The slaves thought it would be fun to park in the street of Rio and sleep inside for the night. So when morning rolled around I gave them a taste of my fury; the motor would not turn over at all, nothing. I had all night to fill the tops of the pistons with water, completely freezing the motor in place unable to move a fraction. I thought it would be just like before, a little bit of give and take. But this time Curt tore out my injectors, pumped out the water, got me running again, and then drove with reckless abandon to a strange place: Juiz de Fora. We arrived at a LandRover used parts dealer. Apparently Curt had something planned all along, and I guess I just pushed it a bit too far with my Rio joke, because by that evening I was without a motor.
The tricky slaves left me for a week with the mechanics for the installation of a new motor, while they took off to explore the state of Minas Gerais with a rental car. I wasn't going to take this lying down, so I did the only thing left in my power; I refused to mate the new motor with my old transmission. Oh, slaves, add the cost of an unnecessary transmission to your meticulous budget. By the time I was let loose from those mechanics, I had added US10,000 in regenerative surgery to my old body. For those interested in the cause of the ten's of thousands of dollars of repairs done on me in vain, my engine trouble was a cracked block - something no mechanic ever diagnosed. The engine should have been replaced 3 years ago.
I learned a lesson in Juiz de Fora: don't push it too far or you'll lose a lot more than you expected. Much of my hold over the slaves has now been removed. With a nearly new made in Brasil motor they can find parts anywhere. I am no longer the only vehicle in the Americas with a unique motor. Now my heart is as common as a Ford Ranger, Chev S-10, and Mercedes Sprinter. Curt has even given away most of the big stash of spare parts since they are no longer useful.