To get close to it, to touch its cold, grimy skin

Ah the sweet smells of summer. The wind, the sun, the grass getting greener everyday. Having been enclosed in the snowglobe that was my university all year, I've been trying to engross myself in as many summer activities as I can as fast as I can.

It's not that I don't enjoy summer to its fullest, it's just that there have been years where it takes me a while to feel summery, and that's quite sad. That's also what I've been trying to combat for the past few days, and I'm happy to report that all has been going well.

I graduated from college on Saturday with my degree in Neuroscience, which is probably deserving of a blog entry in itself. I could go on and on about my travails at university, but for now I'll focus on more pressing (and seasonal) issues. This blog may be a bit random, I'll warn you.

In two and a half weeks I'll be getting my car, and I'm pretty excited about that. My current car in the meantime has been very good to me, so I'm currently feeling a bit guilty. She's been a great car overall, and I know I'll be sad to part with her. The TT is a thrilling prospect, though, and I must say that I've had quite a few visions over the past four weeks of me driving it in various locations---me in the TT going to the store, me in the TT cruising to the capitol to visit friends, me in the TT with the windows down listening to the oldies on a warm Saturday night with its windows down. The Czech man from whom I'm buying it has emailed a couple of times to let me know how the car is doing, much like a homesick mother calling to check on her child. He assures me that the car is fine, and now that his time is limited with it, he's really come to appreciate it. I know exactly what he means, honestly.

On my first two weekdays of break, as I said, I've tried to do as many summery things as I could. Both days I've gone up to The Garage to work. The first day was spent mainly cleaning so that I could get to working on the cars, but that was fun in itself. The longest task of the day, perhaps, was fiddling with the radio to get my oldies station back. I used to listen to the oldies station from our capitol, but I have since abandoned it. When I was a kid they used to play '50s and '60s music generously, and it was quite highbrow when they'd spin one from the early '70s. Nowadays they have designated periods of time every day for tunes from the 1970s and now sprinkle in as many songs from the '60s as they now play from the '80s. It's not that I don't like that music, it's the principle of the thing that gets me. As a result, I've abandoned them and am now a follower of Scott Shannon on the local True Oldies Channel affiliate. I love the mix of the songs that have always echoed through the Garage as well as the local commercials sprinkled in. It's that combination that never fails to make me feel nostalgic; its predictability is a comfort to mark the passing of time (I know when on the hour their commercial breaks fall as well as some bumper music they use before the Voice Track rolls over).

Once I played with the finnicky radio and found the TOC, I got to work sweeping, putting tools away, moving things, cleaning windows, and clearing out a workspace behind the Maxwell. When all of this was said and done, I was finally able to tackle all of the projects that used to run through my head late at night while fervently typing out papers.

My first project was to pull the soft top bows out from the side of the work bench and try to put them together. We had found the small bow that stretches across the frame directly above the car's occupants' heads, and I needed to hook it on. Without C clips, though, I won't be able to, which is fine because we're still working on that metal bracket we had to make that hooks behind the seats in the car. Without that, we won't be able to hook the frame to the car in the first place. I also noticed that it got chipped pretty hard sometime over the winter, so that would require some touch-up work.

After that, I headed back to do some work on the back of the Maxwell. My plan is still to work from back to front on the mechanics of it, so I'm continuing the process of sorting out the rear differential. As it is I'm still a bit nervous at opening it up, so in the meantime I've tilted it rearward and am inspecting the outside parts. I've loosened every bolt on the outside of the case (but haven't taken them off), and I've also found the drain plug for the fluid in the diff. Because it's tilted, no fluid came out, but sometime I'll tilt it forward and collect it (initial drops that got on my fingers seem to indicate that it's just oil inside, but I'm not sure). Today I figured out how to disconnect the driveshaft from the rear axle, which involves taking off little metal rings that are held on with screws. These allow the huge bolts that go into the pivoting mechanism (I'm bad with names of parts on these cars as of right now) on the driveshaft to come out. These will have to be greased before I put them back in. Before then I'll take the entire driveshaft out, run it under the wire brush, prime it, and set it back under the car. I still need the U-bolts that hook the T-shaped front of the driveshaft to the transmission, but I may be able to make those if I can't find them.

After getting the driveshaft off, I'll probably scoot the axle out from under the car (the tires are still attached, as my attempts to get them off failed for some reason) and attack it with degreaser. I'd rather do that than scratch it off with a screwdriver since when I used the latter method I started seeing some swaths of blue paint amidst the gunk. I'm hoping that if I clean it off with degreaser I can save some of the paint (not likely). This is valuable because it tells me that even the axle was blue instead of a heavy-duty black underbody. All of this is helpful.

After I attack it with degreaser I'd like to split the axle and inspect the gears, clean them and put the proper lubrication inside. I've cleaned all of the greasing points (the little metal spring caps that lift to allow you to put lubricant on the diff), so that won't be a problem. The next step after that will be priming the rest of the frame and leaf springs on the rear end before reaffixing the axle to the car. To do this I'll have to get or make more of the U-bolts that hold the two together (since a couple of the 100-year-old ones snapped when removing them for the first time in a century). I'll hook the driveshaft back up, and the rear end will be in good shape. Then I'll move to the transmission, knowing that I'll have to return and do the rear brakes eventually.

So that was a good bit of accomplishments on the old car the past couple of days. I feel like I'll be able to make actual progress in the coming weeks, and that's a fantastic feeling.

I also recently joined a Model T forum, asking the people on there how I might go about getting our 1913 running. They were very generous in their responses and gave me a very good list of things to check, plus some places nearby to get parts if I need them (which I will).

Today I spent some time uncovering the T and dusting it off in order to take some pictures (which I'll post soon), and it was pretty interesting to get close to it, to touch its cold, grimy skin and uncover the shine that was buried beneath. I've never really been close to that car except for when I was a small child and was entranced by the thought of climbing into it as if it were a mysterious cave and wondrous, dilapidated time machine all at once. Donning a painting mask and the oldest clothes I had, I was allowed to climb into it and sit behind the wheel for a few moments, even though I had no notion of what the car meant as a classic automobile or as a future project. I haven't climbed inside since then, although today I opened the right side doors (the left side is against the wall) and lifted the engine cover. I also cranked the engine over a couple of times, which thankfully spun freely. It invigorated me thinking that someday I'll turn that crank and the four cylinder engine that powers my own Tin Lizzie will fire to life for the first time in half a century.

Come tomorrow morning I'll be back up in the garage, my scratched and bloodied arms set to delve further into the numerous projects I have. I'll have more updates tomorrow (hopefully in blog form) and also some pictures of my updates on the Maxwell and Model T. Until then, thanks for reading!

Just Enough to Elicit Pure "American Graffiti"

Last week a family friend of mine passed away from complications of cancer. His name was Larry Lamb, and with his passing his family didn't just lose a fantastically loved husband, father and grandfather, but the world lost a true car guy. He was of a thinning herd of the original hot rodders who chopped top, low slung machines prowled the streets during warm summer nights. And with Larry's passing, I think a little of everyone who has ever appreciated a hand crafted automobile dies a little. Believe me when I say, too, that this isn't just about losing a man who liked cars. I've known him for years, and my parents knew him longer. He was a hard worker and a great father. His love of his family was exemplified just a fortnight before he passed away when his family and he took a series of stirring professional portraits. Still afflicted by his cancer, Larry's face was truly free of pain or exhaustion as he posed with his wife, children and grandchildren. At the visitation his wife told us that having those pictures taken was one of the best decisions of their lives.

As I knew him, Larry lived in a very small town a few miles from mine. Ever a tinkerer, he had been working on cars since he was young. He'd done everything from classic Bel Airs to station wagons. A man of my own heart, he had a few cars stored in his small garage/barn that were always next on his list of projects. In his main shop, though, were his favorite cars. One was a 1959 Mercury and the other was an early '40s Ford. The Mercury had been gorgeously customized, not so much that you lose the essence of the car, but just enough to elicit pure American Graffiti. Intricately tuned, a Mercury Rocket engine sat beneath the meticulously polished flowing hood.

The Ford looked like a cross between a classic '60s hot rod and a purpose-built speedster. Larry had found it rotting away in a farm field before hoisting it onto a flatbed, bringing to that shop, straightening everything out on it and making it come alive again. It was in this car that he made treks to the Bonneville Salt Flats---some of the better moments of his and his wife's time together. During one moment of conversation between my father, him and me, he had his Ford up on the hydraulic lift and was pulling pieces of salt from underneath the running boards, handing it to me as if it were a trophy he'd won.

Every time we would go talk to him out in his shop, Oldies would be playing softly on the radio, the tunes that so regularly echo in our Garage wafting around the black and white pictures that adorned his walls of people, places and cars he's encountered. Tin signs commemorate his road trips with friends and clubs across the United States, and his pegboards and tools cover most of another wall. His shop was definitely a shop rather than the type of garage we have. It had little extraneous storage and was all about function. He kept it fairly clean, but he couldn't win the battle against overcrowding, whether it be from parts or tools (he had plenty of both).

Something I can't get out of my mind, though, is the fact that Larry's breed of hot rodder and car guy is slowly drifting away, getting smaller and smaller each year. Nowhere is this illustrated more than at the Goodguys show (the one to which we took the '61). Every year since the first year I've gone I notice fewer and fewer younger builders and roughly the same group of traditional builders. Disconcertingly the latter's numbers have been decreasing slowly, and the rate of newcomers is very slow. I take pride in the fact that I'm carrying on this tradition, this livelihood, and it saddens me to think that someday that mentality and type of person will no longer be around.

This isn't to say that car customization is disappearing completely. As any art form it's just changing. The tuner revolution in the last couple of decades is changing the face of car guys, but without the classics that made the original '50s and '60s revolutions so unique, I think the cornerstone of hot rodding is lost. That's partially why the pre-'60s hot rods interest me so much more than the late '60s and '70s; just like with our '61 Corvette, there were relatively few made. Those that had them loved them, and those that remain are treasured. When you reach the muscle car era, they were easily making 10,000 or 20,000 cars a year, and those numbers increased as you transition out of the 1960s and into the 1970s. Yes, I like Barracudas and Chargers and Camaros, but do they really impress me like a well-done '47 Mercury or a hand-tailored '40 Ford? Absolutely not. I can appreciate the work put into it (that's something that car guys will say transcends years, makes or models), but the car itself just doesn't do it for me.

But I digress. I cannot put down the art as it changes form into today's world of customizing, but I can certainly lament losing the very foundations of every car maker's hobbies, professions or lives. Someday I won't be one of the youngest people at a car show to appreciate old cars, I'll be one of the oldest. And what's weirder is that someday the "classic" cars sitting at the fairgrounds or driving in parades may be the very cars driving on our roads today. Do they have the same magic or charisma as the heavy-grilled Pontiacs and Chryslers? Not a tenth. But someday they'll be considered old and people may change their fenders and engines, paint them expressively and call them their 'hot rods.' I received an eerie preview of this at a recent 'car show' that came to my town. With an entry fee, nearly anyone could enter a car. What struck me out of the several hundred cars there was that the oldest one was a late '60s make. Everything else were '70s, '80s and even some '90s cars. I couldn't believe it. Yes there were some well-done Mustangs and Firebirds, but I was extremely disappointed in both the turnout and the ensuing atmosphere. If that's the future of hot rodding, it only motivates me more to take care of the '61 and complete the Maxwell. If I don't, Lord knows who will (or, more likely will never).

Larry's visitation earlier this week was well attended by many people, some of whom wore hot rod club shirts or racing attire. Photo albums sat on the dark stained wood tables showing him tinkering with his automobiles over the years in happier---and healthier---days. Most poignantly, though, were that his Ford and Mercury sat just outside of the funeral home door underneath the metal awning and out of the rain. The cold wind blew some of the falling drops onto their bumpers, seemingly throwing tears about where you'd expect them to be if cars had faces. I imagine---tears or not---that they, too, were mourning the loss of their best friend and caretaker, the man who had given both of them life. I imagine he'll miss them as well, especially since cars like that have an uncanny ability to give their owners such satisfaction and happiness. Any car guy will agree with that. More importantly, though, everyone who knew Larry Lamb would agree that he was dearly loved and truly will be missed.

The Details of the Craftsmanship

If I were actually an outside reader of this blog (of which there may be one or two poor souls), I would be inclined to think that Woodsie was dead. Certainly from the frequency of which blogs have been posted it would appear that someone so eager to work on and report on old cars and racing must be dead or else he would have published something earlier. Well, contrary to popular belief I have not been dead nor have I been excommunicated or detained for unwittingly chasing a small rabbit across the Iran border. No, the factors influencing the blog frequency have been slightly more normal (like summer class, medical school applications, radio stuff and current schoolwork). Nonetheless, I'm trying to get myself caught up on all of the many topics that have run through my head since June about which I'd like to write.

For now, though, a brief update. My time that I can spend working on the Maxwell and Corvette have been pretty limited, normally to weekends now that school has commenced again. As a result I can't spend a great deal of time doing something as intensive as opening the rear axle of the Maxwell or affixing the new brackets and soft top frame to the '61. Instead we have been trying to appeal to the Garage's needs first. My father decided a couple of weeks ago that our incessant sweeping of the earthen-looking floor up there wasn't working, so we decided to power wash the concrete. It was a mildly interesting experience peeling back layers of dirt and loose concrete; I began to see old dried paint from the many years my dad used to paint cars for extra money. There was some Roman Red from the Corvette and some silver from my car. There were also countless colors belonging to cars that had been born and sold from the Garage's confines long before I was a fleeting thought in my parents' minds. In the end, though, it was nice to get the floor looking good again (well, as best the uneven floor can these days).

When I wasn't doing that or some other random cleaning task (like moving the old Maxwell fenders off the floor before the winter), I would periodically go back and work on the Maxwell. I began by employing the incredibly powerful carb cleaner that comes in a bucket. I took the oiling caps from the rear axle, originally covered with black grease and dirt, and I put them in the metal basket that gets dipped into the solution. After leaving the caps for anywhere from 15-30 minutes, I would remove them, douse in water and wipe off, and voila! I would have shiny caps again! It was pretty neat, but more importantly it was easy. No spraying or wire-brushing, just dunk and leave!

While the caps were off I would scrape the rust off and apply some spray paint, and overall I'm happy with the product so far. Over time the car gets more and more covered with protective rust, and it's neat to see the car for what it is, not what it looks like covered in distracting rust that blurs the details of the craftsmanship. After all, thus far I've found the car living up to its old tagline of "Perfectly Simple, Simply Perfect." I couldn't agree more, even though I'm yet to understand how this car can come to life when it's all put together.

Oh well, that's for another post. This was just a teaser, though, for what's to come. Now off to bed!

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!