I got up this morning and learned I didn't have to do the plumbing job. My buddy found someone during the week willing to do the job. Cool!
So, I slid under the Mustang to finish pulling the transmission. I got it out and was looking at the pressure plate, when I turned to inspect the throwout bearing. Something didn't look right, and I grabbed it and pulled. It came off in my hand, like it is supposed to, but the cast pilot shaft that it rides on came off with it.
Damn! Just Dammit. It's broke, and that means the bell housing is broke, and I knew that I wouldn't find one today. I might not find one at all at a reasonable price and that means the tranny is junk, and the car is junk, and if I can't find a bell housing, I am selling the car as scrap.
I'm tired of the car being on blocks in the driveway, and I'm sure the neighbors are tired of it too. The deeper I get, the more I find wrong. Time for the Mustang to find a new home.
So, I did what all red-blooded Americans do when the day goes tits-up. I went to the range. I shot the .243 Savage 10. Shot it a bunch. At least 10, 3 round groups. I got it dialed in with my handload of choice. I'm using Winchester brass, WLR primers, 41.0 grains of Reloder 19, and the incomparable Sierra 100 grain GameKing bullet. That rifle will plunk that load inside an inch all day long at 100 yards. The bullet is traveling 2800 fps (measured out of my rifle) and ought to be a primo whitetail round. The wind was vicious on the range today. Variable gusts out of the south, upwards of twenty mph. Doping the wind was the key today. I'm glad I was only shooting at 100 yards.
I came home and found Milady awake. She is working nights this weekend, so it behooves me to be out of the house during the day. I cooked hamburgers, big ole 1/3 pound monsters, served on fresh buns with onion and tomato. We fired up the FryDaddy and made some french fries, and she left for work with a full belly.
Tomorrow is the Sharps, and the Model 94. No scopes, just hunker down, work the sights and watch the wind.