Chapter 28: Marooned in Pismo
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| See this? It's a shirt needle. Every time I thoroughly clean out the interior of the Beast I come up with at least one, lodged in the seams of the flooring or cargo deck. Evidence, if more was needed, that once upon a time this panel truck indeed delivered dry cleaning. |
28 January
2004 There’s this habit I have: whenever I change jobs I like
to take a little trip. Inevitably, I end up going to Los Angeles, because
I like LA, have friends there, and always manage to have a swell time. Los
Angeles is a beautiful, dynamic metropolis, warm year round, an impossible
dream of a city presided over by palm trees and jacarandas. If you’re
into showbiz, it’s the place where dreams literally come true. And if
you’re into cars, Los Angeles is the center of the world. (Anyone from
the Bay Area or knows someone from here knows this is an unusual thing for
a San Franciscan to declare. We’re supposed to hate LA, ‘cause it’s
all big and smoggy and phony. F--- that! I love LA! The sad aspect of this
assumed hatred of the Southland: SF hates LA, but LA is completely indifferent
to SF. It’s my belief those who enjoy running down "la-la-land"
should get a life. Rant over.)
February
2003, at the videotape dubbing house I toiled in for nearly two
years (more than half the time alone as a third-shift video technician), the
hard reality of the 21st century finally set in. That reality: everybody wants
DVD, and nobody wants VHS anymore. This is the main reason why that fateful
month the whole San Francisco operation shut down.
All right, I’m between jobs again. ROAD TRIP! And this time, I’m
taking The Beast.
In fact, this could be really cool: I can camp out in the back! There’s
plenty of room to stretch out, and I’ve got a portable TV in case I get
bored and a laptop in case I get inspired.
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There and back again.
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I visualized the sort of improvements needed: a bulkhead behind
the driver’s seat to divide the front and back spaces; a curtain for
privacy; and a bench that runs behind the bulkhead to the back doors for sleeping
on top of and storing stuff securely inside. The bench would be designed to
fit snugly in the space, but be removable for cargo runs.
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| The bench and bulkhead, installed. I haven't gotten around to painting them yet. |
In the time between the layoff announcement and the last day
of operation I designed, built and installed the bulkhead and bench. I also
laid down padding and carpet over the plywood bed and bed strips. I was ready
to go.
The morning of the trip was somewhat inauspicious: I ran out of gas in the
driveway. I should have taken this as a portent, but who can recognize a portent
when it manifests? Early that evening, after nine hours of uneventful travel
down U.S. 101 I pulled into Thousand Oaks, where a kind friend had arranged
two free night’s hotel at the super-nice Thousand Oaks Inn. I realized
this was not in keeping with my camping plan, but come on—two free nights!
Cable! A pool!
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| A closer look at the insurance badge. It just so happens the Beast is in fact covered by State Farm. Also note the T-3 headlight: apparently, it's the OEM make. Too bad the other one is a Sylvania... |
I had a seriously great time in LA with the Beast. It got just
as much admiration in the Southland as it gets in the Bay Area. It handled
Los Angeles freeways with ease. I parked it outside a car show in Thousand
Oaks (and became a virtual participant) and I participated in a hot rod night
at the Fuddrucker’s in Pasadena. I never did camp in the back, though—my
friends down there are just too insistent to have me as a guest in their homes.
Southern Californians are swell.
I left for home on a Sunday, intent to make the big car show in Santa Maria
(about 150 miles north of LA). I got to the fairgrounds just a bit too late,
though. Sadly, I continued northwards on 101, on track to make Santa Cruz
by 11 or so.
Passing through Pismo Beach, as the Beast came out of a mild grade, the engine
suddenly started making a lot of noise, and motive power suddenly became drastically
reduced. I pulled off the freeway and checked the engine by the dying light
of the day. There was nothing happening in the back two cylinders—pulling
the plug wires made no difference, even though there was ample spark.
I tried to deduce the problem, but nothing could explain the loss of two cylinders,
simultaneously and suddenly. I then made a command decision: Get a hotel room
and get it checked by a mechanic in the morning. It was by that time Sunday
night and there was no real recourse but to wait.
Monday morning, I took it to Grover Beach, where the manager of the shop I
drove it to rudely refused to look at an old 235 Thriftmaster ("Nothing
older than ’66," he said). I ended up chugging to San Luis Obispo,
to a shop where they spoke classic. After a few hours of analysis, the conclusion:
the camshaft was worn out, killing compression in those cylinders. The lobes
must have worn down past a critical point during the trip. I checked the tappet
rise and sure enough they intakes on #5 and #6 were barely rising. I asked
if I should get it towed back to Santa Cruz, and he said it should drive just
fine, if slowly.
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| Picture from the Accessories Manual depicting the proper installation of shoulder belts. I included it because I think the guy looks like a dork. |
The mechanic was right: I made the 175-mile trip to Santa Cruz
in about seven hours, at about 45 MPH, flooring it all the way. I must have
been going 15 up Cuesta Grade. I parked it in my mother-in law’s driveway
and got hold of Lazlo, the rebuild mechanic. . He seconded the SLO mechanic’s
diagnosis and scheduled the repair in six weeks or so, which gave me a few
weeks to get the things needed to get the camshaft replaced.
In less than two months the Beast was back in his garage, serious déjà
vu. I had by that time purchased a new camshaft, cam gear, and camshaft bearings.
As partial payment I bought a Lisle Camshaft Bearing Tool, for Lazlo didn’t
have one. He also confessed the camshaft and bearings hadn’t been pulled
during the first rebuild (because he didn’t have a bearing tool).
Although the engine had to be removed for the camshaft replacement, the whole
process went very quickly, less than a month. I got to help out with the bearing
replacement, which was actually a lot of fun. Finally, it all came together
and we were ready to start her up again with the brand-new camshaft and bearings.
Guess what? It was still missing on the back two cylinders. No measurable
compression.
Lazlo and I looked at each other. Synapses fired. Wheels turned. There was
a smell of wood burning.
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| Let's have a look at another panel in progress:None other than David Miller's '55. Above, you can see he's got the all the front sheetmetal off. In the background his fully rebuilt 235 (.060 overbore with hydraulic cams) awaits it's moment of glory. Below, David proudly shows off his freshly stripped hood. In the foreground, Ebony stands guard over "her" panel. |
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Suddenly, we both went "AHA! The head gasket!!" Man
alive, we got the head off that block in less than 30 minutes. Lo and behold—the
head gasket was blown. Specifically, a small part of the gasket that runs
behind #5 had burst into #6, leaving a channel nearly two centimeters wide.
The compression stroke in # 5 would just dissipate into #6, and vice versa.
The gasket blew in a very specific, rather unusual way: Fortunate, because
it didn’t compromise the cooling system and left it sort of drivable,
but also unfortunate because it didn’t display the classic symptoms,
like coolant in the oil ("milkshake oil") or outside leaks, which
explains two expert misdiagnoses. I suspect the gasket blew in the first place
because of the pressure imbalance caused by the worn camshaft, but that’s
just a theory.
The very next weekend the new head gasket was in place. In eager but guarded
anticipation we fired that old engine up (and by old, I mean a 46-year old
block topped with a 43-year-old head, albeit one with a lot of new parts).
Guess what? It was still missing on the back two cylinders.
But this time, we got measurable compression. And, when it was
revved up over 1000 RPM or so it ran smoothly. It certainly had all its power
back; it just ran really rough at idle.
Nonetheless, the Beast’s time in the garage was done. I felt if there’s
still some sort of remaining problem I could probably salt it out myself.
The fact the compression and power seems to be restored was good enough. In
fact, it was better than ever: the combination of a new camshaft and the existing
.060 overbore gave an average of 10 psi on all cylinders—2 psi over spec,
close to even on all six.
The rough idle problem yielded to a very basic diagnostic technique: I sprayed
B-12 Chemtool on the intake manifold at idle. When it hit the back ports,
the engine smoothed out and revved up. The fault: a loose intake-exhaust manifold
(Hey: we were in a hurry to get the Beast out of Lazlo’s garage. These
things happen). Just a few hours work did the trick: I made super-double sure
the mating surfaces on the block and manifold were smooth then applied a fresh
gasket with high-temp sealer (which you either are or are not supposed to
do). All together again, that Thriftmaster ran like a freakin’ watch,
and continues to do so.
An 800-pound noisy smoking cast-iron watch that still leaves oil spots on
the garage floor.