I was tasked with the job of finding someone in our area that accepts hazardous waste (i.e. – old watery-rusty gasoline). A dozen telephone calls later, I learned no one accepts it. In fact, a salvage yard told me that they provide a spot for people to rid themselves of anything left in the tank as their policy is to accept tanks already emptied.
This translates into “we let them dump it over in the corner.” Seriously?
Hubby suggested we go find a farmer and give it to him. Farmers use gas (clean, dirty, or watery) to pour on stumps, leaf piles and hedge rows to burn them.
I suggested we take the fuel to the odd looking fella we see up the road. He lives half underground in a man-made earthen bunker. TD quickly vetoed that idea and said walking into a scene from Deliverance with a gas can full of fuel seemed like a bad idea.
There was more gasoline in the tank than we thought (remember fuel gauge not working), so we bought another gas can to fill up.
This started TD on a 15 minute educational lecture on wiring and cables and operational functions of both.
The short answer is the wiring harness he installs down the road has nothing to do with the tatty throttle thingy.
I went inside and made lunch.
Oh…and I smell like gasoline.