Da Bloke removed the clanky metal valve-guides, flossed his single, gnarled tooth with them and then proceeded to install synthetic guides after over an hour of drilling and tapping.
The guides were selected at Dillon's by an anonymous performer with the Met (baseball team) out of a shipment of 207. 12 guides were sent back to the factory for pitch problems.
After much deliberation (3 seconds) a vent-hole was drilled into the first piston. "Since the valves only come out once a year for cleaning, we might as well vent this sucker before it corrodes in place."
As if all of this excitement weren't enough
we installed a new set of Yamaha valve springs. The action is much lighter now.Then . . .
he played my horn!
Tears were streaming down my face as he boliferated his way through Rode of the Valkorys. Overcome by emotion, I asked for a soothing ode, and the Bloke obliged with Dona nobulous Pacemd. Not only was my horn fixed by the leading member of the TubeNet Politikal forum, it was played to the limit and beyond that which mere mortals were intended to hear.
As I sit at home, dizzy from too much practicing on the newly revived Conn 52J, my mind drifts back to this weekend . . . to the time between rehearsals and performances. To the day when Bloke was willing to aid an unworthy tuba lackey before both of them headed off in the sunset to perform the Rite of Spring to a capacity crowd of tuba worshippers.
Days like that are few and far between.
the end . . . or is it?