Yep, I’m a neat freak when it comes to mowing the yard. My motto is “If you’re not going to weed-whack afterwards, don’t bother mowing.” At least then the whole works will be even.

On Mother’s Day a few years ago I was presented with the most wonderful gift ever—a powerful, brand spankin’ new weed-whacker. Ryobi cut to a tee, taking down everything from the finest grasses to small trees in one single swipe.

Over the years Ryobi has gotten pretty particular about starting and staying running. Four and one-half presses of the primer with full choke, let it rest for 3.2 seconds. While holding the throttle between one-fourth and a half, it needs three-fourths of a choke and then full throttle while shutting the choke down—all the while pulling the rip cord constantly, or should I say “arm ripper-offer” for short. After about an hour, Ryobi starts to spit and sputter, so a tilt to the left for three minutes while using half-throttle is in order.

Last weekend all was going well with the mowing progress until it was Ryobi’s turn for cleanup. We’ve had our small arguments in the past but always came to an agreement that Ryobi would straighten out and get the job done to Emily’s standards. First the string ran out—no problem, a five minute replacement procedure. Oops—“problem” after all: the arrow that shows where to place the round thing at the bottom that you line up to stick the string into had worn off and it was luck of the draw. Gently place the string in, half-click counterclockwise… nope. Try again: place the string in the next hole and pray a bit… nope. Shove the string down Ryobi’s throat and scream.

One hour and ten minutes later, Ryobi is efficiently re-strung. Bad news: we’re out of gas and the weed-whacker gas can is empty. No problem; drive to the neighbor’s two miles away and borrow some. No one’s home, but the dog invites you into the garage and shows you where the container marked “weed-whacker gas” is. Good dog.

With a full layer of string and a plumb-full gas tank, we’re ready to go again. The breeze goes down and the gnats come lurking, so weed-whack with one hand and brush the bugs off with the other. Switch arms when one gets tired and smack yourself in the face when aiming for the neck because that arm is used to holding twenty pounds of Ryobi.

After taking a “power break” and dousing with bug spray, I resumed the trimming procedure with huge hopes of finishing before supper.

One clunk and a “tizinggg” dashed all hopes of a smooth ending; Ryobi had a screw loose someplace inside the engine. Getting the machine apart and finding the screw was a whole lot easier than figuring out where the screw came from and putting it back together. Ed was in the field and screening all enraged Ryobi calls, so I figured the manual would give me directions to place the screw in its proper position. Problem: no manual. Light bulb: I could find it on the Internet.

The first thing I learned is that no one in California is allowed to purchase Ryobis as it would add to the state’s pollution (poor fellas). The next thing I learned was that I needed a model number, and that was the second thing to wear off after the arrow for the strings.

The 1-800 help line was impressively supportive: “We are here to assist you between the hours of eight and five, Monday through Friday.” Don’t people usually mow on the weekends?

Fifteen screens deep on the computer, I found photos! There was my Ryobi, with links for parts and manuals. Yahoooo! Crap, guess what? All links had been abandoned because my Ryobi model was extinct, but they did have a wish list link available. At this point in time no one at the Ryobi company would care to hear my wishes upon them.

On the top of the page was a “video link.” I thought, “What the heck”; maybe Hoshi Mashie could be seen putting a Ryobi back together. Nope, this link brought me directly to clips on MySpace!

How in the world could I start out looking for a Ryobi manual and end up viewing a bizarre college fraternity party?

It was about midnight and I had long since given up any hope of finishing my weed-whacking, but there sure were some interesting visual manuals on MySpace…