This kid is toast. Hell's Angels going to eat him alive.
No way he fixes that in five minutes, lol. Somebody call this boy's mama.
Owen blocked it all out. Every voice, every laugh, every camera flash.
He picked up the half-inch Craftsman, his father's wrench, the one with the chip on the jaw, and positioned it on the first bolt of the cam cover. His hands weren't shaking.
His breathing was even. His eyes were locked on that engine like nothing else in the universe existed.
Eleanor Graves uncrossed her arms. She recognized something in the way Owen held that wrench.
The angle of his wrist. The pressure of his fingers.
The way he braced his elbow against the cylinder for leverage. Textbook form.
No, better than textbook. Instinct.
She took out her phone. Not to record.
To time him herself. 3 minutes and 30 seconds remained.
Owen took one breath. Then he began.
The first bolt came off in 3 seconds. Owen's fingers moved with a precision that didn't belong to an 18-year-old.
The cam cover lifted clean. No fumbling, no hesitation.
Like he'd opened this exact engine a thousand times. Underneath the timing chain sat exposed.
A long loop of roller chain wrapped around the cam sprocket and the crankshaft sprocket, connecting the top and bottom halves of the engine's breathing system. On a healthy Shovelhead, the chain would be taut, aligned, every link seated perfectly on every tooth.
This one wasn't. Owen pointed his flashlight at the cam sprocket.
Two teeth off. The chain had slipped forward by exactly two positions.
Subtle. Almost invisible.
On a modern engine, a sensor would catch it. But on a 1972 Shovelhead with mechanical points, there was no sensor.
No warning light. No error code.
Just an engine that refused to fire because the valves were opening and closing milliseconds off. Enough to kill compression entirely.
"Timing chain slipped two teeth," Owen said. Not to Garrett.
Not to the crowd. To himself.
The way his father used to talk through a diagnosis out loud. He loosened the cam sprocket bolt.
Rotated the sprocket backward by hand. Two clicks.
Felt the chain seat into position. Tightened the bolt.
Checked the tension with his thumb. Pressed the chain midway between sprockets.
Measured the deflection by feel. 12 seconds.
The whole repair took 12 seconds. Dale Prescott stood at the edge of the crowd.
His face went white. 30 minutes with a $4,000 scanner.
Missed completely. Because scanners don't read mechanical timing on points ignition engines.
They search for electronic signals that don't exist on a '72 Shovelhead. Owen found it with his ear and confirmed it with a $2 flashlight.
"That's one."
Owen said. Garrett glanced at Vince, then back at Owen.
"Lucky guess."
"Even a blind squirrel finds a nut. Hey, rat."