Dave in Fairfax demanded that I post this here. So here:
Well let me back up and tell the story then, by all means. I like
Once upon a time, there was a '79 Pontiac Phoenix with a 305 V8. The
was mighty and powerful, and it had a strong thrum, a powerful burble, and a
60:40 metal to Bondo ratio. It was a masterpiece of mechanical engineering,
and a true testament to the fine art of Bondo sculpture, all rolled into
Then one day, the mighty Phoenix refused to start. It seemed to be some
of carbie problem. Ye olde Phoenix owner bought a carbie rebuild kit, and a
junkyard carbie to put it on, wisely leaving the original carbie off to the
side, just in case.
He rebuild ye olde carbie with mighty care, affixed it once more to ye olde
intake manifold, and the mighty Phoenix still failed to start. Further
investigation of the problem with the aircleaner off lead to the discovery
that the mighty Phoenix was stuffed up about its head, and it kept blowing
its nose, shooting a jet of gas out the throttle plate whenever the engine
was cranking. Oops.
So Dad and I pulled everything down to get to the timing chain, figuring it
had jumped a tooth. It had indeed. The nylon-covered aluminum gear had
revolved many millions of times about its axis, and the weight of the world
on its shoulders grew wearying, and it collapsed under the pressure. The
hook-shaped nubbins of teeth finally stopped being sufficient--especially
along one spot of the gear, where the engine probably came to rest more
than not when shut off--to guide the mighty Metallic Serpent of Timing on a
straight and true course. This was probably exacerbated by who knows how
many years of driving the mighty beast without an air cleaner. (It had no
air cleaner when I bought it. Oops.)
So we swapped out the gears and put a new chain on it. The real fun bit was
the cover. It had a lot of crusty black shite inside, and ye olde Beast
Master spent a good hour or two in diligent cleaning of this shite, and the
scraping of the gaskette residue. Only when I got to the last small section
of shite did I finally discover the hole in the cover. Urk!
It was impossible to procure a replacement of similar type on such short
notice (on Sunday) so the mighty Phoenix, leaker of oil and other liquid
exudations, gunk encrustifier of metal, wound up with a chrome timing cover
that would be seen only briefly.
Put it all back together, fire it up, and it was running about 5,000 RPM in
Park. Stupid me says "Hey, I can slow it down with the engine." So I put
in Reverse with the engine spinning faster than a Tijuana hooker's nipple
tassles. Oh to be a dumbass kid again.
After we got the car back out of the ditch, I wisely threw away the carbie I
had just rebuilt,and restored the original one to its rightful place.
All was good with the world.
Until the clang clang clang sound started. Stay tuned to this channel for
Takes of the Flying Flywheel, also known as Flywheel Near Missiles coming
(Actually, not. But all but one bolt had worked to where it was less than
finger tight. It was a real oh shit moment reaching up in there and
discovering the bolts holding my flywheel on were that loose! It chewed the
hell out of the flywheel banging the teeth on the starter housing. I didn't
lose the flywheel, but it never did quite act like the same car after all
that happened. I ultimately passed it along to the next kid. I saw it the
other day, an even greater work of the Bondo master's art, and evidently
still running. I wonder if they put a new engine and tranny in it after all
that though. :)
Michael McIntyre ---- Silvan < firstname.lastname@example.org>
Linux fanatic, and certified Geek; registered Linux user #243621
Amen to that. Reminds me of the time my ex (before we were married
even) bought a used '55 Volvo from a guy with a DA haircut and a black
leather jacket with an eagle on the back. A stocker with a four tiered
pulley on the crank. With only one tier used in stocker form. Dumped
bearing bits into the pan one night. Same night the bolts on the drive
shaft came loose when trying to tow it home. Lotsa finger tight bolts
on that engine. Hope that when that guy dies, his wanger is eternally
at the mercy of a slop-rebuild-and-sell crusher. Married her anyway.
Maybe I should take more notice of possible omens.
p.s.hope some of you are still awake.
I'm glad somebody else enjoyed it. It reminded me of why I
preferred to hire girl mechanics. The guys just didn't pay as
much attention to detail. Like that bunch on TV that can't get
the distributor in straight, or get the firing order right.
Hollywood is about the right name for that one. My wife left the
room after I started talking to the TV.
Dave in Fairfax
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