Let's talk about solenoids

Pep Boys don't got nuthin' on me.

I drive a 1991 Ford F-150. Since buying the truck, I’ve made sure it’s the focal point of my life, my personality, and my identity.

Before making any decision—benign or otherwise—I ask myself: is this something the owner of a 1991 Ford F-150 would do?

At this point, “guy who owns a 1991 Ford F-150” is probably my only discernible personality trait outside of my thoroughly cancerous cynicism.

Whether that’s haulin’ plow, drinkin’ beer, or mowin’ grass, life moves a little bit slower when you’re driving a 1991 Ford F-150.

Every time I drive, I hang my head out the window—panting—with my tongue out, like a dog. And when I inevitably make eye contact with a balding dad in his mid 50’s and see his eyes stray to my half-ton workhorse… mmmmmm. It gives me a jolt. ⚡️🍆😏

A big eff-ing jolt. From the top of my head to the tip of my…

Speaking of jolts, let’s talk about solenoids. Cars have solenoids. Trucks have solenoids. AC units and MRI machines and microphones and power plants and tomatoes have solenoids. My 1991 Ford F-150, mentioned above, also has a solenoid.

According to Wikipedia: “A solenoid is a type of electromagnet formed by a helical coil of wire whose length is substantially greater than its diameter, which generates a controlled magnetic field.”

I don’t know what that means, but I do know this: your car has a battery. And your car’s battery has electricity in it.

Or at least I think it does. I, like you, don’t know how batteries work.

But let’s push on. Your car’s battery is connected to, among other things, a solenoid. And when you put the key into your car’s ignition and turn it, that sends a small electrical current to the solenoid—which it relays to your car’s starter motor. The starter motor then flicks the engine’s flywheel with its pinion, convincing the engine to suck in air, fuel, and positive vibes.

You can think of your solenoid as the Paul Revere of auto parts—but instead of riding a horse and shouting about the British, Paul Revere has… uh, 12.6 volts of electricity coursing through his body.

Someone’s cumming, and it’s not the British.

That’s what should happen, at least. But sometimes your vehicle gets pissy. Especially if it’s a 1991 Ford F-150, which is the type of vehicle that I drive.

If you turn the key and your car has difficulty starting or you hear a clicking noise or no noise at all, it might be your solenoid. It could also be your battery or starter motor or alternator or ignition switch or your lack of faith in the Lord—but there’s a decent chance it’s your solenoid.

You will also know when your solenoid goes bad if your engine develops free will and starts up on its own or if the starter motor won’t stop fingering the engine’s flywheel—as us mechanics say in the biz.

This happened to me. And if it happens to you, there’s no need to fret. Just hit your soley-boi with a hammer. Firmly, but without malice.

Sometimes you just need to bat down your car’s free will as a reminder that God gave Man dominion over all things, including 1991 Ford F-150’s.

You see, old trucks are like horses¹.

Sure, riding one makes you feel like a badass. But sometimes they have a mind of their own. And—they can be unwieldy at high speeds, they don’t have airbags, and the emissions tend to be pretty bad.

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1. There is potentially the connotation here that I am suggesting you beat a horse with a hammer. I just want to make it very, very clear to you, PETA, and the greater horsing community that I am not recommending you strike a horse with a hammer or any other tool—carpentry or otherwise. If you agree, donate here and support the Arizona Salt River wild horses.