Zen and the Art of Boat Maintenance

After graduating college, I set off on a cross-country road trip with my girlfriend at the time. It was my second trip across the United States by car and came at a time when life was presenting a lot of big questions.

...

One point which stands out is the book I was reading throughout, Robert M. Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. A book focused deeply on the philosophical meaning of "Quality," with a backstory featuring the narrator taking a motorcycle trip from Montana to the Pacific Ocean with a good friend. The title is drawn from a comparison he makes between the decisions he and his riding partner take when it comes to maintaining their respective vehicles. The latter rides a BMW, the soul of which is strict uniformity and kind of engineering not intended for alteration. He sticks to inspections by professionals and does none of the work himself. The author rides a Harley Davidson, which embodies the ideals of the constant tinkerer. He talks about the great pleasure in keeping on top of every detail of his bike personally, and how the very act of maintaining the vehicle is reflected by a sense of empowerment and reciprocal impulse to keep the rest of his life in order.

The moral of the story arrives when his friend has a minor breakdown and has neither the spare parts nor necessary experience to do anything about it. The author is able to help them reach a nearby town with the handful of tools he brought with him, and after a couple days' delay they are eventually able to continue on their way.

Speaking for myself, I've always been the friend in this story. I never known the first thing about engines or servicing them. I've never had any interest in learning and relied almost entirely on the advice of my father. I at least made sure to get the oil changed regularly but never did it myself. In my own defense, I could appreciate the author's ideals in regards to maintaining the machine, but got my sense of accomplishment from working intimately with computers and technology instead of motors. I always felt I spent too much time fixing problems and making custom modifications in my own field to get anything much out of waisting the off hours bent under a hood.

This has all changed. I still take a degree of pleasure and pride from tinkering around with technology, but long for a sense of physical, tangible achievement. A friend of mine who spends his days writing programming code secretly dreams of retiring to become a lumberjack. I can see a certain appeal to that - the idea of working all day in the outdoors, using your hands and working your body while the mind drifts freely. Coming home at the end of a long day and collapsing in complete exhaustion. Sleeping a whole, deep sleep. And of course that sense of frustration - feeling like you're toiling endlessly without making progress - would never be a problem. Just turn around and see the path you've carved behind you.

...

This past weekend I spent back in Gisborne, concentrating on all of the work necessary to get the ship back in shape for the next passage. There were a number of small, odd jobs to attend, and one or two big ones also requiring attention. The first was to replace the broken steering cable. The spare tiller would be sufficient if necessary (and would even work with the auto pilot) but the wheel is considerably more convenient. Having brought the chain driven by the sprocket inside the wheel's casing and the entire length of the original cable, I swung by a chandler in Auckland and had an identical amount cut to size (plus one meter slack). I then had a duplicate length made, so I could fix the problem again should it ever recur.

Back aboard, I set to work but it was quickly obvious I'd need to pick up at least one tool I didn't have on hand. A quick visit to the local hardware store and I got down to it.

In the end it wasn't very hard at all. If I had to do it again the whole thing wouldn't take more than half an hour. Everything is now tensioned just right, and in some ways even an improvement over the previous setup. I can even see a couple ways to make it better next time around. Pirsig was right. Its a good feeling.


...

Lately the experience seems to carry over into other areas. Returning to New Zealand from a visit home back in August, I set off with my car loaded with suitcases on a mad dash to Wellington, only to have the belt which drives the alternator and water pump suddenly snap and cause repeated overheating before I could work out what was going on.

In the spirit of do-it-yourself I bought a replacement and the necessary tools from a local retailer. I didn't know what I was doing but trying like hell to work it out. I had no way of knowing their parts database was simply wrong and there was zero chance of fixing the problem with the materials at hand. In the end I acquiesced and was force to employ a mechanic, while dumping myself on the hospitality of friends for the night.

Four o'clock in the morning this past Saturday, 40km outside of Gisborne, I suddenly had the same problem - I lost the same belt. This time I recognized it right away. I knew the battery wouldn't stay charged and the engine would soon overheat. I drove as far as I dared and then pulled over until daylight. I wanted enough juice to be able to restart the car a couple times and it would be best to wait until I didn't need headlights. Twenty minutes further and it wouldn't have mattered (I could have attended to everything after a good night's rest) but cursing my luck with engines at this point would do no good.

Snoozing until dawn I managed to make it to the next small town in a series of controlled hops, taking time to cool down in between. Finding the only service station likely to open that morning I camped outside until the owners appeared at seven. I used a piece of the leftover steering cable from the boat to measure the size belt I needed. If they happened to sell them all I needed was to get something around that water pump to keep the motor running cool - I could get the proper part to keep the alternator charged later.

I was in luck, but just barely. The station didn't sell belts these days, but in a dusty old garage across from the shop there were some belts that looked destined for farming equipment hanging around helter-skelter. Dusting off the cobwebs (literally) I worked my way through what was available until the very last - which was just tight enough to do the job but not so tight I couldn't get it around the spinning wheels by hand. A couple bucks and I was on my way.

The correct belt was ordered first thing when the local dealership opened and it arrived by overnight courier the next morning. Fitting it was no problem and I was soon on my way. I guess I'm learning.

...

Incidentally, Robert M. Pirsig wrote another book, a sequel to Zen and the Art. It was called Lila, and while not quite as enjoyable as the first (in my opinion), it did feature one interesting circumstance. The author was no longer riding a motorcycle cross-country, but making his way from the Great Lakes through canals and rivers past New York City on his way to the ocean. He was living on a boat.