Water Heater War

In the epic battle between a 41-year-old female with zero plumbing experience and a Bradford White 50 gallon electric water heater, I have been triumphant. 

This was a war I never intended to fight, a battle brewing for more than four years. 

Beneath the glare of a single bare lightbulb,
the beast waits in its lair.

In the first days after we moved into this beautiful house, I noticed our hot water was measly. Wimpy. Unimpressive. It was very warm at best, never up to the challenge of being truly hot. On the advice of our builder, I cranked up the water heater's two heating elements over and over until they were set hot enough to boil us, but the water temperature at our faucets and showerheads was still unexceptional. I was vexed, but thought it was a minor inconvenience we'd just learn to live with. Yet the thorn in my side slowly festered.

About two weeks ago, the hot water inexplicably became even less hot. Now I was taking daily showers with no cold water added whatsoever. While this was fine in the halcyon days of summer, once winter wraps us in her icy arms it is going to be problematic.

Our plumber examined it like the builder had, finding nothing wrong. He drained the tank of water, replaced the bottom heating element, and refilled it on the outside chance that this would breathe new life into the antagonistic appliance. 

"Did they tell you what this thing is on top?" the plumber asked before departing, pointing to a silver reticulated tube that appeared to link together the hot and cold water pipes above the tank. "I don't know what that is. Maybe that's your problem." 

The tank burbled wickedly.

The plumber suggested waiting to see if the new heating element improved performance. I took another mediocre shower the next morning and, fueled by rage, decided to fix this offensive situation or die trying. I was going to unleash hell.

I called the plumbers who installed the tank - Butts Plumbing, I shit you not. After several minutes of denial they admitted they hooked up the tank but did not service that brand, and it had been supplied by the builders. Then I called the builder's customer service and wasted 20 minutes on hold before deciding to slay this beast on my own. 

Sometimes I do what I want to do. The rest of the time, I do what I have to. 

Gird your loins, water heater. I seek vengeance.

Before I could conquer my enemy, I had to know more about it. Its attack methods and blind spots, weapons and weaknesses.   

First, I commanded my faithful research assistant: "Google, show me images of 'water heater pipe between hot and cold!'" The omniscient search engine dutifully obeyed, offering up innumerable photos of disagreeable beasts, hiding in other people's closets and basements, being improved or disemboweled. They were legion! 

I clicked on one photo with a similar hose arrangement and was cast down a rabbit hole of diagrams, how-to videos, and product offerings. Technical jargon, specifications, and acronyms flew at my eyes like san-serif daggers. I became disoriented and overwhelmed with the sheer scope of my mission. I even considered abandoning my crusade, but the thought of a lifetime of unsatisfying showers propelled me back into action.

Finally, hiding deep in a DIY video, I found what the contraption calls itself: a thermostatic mixing valve!

...A what now? 

Google once again did my bidding, informing me that this post-factory addition blends hot and cold water at the tank to ensure a constant temperature. It's especially useful for oversized bath tubs with an unquenchable thirst for hot water. Ye gods, I have one of those! My eyes narrowed in determination. Now I had a clear target at which to aim my assault. 

All I required was the target's operating instructions. 

With anger fueling my courage, I tiptoed into the beast's lair so as not to arouse its suspicion. Using the flashlight on my phone, I located a name and part number: HEATGUARD 020.  The nearby air conditioner unit kicked on, and I jumped in alarm before retreating from the basement.

More quick work by my trusty search engine partner pulled up an installation manual for the HEATGUARD 020. As I paged through these instructions and photos of how to hook up the loathsome creature, I found nothing that would help me tame it. I noted an illustration that looked a bit similar to mine, but dismissed it as too different from my enemy and therefore unhelpful. 

  

I'm sure you can understand my initial oversight. First, the doohickey on my mixing valve whateveritis was pointing to the right, while in the illustration it is pointing left. Second, my mixing valve noticeably lacked the second doohickey (indicated by the arrow) above the first doohickey.

I now believe this was a trick, a deliberate obfuscation designed to prevent me from gaining control over this uncivilized apparatus. Minutes of fruitless internet searching passed, and I returned to this curious illustration that stuck in my mind. Could it, in fact, be the answer I sought? I fetched my (recently upped) bifocals to read the text. The heading declared this was how to "adjust outlet mix water temp." 

Lo and behold, the bottom doohickey already hanging out of the mixing valve was an allen wrench (though for the life of me I don't know why it was left there all this time). The top doohickey was meant to represent a 7/16" wrench that was loosening a nut. My venerable toolbox did not contain one of those wrenches, but I did have a pair of standard pliers and an adjustable wrench. One of these would surely be the weapon that slays the beast. 

With a tool in each hand like a dimachaerus, I reentered the basement ready to confront my foe. The pliers were no match for the hexagonal nut which was determined to hold fast. I tried the adjustable wrench, too, to no avail. But then I realized I was turning the wrong way, because righty-tighty lefty-loosey. Once I began turning the correct direction, the nut yielded to my demands. Suddenly, the allen wrench became moveable, and I delivered my mortal blow - adjusting the outlet temperature by turning the valve counterclockwise.

Then I sprinted up the stairs into the kitchen to confirm the mixing valve's downfall had begun. The water temperature at the kitchen sink, which had measured 101.5 degrees yesterday, had risen to 105. Drunk on my own power, I scrambled back down to the basement and turned the allen wrench more, then ascended the stairs. 110 degrees. Again! 115 degrees. ONCE MORE, VALIANT WARRIOR! Finally, the mixing valve surrendered: 120 scorching degrees.

Behold, sweet victory is mine!

I have conquered the mysterious and tenacious Bradford White. It is now under my command, its defiant spirit pliant and agreeable. I will luxuriate in steaming hot showers now, and for the foreseeable future. But should this water tank cause trouble again, I will not hesitate to whip it back into submission. 

Let this be a warning to all other household appliances in my realm. I show no mercy.