The unmistakable smell of fall is in the air, the hues of yellow are triggering reflection, and the mornings are gathering that brisk bite of chill. Something about the changing seasons makes me want to write, and back when Summer began my keyboard imagined it would take me six months to get my Locost car project running. Well, I beat that and failed at the same time. Failure aside, I bought another classic car (or, arguably my first)… and yet, I’ve been strongly tempted to bail on car projects entirely recently.
Rewind to May, trying to get the Locost running was a frustrating experience. I put everything in the car only to find the engine was as dead as a neighbor’s cat after being run over by the lifted Dodge Ram owner down the street.
Through some series of dumb luck, internet trolling, and trial & (mostly) error, I figured out that the sensor that reads the position of my motor, so the computer can fire the spark plugs at the right time, was in the wrong place because I used a donor motor with an automatic transmission. Nothing was signaling the computer that it was time to fire the cylinders.
The offending sensor mounted in an inaccessible bracket. To remove the bracket, I had to pull the motor out of the car and separate the transmission. The problem then became no one ever breaks that bracket, or needs one. Then, after days of searching I found the last new Ford bracket on Earth in Germany.
I went to the junkyard to see if I could pull a motor to get the bracket, but the junkyard annoyed me so I’m glad I found the German bracket. The local junkyard now charges a rental fee for the chain hoists needed to pull motors. Probably a fine business growth idea, but tell me you don’t get annoyed when a new charge gets tagged on an old task.
I do enjoy finding the oddballs cars in the junkyard though. I find myself wandering around the junkyard long after I’ve found my part (or, more often, haven’t).
Once I got the sensor pointed in the right direction, my motor fired instantly. Seems like it’s a strong runner; the lack of exhaust makes it sounds beefier than it really is (and makes the neighbors love me).
That’s not to say I didn’t have other struggles getting it running. I still can’t get the stupid serpentine belt tight enough, even after several alternator mount redesigns. And, if you’re going to use a heater (I do live in the Pacific NW), radiator systems are more complex than I imagined. It will be a small miracle if my five hundred radiator hoses don’t leak.
Thankfully, Kellie (my wife), recognized that too much time in the garage was making me resemble the Grumpy dwarf, and my family took me to the outdoor kart track Pat’s Acres for father’s day. What a blast. I left wondering if I should sell the cars and buy a $2,000 kart. I’d probably have a lot more fun. We have two tracks close to my home.
Thanks to our current politicized illness, our kart track was the only track in the country operating (according to a track steward). One of the contenders for National Champion, in the shifter kart class, was practicing; oh man, shifter carts are insanely fast!
Speaking of the politicized illness, it killed almost all car events for the year. I haven’t seen one car engaged in racing this year. Our town, Newberg, did manage a car show to benefit the local police though, I thought that was cool.
Even our local drag strip only allows competitors through the gate this year. A friend and I were golfing in the field across the street, which is as ghetto as it sounds, and we were laughing when we heard the control tower yelling at the racers to separate. Surprising too… I follow the Instagram accounts of some drag series in the South, and those people don’t have the slightest bit of the fear needed to wear goofy things on their face.
Late in the summer I saw an ad for a cheap 1957 MG, series A, convertible. I couldn’t help myself. I loved my old A coupe. I went and bought it. It’s remarkably solid, the lower sills (bottom part of the body) are in much better condition than the last one I bought.
My buddy Eric helped me extricate it. The man I bought it from had built a pole barn to hold his burgeoning British car junkyard. He had since filled the barn to the brim, along with a handful of those old freight train boxes. Obviously, he was not married.
I say I bought an A, but really I bought parts from about five cars. I thought it was a sweet deal. The frame and body-tub go together, but then we went to the stack of fenders and I picked out the best ones, and then we went to the gauges, motors, transmissions, etc., and at each stack I picked out the best ones. I now have a pretty solid pile of MGA parts, including the funny windows and rare(ish) fiberglass top, which will make it more Pacific NW capable.
But I’m not going to touch the MGA until the Locost is moving down the road, either legally or on a trailer heading to track-type events. Or in the back of a dump truck, but more on that later.
In late August the Locost was finally ready for its first drive. Unfortunately, it squealed like you’d stepped on a puppy and the clutch didn’t work. Friends and family were surprised I wasn’t happy after driving it for the first time, but to me it felt like failure.
The only highlight was how happy my kids were to ride in it. Oh, and when my wife and I turned down a cul-de-sac (with my open header and squealing belt) where a group of ladies were gathered on a lawn to celebrate a baby shower, the looks we got were… notable.
I pulled the engine/tranny out and added spacers to the clutch mechanism, thinking I wasn’t pressing the clutch hard enough, and put it back together in about a week. My buddy Andrew was visiting the day the Locost was ready for its second test drive.
With Andrew in the car, I started it, only to be serenaded by a loud squeal. This was particularly annoying because I’d spent hours building new alternator mounts. Also embarrassing because Andrew is the friend that’s successfully built about five cars while I’ve been working on this one.
Pushing the clutch in, and the gear shift lever forward, I added a nice grinding sound to the squeal. The clutch didn’t work.
Complete failure, again. Curse words filled my mind, and possibly my mouth.
Andrew and I still took the Locost for a drive, squealing and grinding the entire time. I pushed it to get it rolling and then slid it into first, then rev matched for gear changes. I’m glad we drove it, it probably saved it from going on Craigslist that evening. Even with no clutch it was really easy to get it sideways. The Locost will be a blast if I can ever get it to work.
I pumped, stomped, and kicked the clutch pedal the entire drive, hoping I could break the clutch free. Nothing.
I yanked the motor and tranny again. Two hours, from start to finish. I’m getting good at pulling the motor. It was my third time in four months.
Thankfully, slamming the clutch repeatedly broke the offending part so I could figure out exactly what was wrong. Hydraulic pressure is an impressive force. It turns out, the parts I selected for my clutch didn’t play well together and there was some meshing keeping it from working. Remember, my Chevy transmission was not originally behind this Ford motor, and I’m having to invent the solution.
I’ve selected a new batch of clutch parts that should play better together. Unfortunately, this meant updating a large bracket on the transmission. A bracket that no one ever needs or breaks. Does this sound familiar? After days of searching, I found the last one on the planet at Mid-West Transmissions.
During this search I emailed the guy who influenced my motor/transmission choice (because he’d talked it up so much), saying that the combo was something of a pain-in-the-butt to make work. His response… that he agreed. And that he’d since found an easier solution for mounting a rear-wheel drive transmission on the Zetec engine.
Sigh.
Several days ago someone was selling another MGA on Craigslist, already running, street-legal, rally-ready, that had raced the Carrera Panamericana four times, and came with the much-desired twin-cam motor, for an affordable price ($15k). A competition ready MGA could replace my Locost/MGA garage with no perceived loss. Again, I considered deserting my projects. Unfortunately, the MGA sold before I could buy it (it was 1000 miles away).
The truth is, I’m getting tired of the garage. I have three awesome kids, a beautiful wife, and life is short. I’m getting old fast. This life is a temporary blip in eternity.
It’s funny, when most guys hit middle-age, they want a sports car. Since I’ve had a small selection of sports cars, I’m well aware they don’t provide fulfilment. Now that I’ve hit middle-age, I’m thinking thoughts like, “If the chief purpose of man is to please God, how am I doing that?”
Am I wasting my life? I doubt Jesus would spend his time grumping around a garage.
I’m getting really tired of fighting a shed-built car. While I have hopes it will be fun, I’m starting to think it’s not worth the time and effort.
This new clutch scheme better work, or you might find me dancing around the Locost’s burning hulk in the street; I’ll have to elbow some democrats to make room among the other flaming piles of debris. The Associated Press just released guidance that flaming property in the street should be called “unrest”, not “riots”; well, my Locost (and the Associated Press), might become the subjects of my “unrest”.
