Oversimplifying the Issue

As if you hadn't noticed, school has really put a damper on this blog. I didn't mean for that to happen, but when 90% of your time is taken by studying organic chemistry and sensations, it's tough to log on and type a piece about garage exploits. As it has been, I haven't even had a chance to work in the garage more than a couple of times in the past month or two. That hasn't stopped me from making progress on my projects, though.

The Maxwell has been in my mind the most during school. I'm a part of a Maxwell email group, and I must say that is invaluable to an amateur restorer of brass cars. The correspondence I've sought from these masters of horseless carriages has inspired me to work on this car as soon as I possibly can. The problem is, though, I don't have the time to invest in it. I'm hoping winter break will give me a little chance, but with that comes the challenge of working on a cold piece of metal in an uninsulated garage in the middle of a Midwestern winter. We'll see about that.

My overall plan for attacking the car has remained the same. After finding some wonderful pictures online (I'll try to post them here later) of a Maxwell's rear differential, I'm confident that I can get the rear end apart to inspect the gears. My concerns now lie in a couple of pieces that are affixed to the diff whose functions are unknown to me. Without that knowledge I'm a bit wary of trying to take them apart. Even so, my next concern falls with the gaskets and how the end is sealed. When I tilted the front of the differential (where the U-joints join the propshaft), some fluid leaked out of the front. This concerned me for a couple of reasons: 1. What kind of fluid is this, and will draining it harm the car in terms of its fight against rust? and 2. Should it have leaked out in the first place, especially if the car were actually going down a steep hill rather than being tilted on the ground? I'll have to address all of these issues when I tear into it, but even that is oversimplifying the issue.

What about the babbitts? Am I going to have to learn how to rebabbitt something in the future (I have a feeling that's a "yes")? And what about any gaskets that were used? Surely once removed the old cork/whatever gaskets won't be good, so I'll have to make new ones. That, as my father once said, is hit or miss when it comes to getting a perfect seal.

That's just one of the many issues that have been running through my head with this Maxwell lately.

Of course, I no sooner get started on this blog post than I run out of time to finish it the way I wanted to. Nonetheless, this proves that I'm not gone form the face of the earth, and I'm also still working on these cars (even though if it's in my head sometimes).

Night breezes seem to whisper

I'm lying in bed as I type this on my iPod, and I must say I enjoy typing on a computer a great deal more. I've already cursed the gadget's autocorrect four times in this paragraph, and that's probably not a good sign. On top of all of this, I'm typing this post in an email so that when I'm done, I'll send it to a nonexistent email address and it will magically post it on my page. That's honestly not a bad deal if it works (or if my battery will last through my slow typing), but we'll see.

I've been insanely busy these past couple of weeks, and I've desperately been trying to find time to make a new post here. As you can tell, as of yet I've failed more times than the Bengals. This post will break that streak though. And I should also apologize ahead of time for any odd effects of autocorrect that I may not notice. Either way, let me try to do a quick wrapup before going to sleep.

The main news is that the Corvette will go to her first car show in a while tomorrow (er...today). It's a short jog for her compared to her trip to the Goodguys show, but that doesn't mean I can assume all will go well. My girlfriend and I put some finishing touches on detailing the car tonight after I got the exterior in good shape earlier in the day, so less packing the trunk, the car is ready to go for a late morning departure. Clear skies are forecasted as well as scorching heat, so the weather shouldn't be a factor. I'll have to go into more details of our work later.

I've almost finished painting the soft top frame, as well. Unfortunately we're yet to find someone who can pit the fabric on for us, but at least the frame should be ready when that person is found. I haven't done a ton more on the hard top, but it's extremely close to being done, so that's a bit of a relief.

Most of my recent work, though, has revolved around sanding my every day car. Whoever put the clearcoat on it some time ago failed miserably, and in random intervals, spots will appear on the paint. These slots grow, and soon the clearcoat just flakes off. This leads to discoloration and rust, so I've decided before I go back I school, I'll try to cure the car's disease. It hasn't been easy, though, as the clearcoat is only starting to come off whilst using 80 grit wet/dry and a power sander. Nevertheless, I'm pushing on. That car WILL be repainted by the time I go back; I just don't know how much of the car will be repainted...

Oh well. Either way that's a quick rundown of what I've been doing in the garage. It's definitely keeping me busy, but I'm going to try to stay more up-to-date with this blog from now until school starts. Wish me luck, and perhaps I will see some of you tomorrow at the car show! Stay cool!

Rumors...

Okay, so it appears that I've been dead for the past couple of weeks, but I'm here to dispel those rumors. It's just been insanely busy, but I DO hope to update the blog later tonight. There's a ton to talk about, too, not the least of which is the recent situation in Formula 1 dealing with Felipe Massa's freak accident today and the many rumors that have been surrounding his condition. There will also be updates on the Maxwell and its rear axle, a couple of updates on the old Corvette, and various other things.

I hope all has been well!

Reliving Route 66

I realize that this post is a bit overdue, but nonetheless, a break in my busyness has allocated some time blogging time. First off, the Goodguys car show. One must realize that this has been our goal for the past few years---getting the car to the show and back---but we've never been able to make it there for one reason or another. This year, though, barring any sudden problems, we were ready.

I got up Friday morning around 5:45 a.m. to make some final detailing touches to the car and to load up our gear (cleaning supplies, a cooler, a chair, our plaque, etc.). Right around 6:30 a.m. my dad started the car's 283 cubic inch V8, I climbed in, and we were off. The sun shone brightly on what would go on to be a perfect day weather-wise, and we progressed smoothly down the old highway---the same path my dad used to take in his first '61 whenever he'd go to the capital city.

It's a unique experience, I must say, driving in the early morning in a car like that. I experienced a little of that feeling when I went on our final Dawn Patrol, but even that did not compare with the trek to Goodguys; the incredible openness of that car, the fog slowly lifting off the rising crops, the cool morning air just beginning to radiate heat from the pavement below. The engine note was smooth and calm whereas the suspension was a bit hard, and before we knew it we'd arrived at the show. Pulling in and parking, we'd at least made it to the grounds. The real test would come when we were going to start the car again following registration.

After getting our number, true to form the car would not start immediately after returning to it. Dad had me remove the air filter (which was hot to the touch) to see if that would make a difference, but whether or not it did was questionable. Nevertheless the car started a couple of tries later, and we were on our way.

Waiting in line, my agitated father could only sit and coast behind an obnoxious Chevelle equipped with giant tires, a nonexistant exhaust, and racing fuel. We were gassed by this classless hot rod for about ten minutes, all the while being unable to hear our own engine---and thus any potential problems that may have arisen from it not starting a few minutes prior. We entered the grounds safely, though, and promptly went the opposite direction of the disfigured Chevelle. A shady spot on a hill was located, and after making sure the car wouldn't roll forward I began my detailing before anyone came over to admire it.

Over the next few hours the weather stayed as near to perfection as it could, and we received many positive comments about our car. Many loved my old transistor radio that I set on the passenger seat, and they also took interest in the plaque I made, giving details about production statistics, accessories, and the #1 song of 1961 (which was "Tossin' and Turnin'" by Bobby Lewis, in case you are wondering).

At one point my father noticed that there were a couple of people walking around the car, looking at it from every direction. They had clipboards and pens, seeming disinterested in the decorations and enthralled by the overall of the car. One finally walked around and took down our car entry number, and it was then that my father and I couldn't believe our ears.

"Yes, I'm voting for this one," the man said to his partner, not even acknowledging our presence a few feet away. With a smile, the people turned and left, and that was that. Upon reflection, though, the more I think about this the more I am blown away. There were over 3,500 cars at the Goodguys show that day, and for any judge to walk up to our car---a car that is not even complete or wholly correct---and vote it for Best of Show, it just boggles my mind! It's an incredible testament to the beauty of that car, but also perhaps fate had a hand in it too. Who knows? Either way we were not in it for any awards. Just think, though, we got one more vote than I ever thought we'd get! I had to pat the car on the quarterpanel for that one; she should be proud.

By the end of the day I had told the story of that car and her curse a few times, and each time I couldn't help but think how much more than a normal car this is. We weren't just the restorers of that Corvette, we are engrained in it. Every member of my immediate family has worked tirelessly over the years to get it done. My mom contacted dealers and parts owners all over the U.S. for years to put this car back together, and she helped in its construction, too. She kept track of money and time tables, as well as many other things of which I'm probably not aware. My dad was the architect of this project, bringing together his lifelong experience with Corvettes and the masterful technical skills his father taught him. Without his knowledge, I wouldn't be where I am today in terms of my knowledge of cars and restoration. He's taught me so much, yet I feel like I know so little of what knowledge he possesses. My parents have worked together on this with me, and so have my friends. I've had friends help me do things like put in the transmission, replace the radiator, clean the car, or even just stand around it and talk. So much of who we are is in that car, and it's a neat feeling.

Once we were finally ready to leave the show, everything was packed up and the engine was started. Thankfully we had just as smooth a ride back as we did that morning, and by the end of the day the car resting peacefully, still in one piece and still operating.

Tomorrow I'll go up to the garage and start her again, checking fluid levels and all other vitals. Nothing should be wrong, but I wouldn't put it past this car, honestly...

Also tomorrow I'll continue working on the hard top window; if I have time this week, ideally I'll progress through all of the grits, and we'll have a completely clear hard top window again. Also I'll see what I can do about our driver's side door (it doesn't shut as easily as it should) and getting the soft top frame ready to have fabric put on it. I still have about a week and a half to get that frame completely ready, but that's assuming that as soon as the fabric gets here, someone will be able to put it on. I'm not so sure that will be the case, so I may have to call a family friend tomorrow and see if he can do it.

Well, this post has definitely gotten long enough, but I wanted to give an update about the weekend and what my plans are this week. With any luck all will go to plan and the car will even be able to make it to a local car show this Wednesday. We'll see about that, though.

Dawn Patrol

I went up to the garage today. Ended up working for quite a few hours, just as I've done for the past few days straight (which is partially why I haven't been on here updating things). The past few days have involved little else aside from going up to the garage and doing random things, but the work is far from over. Let's see, where to begin?

Regarding the Maxwell, the rear leaf springs finally have primer on them, which is a neat feeling seeing something other than rust on that car. It really brings out some of the lines in it that have been lost over time, so I'm excited to get more rust-free and primed. Speaking of exciting, whilst randomly showing my mother some pieces I've found from that car, I happened to be holding an unknown part directly over the place where it is normally affixed (which, in turn, suddenly made a couple of other unknown fixtures on the transmission make sense). It was one of those "...Oh my God!" moments when a century's old fog lifts and suddenly the machine takes one step closer to life. Otherwise, though, there's little to report on the Maxwell.

Another side project to update is the hard top. Now through grits 3,200, 3,600, and 4,000, I am on to the 6,000 grit sandpaper, which has already made a huge difference over the 4,000---and I'm not even remotely done with it! Over the last two grits I have been amazed at how much clearer the plexiglass got after each upgrade. I can't imagine what it will be like when I'm done with the 12,000, but even if I had to stop here the top would be quite usable.

The soft top is also progressing with each day. In the past few I have started taking the old weatherstripping off of the bare frame, spraying the leftover residue with adhesive remover. Once I did that, I also removed all of the chrome parts and any screws and bolts that I do not want painted. From here I will continue sanding and priming, alternating between the two until the frame is pretty smooth and primed. If I can do this in under a fortnight, that leaves some time for us to paint the frame gloss black before the fabric top is affixed (by someone who knows how to do it professionally). It's interesting: While there are always down times in any car restoration, so much of the build being successful lies in timetables and schedules. As much of a hobby as this is, to some degree one must always be aware of the inevitable passing of time. I've spoken of this regarding knowledge of the Maxwell (just yesterday my mom sighed while looking at that car and said "Your grandpa died too early." How true that is, in a number of ways), but it also applies whenever you get into crunch time like we are for the Corvette.

I realize that we won't have a soft top to take with us on Friday, but it is nice knowing that we will soon have a soft top for it. Through my research, I've found that fewer than 35% of all 1961s had both tops; I like that ours is one of them. Perhaps I have gotten the cart ahead of the horse, though.

On Friday, after nearly four years of planning, and after nearly four years of saying "Next year we'll be there," we're taking the '61 up to the Goodguys car show. Over 3,000 cars will be there (mostly customs and hot rods), but our task is merely making it up there and back. The 40-mile drive will be the car's longest in its newest incarnation, and its longest trek since at least the mid seventies. My dad's been taking the car out on what he calls "Dawn Patrol", on which he drives outside of town and back, putting an average of 20-30 miles on the car. These trips normally take place between 6:30 and 7:00 am, and tomorrow morning I'll try to be up to accompany him (since it will be the last patrol before the journey). That jaunt will serve a couple of purposes, though, since today we managed to fit an air filter on the engine. That, let me tell you, was no easy task.

Due to the engine swapping that we've had to do on this car in the past, coupled with two carbs going bad over the years, the standard air filter would not allow the hood to close, so we've been searching for a custom one for a while. Having no luck anywhere in town, though, today my dad sent me to a tractor place to get a filter that was at least the right width. From here we knew we would have to trim some off of it. Little did I know, though, how much of an ordeal that would be.

Some two hours later, after employing the use of a Dremel tool, a grinder, a die, wire cutters, scissors, an Exacto knife, a board, and the biggest rubber mallet I have ever seen, I had been forced to improvise a few times. After making my initial cuts on the filter, I found that the hood still wouldn't fit, so I continued cutting on it (requiring the use of another tool). When that still didn't fit, I was forced to measure sections of the metal plate on which the filter sits, and I ground the bottom lip away. After another no-go, my dad hammered the raised area on the top plate down, I ground some more, and soon we were ready to try again. As my dad was working on the threaded bolt (that goes into the carb on one end and holds a nut on the other), a washer came out of his hand and dropped straight down the small barrel of the carburetor. We proceeded with incredible caution, then, as I bent a wire and tried to extract the washer. One bump of the throttle, which presently rested right below my wrist, and any hope of making the show would have been gone.

I felt like I was in surgery; my hands stayed steady as the dim light shone down into the barrel, and with each bump of the wire, I waited for the disemboweling sight of the barrel opening and the washer plunging into darkness. After about five minutes with my father cursing the car in the background I managed to get the washer out and put the air filter on. Tightening the nut and putting hand cream on the top plate, I closed the hood completely, then raised it back up. I could not find a trace of cream on the underside of the hood, meaning the grinding and trimming had worked! Now the true test will come on Dawn Patrol tomorrow where we'll find out if the new filter is choking the engine at all. If it is then we'll run without a filter to the show and back, but if it isn't, then we're good to go (although heaven forbid we even THINK about opening the hood, according to my father...).

Well, this post is long enough for now. I'll try to stay updated tomorrow as we really hit crunch time for detailing, then come Saturday (probably) you'll find out whether or not we made it to the show and back. Wish us luck, because Lord knows we'll probably need it with this car!

Rusted Windows and Lost History

I went up to the garage today. I must say, I do not know how hot blue blazes are, but our garage was definitely hotter than them this afternoon. The warm air outside was riding the front edge of a cold front that hadn't made it to my town yet, so in the midst of 112 degree heat indexes I decided to take a small ceramic heater and a cold Pepsi with me to the garage to see what I could do. The heater, by the way, has a cool setting on it, so it wasn't just for heat. Anyway, unlocking and walking into the garage, I was hit with a dense mass of stagnant, humid, hot air. By the time I had walked around the cars and reached the spot where the hard top was perched over a stool and a platform of bricks and wood I was already glistening with sweat.

Our neighbor's niece was out washing her car in the driveway opposite of me, but with a looming storm on the horizon, I wasn't so sure of her timing. Safe and dry inside my humble mechanical abode, I settled down to do some sanding on the plexiglass hard top. Practically done with the 3200 grit, I can now move up to the 4000-some grit tomorrow and hopefully onto the 8000-some grit shortly thereafter. I wasn't thinking about that yet, though. The heat was overbearing even with the little ceramic trying to blow out some cold air. I never did open my Pepsi, either. Nevertheless, in a matter of seconds the cold front blasted through the area. Temperatures dropped by nearly 20 degrees as leaves and branches were being blown off of the trees around our yards. I propped open the side door to the garage (lest it blew itself off its hinges) and then opened a couple of the old windows.

As a little aside here, up until a couple of years ago, those windows hadn't been opened for a couple of decades. I knew they could probably open, but I never tried it. Finally one day I gently pushed, progressively pressing harder and harder until the windows opened. In a probably lame way I felt as though I was giving the garage some of its functionality back, and that made me mildly happy. It felt more like a garage, I thought. My next step (someday) will be to clean all of the windows, grease all of the hinges, and repaint the window frames their original color, just to make the garage look better. That will come right before I start trying to shore up the large wooden door---the heavy one that has been on the front of the garage since it was built by my grandfather, his brother, and my father back when my father was young. That's for another day, though, when a few of these other projects have been finished.

Anywho, rain started to pour down from the sky in sheets, so I figured that before I got blown away I would run back home and dry off. That meant nothing was done on the Maxwell, and relatively little was done to the hard top, but that's okay. If need be, the hard top can be affixed to the Vette, and you can see through it well enough. I'll try to tackle some more of both cars tomorrow---depending on the heat---before the car show in the evening, to which we may take the old Corvette. We'll just have to see. She won't move unless I get that gear out of the transmission that I spoke of in the last post---it wouldn't exactly make people "ooh" and "ahh" at a car grinding and groaning its way into the parking lot...

Later on I headed over to a friend's house to watch last weekend's Formula 1 race. It was the British Grand Prix from the legendary Silverstone racetrack, and I must say that it will be quite sad to see the old circuit leave the calendar next year. That's a whole other post, though, if I want to ramble on about the mistakes the FIA, FOTA, and Formula 1 in general have been making lately. Watching the race, though, the night wasn't about greiving for the RAF airfield or about the potential death of F1 as we know it. Instead it was about leaving all of those things in the dust and doing what those drivers are passionate about doing. It was not about the politics, both empty and loaded threats, or punditry. Instead it was about the spectacle---untarnished, harkening back to its roots, and incredibly adored. Even the BBC couldn't resist throwing in a sad piece at the end about the history F1 is losing by leaving the track, but in all it was a good, fun night.

As I was going to leave, my friend and I started talking about our summers and all that this town means to us. What started as a casual parting conversation turned into an hour and a half discussion about many aspects of our lives, and it made me realize a few things about myself, too. At one point he asked me something like "Do you feel like this town is where you're meant to be?" That's a tough question that I really can't explain. Yes, I feel like this town is where my life is and will be for quite some time, but I don't feel that it's the town itself that makes it this way. While away at college I never felt like I had moved away to go to study. I felt instead like I was away for a few months, getting to go home a few times in the process. For me, what this town means to me is that it's where my family resides. It's where I have great memories and good friends. It's where I can come home, golf at a golf course where people know my name, or go up and work in the garage. It's a place where I can be me, and people will actually know me and like me for it (unlike at college, where I can be me, but none of that other stuff really happens). The town itself, though, is not why I feel like I'm meant to be here, nor do I even see myself being here for the future. I know that it will always be my home, but unfortunately we must face the fact that my town is struggling economically, we aren't alluring to new businesses, there aren't opportunities for our youth to have a solid future here, and our city government has not done an ideal job of getting us out of any of these situations.

Despite all of this, though, when I think of where my soul can be true, it's here. I don't feel like my life is in our state capital even if that's where I go to school. Even though I have a small number of friends at school, I don't feel like that's where my friends truly are located. That last statement has had to be rethought, though, for the first time this summer.

I had known that such a scenario would be a possibility, but I just wasn't ready for the fact that this summer so few friends of mine would be returning to my home town. What's more is that the ones who have rarely ever get in contact with me anymore, which is basically like having them gone anyway. Leaning against our cars this evening, talking to my friend really made me realize how much I miss having my old friends, and having them in the way that they were. I suppose this happens to everyone at one time or another, but it has hurt undescribably much when so many people I have been close to have gone away to university only to change so much that they lose touch or choose not to regain contact with me. And unfortunately that's happened with far too many of my old friends. Phone numbers are practically useless with some anymore because they rarely ever respond to texts or calls. Once usual members of gatherings at my house and at others' houses are conspicuously absent anymore for some unknown reason. Valuable friends who I have never stopped liking rarely ever call to say hello or to make dinner plans.

I should say, though, that not everyone has been like this. For those who are close to me, they know that they are some of the few who actually followed my wish never to lose touch. They still know me for who I am, and they still carry with them the memories that forged our friendship over the years. Pulling things full circle, perhaps they are the sport itself---strong, cohesive and healthy---whereas my old friends are like Silverstone was for us this evening: If it weren't for that track, the sport would not have gotten its start, and it definitely would not have been the same if it did. The track's loss is something that should rightfully be mourned due to its history and influence, but the sport will still live on. A lost piece of history will not throw the future into disrepute, but just as with Silverstone, one should not be so sure that the old circuit will never return to the sport. And I truly do await the day when all of my old friends and I can get together again and have things be as they were. Even if this day never comes, I smile imagining what it will be like with old jokes abounding and familiar laughs spawning a gallery of others. It would be worth it even if, for only one moment, all of the past falling outs and changes in lifestyles slipped out of our memories and settled into an empty abyss. For that one moment we could revel in the spectacle of friendship---untarnished once again, harkening back to its roots, and incredibly adored by all who have returned.

Perhaps that day will come, but even if it does not I know that those friendships---some of whom have all but disappeared, some of whom have relocated for the summer in order to do something they love or are passionate to do---have been invaluable in my life, and I couldn't imagine what I would be without them.

The Curse returns...

Went up to the garage this morning. Dad and I had originally planned on taking the old Corvette out for a drive, hoping that our random workings on the speedometer cable would get the gauge working again. We weren't even out of the driveway, though, before we knew that whatever had been done wasn't enough. The gauge sat still, and never did move for the entire trip.

This wasn't really so bad, though, as we really weren't any worse off than we had been. True, I was disappointed that climbing on my head a few times both under the car and under its dash had yielded nothing, but that's okay. It wasn't until we started going up the highway, though, that something went wrong.

More noise had been coming from the transmission since we didn't have the shifter boot on, so it was different hearing all the road noise that you wouldn't normally encounter. After a while, though, I realized that something was amiss. A conspicuous grinding noise could be heard, and this got much louder when we shifted into third gear from first. By the time we had gone another mile and a half, the grinding had gotten quite troubling, so we turned around and headed home. The car seemed to shift fine throughout, and the only thing that we have really changed is taking the speedo gear out of the side of the transmission. This leads me to believe that either the little plastic gear (which isn't designed well in the first place) is out of place by a tooth or two, or its not spinning the wire inside of the speedo cable (the one that leads to the gauge under the dash). I don't know why it would be the latter, but if it were the former I can only hope that I can easily take that gear out, and that it is not completely worn down.

My father is still convinced that we're dumping too much money into a "worthless" thing like a speedometer, and for some reason that I cannot fathom, he is convinced that we'll never need a working speedometer. Ever. Period.

...

Well, even if this is true, I don't think working on that is such a terrible thing. I'm willing to keep contorting myself to fit under the big steering wheel and crawling under the car to get it to work. Then in the meantime I'll keep sanding on that hard top since at this point if we're going to make Goodguys, we won't be able to have a working soft top by then. Hmm...at this pint, though, I'm more inclined to say that the creeping feeling that the car won't make it to Des Moines and back has returned along with---potentially---the curse.

Where was Lou Christie?

One of the most fantastic lightning storms I've seen in a long time prevented me from getting on last night to give the updates that I had talked about. Avoiding idleness, I decided to get the Rebel out and take some pictures of the lightning---I'll try to have those posted today. A couple of close strikes as I drove down the interstate last night proved how very active that storm was, and there are a few videos on Facebook of the lightning as well. Pretty cool stuff.

I plan on going to the garage today and seeing what I can get done. I'll try to sand a little on the Corvette's hard top, then see if I can do anymore on the axle bolts on the Maxwell. Regarding the Vette, the hard top is the one from my father's first '61 that he owned when he was young. Over time the plexiglass in the back has become quite opaque and stained from various chemicals and paints. My dad then discovered a system of sanding (called Micro Mesh) with increasing grit until a paste is applied to the glass that makes it clear again. Currently I've progressed through five or six grits and am up to 3200, but I have quite a ways to go before I get to the final 16,000. It is a great deal of work, but for some elbow grease and $25, it's quite preferable to spending $300 for a new rear window and $75 for each of the small side windows.

Regarding the Maxwell, I said two days ago that I would give an update regarding what all I've done to the car, so I figure now is as good a time as any.

After my friend and I positioned it at the front of the garage a few years ago, my dad and I pulled the car to the back where it's been every since. In that time our first task was to take the fenders off. Through a contact I made back when I was in high school, we sent the front fenders from our car and identical rear fenders from another (less rusty) car to a man who runs an antique machine shop in Indiana. Using machines that are over 100 years old, the gentleman has done a fantastic job of crafting these unusually difficult fenders (which are almost done). Ideally they'll be back to us in a couple of months, in which case we'll try to fit them to the car (just to make sure they're correct), then I'll prime them and store them away. That way they'll be clean and fresh for when we are quite a ways down the road (no pun intended).

Aside from scrubbing rust off of the frame and body panels, I've also polished the brass pieces (and there are quite a few) and placed them in storage out of the elements. After countless hours of research and contacting as many people as I can, I've gotten a much better idea about what kind of car this is, too, and I must say that I don't think there's a classier brass era car like this one anywhere. This car will be gorgeous, and I can't wait to make some headway and see that beauty emerge.

Before the beauty can come, though, there are much more important things on which to focus than cosmetics. My plan is to start at the back of the car and work my way forward, focusing mainly on mechanical aspects of the machine. After all, what good is a beautiful car if it doesn't work? So to start, I've begun removing the rust-covered bolts that hold the rear axle to the frame. This hasn't been easy, as I've already broken one bolt, but I have five of the remaining seven loosened. Even that task is kind of interesting since I doubt these crucial bolts have ever been removed in the car's 99 years of existance. Once I get them out, though, I'll take the axle out from under the car and open it up to make sure that there are no metal shavings or locked pieces inside. Hopefully this outcome will be favorable, as turning the propshaft makes the right rear tire turn quite freely (and vice versa). Still, it's better to be safe than sorry, so I'll proceed with the opening.

Another thing I did a couple of days ago was take off the top plate of the transmission (seen in the picture at left. It's the plate that has the circular plate attached to it). It's something that I've never done before, so I had no idea what the inside would look like. Thankfully, though, the cover came off without a hitch and the gears inside look to be in good shape. It looked like one of the dogs (or perhaps the only dog) is frozen in place, but then again I don't think all the linkages are hooked up outside the car, so it's tough to tell. Turning the transmission end of the driveshaft, though, encouraged two of the gears to move as freely as can be, so that's a very good sign (I hope). I'll pour some oil over the gears to make sure they're semi-protected from rust and that they'll stay free, then I'll have to scrub them to take the rust that's on them off. Replacing the plate, I made sure all bolt holes were either occupied or covered.

From there, I took a small viewing plate off of the back of the engine/transmission (seen to the front of the car from the circular viewing port) so that I could see what I think is the crankshaft. It looked quite shiny and completely rust free, and what's more is that there are a few inches of oil sitting at the bottom of the crank case---the same oil that my late grandfather put in the engine with valuable foresight back in the 1960s. It may not sound like that big a deal, but seeing that made me smile.

I've made this post long enough for now, I'd say, so I'll continue with the efforts that have been done so far in another post. As for tonight, I'll head to the parade and see a couple of friends of mine about trying out a dirt kart (something I've never done before---normally I've only raced asphalt). That should be fun, and this afternoon I'll probably try to golf before it gets very warm. I would have gone this morning, but looming storms made me think otherwise.

Anywho, thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more in the future!

Nearly a Centenarian

No, I do not speak for myself in this title, but instead I'm speaking of the aforementioned Maxwell. Seeing as how I'd like to have part of this blog dedicated to work on the old girl, I thought I'd begin by telling her story.

The Maxwell brand, first off, was only around for a couple of decades in the early 1900s. Making cars out of Tarrytown, Maxwells soon became the epitome of reliability and durability. Alice Ramsay is a name you may want to Google someday, as her story is definitely noteworthy, dealing with a cross-country trip in a Maxwell not too dissimilar from ours. Anywho, in 1910 the classy brass-clad cars were offered in a few body styles. Ours, however, is a Q3. The Q3 was blessed with a beefy (for the time) 22 horsepower engine. It was a righthand drive car with two front seats and a backseat wide enough to fit three adults comfortably. Remember, though, adults in 1910 were, on average, smaller than today's adults. I suppose if the name were allowed to evolve, our Maxwell may be considered a Q2 or Q1 by today's standards...but I digress.

Pictures of Maxwell Q3s are quite scarce, as is information about how to restore them. I intend to change that with this blog, but only time will tell how quickly that can be accomplised. Nevertheless, the story of my Q3 is quite unique. When my father was young back in the late fifties, his father and uncle---both of whom were quite mechanically inclined---had been in talks with a man a couple of hours away who lived on a remote farm. Negotiations had been successful, so the two brothers loaded my father into their car and drove to this man's farm. Here their task was to remove a battered car from underneath a collapsed barn after a storm had swept through the area earlier that year. My father doesn't remember much about the farmer or the car he was unearthing. All he remembers was "getting to crawl around through an old barn that had collapsed, which was a pretty big thing for a kid," as he said.

It took some working over the period of a few days, but my father still remembers finally getting this damaged car---something his father called a Maxwell---totally free from the barn and loaded onto a trailer to take back home. He doesn't remember how much my grandfather paid for the car, but it wasn't a large amount. Either way, the three men returned to the stone garage out of which my grandfather restored cars and placed the injured Maxwell inside. My grandfather then began the arduous task of removing the engine and completely rebuilding it. This was done in the clean atmosphere of his basement, and when he finished he loaded most of the engine with oil to prevent rust, and he put it back in the car. Furthermore, anticipating a lull in work being done on it, he spray painted parts of the frame and engine to stop them from rusting, and kept all of the brass parts in a box inside his house, thus warding off corrosion.

In retrospect, the anticipated lull came, indeed. It came sometime in the late sixties or early seventies and lasted some 30+ years while the Maxwell sat in the remote corner of our garage covered in dust and random car parts. A few years ago, though, I took great interest in the car and persuaded my father to let my friend and I pull it to the front of the garage where we could start to work on it. Eventually he conceded and we cleaned off the car and moved it to where it was accessible. And so began the gargantuan effort that it will take to restore this car. This task alone cannot be left to a single blog post, so I'll only say that this project has been and will be more complex than anything I've ever worked on, which is perhaps ironic whilst dealing with such a simple machine, if you really think about it.

Nevertheless, the car has already come a long way since that day all those years ago. A great deal of research has been done, but there is still so much more to do. In order to continue, though, I've had to immerse myself in a whole other world of antique, brass era automobiles. In doing so I've begun to see the charms of these machines, but I've also seen the rate at which knowledge is disappearing. I tried calling the owners of every other 1910 Maxwell Q3 on Vern's registry yesterday, and out of the six known owners on the list (myself included), four of the six numbers have been disconnected. That is quite worrisome, especially considering most of the current Maxwell owners I do know are not near the same age as I. Some aspects of working on this car need to be done as soon as I possibly can, but with every day that passes some element of time runs out, so I cannot afford to stall. This immeasurable wealth of information needs to be collected now before it is lost forever not just for the history of automobiles worldwide, but for the countless number of people in the future who may wish to do what I'm trying to do right now. Without the very limited resources I have right now, it would seem impossible to restore a Maxwell found in a barn in the future, and that's actually a very sad prospect.

The car turns 100 next year, and I'd like to make some great headway before then, but at this point I'm still unsure how to do that. Tomorrow I'll give an update about what all I've done to the car since pulling it out of the corner, and I'll also try to outline where I'm going from here. Stick around, friends, this will be a challenge.

What Hath God Wrought?

What an interesting prospect a blog is. It allows not only communication in a written sense of ideas and notions across the world, but it allows the writer to divulge otherwise private ruminations about a variety of topics. Granted, my life does not always allow me to have the time to update things like blogs and Facebook and such very often, but it is my intent to do just that here. You see, my last attempt at a blog was only half-hearted, and it did not have the direction that this blog will. It was first to satisfy the desires of an old friend who had recently acquired a similar blog some time before. After that friend moved on and was no longer an acquiantance, I was left with the shell of a site that really had no purpose. Hence, I have come to this.

Woodsie's Garage is not just about cars, you see. Instead, it's about a variety of things involving all things that are complex and can bring frustration and happiness. My passions, as you will all find out, involve many motorized things such as Formula 1---I plan on having a few rants about that incredible spectacle on here from time to time, especially in such turbulent waters that wet the sport these days. I also enjoy car restoration. My endeavors have included such classics as a 1961 Chevrolet Corvette, various small motors, an old tractor, an antique motorcycle, and now the biggest challenge of them all: a 1910 Maxwell motorcar. I intend on having a special section for the Maxwell, as I'd like to keep a running blog on my progress. Just as there aren't many Maxwells on the road anymore, there are even fewer blogs detailing how to go about restoring one. My situation is rather unique in that I've never even seen a completed Maxwell in real life (only in pictures) yet I am trying to rebuild one nonetheless. If nothing else, my trials and tribulations on that old Q3 should be quite a read, as I'm unaware of anyone my age ever having embarked on such a testing endeavor.

But lest I ramble for too long, I'll finish getting this site set up in the meantime. Thanks, everyone, and I look forward to your comments and to entertaining you.

Cheers!