I heard some really odd noises when the garage door was going down yesterday. Turned out the one of the lift cables that travels from the torsion spring to the bottom of the door to help lift it was fraying.
The little “pops”, “pings”, and “sproings” were because the frayed pieces were catching on the rest of the cable as it rolled up or down and pulling it further apart. If I had a faster door opener I probably could have played a tune on it!
Inspection of the cable on the opposite side of the door revealed that although not frayed, it was deteriorating and, for lack of a better term, spikey. They might have lasted another week.
No problem. Part of being a homeowner. The place is always trying to fall down around your ears. This was a fairly minor problem…till the government got in the way.
Now here’s the irritating part. A trip to the homeowner hell.
“You can’t buy those. You have to be a state licensed door technician.”
Ooookaaayyyy…so, raw cable and a swag tool to crimp the loop on one end and the stop on the other.
“We have the cable, but we don’t sell crimp fittings for it, only the clamp on ones.”
Turns out, you have to be a state licensed overhead door technician to buy any parts associated with the torsion spring lift for these doors. That’s actually sad, because I can still buy the old fashioned long springs and pulleys…which really, are flat out dangerous.
Anyway, big daddy government protecting me from…well…something. I really wish they’d quit that.
So, I had to call a “state licensed overhead door technician” to install eight bucks worth of cables. Took the kid about an hour…would have taken me about 40 minutes, as I would have measured the second cable before cutting it and not had to install it twice.
Anyway, a fine job. Cost me $155. Should have cost me $8. No blame on the kid…he was polite and got the job done…but between the government and the folks that believe I need to be protected from myself, I can’t really afford to keep up.
Of course, there’s easy finiancing and ready credit cards for that.
Bastards. Sure wish I knew how to get ’em out of my hair.