will I set the stock jounce bolts to proper torque when I know I do not have a 1/2" drive 15 mm socket? Hah! What a silly question to ask oneself when one knows that the torque wrench would never fit in there anyway. What shall I do, you ask? Well of course I will use an SAE box wrench, the closest one I can find to the evil metric size, but I shall pray to the old gods that I don't round those maniacal bolts over any more than they already are after my previous experiments. The ancient texts call for a precise torque to be set, but I shall place faith in our ability to summon the correct torque by sheer will alone. And what of the self-tapping metal screws? Which screws are you referring to? You silly man, I refer to the screws in the Air Lift compressor kit, which you and I have discussed at length. Ah, yes, I remember now. The screws that will mount the compressor and manifold to the frame, the screws that Air Lift neglected to list the pilot hole size for. But I thought we determined the size of the screws from the Air Lift parts list and then located a proper pilot hole size after hours of research in the laboratory? Well we did, but you silly man, already you forget there are two sizes of self-tapping screw and Air Lift, in their plan to spread foul humours across the land in preparation for the coming of Cthulu, only listed the size of one in the parts list. Ah, you remember now, yes, the kit contains four "1/4 14 x 3/4" self tapping screws" as well as two "self tapping screws". Well two unidentified screws will not stop us, now will it? No it will not, we will simply turn our trained eye to the screw and select a proper pilot hole size. What could go wrong?"
As I ranted to myself and shot around the workshop, my pile of instruments grew. Finally I was ready to begin, ready to right the cosmic wrongs that had festered for so long, wrongs that had turned our once happy home into a den of madness, paranoia, and suspicion. I threw open the carriage house doors and peered out at the self-powered wagon that squatted in the courtyard of our humble estate. Pure sunlight showered down and a blast of thick fetid air hit me in the face. The light seemed to dissolve out of existence below the wagon, and the dark space there gaped and growled at me like the maw of some ancient beast. I prepared for my descent into darkness, laying out all of my instruments and provisions. As I pulled myself down into the darkness, I swear I heard the laughter of the foul disciples of the Corporatikon all around me.
As I began to work down there in the darkness, my spirits were high. Surely I would conquer the beast this time. Things went well as I installed the air springs. I had to backtrack several times, but unscrewing lock nuts off of long bolts an eighth of a turn at a time was not enough to dampen my spirits. I failed to notice the sun settling near the western horizon, and the darkness growing in the east. That darkness that would envelop me later that evening, that darkness sent from the foul necropolis of Lansing, some 2,549 miles away.
With the installation of the air springs complete, I turned my attention the Air Lift compressor kit. My mouth began speaking in the ancient tongues again. "...so, where shall we put the compressor? Of course we shall mount it inside of the wagon's frame, where it is most protected. There, by the transfer case, I think I see a suitable location. Surely my drill will fit there. Ah, these are the mysterious self tapping screws, the nameless ones. But I have feverishly compared drill bits to them and selected the proper size, haven't I? Yes I have, for it must be that the proper pilot hole size would be the size of the screw's shank, wouldn't it? Of course it would, what else could it be?"
I proceeded with my mad plan, my hands working feverishly, as though they had a mind of their own. The sky dimmed above and the darkness from the east loomed. As I turned the screw with a nut driver, a sickening crunch shattered the silence and fragments of brittle metal showered down upon me. The screw had broken. "I shall not worry," I told myself. "For this compressor is mounted with four bolts, and three will be enough for now, I will simply replace the fourth screw at a later date. But now I know that I selected the wrong drill bit."
I dragged myself out of The Maw and replaced my drill bit with one a size larger. As I steeled myself for one last descent into The Maw, I noticed the darkness. It squirmed in the air all around me, writhing serpentinely, and a sense of dread crawled up my spine. "Where has the time gone? Wife? Oh wife, I beg of you, please assist me, as I am now unsure that I can complete this afore my time expires. Where are you? I know that you are here somewhere. You must help me! Oh, there you are!"
My poor wife emerged reluctantly from the carriage house. Looking back now, I know that she saw more clearly than I. She did not ignore the foul omens like I had chosen to do. But she elected to assist me despite that, bless her sweet soul. I set her to work routing the air lines while I forged ahead with the compressor. I drilled larger holes for the screws. and blessedly that worked. I moved on to mounting the manifold. But where would I put it? I now saw that the spot next to the compressor would never work, for my drill would not fit there. Feverishly I looked around for a spot, holding the manifold up here, pushing it up there. Finally, I located a place suitable. A place that my drill could reach, although at a slight angle. What harm could that do? None, I thought, for I believed myself to be destined to finish the project shortly. I set to work drilling the first pilot hole, my drill at a reckless, haphazard angle. Immediately, that sickening but familiar crunch cracked through the air as I felt the drill bit give way. In my mind, a doorway slammed open and the madness and darkness rushed in. I heard long-extinct beings call to me and sparks of red and black showered from my eyes. The door of sanity rattled on its hinges and began to splinter.
My wife found me cowering in the corner of the carriage house some time later. I must have fled The Maw and shut the carriage house doors, although I do not remember this. I remember the grasp of the Ancient Ones, reaching from out of space and of time, and to this day, that feeling, that sickening, foul feeling still occurs on occasion. I know that I might succumb to it one day, but for now I must ignore it, and pretend that this dark chapter of my life never occurred. My wife and I do not speak of this time.
So, what happened then, you ask? Well, the Ancient Ones must have lost interest, for they allowed us to overcome our tribulations without further incident. I went to work the next day, trying not to think of the transpirations of the previous evening. My wife borrowed her mother's carriage and journeyed to the Lowe's Mercantile, where she purchased a "right-angle" drill. Have you heard of such a thing? It is a miracle, it functions exactly as a regular drill, but the majority of the mechanism is in the handle, allowing for holes to be drilled in small spaces. That evening, after returning home from work, my wife and I set to finishing my foul experiment. It is true that we did not finish until midnight, but thankfully we were unmolested by further tribulations of any note. The darkness had left me, and to this day, it has not returned. I am a practical man, though, and I have come to observe a sense of dread about me. It is not great, but it is there, a whisper of dread, a thin veil of fear. Fear of what might transpire, should any of that cursed equipment fail. For I cannot be sure that the dark madness will not come flooding back in, shattering the door of sanity forever. Until then...