Oh my goodness.
It's been quite a while since I've written in this blog (nearly a month, in fact), and today I can definitely say that the fantastic Formula 1 race has moved me to add another piece.
It's kind of ironic, actually. When I first started this blog I (erroneously) thought I'd have enough time and opportunities to write both what happens in The Garage and what happens in the racing world. Thus far I've done a little of the former and none of the latter. I feel it would be a travesty, though, to let such a brilliant race slip by unnoticed in the annals of this collection; for what we saw today was the culmination of quite a bit of work aimed at changing the face of the sport. Today, we saw the fruits of that labor.
I'm not going to say that the state of F1 is perfect the way it is right now. No, no. It's far from it. When Jenson and Lewis will be paid a combined $175 million for their efforts at McLaren, or when the teams at the back of the grid are undergoing a rabid trial by fire to make it to the green flag each race, F1 is still not fixed. Saying it like that makes it seem as though I'm accusing it of being broken, which I also don't think is the truth. I've loved the sport since I first saw it, even when its harshest critics walked away in droves after the USGP in 2005 or when lack of on-track passing prompted many to label the races as boring. While I can see their points, I've never felt this way. But apparently in the past few years the head brass of the FIA have, and thus the tweaking began.
Every year they've tried to snatch downforce from these brilliant aerodynamicists (who are always able to claw it back). They've changed the tyres. They've changed the engines. They've changed the qualifying. On and on and on. But now that most of those changes seem old hat to fans now, the newest changes come to the forefront: The return of KERS, the new Pirelli tyres and the DRS.
Addressing them in order, I've been mixed about the Kinetic Energy Recovery System. While I can see how some would argue that it's road-car-relevant, at this point it's become an overtaking device both for the act and for preventing it. Yes some cars are investigating and even starting to employ similar systems, but in the world of cost cutting and budget issues, investing loads of cash into this was a bit much to me. But what does it do to the racing? As we've seen this season (now that nearly everyone has it), it hasn't been half bad. True there's still the chance of severe electrocution or noxious fumes like the ones that poured out of Kimi's Ferrari a while back, but overall it's made a difference. Red Bull claims it's 0.3 seconds per lap for these six seconds of 80 extra horsepower. The weight of the system is what prevents that number from being more advantageous, but in a world where millions are poured into tenths, that 0.3 doesn't look too shabby.
Pirelli have also been under the criticizing eye of the public since the start of the season, and for them it's been a mixed bag. No one expected them to jump right into the pinnacle of motor sports and deliver cracking tyres that are on the level with Bridgestone, but through the help of vets like Nick Heidfeld and Pedro de la Rosa, the Italians have done a good job. The glaring issue that's plagued them so far this season was exemplified off the racing line in Shanghai: These tyres wear heavily. You'll be hard pressed in most races this year to run a two-stopper, and the thought of a one-stop race is basically out of the question. To me, though, I love this. Now it goes back to the skill of the driver. Can he command the most out of his car while protecting most of his rubber? In pressure situations, can he keep his cool and not scrub off their speed or flat spot them into oblivion? It definitely spices things up.
Gnawing at the back of my mind, though, is the fact that one Bernard Ecclestone said something very similar long ago. I rarely submit and say that the man was 100% correct, but whether you agree with his brash nature, his scathing and often cutthroat comments or not, Ecclestone knows what's right more often than not. (Don't even get me started on his ridiculous ideas of artificial rain.) He had said that it will be good to have tyres that aren't very good because then you'll get chaos. You'll have scrambling and strategy adjustment. You'll have three-, four- or five-stop races. Orders will be mixed and the racing will be more exciting. And damnit, I'm afraid he's dead right on this one. That said, I'd be fine if Pirelli never change their compounds from here on out. So what if the drivers complain? Like I've said before, they're supposed to be the best in the world. They're paid to drive the cars. Heading into this season some said pushing a few extra buttons would be tough for them. Then it's tough! Let them prove themselves, and let the best ones win. I think Pirelli are doing that in more ways than one.
The other day someone asked me what I thought of the Drag Reduction System, and the first thought that came to my head was "It's gimmicky." I still hold to that statement, but that doesn't mean I don't like it. Technologically it's phenomenal: A system that can instantaneously remove 100 lbs of downforce from the cars that can only be used if you're the trailing car and are within one second of another car on a certain part of the track? A system that, once deployed, snaps back to its normal configuration within 0.05 seconds of when you press the brake? Wow. Just the engineering to make that work makes my head spin. But the more important thing to think about, especially if you're a critic of the DRS, is that fans are getting their wish.
How many times have you heard people gripe for the past ten years (heck, the past 20!) about how the cars have too much downforce. The aero is disrupted when you're too close to the car in front of you, and the cars stick to the ground so much easier now. The days of the 1971 Monza-type races are gone. Blah blah blah. By slipping the DRS into the rules this year, Formula 1 has given the fans back the days of close following and slipstreaming while not giving so much that the spectacle decays into a Talladega-like draft-fest. Watching Hamilton hunt Vettel today was something of beauty, but part of the tension came from the fact that you knew he was close enough to use both the KERS and DRS when they hit that backstretch. From there it would be Hamilton's slingshot versus Vettel's KERS and an impossibly fast Adrian Newey masterpiece. The on-screen graphics showed the speed differentials when Webber was slicing and dicing his way through the field, and his speeds would be 10 or 15 kph higher than the other car's. You knew he had the speed, and from there it's down to the skill of the driver to use it accordingly. To me that's fascinating and enthralling.
What the KERS and DRS do is, ultimately, spice up the show. Their gimmicky-ness aside, I almost hate to admit, but they're doing their jobs. China was fantastic. Even some of the F1 drivers like Lotus tester Karun Chandhok said that this was the best dry race they've seen in a long time, not just for the fact that we actually saw the wunderkind Vettel get passed on track for the lead (in an incident that wasn't at the start of the race or due to an accident/mechanical failure). Watching the race today we said that to catch Vettel Hamilton would have to drive the car, not just drive it. He would have to utilize his tools, mind his tyres and attack the once-untouchable German. And by God, he did. We said the same about Webber if he hoped to climb up from the depths of the grid, and even though he didn't have KERS, Webber drove what was probably the drive of the entire race. Unbelievable.
It's not that before this race I hadn't noticed how the changes of recent years have affected the sport, it's just that today it was most purely exemplified in a spectacle that basically defined why I love Formula 1. The racing was pure, there weren't accidents galore like the ones that have come to define IndyCar this year. There weren't competition, debris or full-course cautions today to bunch up the field to create a false fantastic finish like at Talladega. This was a race that was uninterrupted. This was a race that featured the most technologically-advanced cars on the planet racing within seconds of each other despite being made completely different from every other car. This was a race that had action, suspense, seething talent and a worldwide television audience in the hundreds of millions to watch. This is the sport I love. This is what Formula 1 should always be.
17 April, 2011
19 February, 2011
This was the genesis of "The Intimidator"
Ten years ago yesterday I was a younger boy, still a preteen, passively watching the Daytona 500 with my dad. At this point in my life I was a big sports fan, but I had not yet fostered/discovered my love for open wheeled motor sport. My mom was in the corner bedroom. When the crash happened, it looked like any other typical Daytona restrictor plate crash with cars sliding, hitting the wall, hitting each other, etc. I halfway remember the long pause in resuming the race, but I didn't know it was because of the medical team needing to take extra time in the infield. A short time later, both my dad and I were shocked to learn that Dale Earnhardt was dead.
I remember running into the bedroom to tell my mom, as the ESPN ticker was already scrolling constant updates about Earnhardt's death. Outside of that, though, I don't remember much more of that day. Later Dale's son would address the media by stoically saying that he'd cried for his father, but only to help himself feel better. People said Dale would have preferred to die on the track instead of in a road car or anywhere else, and I suppose they were right.
As young as I was, I don't think I fully grasped the importance of what just happened. At this point in my life I wasn't familiar with NASCAR or Earnhardt, and I certainly had even less knowledge of death in motor sports. As far as deaths in mainstream motor sport, NASCAR is still up there in terms of being dangerous. Earnhardt was its last death on the track in a Sprint Cup/Winston Cup race. In the U.S., only the IndyCar series has had more frequent deaths (namely in the lead up to the Indy 500). This is, of course, discounting the still very vulnerable drivers in Sprint Cars.
What I also didn't wholly understand was the legendary status that Earnhardt had carved for himself and would continue to develop posthumously, even today. It was fascinating to see NASCAR go through the same sort of safety revelation that Formula 1 went through after its last (to date) death in 1994, when the even more legendary (and no less controversial) Ayrton Senna was killed at Imola on the sport's darkest weekend in modern times. Suddenly open-faced helmets were gone. HANS devices became mandatory, the cabin size changed (especially with the Car of Tomorrow) to accommodate the driver better and give him/her more padding, and more anti-roll flaps appeared on the cars. SAFER barriers began to be installed, and arguably the face of the sport did too.
When Dale Jr. won at Daytona later that year (something I also vaguely recall watching), he simultaneously carved out a bit of a legend for himself as well. He won legions of his father's fans over to him, and many fans who were new to the sport jumped on his sentimental bandwagon. Most of his father's crew joined him for the next couple of years, but after they were left/were fired, Dale Jr.'s winning percentage plummeted.
Even today Earnhardt Sr.'s son remains NASCAR's most popular driver (through fan polls) despite only winning a single-digit number of times in the past few years. Some of his fans were given glimmers of hope when he won the pole for the Daytona 500 tomorrow, but a practice crash means he's now relegated to start at the back of the pack. This isn't to say his chances are over, though. Especially with the draft-fest that Daytona always is, it's possible to move through the field relatively easily compared to other tracks. In order to do that, though, he'll have to slice his way by 42 other cars while simultaneously avoiding the inevitable crashes that ridiculous restrictor plate racing always causes. He'll probably have to employ some of his father's dubious tactics of pushing people out of the way to get to the front too.
And as an aside, that's something I'd like to address. It's an aspect of Earnhardt Sr.'s life that too many people simplify or forget altogether. For the duration of his career, Dale Earnhardt was a dirty racer. He was a cheat. He certainly wasn't the type whose car fails inspection after the race (only to get to keep the victory but have his crew chief suspended for the next race...). He was, even by his own admission, the kind of guy with whom you could get wheel-to-wheel only to find yourself in the wall the next second. I can't even count the number of times this happened, and everyone from Richard Petty to Darryl Waltrip will reaffirm this. Many times it was blatant, but sometimes he made it look very accidental. Either way, the post-crash or post-race interview was the same: A coy response coupled with a sly smile. This was partially why people loved him. This was the genesis of "The Intimidator."
A few people exacted their revenge on him, but his reaction was the same as described above. It is perhaps a touch of irony, then, that in his final race he was actually driving defensively, as the two cars leading the race ahead of him were cars that he owned (including the one of his son). He was settling in, driving as clean a race as he could to avoid cautions, and yet a freak accident took his life.
Much like Senna's death in '94, mystery surrounded (and still partially does surround) Earnhardt's death. A fracture at the base of his skull was the official cause at the hands of a broken safety belt (something the belt manufacturer disputed). Either way, there's no doubt in my mind that his refusal to wear both a closed-face helmet and a HANS device contributed in some way to his death (especially the lack of a Head and Neck Support device). After all, at first glance the crash doesn't look that bad. Look at some of the crashes from the years before, some of the rollovers and some of the monster pileups. Guys walked away from those. Some just got bruises. Yet this seemingly tame crash killed Dale Earnhardt, the seemingly invincible driver.
What also bothers me these days is the uneducated fan support, especially in the run-up to tomorrow's Daytona 500. Quite a few people nowadays (especially with NASCAR's current, weirdly unique demographic) never saw Earnhardt Sr. in his prime. They only know him toward the end of his career, and they know his son from when he used to win a few races. Yet they elevate him to demigod status and praise what a great driver he was and would have been. And that's fine to speculate. His seven Winston Cup championships lend credence to that, too. But what I think many confuse is their love of him and their love of his legacy.
Earnhardt the man was very different from Earnhardt the legend. The truth about the confidential Dale was that he was serious as can be about the racing aspect of his life, but he loved to be on the farm and some of his more demure hobbies. Perhaps it's more fitting that this legend, as all good legends do, has some mythos involved alongside some smudged memories. In the eyes of his faithful, he was a strong-willed driver who refused to be pushed aside. He was larger than life and was not above getting revenge unabashedly. I suppose in that respect it's fine to ignore the drama, the feuds, the potentially life-threatening moves he pulled on people, and only focus on what he did for his fans. For no matter what anyone says, no matter how right they may be, Dale Earnhardt was NASCAR for many people, and he always will be. Classy or not, he brought an excitement that is rarely matched on the tedious Sprint Cup calendar, one that probably won't be seen again given the league's penchant for safety and dispelling personal grudges between drivers. And honestly, I'm fine with that.
I respect the man for his records and the fanbase he built, but I do not respect how he did it in all cases, and I certainly don't condone his driving style. While the intimidating revenge-seeker is appealing to some, for me it's far too NASCAR "trading paint" "rubbin' is racin'"-esque. It's one thing to win a race, but it's entirely another to push the guy out of the way and get by him. Perhaps that's why I only watch the Daytona 500 out of respect for motor sport and curious fascination with the event that some erroneously claim is the biggest race in the United States. Yes, being able to draft is a skill, but is a race where 40+ cars follow each other nose to tail around such a large oval that you never have to use the brake exciting to me? No. The Daytona 500 is a strategy race where no single person can win it alone. He has to have a drafting partner or else he plummets in the order, regardless of whether his solo laps were faster than any person's out there. Regardless of whether his team masterfully set up his car better than anyone else. And I think that's a little sad.
That's not to say that the ending won't be exciting. NASCAR has more cautions than you can shake a stick at, so of course the cars are bound to be bunched up at the finish. How many debris cautions will there be tomorrow? You can bet at least one or two. But if you're refuting this, then ask yourself, when that caution does come out, why does it take more than one lap of a 2.5 mile track for one person to sprint to the piece of debris, pick it up, and sprint back? I've never understood this.
But I digress. Tomorrow is sure to be a touching day, one driven by emotions and tributes. Honestly, I wouldn't mind seeing Dale Jr. do well. He's not a consistent race winner anyway, and if there was ever a race to win, this planets-aligned event would be a good one. No doubt his father and grandfather's spirits will be there pushing him on. No matter what happens, though, let's hope for a clean race and a safe one, as well.
I remember running into the bedroom to tell my mom, as the ESPN ticker was already scrolling constant updates about Earnhardt's death. Outside of that, though, I don't remember much more of that day. Later Dale's son would address the media by stoically saying that he'd cried for his father, but only to help himself feel better. People said Dale would have preferred to die on the track instead of in a road car or anywhere else, and I suppose they were right.
As young as I was, I don't think I fully grasped the importance of what just happened. At this point in my life I wasn't familiar with NASCAR or Earnhardt, and I certainly had even less knowledge of death in motor sports. As far as deaths in mainstream motor sport, NASCAR is still up there in terms of being dangerous. Earnhardt was its last death on the track in a Sprint Cup/Winston Cup race. In the U.S., only the IndyCar series has had more frequent deaths (namely in the lead up to the Indy 500). This is, of course, discounting the still very vulnerable drivers in Sprint Cars.
What I also didn't wholly understand was the legendary status that Earnhardt had carved for himself and would continue to develop posthumously, even today. It was fascinating to see NASCAR go through the same sort of safety revelation that Formula 1 went through after its last (to date) death in 1994, when the even more legendary (and no less controversial) Ayrton Senna was killed at Imola on the sport's darkest weekend in modern times. Suddenly open-faced helmets were gone. HANS devices became mandatory, the cabin size changed (especially with the Car of Tomorrow) to accommodate the driver better and give him/her more padding, and more anti-roll flaps appeared on the cars. SAFER barriers began to be installed, and arguably the face of the sport did too.
When Dale Jr. won at Daytona later that year (something I also vaguely recall watching), he simultaneously carved out a bit of a legend for himself as well. He won legions of his father's fans over to him, and many fans who were new to the sport jumped on his sentimental bandwagon. Most of his father's crew joined him for the next couple of years, but after they were left/were fired, Dale Jr.'s winning percentage plummeted.
Even today Earnhardt Sr.'s son remains NASCAR's most popular driver (through fan polls) despite only winning a single-digit number of times in the past few years. Some of his fans were given glimmers of hope when he won the pole for the Daytona 500 tomorrow, but a practice crash means he's now relegated to start at the back of the pack. This isn't to say his chances are over, though. Especially with the draft-fest that Daytona always is, it's possible to move through the field relatively easily compared to other tracks. In order to do that, though, he'll have to slice his way by 42 other cars while simultaneously avoiding the inevitable crashes that ridiculous restrictor plate racing always causes. He'll probably have to employ some of his father's dubious tactics of pushing people out of the way to get to the front too.
And as an aside, that's something I'd like to address. It's an aspect of Earnhardt Sr.'s life that too many people simplify or forget altogether. For the duration of his career, Dale Earnhardt was a dirty racer. He was a cheat. He certainly wasn't the type whose car fails inspection after the race (only to get to keep the victory but have his crew chief suspended for the next race...
A few people exacted their revenge on him, but his reaction was the same as described above. It is perhaps a touch of irony, then, that in his final race he was actually driving defensively, as the two cars leading the race ahead of him were cars that he owned (including the one of his son). He was settling in, driving as clean a race as he could to avoid cautions, and yet a freak accident took his life.
Much like Senna's death in '94, mystery surrounded (and still partially does surround) Earnhardt's death. A fracture at the base of his skull was the official cause at the hands of a broken safety belt (something the belt manufacturer disputed). Either way, there's no doubt in my mind that his refusal to wear both a closed-face helmet and a HANS device contributed in some way to his death (especially the lack of a Head and Neck Support device). After all, at first glance the crash doesn't look that bad. Look at some of the crashes from the years before, some of the rollovers and some of the monster pileups. Guys walked away from those. Some just got bruises. Yet this seemingly tame crash killed Dale Earnhardt, the seemingly invincible driver.
What also bothers me these days is the uneducated fan support, especially in the run-up to tomorrow's Daytona 500. Quite a few people nowadays (especially with NASCAR's current, weirdly unique demographic) never saw Earnhardt Sr. in his prime. They only know him toward the end of his career, and they know his son from when he used to win a few races. Yet they elevate him to demigod status and praise what a great driver he was and would have been. And that's fine to speculate. His seven Winston Cup championships lend credence to that, too. But what I think many confuse is their love of him and their love of his legacy.
Earnhardt the man was very different from Earnhardt the legend. The truth about the confidential Dale was that he was serious as can be about the racing aspect of his life, but he loved to be on the farm and some of his more demure hobbies. Perhaps it's more fitting that this legend, as all good legends do, has some mythos involved alongside some smudged memories. In the eyes of his faithful, he was a strong-willed driver who refused to be pushed aside. He was larger than life and was not above getting revenge unabashedly. I suppose in that respect it's fine to ignore the drama, the feuds, the potentially life-threatening moves he pulled on people, and only focus on what he did for his fans. For no matter what anyone says, no matter how right they may be, Dale Earnhardt was NASCAR for many people, and he always will be. Classy or not, he brought an excitement that is rarely matched on the tedious Sprint Cup calendar, one that probably won't be seen again given the league's penchant for safety and dispelling personal grudges between drivers. And honestly, I'm fine with that.
I respect the man for his records and the fanbase he built, but I do not respect how he did it in all cases, and I certainly don't condone his driving style. While the intimidating revenge-seeker is appealing to some, for me it's far too NASCAR "trading paint" "rubbin' is racin'"-esque. It's one thing to win a race, but it's entirely another to push the guy out of the way and get by him. Perhaps that's why I only watch the Daytona 500 out of respect for motor sport and curious fascination with the event that some erroneously claim is the biggest race in the United States. Yes, being able to draft is a skill, but is a race where 40+ cars follow each other nose to tail around such a large oval that you never have to use the brake exciting to me? No. The Daytona 500 is a strategy race where no single person can win it alone. He has to have a drafting partner or else he plummets in the order, regardless of whether his solo laps were faster than any person's out there. Regardless of whether his team masterfully set up his car better than anyone else. And I think that's a little sad.
That's not to say that the ending won't be exciting. NASCAR has more cautions than you can shake a stick at, so of course the cars are bound to be bunched up at the finish. How many debris cautions will there be tomorrow? You can bet at least one or two. But if you're refuting this, then ask yourself, when that caution does come out, why does it take more than one lap of a 2.5 mile track for one person to sprint to the piece of debris, pick it up, and sprint back? I've never understood this.
But I digress. Tomorrow is sure to be a touching day, one driven by emotions and tributes. Honestly, I wouldn't mind seeing Dale Jr. do well. He's not a consistent race winner anyway, and if there was ever a race to win, this planets-aligned event would be a good one. No doubt his father and grandfather's spirits will be there pushing him on. No matter what happens, though, let's hope for a clean race and a safe one, as well.
Problem solved, right? Not so much.
I've finally been gifted a rather uneventful weekend, and I'm trying to take the most advantage of it that I can. And what a weekend it's already been. I may have to break this into two readable posts, as there's a multitude of automobile news as well as racing news to address. Honestly, I'm just glad to post anything at this point given my lack of posting recently. I assure you, though, there have been good reasons.
I'll start with my car, the Pontiac Grand Prix. It's been an interesting car over the years, bought shortly after my sophomore year of high school. Within a few months we had to replace the transmission for a cool $2,500. Since then we've had to replace some tires, hubcaps (they're cheap plastic, so that's not a big deal), the brakes and pads, I had to repaint it because the paint had cancer and was falling off, the headlights (both bulbs and fixtures), the fog lamps (but they're still out), and I still have water that collects inside my headlamps from time to time. That's not quite as bad as the water that sometimes collects in the passenger side footwell, but that's another story.
More recently, though, I've been going through quite a bit of antifreeze. The light came on pretty frequently for low coolant, but I would keep adding more. Eventually pools of the green stuff began collecting under my car when I'd leave it outside for a while, and as the weather got colder I'd notice that I didn't have heat. I took the car to Kevin at the local garage. He's a great guy who always gives us an honest opinion. He went to kindergarten with my mom, and he's known my dad for decades. He looked for the coolant leak and found it in a little hose coming off the engine. He replaced it, but warned me that my intake manifold was bad and that some coolant has been leaking into my engine. I should keep track of any green streaks in my oil in the future.
So I kept driving it, but I kept losing antifreeze. We took the car back to Kevin who replaced the intake manifold for around $550. The cheap gaskets that Pontiac has been notorious for using in those cars were giving up the ghosts as well. When I drove the car back to college, I had a powerful heating system finally flex its muscle and an absence of a "Low Coolant" light. I thought we were in good shape.
In two days, I went outside to drive my car to the hospital where I volunteer. Lo and behold, the light was on again. I drove it a couple of miles and it went off, but I was still cautious. A couple of days later there was a pool under my car again, but thankfully that's the last time it did that. I turned the car on to open the thermostat, but when I went to add the antifreeze, I was somehow getting sprayed every once in a while. Upon closer inspection, the serpentine belt had been doused with coolant from somewhere, and as it reached the highest point in its path around the engine's side, it was throwing droplets at me, almost as a defense mechanism. This was not a good sign.
I kept adding some more antifreeze, but a few days ago I was mystified when I heard a fast-paced clicking coming from the engine when I revved around 2,000 RPM. When I stuck my head under the hood and had the engine revved, the click sounded like a squeak up close, and it was coming from the right side of the engine (around the belt). At first I thought it may have been a lose belt, but it sounded more like something that the belt was turning instead.
When I drove the car the next day, the squeak was gone as I drove to the hospital. On the way back, though, it returned a bit louder and at 1,500 RPM this time. This was not a good sign either. The light wasn't on, and the clicking increased in speed the more I revved. It was not gear-dependent or speed-dependent, but it was certainly rev-dependent.
Complicating issues was that we were having a warm spell in the weather (something I certainly wasn't complaining about), so I never had to turn on the heat to see if it worked. By the time it cooled down, though, the squeak was active at 1,000 RPM and even appeared occasionally at idle. And I didn't have heat.
So this weekend I've come back to my hometown and I took my car back to Kevin. It took him all of two hours to call me back and let me know that my suspicions had been absolutely correct: It was the water pump. The good news is that it's a pretty quick fix. The bad news is, it cost another $120. He completed it yesterday and got it back to me this morning. Problem solved, right?
Not so much.
When I got in the car this morning, I turned it on to see the "Low Coolant" light (which doesn't bother me. It was just taken apart; there's probably air in the lines) and the "ABS" and "Trac Off" lights on. The combination of the latter two, according to the manual, says I need to "service the brakes," but that light came on last year shortly before my dad and I replaced the brakes and pads, so I knew that couldn't be it. Kevin came out and hooked his computer up to it, but it didn't show an error. So he went back inside and got his giant computer, hooked it up and we drove down the block. Cycling through his options he learned that my right front wheel speed sensor was inactive. In other words, at 10 mph, three wheel sensors are telling the car's computer that the wheels are turning at 10 mph. My right front read 0 mph. It's not a detrimental thing, but it automatically turns off my ABS and traction control.
"The good thing is, winter's over, so you shouldn't be needing traction control again," Kevin smiled. Never mind the fact that ABS may be used at any moment of any day in any weather, but oh well. He told me that sometime we could get it replaced, but there was good and bad news here, too. The good news for him is that replacing it involves an easy replacement of the whole hub of the wheel, bearing and sensors. The bad news? It'll cost $200.
So this presents a conundrum to me. At best, my car is worth $2,000, yet at the time when it was worth $3,000, we put $2,500 in for the transmission. In the last month alone we've put in $700, and at this point my mom is saying that we just need to fix the car, sell it and buy a new one. For those who know me, this is not an easy thing to do, as I've grown quite attached to my car (especially after painting it like I did). But honestly, I'm afraid that I'm starting to agree with my mom. The car's been great for me, and I love it to death when it works, but eventually I have to ask when pumping more money into it will stop making more sense than buying a more reliable car and being done with it.
Given my family's recent propensity for all-wheel-drive cars (for my dad driving 35 miles to work at 4:00am every day in the winter), my mom is leaning toward getting an AWD replacement for the Grand Prix. And after having spectacular headlights in both the Jaguar and (especially) the Audi, she wants to make sure I have good headlights, too.
I'm in favor of being able to see and being safe, but it's a bit sad that my car can't do that for me. In terms of which car will? That's another question. The leading candidate in my mom's eye (mainly for its coolness value and relatively cheap price for an old one) is the Audi TT. I must confess that I love Audi's build quality, and it's definitely a sporty looking car. Don't let looks define it, though. It's a monstrously heavy vehicle, partially because of its AWD. It also has a relatively lightweight sub-250hp engine, so it's not the fastest or most nimble (many complain of its understeer). The boys of Top Gear lambasted it for how its owners use the car as a status symbol and must get gussied up before driving it, similar to how a young boy nervously prepares for his first date. I take their assessment with a grain of salt, though, as Jeremy Clarkson has always had a humorous thing against Audis, their owners, and Germans.
I do like the car, even though its backseat is almost nonexistent. The good news is, the seats fold down, and because of its hatchback-like tail, you can probably fit more people comfortably in the trunk than into the backseat. But anyway, this post is long enough. That's where I am right now. My dad seems quite opposed to buying a new car (partially citing the fact that "We've already replaced just about every Goddamn thing on that car!" and the fact that I don't know for sure where I'll be next year in terms of school), but my mom and I might try to work on him. We'll see. For now I'm just hoping that my car keeps chugging along and that we don't have to pour any more money into it. As I've found over time with cars, though, it's anyone's guess as to whether or not that will happen.
I'll start with my car, the Pontiac Grand Prix. It's been an interesting car over the years, bought shortly after my sophomore year of high school. Within a few months we had to replace the transmission for a cool $2,500. Since then we've had to replace some tires, hubcaps (they're cheap plastic, so that's not a big deal), the brakes and pads, I had to repaint it because the paint had cancer and was falling off, the headlights (both bulbs and fixtures), the fog lamps (but they're still out), and I still have water that collects inside my headlamps from time to time. That's not quite as bad as the water that sometimes collects in the passenger side footwell, but that's another story.
More recently, though, I've been going through quite a bit of antifreeze. The light came on pretty frequently for low coolant, but I would keep adding more. Eventually pools of the green stuff began collecting under my car when I'd leave it outside for a while, and as the weather got colder I'd notice that I didn't have heat. I took the car to Kevin at the local garage. He's a great guy who always gives us an honest opinion. He went to kindergarten with my mom, and he's known my dad for decades. He looked for the coolant leak and found it in a little hose coming off the engine. He replaced it, but warned me that my intake manifold was bad and that some coolant has been leaking into my engine. I should keep track of any green streaks in my oil in the future.
So I kept driving it, but I kept losing antifreeze. We took the car back to Kevin who replaced the intake manifold for around $550. The cheap gaskets that Pontiac has been notorious for using in those cars were giving up the ghosts as well. When I drove the car back to college, I had a powerful heating system finally flex its muscle and an absence of a "Low Coolant" light. I thought we were in good shape.
In two days, I went outside to drive my car to the hospital where I volunteer. Lo and behold, the light was on again. I drove it a couple of miles and it went off, but I was still cautious. A couple of days later there was a pool under my car again, but thankfully that's the last time it did that. I turned the car on to open the thermostat, but when I went to add the antifreeze, I was somehow getting sprayed every once in a while. Upon closer inspection, the serpentine belt had been doused with coolant from somewhere, and as it reached the highest point in its path around the engine's side, it was throwing droplets at me, almost as a defense mechanism. This was not a good sign.
I kept adding some more antifreeze, but a few days ago I was mystified when I heard a fast-paced clicking coming from the engine when I revved around 2,000 RPM. When I stuck my head under the hood and had the engine revved, the click sounded like a squeak up close, and it was coming from the right side of the engine (around the belt). At first I thought it may have been a lose belt, but it sounded more like something that the belt was turning instead.
When I drove the car the next day, the squeak was gone as I drove to the hospital. On the way back, though, it returned a bit louder and at 1,500 RPM this time. This was not a good sign either. The light wasn't on, and the clicking increased in speed the more I revved. It was not gear-dependent or speed-dependent, but it was certainly rev-dependent.
Complicating issues was that we were having a warm spell in the weather (something I certainly wasn't complaining about), so I never had to turn on the heat to see if it worked. By the time it cooled down, though, the squeak was active at 1,000 RPM and even appeared occasionally at idle. And I didn't have heat.
So this weekend I've come back to my hometown and I took my car back to Kevin. It took him all of two hours to call me back and let me know that my suspicions had been absolutely correct: It was the water pump. The good news is that it's a pretty quick fix. The bad news is, it cost another $120. He completed it yesterday and got it back to me this morning. Problem solved, right?
Not so much.
When I got in the car this morning, I turned it on to see the "Low Coolant" light (which doesn't bother me. It was just taken apart; there's probably air in the lines) and the "ABS" and "Trac Off" lights on. The combination of the latter two, according to the manual, says I need to "service the brakes," but that light came on last year shortly before my dad and I replaced the brakes and pads, so I knew that couldn't be it. Kevin came out and hooked his computer up to it, but it didn't show an error. So he went back inside and got his giant computer, hooked it up and we drove down the block. Cycling through his options he learned that my right front wheel speed sensor was inactive. In other words, at 10 mph, three wheel sensors are telling the car's computer that the wheels are turning at 10 mph. My right front read 0 mph. It's not a detrimental thing, but it automatically turns off my ABS and traction control.
"The good thing is, winter's over, so you shouldn't be needing traction control again," Kevin smiled. Never mind the fact that ABS may be used at any moment of any day in any weather, but oh well. He told me that sometime we could get it replaced, but there was good and bad news here, too. The good news for him is that replacing it involves an easy replacement of the whole hub of the wheel, bearing and sensors. The bad news? It'll cost $200.
So this presents a conundrum to me. At best, my car is worth $2,000, yet at the time when it was worth $3,000, we put $2,500 in for the transmission. In the last month alone we've put in $700, and at this point my mom is saying that we just need to fix the car, sell it and buy a new one. For those who know me, this is not an easy thing to do, as I've grown quite attached to my car (especially after painting it like I did). But honestly, I'm afraid that I'm starting to agree with my mom. The car's been great for me, and I love it to death when it works, but eventually I have to ask when pumping more money into it will stop making more sense than buying a more reliable car and being done with it.
Given my family's recent propensity for all-wheel-drive cars (for my dad driving 35 miles to work at 4:00am every day in the winter), my mom is leaning toward getting an AWD replacement for the Grand Prix. And after having spectacular headlights in both the Jaguar and (especially) the Audi, she wants to make sure I have good headlights, too.
I'm in favor of being able to see and being safe, but it's a bit sad that my car can't do that for me. In terms of which car will? That's another question. The leading candidate in my mom's eye (mainly for its coolness value and relatively cheap price for an old one) is the Audi TT. I must confess that I love Audi's build quality, and it's definitely a sporty looking car. Don't let looks define it, though. It's a monstrously heavy vehicle, partially because of its AWD. It also has a relatively lightweight sub-250hp engine, so it's not the fastest or most nimble (many complain of its understeer). The boys of Top Gear lambasted it for how its owners use the car as a status symbol and must get gussied up before driving it, similar to how a young boy nervously prepares for his first date. I take their assessment with a grain of salt, though, as Jeremy Clarkson has always had a humorous thing against Audis, their owners, and Germans.
I do like the car, even though its backseat is almost nonexistent. The good news is, the seats fold down, and because of its hatchback-like tail, you can probably fit more people comfortably in the trunk than into the backseat. But anyway, this post is long enough. That's where I am right now. My dad seems quite opposed to buying a new car (partially citing the fact that "We've already replaced just about every Goddamn thing on that car!" and the fact that I don't know for sure where I'll be next year in terms of school), but my mom and I might try to work on him. We'll see. For now I'm just hoping that my car keeps chugging along and that we don't have to pour any more money into it. As I've found over time with cars, though, it's anyone's guess as to whether or not that will happen.
03 December, 2010
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.
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.
13 September, 2010
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!
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!
17 June, 2010
Purged From the Car's Skeleton
February sixth was the last time my words managed to find their way into a blog such as this, and I'm sad to say that not a ton has happened up in the garage during that time. It's only been in the last week and a half that I've been able to get back up to that old stone edifice to get my hands dirty again, and I must say that I've been incredibly happy for every minute of it.
I won't go into a ton of details about my year, as that would be for another, more introspective blog entry, but I will say that a few of my friends were abroad, I was taking a few tough classes and I had to study for and take the MCAT. Needless to say, it was an insanely long marathon, especially the latter two of that list. But, thankfully, all that is over for now and I'm finally able to feel completely like myself up in the Garage.
Most of the activity began when the brake lights in my Pontiac came on. The "Trac Off" light as well as the ABS light was on which, according to the seemingly-useless manual, means that the "brakes need to be serviced." Thanks? I hooked up an error reader to the dash, but it said that there weren't any errors to correct. Talking to my dad, we made the decision that the brakes should probably be changed (at least the pads), so without really asking me he went and bought brake pads. I immediately jacked up the car and tore into the brakes, and everything went fairly swimmingly. The right rear rotors were really rusted and pitted, though, so we had them re-ground so they're smooth and shiny again (and we all love shiny things, right?). With everything back in working order, the car is now parked back in our yard by the driveway, although I'm yet to put the fragile and cracked (and cheap) hubcaps back on. Oh, I lost one over the winter, by the way. Went over a pothole on the interstate, and when I arrived at school I found my car looking a bit destitute without a hubcap on the front. Thankfully we've purchased extras in the past, so the next time I came home I was able to put one on.
Whilst up in the garage, though, I didn't just spend time on my car. I climbed to the back of the garage to get my hands on the old Maxwell for the first time in ages. Trust me, that car has invaded my thoughts so many times during the school year. Constantly I imagine what I can do once the weather warms, and I'm always trying to figure out what to do next. The upside to all of that was that I could jump right in when I got a chance to work on it. Never mind the downside of not focusing on schoolwork, etc.
Anyway, I spent quite a bit of time in the past week scrubbing rust off of the frame with a wire brush. Oddly, though, that's much harder than it sounds (or maybe I just get really into it). By the time I'm finished, normally my heart is pounding and I'm covered in sweat and dust from the rotting metal I purged from the car's skeleton. Once it's off, though, I quickly spray over the cleaned area with primer. This is taking a page from my the first Woodsie's book (my grandpa), for when he cared for the Maxwell, he sprayed some random paint on the front end of its frame. That seemed odd at the time, but as I learned decades later when I started to work on the car, that meant that not a bit of rust was growing on it. The way I figure, even if I don't get much done on the car this summer her metal will be sealed beneath the primer waiting for me to get back.
It's great to see the car transforming slowly from a piece of rust to a primed car that actually looks like progress is being made on it. I can't wait to post some pictures! But the car is still a long way from being completely covered, so don't get too eager. Every little piece I do, though, is an important part of her completion. The rear axle is still sitting on the ground, and I'm still having trouble getting the tires off. Removing the lug nut and the little protective plate (a pseudo-washer) should do it, even with the use of a wheel-puller, yet neither wheel budges. It appears that the actual center hub is attached to the brake drum, but that would take some loosening of the brake pads in order to get it off. Who knows, though. I may not even need to take them off, but we'll see. Either way, I'll have to open up the rear end and try to catch all of the grease and lubricant that comes out (I'm praying there won't be any little nuts or bolts that fall out, too. Or gears). That way I can inspect the splines of all the gears and mechanisms in there to make sure that they won't break when we first try to drive the car. My father says that I should just leave it alone because if you grab the driveshaft and turn it one of the wheels turns too. That's true, but the last thing I want is to put the whole pressure of a finished car on those uninspected gears and have something go horribly wrong at speed. Then we'd have a really nice museum piece to permanently store in the back of the garage. I don't know. It'll be a tough decision.
With parts of it primed, though, I decided to take a break from the Maxwell and focus on the soft top bows of the old Corvette. In the "offseason," so to speak, my dad remembered that he had a friend from a long time ago (appropriately called Graybeard") who works on old cars. We talked to him quite a while back and he said he's done soft tops before and would love to do the old Corvette's. First, though, I would need to finish those bows. In order to do that, I made sure that they were well-covered in paint and that we had all of the pieces (we're close). I made sure that I can open and close them well and that I had the design of the top ingrained in my head. I made sure not to paint over some of the screw heads and that all of the old staples (shot into cork to affix the original fabric to the top) were removed. I'm about halfway done with that last job, but I'm getting there. The next step will be to call Graybeard and see what he thinks about a timetable for finishing it.
Aside from the soft top frame, I decided to lift the cover off of the '61 and clean her up just in case there was a car show tonight (there wasn't one). I got the entire driver's side cleaned off and shiny before moving to the other side, but when I did I couldn't believe it. On the front right fender was a giant spot of paint missing. It was probably half an inch by half an inch, and interestingly the primer was gone as well. I can't figure out what caused it, either. I don't see an impact mark that would mean something whacked it, but I highly doubt that, as my dad kind of thinks, that there was a bubble in the paint that finally came out over the winter. I looked on the ground but failed to find the chip, which makes it even more mysterious...That also meant, though, that any hopes of going to a car show with it would be dashed until we can get some touch-up paint on it. The spot is so deep, though, trying to fix it ourselves would look awful. I talked to my parents, and my dad went up and looked at it, and I think we've decided that we'll need to take it across town and get it professionally touched up. This also ruins our chances of going to the Goodguys show, unfortunately. That's alright, though. Our goal has always been to get it up to the show and back, and we accomplished that goal last year (if you were reading the blog then).
The car has done a great job since then, and it's neat that we're finally starting to look at it with the attitude of "What can we do to make it better?" as opposed to "What do we have to do to get it done?" She's coming along, though, and she'll definitely go to some local car shows this summer. It's a little disappointing, though, that such an odd thing (and something so small, at least by measurement) would stop us. Oh well.
I'll leave the neatest part of my experiences in the Garage until next post, though. I was trying to move the new fenders from the front of the garage to behind the Maxwell, but this meant cleaning and moving a few things. In doing so, I not only sorted through car parts, but I found the equivalent of a time capsule buried in the back of the Garage. This capsule ended up taking me back three generations and would give me some more mysteries that only deepen the pathos of that building. Stay tuned for that, plus a really neat find that relates to the Maxwell---something that I had forgotten all about needing!
Either way, though, I'm glad the blog is alive and well again. More soon...
I won't go into a ton of details about my year, as that would be for another, more introspective blog entry, but I will say that a few of my friends were abroad, I was taking a few tough classes and I had to study for and take the MCAT. Needless to say, it was an insanely long marathon, especially the latter two of that list. But, thankfully, all that is over for now and I'm finally able to feel completely like myself up in the Garage.
Most of the activity began when the brake lights in my Pontiac came on. The "Trac Off" light as well as the ABS light was on which, according to the seemingly-useless manual, means that the "brakes need to be serviced." Thanks? I hooked up an error reader to the dash, but it said that there weren't any errors to correct. Talking to my dad, we made the decision that the brakes should probably be changed (at least the pads), so without really asking me he went and bought brake pads. I immediately jacked up the car and tore into the brakes, and everything went fairly swimmingly. The right rear rotors were really rusted and pitted, though, so we had them re-ground so they're smooth and shiny again (and we all love shiny things, right?). With everything back in working order, the car is now parked back in our yard by the driveway, although I'm yet to put the fragile and cracked (and cheap) hubcaps back on. Oh, I lost one over the winter, by the way. Went over a pothole on the interstate, and when I arrived at school I found my car looking a bit destitute without a hubcap on the front. Thankfully we've purchased extras in the past, so the next time I came home I was able to put one on.
Whilst up in the garage, though, I didn't just spend time on my car. I climbed to the back of the garage to get my hands on the old Maxwell for the first time in ages. Trust me, that car has invaded my thoughts so many times during the school year. Constantly I imagine what I can do once the weather warms, and I'm always trying to figure out what to do next. The upside to all of that was that I could jump right in when I got a chance to work on it. Never mind the downside of not focusing on schoolwork, etc.
Anyway, I spent quite a bit of time in the past week scrubbing rust off of the frame with a wire brush. Oddly, though, that's much harder than it sounds (or maybe I just get really into it). By the time I'm finished, normally my heart is pounding and I'm covered in sweat and dust from the rotting metal I purged from the car's skeleton. Once it's off, though, I quickly spray over the cleaned area with primer. This is taking a page from my the first Woodsie's book (my grandpa), for when he cared for the Maxwell, he sprayed some random paint on the front end of its frame. That seemed odd at the time, but as I learned decades later when I started to work on the car, that meant that not a bit of rust was growing on it. The way I figure, even if I don't get much done on the car this summer her metal will be sealed beneath the primer waiting for me to get back.
It's great to see the car transforming slowly from a piece of rust to a primed car that actually looks like progress is being made on it. I can't wait to post some pictures! But the car is still a long way from being completely covered, so don't get too eager. Every little piece I do, though, is an important part of her completion. The rear axle is still sitting on the ground, and I'm still having trouble getting the tires off. Removing the lug nut and the little protective plate (a pseudo-washer) should do it, even with the use of a wheel-puller, yet neither wheel budges. It appears that the actual center hub is attached to the brake drum, but that would take some loosening of the brake pads in order to get it off. Who knows, though. I may not even need to take them off, but we'll see. Either way, I'll have to open up the rear end and try to catch all of the grease and lubricant that comes out (I'm praying there won't be any little nuts or bolts that fall out, too. Or gears). That way I can inspect the splines of all the gears and mechanisms in there to make sure that they won't break when we first try to drive the car. My father says that I should just leave it alone because if you grab the driveshaft and turn it one of the wheels turns too. That's true, but the last thing I want is to put the whole pressure of a finished car on those uninspected gears and have something go horribly wrong at speed. Then we'd have a really nice museum piece to permanently store in the back of the garage. I don't know. It'll be a tough decision.
With parts of it primed, though, I decided to take a break from the Maxwell and focus on the soft top bows of the old Corvette. In the "offseason," so to speak, my dad remembered that he had a friend from a long time ago (appropriately called Graybeard") who works on old cars. We talked to him quite a while back and he said he's done soft tops before and would love to do the old Corvette's. First, though, I would need to finish those bows. In order to do that, I made sure that they were well-covered in paint and that we had all of the pieces (we're close). I made sure that I can open and close them well and that I had the design of the top ingrained in my head. I made sure not to paint over some of the screw heads and that all of the old staples (shot into cork to affix the original fabric to the top) were removed. I'm about halfway done with that last job, but I'm getting there. The next step will be to call Graybeard and see what he thinks about a timetable for finishing it.
Aside from the soft top frame, I decided to lift the cover off of the '61 and clean her up just in case there was a car show tonight (there wasn't one). I got the entire driver's side cleaned off and shiny before moving to the other side, but when I did I couldn't believe it. On the front right fender was a giant spot of paint missing. It was probably half an inch by half an inch, and interestingly the primer was gone as well. I can't figure out what caused it, either. I don't see an impact mark that would mean something whacked it, but I highly doubt that, as my dad kind of thinks, that there was a bubble in the paint that finally came out over the winter. I looked on the ground but failed to find the chip, which makes it even more mysterious...That also meant, though, that any hopes of going to a car show with it would be dashed until we can get some touch-up paint on it. The spot is so deep, though, trying to fix it ourselves would look awful. I talked to my parents, and my dad went up and looked at it, and I think we've decided that we'll need to take it across town and get it professionally touched up. This also ruins our chances of going to the Goodguys show, unfortunately. That's alright, though. Our goal has always been to get it up to the show and back, and we accomplished that goal last year (if you were reading the blog then).
The car has done a great job since then, and it's neat that we're finally starting to look at it with the attitude of "What can we do to make it better?" as opposed to "What do we have to do to get it done?" She's coming along, though, and she'll definitely go to some local car shows this summer. It's a little disappointing, though, that such an odd thing (and something so small, at least by measurement) would stop us. Oh well.
I'll leave the neatest part of my experiences in the Garage until next post, though. I was trying to move the new fenders from the front of the garage to behind the Maxwell, but this meant cleaning and moving a few things. In doing so, I not only sorted through car parts, but I found the equivalent of a time capsule buried in the back of the Garage. This capsule ended up taking me back three generations and would give me some more mysteries that only deepen the pathos of that building. Stay tuned for that, plus a really neat find that relates to the Maxwell---something that I had forgotten all about needing!
Either way, though, I'm glad the blog is alive and well again. More soon...
06 February, 2010
An Interesting Dichotomy
So, with quite a bit to do this evening, I don't feel like I have time to go over everything. I feel as though I owe it to the few readers of this blog, though (and to my peace of mind) to try to update as much as I can. It has, after all, been nearly three months since my last post. I assure you this blog is not dead, nor do I want it to be. I feel like now moreso than in the past I kind of need it to stay alive. It serves as an important chronicle of the restoration of the cars, yes, but it also serves as a retrospective self-analysis. That's kind of the topic that I was wanting to dwell upon in this post, but I'm not sure if I'll get there. Part of me says that soon I should close the browser and get to work on my homework; I've been highly unmotivated lately, and I feel like I haven't done near as much as I should lately.
Anyway, business first. After over two years of work, we gleefully received the Maxwell fenders that had been made for us by a gentleman in Indiana (I think it was Indiana, anyway). Some coworkers of my father were driving in the area anyway so they picked them up and brought them to us. The man used 100+ year old machines to craft these fenders, and we sent him the originals from our car to pattern. I have to say that unwrapping them for the first time was an awe-inspiring moment after so long, seeing them be crafted into being and knowing the problems that he had to overcome. I can only imagine that's what our fenders looked like when they first came off the assembly line in 1910; his work wasn't absolutely perfect and flawless, but that makes it perfect for our Maxwell. All of those cars were hand built. All of them had welds showing and seams not perfectly straight. It imbues a sort of charm, and I absolutely can't wait to see them on a nearly completed car sometime. There's so much to do to her, though, before we can think about attaching them.
We also found a man in town a couple of weeks ago who is fully capable of putting the soft top on our frame for the 1961 Corvette. He's giving us a wonderful discount to do it, and I think he'll do a fantastic job. He's been in the business for 40+ years and is someone my dad has known that whole time (but honestly forgot about his services for years!). I'm glad he remembered eventually, though!
But aside from that, school has been keeping me very busy, and the crippling cold kept all of us out of the garage this winter break. It hasn't been pleasant. In fact, today was one of the first days in a while that we could get the garage door open since it's been frozen in many inches of snow. I wasn't even the one to open it, as my dad did that early this morning. Either way, I was sent up to the garage today to grab some drill bits for a project back home, and it felt strangely good to be back in there. It was one of those moments, I guess, that's hard to describe to people who weren't there. It's just been so long since I've seen the old cars and tools and such, and since that place has so many great memories tied in it actually made me a little sad that I don't get to go in there very often anymore.
The bigger issue that struck me as I stood by the '61 was how almost humorous it was that simple things like seeing cars that are the fruits of my labors and my family's labors and being back in a place where I've loved to be all of my life. It is an interesting dichotomy that I live in that I have chosen such a difficult path for my life (in medical school and such), yet part of me always wishes that I could have an easy way out and be happy doing something simple. Part of me has always said that if medical school doesn't work or something else I could restore cars and antiques for a living, or work on the radio and be happy doing that. I'm not sure if I could, though, when I really think about it. I'm really passionate about going to medical school and following through on my degree (even though I don't know which exact facet of my field I want to pursue), and while I could be happy toiling away in a garage every day I know that after a while I would wonder what could have been.
And so for now I'll get to my homework and end this blog post before it gets too long and uninteresting. I do hope to update this more often as the weather improves and as I get back to working in the garage. For now, though, I have to keep doing what I'm doing. Best of luck, everyone, and stay warm! It's good to be back, by the way!
Anyway, business first. After over two years of work, we gleefully received the Maxwell fenders that had been made for us by a gentleman in Indiana (I think it was Indiana, anyway). Some coworkers of my father were driving in the area anyway so they picked them up and brought them to us. The man used 100+ year old machines to craft these fenders, and we sent him the originals from our car to pattern. I have to say that unwrapping them for the first time was an awe-inspiring moment after so long, seeing them be crafted into being and knowing the problems that he had to overcome. I can only imagine that's what our fenders looked like when they first came off the assembly line in 1910; his work wasn't absolutely perfect and flawless, but that makes it perfect for our Maxwell. All of those cars were hand built. All of them had welds showing and seams not perfectly straight. It imbues a sort of charm, and I absolutely can't wait to see them on a nearly completed car sometime. There's so much to do to her, though, before we can think about attaching them.
We also found a man in town a couple of weeks ago who is fully capable of putting the soft top on our frame for the 1961 Corvette. He's giving us a wonderful discount to do it, and I think he'll do a fantastic job. He's been in the business for 40+ years and is someone my dad has known that whole time (but honestly forgot about his services for years!). I'm glad he remembered eventually, though!
But aside from that, school has been keeping me very busy, and the crippling cold kept all of us out of the garage this winter break. It hasn't been pleasant. In fact, today was one of the first days in a while that we could get the garage door open since it's been frozen in many inches of snow. I wasn't even the one to open it, as my dad did that early this morning. Either way, I was sent up to the garage today to grab some drill bits for a project back home, and it felt strangely good to be back in there. It was one of those moments, I guess, that's hard to describe to people who weren't there. It's just been so long since I've seen the old cars and tools and such, and since that place has so many great memories tied in it actually made me a little sad that I don't get to go in there very often anymore.
The bigger issue that struck me as I stood by the '61 was how almost humorous it was that simple things like seeing cars that are the fruits of my labors and my family's labors and being back in a place where I've loved to be all of my life. It is an interesting dichotomy that I live in that I have chosen such a difficult path for my life (in medical school and such), yet part of me always wishes that I could have an easy way out and be happy doing something simple. Part of me has always said that if medical school doesn't work or something else I could restore cars and antiques for a living, or work on the radio and be happy doing that. I'm not sure if I could, though, when I really think about it. I'm really passionate about going to medical school and following through on my degree (even though I don't know which exact facet of my field I want to pursue), and while I could be happy toiling away in a garage every day I know that after a while I would wonder what could have been.
And so for now I'll get to my homework and end this blog post before it gets too long and uninteresting. I do hope to update this more often as the weather improves and as I get back to working in the garage. For now, though, I have to keep doing what I'm doing. Best of luck, everyone, and stay warm! It's good to be back, by the way!
10 November, 2009
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).
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).
08 August, 2009
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!
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!
25 July, 2009
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!
I hope all has been well!
06 July, 2009
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.
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.
01 July, 2009
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!
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!
23 June, 2009
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.
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.
20 June, 2009
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.
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.
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