I didn't take photos of the cleaning process. Sorry. It mostly involved various de-greasing products, scrub brushes, paint scrappers, sand paper, and lots of washing. Try as I might, that chalky green paint refused to come off. Oh sure, it bleed off the grill into a puddle on the carport any time I washed it. I could sand it to a fine powder, or chip off small sections. But try as I might, none of these things made any real noticeable difference. The paint still rubbed off at the slightest touch.
Sunday, I decided to throw in the towel on making this grill look like anything other than a free grill I found on the side of the road. I bought a can of high-heat grill spray paint and got to work. I then finished disassembling the grill.
My grandpa likes to tell me that my dad was once the master of taking things apart, only to not be able to put them together again. Or maybe he just lost interest in the putting things back together. I'm not sure which. So when I was staring all the individual pieces of my grill, all I could hear was Grandpa's stories about Dad. It was then that I took this picture, in case I had to tell Grandpa I'm more than just a spitting image of my dad.
Here's the one that shows I gave up on the green beast:
One can of spray paint later. A little more cleaning. And it was reassembly time. The hillbilly is still a hillbilly, but he cleans up pretty good. Don't you think?
Up next is to pick up a propane tank. Then the real test will be on to find out if that sign was telling the truth. Does he work?
Whether it works or not, I can at least tell Grandpa that perhaps I inherited a few mechanical genes after all.