Saturday, November 15, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Slides right in like a College Frat Boy at a Keg Party!
Horror. Shock. Embarrassment. Panic. Distress.
These are all words I'd use to describe how I felt yesterday when the Vanagon's shifter started to act up.
The Vanagon has a bus like shifter. The thing is huge. Long. Unruly. To say it takes finesse to drive and shift this beast would be a kind understatement. She's a brute!
So a couple times I've gotten myself into a panic at a set of lights because the shifter has a tough time finding first gear. The "sweet spot" isn't as clear as on a newer vehicle. And the shifter always worked like the linkages were moving through a pile of sand. But this was part of my vehicles unique charm, I told myself. Being one of only a handful of people in the world who can actually drive it makes me feel special!
But a couple times, charm and character have been overshadowed by disaster.
Let me take you back a couple weeks. A week before I made my last Van related post I had taken my boys Adam and Scott out for a Bikeride. the Van's first real trip! Three bikes in the back, (the very back, behind the 3rd row seating! There's LOTS of room!) and three grown men in the front.
So being that I had other rowdy boys in the Van I was pretty excitable. I was shifting with relative reckless abandon! (you never quite act with any kind of abandon in this thing at low speeds. Shifting is stressful.) So we come to a set of lights in Cornwall PEI. A suburb of sorts. A mini town outside of town. And I come to what is the last set of lights before the main artery turns into highway. So I'm excited to get this beast and her precious cargo up to cruising speed! (about 90 for the Vanagon) ;^)
I fumbled, as usual, with the long clunky shifter and tried to get it into first. But this time something felt wrong. It wasn't the usual rough pile of sand I was used to pushing through. This was more like the stick was in a pile of gravel. REALLY rough. The shifter finally chunked into first with a muffled thud. Off the Van groaned. First gear is super short so I quickly jammed it back into second. But then the most horrible of horrible. When I plunged in the clutch and tried to lift the shifter up and over into 3rd, it dislodged from it's normal pivot point and became as limp as a first time porn star with stage fright! UH OH! Light green, traffic behind me, screaming laughing passengers, and no shifter. NO SHIFTER!!!
An untapped slew of expletives gushed from my mouth like raw oil. Filthy and expensive! Many eff words. "I'VE GOT NO FUCKING SHIFTER!!"
THANKFULLY I was able to maintain some semblance of sanity and control. My RoboCop electronic targeting systems saw a gap in the oncoming traffic, while my neural net processors read the tactile feedback coming through my feet on the pedals and told me I still had contact on second gear.
VVRRRRRROOOOAAARRRRRRM!!!
I Gave'R and cut across the road, coasting comfortably into the parking lot of the Pizza Delight.
By this point I felt a powerfully contrasting mix of emotion. I was relieved that I'd gotten my passengers, cargo, and their faithful vessel off the highway without impeding other traffic, and without killing or damaging anyone or anything. But I was horrifically heartbroken that my Van, and all of the plans and dreams I've bound so tightly to it, were by all rights, finished! In the mili-seconds it took for me to react to the questions of my passengers, 10 thousand scenarios went through my mind. Was my transmission sitting on the road 30 feet behind me?
You readers know very well that's not the case. But at the time my faithful friends, your dear narrator, did not.
I could smell the end. And it stank.
Within' a couple seconds my fear, turned to anger, and then to determined inquisition. I purposefully lifted the brown rubber accordion that covers the working bits of the shifter and helps it blend gracefully, and I will argue, stylishly with the cream coloured carpets, and slid it up the spacious span of the shifter shaft.
The simple (by today's standards) construction of this area of the Van revealed itself to me in an immediately soothing glory! A metal plate, two screws, and two wonderfully free wayward nuts!
HUZZAH!
Most people would not be happy to find dislodged hardware in their vehicles business end. But I was just so damned happy that there was a possibility of me fixing this problem and carrying on with the bike trip that I didn't bother being angry! Here now, a situation that had been not 3 seconds ago dire and insurmountable, was suddenly manageable, and hilarious!
I breathed an immense sigh of relief as I screwed the nuts back on. Thank god I'd put my tool kit in the Van instead of leaving it home. My heart was beating so fast, that I used the first passably suitable tool my frantic fingers had gripped. A crescent wrench was certainly not the right tool for this job. But it was doing just fine under the pressure!
I could feel the tension as my Van mates breathed silently. Once the bolts tightened, and the bottom plate was fastened back to the chassis, the shifter sat back up. Proud in it's own imperfect and well used way.
While the Van was still off, I pushed in the clutch and tried to find first.
*CLUNK*
THERE IT IS!!
With glee, I quickly cycled through the other four gears. WHOOO HOOOO!!!!
Cheers erupted from all corners of the Vanagons cavernous interior.
I turned the key and she started back up with a purr, and rumble, and several clunks and dings that have since been remedied. :^)
Off we went.
Since that day, every second day or so, I would reach under the rubber skirt and fiddle with the bolts. They continued to come loose, and I continued to tighten them by hand. Certainly not a fix by any stretch of the imagination. But there was a certain satisfaction I felt just having something to tinker with. The plan was to eventually put some thread locking compound on the nuts and fasten them permanently with the proper tool. But every time I tried something just got in the way and I never got around to it.
Fast forward now to yesterday, and the Horror Show.
I've been doing some graphic design and web design work for my Father's Hobby Shop. It's a small company, with a tight nit crew. Birthdays are always celebrated with cake in the board room. Mom (who also works there) sent me up to the Sobeys to pick up a couple cakes since two peoples birthdays happened upon the same day.
I gleefully jumped at the chance to take my Van for a ride ANYwhere.
This time though, I noticed something wrong RIGHT away.
The clutch. The clutch was engaging much earlier then usual. My underpowered, overly heavy brute of a van, hopped forward in first gear, without my even pressing the pedal. Interesting. Not terribly upsetting, but interesting. I drove cautiously to the grocery store. Even with symptoms of something wrong, I still had nothing but love for the Van. So proud was I sitting up high in it's cab. Even prouder as I walked across the parking lot towards it. It stands up above and out like a thumb in a parking lot.
I walked back to it, sat down, started her up, and lurched forward. Same hyper-responsive clutch. Now I was starting to worry. I pulled it out of the parking lot in second, and up to the lights. This time, it was a left turn to get onto the short strip of highway back to the store with my delicious frosted bounty sitting shotgun.
At the red light is where the horror took place.
I can't find first.
Don't panic. Stay calm. Be gentle. Just like Peter said, finesse, don't force.
Halfway through the light's cycle and still no first. Panic sets in. I scramble to find second. Nothing. DAMMIT.
The light turns green, and I flip the archaic four way switch.
Defeated, I watched as the drivers of the cars behind me sat, awkwardly. Thankfully, this is PEI; not one person honked!
The green light sat mockingly in front of me. Out of desperation I tried to push the shifter down, and left, for reverse. First gear presents itself like a woman on her wedding night after I've been in reverse. It couldn't be any easier to get into as it is right after I come out of reverse. There's a "back end" joke in there, but I think I've already gone too far with title of this entry.
So I push down, and left, then up for reverse.
GGGGGGGGRRE!$@#R!$#R!#@%$#%!RRRGGG
Awful sound. Horrible horrible grinding gears sound.
By now my face is flush from the blood that boils beneath the skin of my cheeks. This isn't anger, it's fear and embarrassment. I snap the key back and kill the engine, and jerk the parking break upward quickly. (if I don't pull hard on the parking break, it doesn't grab. And I don't want to bump the car that's been so patiently waiting behind me for this green light.) I pump the clutch several times, and manage to force it into reverse while it's stationary. The light turns yellow, then red. Relief. For now. While the Van is still off, I fumble out of reverse and wiggle the shifter around some more. Still no first. I rip up the rubber skirt and shift the plate around, trying to slip into the right point of actuation. Back into reverse, back out. Still no first. The light turns green once again, and this time, the cars all go around me.
FINALLY, out of reverse for the second time, the shifter catches first!
HUZZAH!
I waste no time getting the engine started and getting the van moving! Over-revving slightly to get it through the intersection and onto the highway. With some momentum behind me, and a lot of nervous energy in my hand, I attempt to shift into second.
Nothing.
I pull over and jam the 4 ways back on. A police cruiser parked across the highway facing me ads to my stress. Back down to the plate the shifter sits on. More adjustments, and more 'engine off' shifting practice.
FINALLY, I get it to go through first, second, third, and fourth.
A minuscule amount of relief cools my cheeks and I start the Van again. (Vanagon?)
When I pull back into the parking lot at work, a crucial part of my regular parking routine changes. I don't proudly pull in making a large circle, and then backing into the space. I simply pull in forwards. The Van's new, tail out stance, reflects the defeat I feel on the inside. Instead of it's gorgeous face pointing out and towards the office window, it sits pointed in, like a truant student made to sit and face the corner of the room in shame.
I brought the birthday cake in and set it on the boardroom table, and without missing a step, continued on through the offices and into the work shop. I grabbed the socket set, and the thread locking compound, and went out to "fix" the problematic shifter plate.
I did my long overdue work with an unfinished feeling of futility. After all, deep inside I knew from the way the clutch felt, that this problem was deeper then a simple metal plate that held my shifter in place.
No, my Van was sick, and it needed immediately medical attention.
As I walked back into the building my Dad's sullen smile greeted me as I came back in. He said nothing as he saw me carrying the socket set back in. I forced a smile and came in for some cake. The layers of whipped chocolate and caramel helped me distance myself from the vehicular stress for a few moments. My Dad's silent recognition of my stress also really helped. He very well could have given me all sorts of "I told you so" speeches about making smart purchases. And the benefits of a vehicle who's lack of character was outshone by it's steadfast reliability. But he said nothing. And I took his silence as the respectful gift that it was!
After cake, I went back to work, knowing in the back of my head that I had a real problem to deal with.
Leaving at the end of the day was an ordeal. I some how wished that my newly lock tight reinforced shifter plate would solve the problem. Though I knew it wouldn't. In my haste, I hadn't even picked a "sweet spot" to secured the plate at! (the bolt holds are oblong, allowing for some play back and forth) I was so frustrated, that I vindictively bolted it down where it sat without rhyme or valid reasoning.
I sinking sickness filled my belly when starting the Van that evening. The sun had set, and the parking lot near emptied. I sat in the Van and knew that the backing up I had avoided earlier that afternoon, now had to be faced, head on. I started the Van. Sat for a moment. Wiggled the shifter, and pushed down. I slowly pulled it left and pushed it up.
GRRRRR#!@%$@$%#YQ#$R!#$R#RRRR
DAMMIT. The grinding sound.
Snapped back the key and killed the engine.
I put it in reverse while it was off, and with a great amount of fear and hesitation, turned the key. It started, and thankfully with the clutch all the way down, made no terrible grinding sounds. I let the clutch up, and like before, it engaged too early. The van lurched backwards too quickly. I pushed the clutch back in and it slowed down, then stopped. I tried to pop it out of reverse and back into first.
GGUUHGTH$%@%#^YWY%$^#^#$%
GRINDING!
DAMMIT!
Cut the Engine.
This time, the Van was sitting beside the boss' office window. And my Father and his two partners we're sitting with a perfect view of me and my woes. Without looking up I moved the shifter into first gear, and started the van back up. I lifted my left foot slowly and let the over eager clutch engage the engine. The Van eked forward and I pulled out of the parking lot, defeated.
I drove it home with the same sad feeling that I used to get when the roof leaked. I was still happy that I owned it. Sill proud to be driving it. But I knew work needed to be done.
I did something that is out of my realm of appropriate. I called Dave's cellphone to ask him about work, when I knew he wasn't working. This is a no no for me under normal circumstances. But I only had one thing on my mind, and that was fixing the Vanagon.
Dave, as usual, was super awesome about it.
"If you call the shop, you won't get an appointment, I'm all booked up this week. But tomorrow is Friday, bring it in around 3:15 and we'll sneak a look at it. It's probably your clutch if it's not the shifter. We'll take a look".
I woke up this morning and took my sweet time getting ready. I was a half hour late for work because I didn't want to face driving my Van in that state. Sure enough though, things went off without a hitch this morning. The shifter was back to it's 'pile of sand' state of nominal operation. Again with a mixed reaction, I felt relieved and further perturbed all at once.
Throughout the day I found out that no one had heard me grind the gears. But Dad confided that he knew something was wrong when I had to stop and start the engine several times. Once again, in a surprisingly respectful move, he simply asked me what time Dave was planning to have a look at it. With a myriad of possible lecture subjects, he decided for some reason at that moment, to treat me as someone in control of his own life, and asked me how I was dealing, instead of telling me how he would. This melted a lot of my stress away immediately. And Dave hadn't even looked at it yet!
So on we go to what is now approaching 4 hours ago (Jeeze! This entry is taking me like 2 hours to type! No wonder I don't do it every day!) and I bring the Van in for Dave. He's busy bolting a plow mounting bracket on the frame of a massive Ford F-250. Being that he's clearly busy, I park the Van and go in to ask him if I can offer a hand.
He tells me to pull the Van into the other available spot in the bay.
"Really?"
"Yeah, pull it in".
Still surprised that he's asking me to bring it in while he's so busy, I run out to the Van, with a little bit more bounce in my step.
I pulled the Van in, and once again, get to see it hoisted up on the lift.
This time I REALLY get my face in underneath it with him. He's walking around under it, in front, and behind. Looking for the Clutch Fluid reservoir, he says. "I have a hydraulic clutch?" Yup! And fuel injection too! (I thought it had a carburetor! It's fuel infected Dad!)
Now this is when something REALLY out of the ordinary happens.
Dave has his head up underneath the Van, poking around, jamming his free hand in and out of various crevices, while holding a long stick style LED work lamp with the other hand. He reaches in, and without missing a breath of batting an eye says: "Half a coconut".
WHAT?!!
I look at he's holding half a coconut.
HALF OF A FRIGGING COCONUT! HE PULLED THE TOP HALF OF A FREAKING COCONUT SHELL OUT OF THE BOTTOM OF MY VAN!
From this point on my stress was gone. I laughed my ass off as my mind wandered to possible ways that in 24 years, this Van had been in a situation where it was possible for a half of a coconut to get lodged into it's underside!
This was a Van who could tell many many stories. And when I'm done with it, it will tell many many more!
So Dave doesn't find anything underneath, other then half a coconut, and brings the Van back down. This time he pulls apart the inside again. He finds the reservoir for the Brake and Clutch fluids behind the dashboard, of all places! There's still plenty of fluid. No leak.
So back under he needs to go.
He tells me to hop back up into the cab, and hoists me up high once again. Just like last time, only in the other available bay of the garage. A new view from the other side! He gets me to press and release the clutch a half dozen times. We yell back and forth to one another as I press and release my clutch. He tells me only to move it through it's 'free play' which is the range of motion before it engages. It's an awful lot of room to move. About half of it's travel was "free play".
He tells me to release, then in a minute, says to press again. This time it's all free. There's no liquid resistance on the clutch this time. Only the relatively weak return spring. It remains like this for 5-6 press and releases.
Then on around the 14th magical pedal press, EUREKA! The clutch now has 1/5th range "free play" and the rest of the travel is AAAAAALLL BUSINESS!!!
LIKE AN OLD USED FIXED ONE!!! (Like brand new!!)
Then he tells me to put the clutch in, and shift into first. It moves through the proverbial sand, and I find first as easily as I ever have been. Then I can hear a spraying noise. "Move it through all the gears one by one over and over" he says. "Yeah, that's it, keep moving".
Suddenly, what had previously moved like a stick in the sand, was suddenly moving like, well, like a well lubricated shaft in a perfectly fitted hole! As hard as I tried I couldn't help but make all sorts of awful yelping noises! "Keep shifting it!"
I shifted that thing like a spoiled rotten brat kid bangs his action figures together! Pure fucking bliss is what it was!
"Start her up!"
"Really? Start it? While I'm up here?"
"Yup, we gotta see if it works right? Put it in reverse and let in engage".
I started it up. The familiar put put put rumble filled the garage. I pushed down, and left. The shifter knob slid into reverse like that was it's job! I let off the clutch and saw the back wheel spin up in the rear view mirror.
YYYEAAAH!!!!
"Ok, now try first"
Clutch in, shifter down, over to the right, and up.
PERFECTION!
THIS is what the shifter is supposed to work like!!!! LIKE A HOT KNIFE IN BUTTER!!! That thing was shifting like I never imagined it ever could! And it took not one new part. Not one replacement ordered off the internet. Not one scratch built, this should get you buy for now, band-aide solution. No no. My man Dave, in 15 minutes, brought my Van, and my ego, and my aspirations of cross country travel, back from the dead! And all it took was a bleed of the hydraulic clutch fluid, and an adjustment to a plunger in a cylinder that controlled the engagement point of the clutch itself. Along with some lubricant for the overly long shifter shaft that extends from the shift knob in the front cab, aaaaaall the way back to the transmission in the rear of the underside of the vehicle!
Overjoyed, I turned the ignition back off and yelled down to Dave what he already obviously knew. "DUDE! Your a genius!"
So once again, I gave what is now becoming a routine battle cry of satisfaction when pulling my "just like an old used fixed one (new)" Vanagon out of a parking lot and on my way home.
I never imagined the shifting could be so smooth, and he fixed both the shifter, AND the clutch.
All of these miraculous, and timely repairs are making me very worried about something. What the fuck am I gonna do without Dave?
Dad says "your screwed without him that's what!"
And he's right.
A mechanic in Ontario or Quebec is gonna see me coming and have dollar signs in their eyes. They're gonna take these 15 minute, 3 dollar repairs jobs and turn them into 4 day, 500 dollar nightmares.
But I'm not worried about that.
Why worry about a hypothetical future, when you could be busy being very very pleased with an actual present.
I'm enjoying the work I'm doing for my Dad's store.
I'm enjoying the time I'm spending with my family there.
I'm enjoying the excitement that's building for the big trip that lies ahead and the fun I'm having with my new ride and the new freedom it gives me.
And I'm enjoying pouring my heart out into my now "classic" Macbook Pro through this blog!
*deep breath*
Aaaaah.
Writing is really nice.
Now I have to go return all those phone calls I ignored over the last two hours while I typed! This writing thing is really engrossing. When I get into it, there's not stopping me until it's done! And this entry, is DONE!
:^)
Thanks again Dave!
These are all words I'd use to describe how I felt yesterday when the Vanagon's shifter started to act up.
The Vanagon has a bus like shifter. The thing is huge. Long. Unruly. To say it takes finesse to drive and shift this beast would be a kind understatement. She's a brute!
So a couple times I've gotten myself into a panic at a set of lights because the shifter has a tough time finding first gear. The "sweet spot" isn't as clear as on a newer vehicle. And the shifter always worked like the linkages were moving through a pile of sand. But this was part of my vehicles unique charm, I told myself. Being one of only a handful of people in the world who can actually drive it makes me feel special!
But a couple times, charm and character have been overshadowed by disaster.
Let me take you back a couple weeks. A week before I made my last Van related post I had taken my boys Adam and Scott out for a Bikeride. the Van's first real trip! Three bikes in the back, (the very back, behind the 3rd row seating! There's LOTS of room!) and three grown men in the front.
So being that I had other rowdy boys in the Van I was pretty excitable. I was shifting with relative reckless abandon! (you never quite act with any kind of abandon in this thing at low speeds. Shifting is stressful.) So we come to a set of lights in Cornwall PEI. A suburb of sorts. A mini town outside of town. And I come to what is the last set of lights before the main artery turns into highway. So I'm excited to get this beast and her precious cargo up to cruising speed! (about 90 for the Vanagon) ;^)
I fumbled, as usual, with the long clunky shifter and tried to get it into first. But this time something felt wrong. It wasn't the usual rough pile of sand I was used to pushing through. This was more like the stick was in a pile of gravel. REALLY rough. The shifter finally chunked into first with a muffled thud. Off the Van groaned. First gear is super short so I quickly jammed it back into second. But then the most horrible of horrible. When I plunged in the clutch and tried to lift the shifter up and over into 3rd, it dislodged from it's normal pivot point and became as limp as a first time porn star with stage fright! UH OH! Light green, traffic behind me, screaming laughing passengers, and no shifter. NO SHIFTER!!!
An untapped slew of expletives gushed from my mouth like raw oil. Filthy and expensive! Many eff words. "I'VE GOT NO FUCKING SHIFTER!!"
THANKFULLY I was able to maintain some semblance of sanity and control. My RoboCop electronic targeting systems saw a gap in the oncoming traffic, while my neural net processors read the tactile feedback coming through my feet on the pedals and told me I still had contact on second gear.
VVRRRRRROOOOAAARRRRRRM!!!
I Gave'R and cut across the road, coasting comfortably into the parking lot of the Pizza Delight.
By this point I felt a powerfully contrasting mix of emotion. I was relieved that I'd gotten my passengers, cargo, and their faithful vessel off the highway without impeding other traffic, and without killing or damaging anyone or anything. But I was horrifically heartbroken that my Van, and all of the plans and dreams I've bound so tightly to it, were by all rights, finished! In the mili-seconds it took for me to react to the questions of my passengers, 10 thousand scenarios went through my mind. Was my transmission sitting on the road 30 feet behind me?
You readers know very well that's not the case. But at the time my faithful friends, your dear narrator, did not.
I could smell the end. And it stank.
Within' a couple seconds my fear, turned to anger, and then to determined inquisition. I purposefully lifted the brown rubber accordion that covers the working bits of the shifter and helps it blend gracefully, and I will argue, stylishly with the cream coloured carpets, and slid it up the spacious span of the shifter shaft.
The simple (by today's standards) construction of this area of the Van revealed itself to me in an immediately soothing glory! A metal plate, two screws, and two wonderfully free wayward nuts!
HUZZAH!
Most people would not be happy to find dislodged hardware in their vehicles business end. But I was just so damned happy that there was a possibility of me fixing this problem and carrying on with the bike trip that I didn't bother being angry! Here now, a situation that had been not 3 seconds ago dire and insurmountable, was suddenly manageable, and hilarious!
I breathed an immense sigh of relief as I screwed the nuts back on. Thank god I'd put my tool kit in the Van instead of leaving it home. My heart was beating so fast, that I used the first passably suitable tool my frantic fingers had gripped. A crescent wrench was certainly not the right tool for this job. But it was doing just fine under the pressure!
I could feel the tension as my Van mates breathed silently. Once the bolts tightened, and the bottom plate was fastened back to the chassis, the shifter sat back up. Proud in it's own imperfect and well used way.
While the Van was still off, I pushed in the clutch and tried to find first.
*CLUNK*
THERE IT IS!!
With glee, I quickly cycled through the other four gears. WHOOO HOOOO!!!!
Cheers erupted from all corners of the Vanagons cavernous interior.
I turned the key and she started back up with a purr, and rumble, and several clunks and dings that have since been remedied. :^)
Off we went.
Since that day, every second day or so, I would reach under the rubber skirt and fiddle with the bolts. They continued to come loose, and I continued to tighten them by hand. Certainly not a fix by any stretch of the imagination. But there was a certain satisfaction I felt just having something to tinker with. The plan was to eventually put some thread locking compound on the nuts and fasten them permanently with the proper tool. But every time I tried something just got in the way and I never got around to it.
Fast forward now to yesterday, and the Horror Show.
I've been doing some graphic design and web design work for my Father's Hobby Shop. It's a small company, with a tight nit crew. Birthdays are always celebrated with cake in the board room. Mom (who also works there) sent me up to the Sobeys to pick up a couple cakes since two peoples birthdays happened upon the same day.
I gleefully jumped at the chance to take my Van for a ride ANYwhere.
This time though, I noticed something wrong RIGHT away.
The clutch. The clutch was engaging much earlier then usual. My underpowered, overly heavy brute of a van, hopped forward in first gear, without my even pressing the pedal. Interesting. Not terribly upsetting, but interesting. I drove cautiously to the grocery store. Even with symptoms of something wrong, I still had nothing but love for the Van. So proud was I sitting up high in it's cab. Even prouder as I walked across the parking lot towards it. It stands up above and out like a thumb in a parking lot.
I walked back to it, sat down, started her up, and lurched forward. Same hyper-responsive clutch. Now I was starting to worry. I pulled it out of the parking lot in second, and up to the lights. This time, it was a left turn to get onto the short strip of highway back to the store with my delicious frosted bounty sitting shotgun.
At the red light is where the horror took place.
I can't find first.
Don't panic. Stay calm. Be gentle. Just like Peter said, finesse, don't force.
Halfway through the light's cycle and still no first. Panic sets in. I scramble to find second. Nothing. DAMMIT.
The light turns green, and I flip the archaic four way switch.
Defeated, I watched as the drivers of the cars behind me sat, awkwardly. Thankfully, this is PEI; not one person honked!
The green light sat mockingly in front of me. Out of desperation I tried to push the shifter down, and left, for reverse. First gear presents itself like a woman on her wedding night after I've been in reverse. It couldn't be any easier to get into as it is right after I come out of reverse. There's a "back end" joke in there, but I think I've already gone too far with title of this entry.
So I push down, and left, then up for reverse.
GGGGGGGGRRE!$@#R!$#R!#@%$#%!RRRGGG
Awful sound. Horrible horrible grinding gears sound.
By now my face is flush from the blood that boils beneath the skin of my cheeks. This isn't anger, it's fear and embarrassment. I snap the key back and kill the engine, and jerk the parking break upward quickly. (if I don't pull hard on the parking break, it doesn't grab. And I don't want to bump the car that's been so patiently waiting behind me for this green light.) I pump the clutch several times, and manage to force it into reverse while it's stationary. The light turns yellow, then red. Relief. For now. While the Van is still off, I fumble out of reverse and wiggle the shifter around some more. Still no first. I rip up the rubber skirt and shift the plate around, trying to slip into the right point of actuation. Back into reverse, back out. Still no first. The light turns green once again, and this time, the cars all go around me.
FINALLY, out of reverse for the second time, the shifter catches first!
HUZZAH!
I waste no time getting the engine started and getting the van moving! Over-revving slightly to get it through the intersection and onto the highway. With some momentum behind me, and a lot of nervous energy in my hand, I attempt to shift into second.
Nothing.
I pull over and jam the 4 ways back on. A police cruiser parked across the highway facing me ads to my stress. Back down to the plate the shifter sits on. More adjustments, and more 'engine off' shifting practice.
FINALLY, I get it to go through first, second, third, and fourth.
A minuscule amount of relief cools my cheeks and I start the Van again. (Vanagon?)
When I pull back into the parking lot at work, a crucial part of my regular parking routine changes. I don't proudly pull in making a large circle, and then backing into the space. I simply pull in forwards. The Van's new, tail out stance, reflects the defeat I feel on the inside. Instead of it's gorgeous face pointing out and towards the office window, it sits pointed in, like a truant student made to sit and face the corner of the room in shame.
I brought the birthday cake in and set it on the boardroom table, and without missing a step, continued on through the offices and into the work shop. I grabbed the socket set, and the thread locking compound, and went out to "fix" the problematic shifter plate.
I did my long overdue work with an unfinished feeling of futility. After all, deep inside I knew from the way the clutch felt, that this problem was deeper then a simple metal plate that held my shifter in place.
No, my Van was sick, and it needed immediately medical attention.
As I walked back into the building my Dad's sullen smile greeted me as I came back in. He said nothing as he saw me carrying the socket set back in. I forced a smile and came in for some cake. The layers of whipped chocolate and caramel helped me distance myself from the vehicular stress for a few moments. My Dad's silent recognition of my stress also really helped. He very well could have given me all sorts of "I told you so" speeches about making smart purchases. And the benefits of a vehicle who's lack of character was outshone by it's steadfast reliability. But he said nothing. And I took his silence as the respectful gift that it was!
After cake, I went back to work, knowing in the back of my head that I had a real problem to deal with.
Leaving at the end of the day was an ordeal. I some how wished that my newly lock tight reinforced shifter plate would solve the problem. Though I knew it wouldn't. In my haste, I hadn't even picked a "sweet spot" to secured the plate at! (the bolt holds are oblong, allowing for some play back and forth) I was so frustrated, that I vindictively bolted it down where it sat without rhyme or valid reasoning.
I sinking sickness filled my belly when starting the Van that evening. The sun had set, and the parking lot near emptied. I sat in the Van and knew that the backing up I had avoided earlier that afternoon, now had to be faced, head on. I started the Van. Sat for a moment. Wiggled the shifter, and pushed down. I slowly pulled it left and pushed it up.
GRRRRR#!@%$@$%#YQ#$R!#$R#RRRR
DAMMIT. The grinding sound.
Snapped back the key and killed the engine.
I put it in reverse while it was off, and with a great amount of fear and hesitation, turned the key. It started, and thankfully with the clutch all the way down, made no terrible grinding sounds. I let the clutch up, and like before, it engaged too early. The van lurched backwards too quickly. I pushed the clutch back in and it slowed down, then stopped. I tried to pop it out of reverse and back into first.
GGUUHGTH$%@%#^YWY%$^#^#$%
GRINDING!
DAMMIT!
Cut the Engine.
This time, the Van was sitting beside the boss' office window. And my Father and his two partners we're sitting with a perfect view of me and my woes. Without looking up I moved the shifter into first gear, and started the van back up. I lifted my left foot slowly and let the over eager clutch engage the engine. The Van eked forward and I pulled out of the parking lot, defeated.
I drove it home with the same sad feeling that I used to get when the roof leaked. I was still happy that I owned it. Sill proud to be driving it. But I knew work needed to be done.
I did something that is out of my realm of appropriate. I called Dave's cellphone to ask him about work, when I knew he wasn't working. This is a no no for me under normal circumstances. But I only had one thing on my mind, and that was fixing the Vanagon.
Dave, as usual, was super awesome about it.
"If you call the shop, you won't get an appointment, I'm all booked up this week. But tomorrow is Friday, bring it in around 3:15 and we'll sneak a look at it. It's probably your clutch if it's not the shifter. We'll take a look".
I woke up this morning and took my sweet time getting ready. I was a half hour late for work because I didn't want to face driving my Van in that state. Sure enough though, things went off without a hitch this morning. The shifter was back to it's 'pile of sand' state of nominal operation. Again with a mixed reaction, I felt relieved and further perturbed all at once.
Throughout the day I found out that no one had heard me grind the gears. But Dad confided that he knew something was wrong when I had to stop and start the engine several times. Once again, in a surprisingly respectful move, he simply asked me what time Dave was planning to have a look at it. With a myriad of possible lecture subjects, he decided for some reason at that moment, to treat me as someone in control of his own life, and asked me how I was dealing, instead of telling me how he would. This melted a lot of my stress away immediately. And Dave hadn't even looked at it yet!
So on we go to what is now approaching 4 hours ago (Jeeze! This entry is taking me like 2 hours to type! No wonder I don't do it every day!) and I bring the Van in for Dave. He's busy bolting a plow mounting bracket on the frame of a massive Ford F-250. Being that he's clearly busy, I park the Van and go in to ask him if I can offer a hand.
He tells me to pull the Van into the other available spot in the bay.
"Really?"
"Yeah, pull it in".
Still surprised that he's asking me to bring it in while he's so busy, I run out to the Van, with a little bit more bounce in my step.
I pulled the Van in, and once again, get to see it hoisted up on the lift.
This time I REALLY get my face in underneath it with him. He's walking around under it, in front, and behind. Looking for the Clutch Fluid reservoir, he says. "I have a hydraulic clutch?" Yup! And fuel injection too! (I thought it had a carburetor! It's fuel infected Dad!)
Now this is when something REALLY out of the ordinary happens.
Dave has his head up underneath the Van, poking around, jamming his free hand in and out of various crevices, while holding a long stick style LED work lamp with the other hand. He reaches in, and without missing a breath of batting an eye says: "Half a coconut".
WHAT?!!
I look at he's holding half a coconut.
HALF OF A FRIGGING COCONUT! HE PULLED THE TOP HALF OF A FREAKING COCONUT SHELL OUT OF THE BOTTOM OF MY VAN!
From this point on my stress was gone. I laughed my ass off as my mind wandered to possible ways that in 24 years, this Van had been in a situation where it was possible for a half of a coconut to get lodged into it's underside!
This was a Van who could tell many many stories. And when I'm done with it, it will tell many many more!
So Dave doesn't find anything underneath, other then half a coconut, and brings the Van back down. This time he pulls apart the inside again. He finds the reservoir for the Brake and Clutch fluids behind the dashboard, of all places! There's still plenty of fluid. No leak.
So back under he needs to go.
He tells me to hop back up into the cab, and hoists me up high once again. Just like last time, only in the other available bay of the garage. A new view from the other side! He gets me to press and release the clutch a half dozen times. We yell back and forth to one another as I press and release my clutch. He tells me only to move it through it's 'free play' which is the range of motion before it engages. It's an awful lot of room to move. About half of it's travel was "free play".
He tells me to release, then in a minute, says to press again. This time it's all free. There's no liquid resistance on the clutch this time. Only the relatively weak return spring. It remains like this for 5-6 press and releases.
Then on around the 14th magical pedal press, EUREKA! The clutch now has 1/5th range "free play" and the rest of the travel is AAAAAALLL BUSINESS!!!
LIKE AN OLD USED FIXED ONE!!! (Like brand new!!)
Then he tells me to put the clutch in, and shift into first. It moves through the proverbial sand, and I find first as easily as I ever have been. Then I can hear a spraying noise. "Move it through all the gears one by one over and over" he says. "Yeah, that's it, keep moving".
Suddenly, what had previously moved like a stick in the sand, was suddenly moving like, well, like a well lubricated shaft in a perfectly fitted hole! As hard as I tried I couldn't help but make all sorts of awful yelping noises! "Keep shifting it!"
I shifted that thing like a spoiled rotten brat kid bangs his action figures together! Pure fucking bliss is what it was!
"Start her up!"
"Really? Start it? While I'm up here?"
"Yup, we gotta see if it works right? Put it in reverse and let in engage".
I started it up. The familiar put put put rumble filled the garage. I pushed down, and left. The shifter knob slid into reverse like that was it's job! I let off the clutch and saw the back wheel spin up in the rear view mirror.
YYYEAAAH!!!!
"Ok, now try first"
Clutch in, shifter down, over to the right, and up.
PERFECTION!
THIS is what the shifter is supposed to work like!!!! LIKE A HOT KNIFE IN BUTTER!!! That thing was shifting like I never imagined it ever could! And it took not one new part. Not one replacement ordered off the internet. Not one scratch built, this should get you buy for now, band-aide solution. No no. My man Dave, in 15 minutes, brought my Van, and my ego, and my aspirations of cross country travel, back from the dead! And all it took was a bleed of the hydraulic clutch fluid, and an adjustment to a plunger in a cylinder that controlled the engagement point of the clutch itself. Along with some lubricant for the overly long shifter shaft that extends from the shift knob in the front cab, aaaaaall the way back to the transmission in the rear of the underside of the vehicle!
Overjoyed, I turned the ignition back off and yelled down to Dave what he already obviously knew. "DUDE! Your a genius!"
So once again, I gave what is now becoming a routine battle cry of satisfaction when pulling my "just like an old used fixed one (new)" Vanagon out of a parking lot and on my way home.
I never imagined the shifting could be so smooth, and he fixed both the shifter, AND the clutch.
All of these miraculous, and timely repairs are making me very worried about something. What the fuck am I gonna do without Dave?
Dad says "your screwed without him that's what!"
And he's right.
A mechanic in Ontario or Quebec is gonna see me coming and have dollar signs in their eyes. They're gonna take these 15 minute, 3 dollar repairs jobs and turn them into 4 day, 500 dollar nightmares.
But I'm not worried about that.
Why worry about a hypothetical future, when you could be busy being very very pleased with an actual present.
I'm enjoying the work I'm doing for my Dad's store.
I'm enjoying the time I'm spending with my family there.
I'm enjoying the excitement that's building for the big trip that lies ahead and the fun I'm having with my new ride and the new freedom it gives me.
And I'm enjoying pouring my heart out into my now "classic" Macbook Pro through this blog!
*deep breath*
Aaaaah.
Writing is really nice.
Now I have to go return all those phone calls I ignored over the last two hours while I typed! This writing thing is really engrossing. When I get into it, there's not stopping me until it's done! And this entry, is DONE!
:^)
Thanks again Dave!
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
High Fidelity, on the shoulders of the past
My room is THUMPING right now. BUMPING like it hasn't in.... well, EVER!
I was given my Father's original 1970's Young Adult in need of some lady impressing Bass component home stereo system. The same kind we read about in our horribly outdated 7th grade English Class Textbooks. Complete with amazing record collection. Dad's old progressive and classic rock album, some MJ, some Prince, some Lionel Ritchie. Plus I've got my handful of "rave music" records.
But it's all been sitting pretty useless for the 2+ years I've had it in my possession.
(The old Ray Charles version of the Kanye and Jamie Foxx "Gold Digger" just came on, reminding me of the "shoulders of the past" part of my blog entry title)
See, while the gigantic wooden boxed roof thumping cone blasting speakers work perfectly, the turntable always had some issues and so I haven't really been able to play my records. The sound cut in and out of one speaker. So I'd rooted both speakers through one channel. Mono sound at best.
So I've gone through 3 different second hand amplifiers in what proved to be vain attempts to revive this stereo.
As it turned out, it was the turntable not properly OUTputting the sound. So I have several classic, perfectly working component stereo receivers if anyone needs.
I digress.
Point is, I hooked up the Tape player after having found a bunch of old tapes I'd made in my early adulthood. (18-20) I hooked the tape player up to the latest of the new-old receivers I'd had stacked in the stereo cabinet.
One tape didn't work. It sounded hollow and mono, like the records had. But it always sounded a bit different when I'd first hit "play" and the tape would turn at a different speed then when it was running. So I hypothesized that the tape player did in fact work. Anyway, another tape proved my hypothesis. Turned out to be a tape I'd made on this very stereo! With Saturday Night Fever on the record player, and this tape in the very player I was listening to it on now. Evidence of the rotational, repetitive, seasonal, nature of time.
So once I got tapes working, I figured I MUST then be able to rig up something to feed my big honkin' 32 Gig (that will sound hilarious small when I read this in 20 years!) iPod touch into this big phat stereo! The shitty quality demagnetized dusty old tape, and monaural crackly records, had HARDLY done these speakers justice. I mean, if I plugged the record in, and jacked the volume, I could MAKE the speaker cones hop and jiggle in their "Holy fuck how are those not exploding right now" way. But the SOUND wasn't good.
Fast Forward to 10 seconds before I started to pen this entry, and we're now seeing, feeling, and hearing what these speakers were made to do! Shorten the life of, and compromise the structural integrity of, the lodgings that house them!
THESE THINGS SOUND INCREDIBLE!!!
I sat down with the intent of writing about how, as a creative, I am forever indebted to those creative who came before me. Those people who's hard work and ideas I so blatantly borrow, at bare minimum, inspiration from. About how even those who created this laptop, this software, are partially responsible for everything I create on it! and how no creative effort, no matter how seemingly insignificant, is NEVER a solo effort. Even the piece of design I'm working on now, and tribute piece of my Van, would not be possible without the HUNDREDS or THOUSANDS of people who helped to make, The computer, the software, and arguably ALL computers and software who came before them. As well as anyone every involved in dreaming of, creating, constructing, and later maintaining my Van!
Anyway, I had intentions of rambling on at length about standing on the shoulders of my predecessors, family, teachers, mentors, and even nemesis'. But THANKfully, someone before me designed and built a speaker, that led to a specific speaker that I'm hearing wonderful music on right now! Music produced and arranged by thousands of passed musicians, inventors, DJ's, producers, dancers and fans! Music that is making it impossible for me to sit here at my computer typing, when I could be up DANCING, and raving around like a lunatic, while I blow the leaves off the branches of my old life, and make way for it's next season with eager anticipation and excitement!
I was given my Father's original 1970's Young Adult in need of some lady impressing Bass component home stereo system. The same kind we read about in our horribly outdated 7th grade English Class Textbooks. Complete with amazing record collection. Dad's old progressive and classic rock album, some MJ, some Prince, some Lionel Ritchie. Plus I've got my handful of "rave music" records.
But it's all been sitting pretty useless for the 2+ years I've had it in my possession.
(The old Ray Charles version of the Kanye and Jamie Foxx "Gold Digger" just came on, reminding me of the "shoulders of the past" part of my blog entry title)
See, while the gigantic wooden boxed roof thumping cone blasting speakers work perfectly, the turntable always had some issues and so I haven't really been able to play my records. The sound cut in and out of one speaker. So I'd rooted both speakers through one channel. Mono sound at best.
So I've gone through 3 different second hand amplifiers in what proved to be vain attempts to revive this stereo.
As it turned out, it was the turntable not properly OUTputting the sound. So I have several classic, perfectly working component stereo receivers if anyone needs.
I digress.
Point is, I hooked up the Tape player after having found a bunch of old tapes I'd made in my early adulthood. (18-20) I hooked the tape player up to the latest of the new-old receivers I'd had stacked in the stereo cabinet.
One tape didn't work. It sounded hollow and mono, like the records had. But it always sounded a bit different when I'd first hit "play" and the tape would turn at a different speed then when it was running. So I hypothesized that the tape player did in fact work. Anyway, another tape proved my hypothesis. Turned out to be a tape I'd made on this very stereo! With Saturday Night Fever on the record player, and this tape in the very player I was listening to it on now. Evidence of the rotational, repetitive, seasonal, nature of time.
So once I got tapes working, I figured I MUST then be able to rig up something to feed my big honkin' 32 Gig (that will sound hilarious small when I read this in 20 years!) iPod touch into this big phat stereo! The shitty quality demagnetized dusty old tape, and monaural crackly records, had HARDLY done these speakers justice. I mean, if I plugged the record in, and jacked the volume, I could MAKE the speaker cones hop and jiggle in their "Holy fuck how are those not exploding right now" way. But the SOUND wasn't good.
Fast Forward to 10 seconds before I started to pen this entry, and we're now seeing, feeling, and hearing what these speakers were made to do! Shorten the life of, and compromise the structural integrity of, the lodgings that house them!
THESE THINGS SOUND INCREDIBLE!!!
I sat down with the intent of writing about how, as a creative, I am forever indebted to those creative who came before me. Those people who's hard work and ideas I so blatantly borrow, at bare minimum, inspiration from. About how even those who created this laptop, this software, are partially responsible for everything I create on it! and how no creative effort, no matter how seemingly insignificant, is NEVER a solo effort. Even the piece of design I'm working on now, and tribute piece of my Van, would not be possible without the HUNDREDS or THOUSANDS of people who helped to make, The computer, the software, and arguably ALL computers and software who came before them. As well as anyone every involved in dreaming of, creating, constructing, and later maintaining my Van!
Anyway, I had intentions of rambling on at length about standing on the shoulders of my predecessors, family, teachers, mentors, and even nemesis'. But THANKfully, someone before me designed and built a speaker, that led to a specific speaker that I'm hearing wonderful music on right now! Music produced and arranged by thousands of passed musicians, inventors, DJ's, producers, dancers and fans! Music that is making it impossible for me to sit here at my computer typing, when I could be up DANCING, and raving around like a lunatic, while I blow the leaves off the branches of my old life, and make way for it's next season with eager anticipation and excitement!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
"Just like an old used fixed one!"
My Father is part owner of a hobby shop. He sells remote controlled model hobby supplies. One of his local customers is a super cool guy named Dave. Super laid back and easy to like. Regular customer for the time I worked with my Dad.
Dave is also a mechanic. He's the guy I took my last 4 potential VW purchases too for assessment. Fortunately he talked me out of buying those shitty rusted out golfs and jettas. In favor of the vehicle I now love so much. My VW Vanagon.
Well. After Dave had done me the favor of looking at all of those vehicles for me, for free, I really wanted to finally give him some proper paid business.
So when he gave the Vanagon the Gold Seal of approval, I promised him I'd bring her back in for some real work.
A couple things were bothering me about the Van when I got it. Things I knew needed to be taken care of. The biggest one, the leaky roof, my Dad and I fixed last week. So it was time to bring her in yesterday to have Dave work his magic on it.
I took it in around 2 o'clock in the afternoon and Dave, all smiles, motioned for me to pull the big brute into the loading bay, so he could hoist her up on the lift, and have a tinker.
He's really funny, and used to drive a Vanagon. So he knows that it's all about the character for me, and plays up on the Van's cartoonish personality when it's around. Makes a real big deal as I'm giving it gas to push it up over the hump and into the garage. Waving his blackened tattered hands around, cigarette, black around it's filter from the grease on his fingers, hanging out of his mouth, smoke billowing about his head as his face bobbles and lights up in clownish expressions of excitement. The perfect mechanic for me and my Van.
So we bring the beast into the garage, and I'm beaming and running my mouth off like the proud new parents that I am. Bouncing around the Van in a caffeinated frenzy after I swing the surprisingly heavy door open and hop down to the floor out of the raised cabin.
I barely got my mouth open to try and tell him all of the things I wanted him to look at for me before he has the passenger side open and was tearing out my glove box.
Myself, and Peter, the previous owner, had already told Dave that the heater fan in the front dash, as well as the speedometer cable, needed to be fixed. So off came the glove box, and the lower half of the Dash.
My Trek 4300 mountain bike now LIVES in the very back of the Vanagon. There's enough room for three bikes back there, behind the 3rd row seating. I'm sure I could cram the full 7 passengers in WITH their bikes. This things is an enigma. Tiny engine, super short wheelbase and tight turning radius, but more room then any vehicle I can imagine inside!
Anyway, I figured I'd be dropping the Van off, then hoping on my Bike to ride home. Something I wasn't looking forward to, but I wanted her to be fixed, so I was willing to do what it took.
But my curiosity got the better of me.
I'm not the type to own something and not know how it works. I never wanted to be one of those people who bought a car, and drove it for months without ever looking under the hood. I've actually looked under EVERY hood this beautiful piece of (sometimes nonsensical and overcomplicated) German engineering has! I'm pleased to know that most of it goes together a lot like my old Mechano sets did. With simple screw and nut combinations on metal plates and bars. Stuff I can fix!
Anyway, Dave went right to work pulling the dash off, and immediately, out of instinct, I reached from the front drivers seat, (where I had jumped back to when I saw some action) to the back where I had my tool kit, and a flash light! I wanted to help shed some light on what he was looking at under there. Both to help him, and to learn myself.
So by the time I'd swung back around with my 2 million candle power halogen floodlight, Dave had a more sensible pen style LED flash light in his hand, and he continued to pull panels off of the dash.
Soon my Vanagon's guts were spilled out all over it's front cab. Glorious!
Dave buzzed around from side to side, and I did the same, circling out bigger and wider then him, always trying to stay out of the way, but within' view of the action. To my surprise, he didn't bush me off like an annoying fly, but instead, shone his light on points of interest. Drawing me in like a moth to a summer's night porch.
I immediately stopped and told him to tell me to leave as soon as I got in the way. He ignored this comment, in the way most heterosexual men ignore any fluttery feeling based silly sentiments, and continued to teach me about my machine.
Clearly, having driven a Vanagon before, Dave understood, and did not need to speak of, my LOVE for this machine.
I Love this Machine.
So the fan in the dash proved to be an expensive proposition. In that it was going to take too long to fix for it to be worth my paying him. Instead, the fan would be reserved for a Diet A&W Rootbeer and Cheeseburger fueled Sunday afternoon for my Dad and I. This sat fine by me. After all, the rear heater does an acceptable job of making the Van uncomfortably warm in a short time. The Fan was hardly a critical repair.
On to item number two, the Speedometer that never worked.
This one bugged me. Once I got the roof leak fixed, this one was THE problem for me and my Van's happiness together. After all, I had NO idea how fast I'd EVER gone in this thing.
So Dave in his own charming way, started to tell me some inappropriately graphic tale of glory from back in the day, that I was happy to entertain with similar tales of my own, as the Van slowly started a meteoric rise to the upper echelons of the cavernous two car garage.
Once it was up on the giant hydraulic piston, balancing precariously in my eyes, I walked underneath it with a certain trepidation. Dave, a seasoned vet, had no problems walking under the van and pushing and pulling on various things, swinging the van around wildly on it's large, lubricated, spherical point of rotation.
Seeing the Van from the underside reminded me of another nit picky problem I had with it. The "rattle" that came from the back when the engine first fired up. And again when it idled or ran at a certain frequency. Some vibration was causing something that sounded like my exhaust hitting the frame. An unsettling "tic tic tic tic tic, toc toc toc toc toc" every time I ran her, and until I got the engine to settle into a smoother frequency of vibration. So to the back of the Van Dave went. He gripped the snake-like coils of exhaust piping with both "still dirty even after their washed" hands, and reefed on it with a fair bit of skinny mechanic muscle. To both of our surprise, the entire engine, and exhaust, and transmission rotated, quite freely, back and forth about 11 or 12 degrees. OOPS!!! Not just the exhaust.
Undaunted, Dave confidently and purposefully shoved his hand into something that looked like it should have "don't kick a lawnmower" telegraphic symbols all over it. His hand came back out in one piece, albeit significantly blacker, and he walked over to the tool rack and opened the drawer marked with a faded "wrench" in free hand sharpie script. I took the opportunity to shove my face underneath, and try and see what his hands had known to look for. The motor sits on a couple of rubber isolation grommets, that in theory, absorb vibration and prevent the engine from shaking the spine out of the passengers of the Van. But in their current state, these old grommets were allowing the motor too much freedom to boogie. This motion was tapping the frame with the exhaust in a couple different spots. Dave shoved the big honkin' wrench in where his hand has just been, and it grabbed an unseen bolt with a familiar fit. I reiterated my concern that I was going to get in the way, at which point he did not ignore the question as previous, and looked me in the eye and said "trust me, if you were in my way, you'd know it! now grab on to this here, and that there, and push, hard!"
I pushed, he pulled, and after several tries, the motor was no longer so free to dance around! No more tic toc rattle from the back of the Van! HUZZAH!!
I looked down at my normally girlish "artist" hands, and beamed with pride at the amount of grit and grease on them. This is what I was looking forward to when I bought a 24 year old vehicle with "character". Tinkering!
I made a self-deprecating comment about my choice of "fancy clothes" and gingerly removed my mint condition Marc Echo zip up sweater and put it in a safe, relatively grease free spot. Rolled up my proverbial sleeves, and got back in there.
One by one we tackled these seemingly small issued with the Van, and the list got shorter and shorter. We fixed signal lights that were burnt out, and others that were dim. This actually involved me going up to an auto supply parts store and having one of the guys there custom modify a 3 wire light socket and bulb to fit my machine. That trip was an experience in and of itself. My sometimes try-too-hard charm and humor fell on deaf ears and fields of crickets over there. But I quickly made my way back to the safety of Dave's garage victorious, with new part in hand.
What a satisfying feeling when the new bulb went in, and my blinker indicator light on my dash calmed down to the proper and familiar cadence. Blink...... blink..... blink... instead of the blink-blink-blink of a circuit that's not under the proper load when one bulb gets taken out of the equation and the remaining good one blinks nervously and hastily in longing for it's dead brethren.
We loosened up my stiff windshield wiper, and my seized passenger side rear view mirror that had never pointed the right way with a product called "Jiggle Juice". Wonderful stuff that turned frozen solid rusted out parts, into smooth acting fresh working parts! And also happens to smell exactly like Banana Medicine! Funny that!
But the biggest job, and the biggest champion result, was on the speedometer.
At one point in our long battle with the bizarre "only Volkswagen does it this way" speedometer cable, I was told to sit in the cab, while the Van got lifted up to the ceiling. I don't need to tell you that my inner child was elated with mischievous satisfaction at being asked to sit in my Van as it was lifted slowly and silently to the ceiling of the garage. I've always loved seeing things from new vantage points, climbing up to places I'm not supposed to be in order to see something familiar in a different light was a regular activity of mine in my youth, and still today in my reluctant adulthood. I was PUMPED to be sitting up there! I pulled out my cellphone during a down time when Dave was busy welding a new extension on to my Speedometer linkage in order to get it to mesh back up with the overly complicated system of cables and gears and snapped a couple shots of my view for prosperity.
Here are the shots I took:
While sitting up in the cab I also took the time to reassemble my dashboard. It was reassuringly simple as well. Didn't take long for me to study the parts before instinctively knowing just how to gently push them back into their respective places. This whole Van goes together like brick-a-brack. Or lego even! Things fit easily and comfortably. That is, when they don't control major functionality, like reading the vehicles speed. :^)
I was happy to have someone creative and ingenuitive handling the speedometer issue. The solution for this problem came the slowest, with many failed attempts before the final solution was attained. But Dave never gave up, and I never lost hope, and now I have a working Speedometer! Just as the previous owner Peter had told me, having the Speedo makes it a lot easier to read how the vehicle wants to be driven, and when it's time to shift gears. :^) Turns out he was right; the engine wants to work harder then I've been pushing it. :^D
So that's the story of the series of awesome game changing repairs made to the Vanagon! Not only did we accomplish WAY more then I thought we would, but I learned along the way! And will now be able to continue the repairs myself! The price Dave charged me for all the wonderful work we did, and for what he taught me, was criminally low! Back to the reason I opened this entry by explaining that my Dad ran a hobby shop. I have a feeling that some extra care and attention my Father and his team have given Dave as a hobbiest, have been carried on and payed forward to me as I become Dave's client.
I had to pen this entry because of how great of an experience it was. Dave basically let me hang out with him for 3 hours, teaching me about my machine and making it run like new!
Or as he hilariously said "Made it run like an old used fixed one!"
hahahahaha
I'm so friggin' happy!
Dave is also a mechanic. He's the guy I took my last 4 potential VW purchases too for assessment. Fortunately he talked me out of buying those shitty rusted out golfs and jettas. In favor of the vehicle I now love so much. My VW Vanagon.
Well. After Dave had done me the favor of looking at all of those vehicles for me, for free, I really wanted to finally give him some proper paid business.
So when he gave the Vanagon the Gold Seal of approval, I promised him I'd bring her back in for some real work.
A couple things were bothering me about the Van when I got it. Things I knew needed to be taken care of. The biggest one, the leaky roof, my Dad and I fixed last week. So it was time to bring her in yesterday to have Dave work his magic on it.
I took it in around 2 o'clock in the afternoon and Dave, all smiles, motioned for me to pull the big brute into the loading bay, so he could hoist her up on the lift, and have a tinker.
He's really funny, and used to drive a Vanagon. So he knows that it's all about the character for me, and plays up on the Van's cartoonish personality when it's around. Makes a real big deal as I'm giving it gas to push it up over the hump and into the garage. Waving his blackened tattered hands around, cigarette, black around it's filter from the grease on his fingers, hanging out of his mouth, smoke billowing about his head as his face bobbles and lights up in clownish expressions of excitement. The perfect mechanic for me and my Van.
So we bring the beast into the garage, and I'm beaming and running my mouth off like the proud new parents that I am. Bouncing around the Van in a caffeinated frenzy after I swing the surprisingly heavy door open and hop down to the floor out of the raised cabin.
I barely got my mouth open to try and tell him all of the things I wanted him to look at for me before he has the passenger side open and was tearing out my glove box.
Myself, and Peter, the previous owner, had already told Dave that the heater fan in the front dash, as well as the speedometer cable, needed to be fixed. So off came the glove box, and the lower half of the Dash.
My Trek 4300 mountain bike now LIVES in the very back of the Vanagon. There's enough room for three bikes back there, behind the 3rd row seating. I'm sure I could cram the full 7 passengers in WITH their bikes. This things is an enigma. Tiny engine, super short wheelbase and tight turning radius, but more room then any vehicle I can imagine inside!
Anyway, I figured I'd be dropping the Van off, then hoping on my Bike to ride home. Something I wasn't looking forward to, but I wanted her to be fixed, so I was willing to do what it took.
But my curiosity got the better of me.
I'm not the type to own something and not know how it works. I never wanted to be one of those people who bought a car, and drove it for months without ever looking under the hood. I've actually looked under EVERY hood this beautiful piece of (sometimes nonsensical and overcomplicated) German engineering has! I'm pleased to know that most of it goes together a lot like my old Mechano sets did. With simple screw and nut combinations on metal plates and bars. Stuff I can fix!
Anyway, Dave went right to work pulling the dash off, and immediately, out of instinct, I reached from the front drivers seat, (where I had jumped back to when I saw some action) to the back where I had my tool kit, and a flash light! I wanted to help shed some light on what he was looking at under there. Both to help him, and to learn myself.
So by the time I'd swung back around with my 2 million candle power halogen floodlight, Dave had a more sensible pen style LED flash light in his hand, and he continued to pull panels off of the dash.
Soon my Vanagon's guts were spilled out all over it's front cab. Glorious!
Dave buzzed around from side to side, and I did the same, circling out bigger and wider then him, always trying to stay out of the way, but within' view of the action. To my surprise, he didn't bush me off like an annoying fly, but instead, shone his light on points of interest. Drawing me in like a moth to a summer's night porch.
I immediately stopped and told him to tell me to leave as soon as I got in the way. He ignored this comment, in the way most heterosexual men ignore any fluttery feeling based silly sentiments, and continued to teach me about my machine.
Clearly, having driven a Vanagon before, Dave understood, and did not need to speak of, my LOVE for this machine.
I Love this Machine.
So the fan in the dash proved to be an expensive proposition. In that it was going to take too long to fix for it to be worth my paying him. Instead, the fan would be reserved for a Diet A&W Rootbeer and Cheeseburger fueled Sunday afternoon for my Dad and I. This sat fine by me. After all, the rear heater does an acceptable job of making the Van uncomfortably warm in a short time. The Fan was hardly a critical repair.
On to item number two, the Speedometer that never worked.
This one bugged me. Once I got the roof leak fixed, this one was THE problem for me and my Van's happiness together. After all, I had NO idea how fast I'd EVER gone in this thing.
So Dave in his own charming way, started to tell me some inappropriately graphic tale of glory from back in the day, that I was happy to entertain with similar tales of my own, as the Van slowly started a meteoric rise to the upper echelons of the cavernous two car garage.
Once it was up on the giant hydraulic piston, balancing precariously in my eyes, I walked underneath it with a certain trepidation. Dave, a seasoned vet, had no problems walking under the van and pushing and pulling on various things, swinging the van around wildly on it's large, lubricated, spherical point of rotation.
Seeing the Van from the underside reminded me of another nit picky problem I had with it. The "rattle" that came from the back when the engine first fired up. And again when it idled or ran at a certain frequency. Some vibration was causing something that sounded like my exhaust hitting the frame. An unsettling "tic tic tic tic tic, toc toc toc toc toc" every time I ran her, and until I got the engine to settle into a smoother frequency of vibration. So to the back of the Van Dave went. He gripped the snake-like coils of exhaust piping with both "still dirty even after their washed" hands, and reefed on it with a fair bit of skinny mechanic muscle. To both of our surprise, the entire engine, and exhaust, and transmission rotated, quite freely, back and forth about 11 or 12 degrees. OOPS!!! Not just the exhaust.
Undaunted, Dave confidently and purposefully shoved his hand into something that looked like it should have "don't kick a lawnmower" telegraphic symbols all over it. His hand came back out in one piece, albeit significantly blacker, and he walked over to the tool rack and opened the drawer marked with a faded "wrench" in free hand sharpie script. I took the opportunity to shove my face underneath, and try and see what his hands had known to look for. The motor sits on a couple of rubber isolation grommets, that in theory, absorb vibration and prevent the engine from shaking the spine out of the passengers of the Van. But in their current state, these old grommets were allowing the motor too much freedom to boogie. This motion was tapping the frame with the exhaust in a couple different spots. Dave shoved the big honkin' wrench in where his hand has just been, and it grabbed an unseen bolt with a familiar fit. I reiterated my concern that I was going to get in the way, at which point he did not ignore the question as previous, and looked me in the eye and said "trust me, if you were in my way, you'd know it! now grab on to this here, and that there, and push, hard!"
I pushed, he pulled, and after several tries, the motor was no longer so free to dance around! No more tic toc rattle from the back of the Van! HUZZAH!!
I looked down at my normally girlish "artist" hands, and beamed with pride at the amount of grit and grease on them. This is what I was looking forward to when I bought a 24 year old vehicle with "character". Tinkering!
I made a self-deprecating comment about my choice of "fancy clothes" and gingerly removed my mint condition Marc Echo zip up sweater and put it in a safe, relatively grease free spot. Rolled up my proverbial sleeves, and got back in there.
One by one we tackled these seemingly small issued with the Van, and the list got shorter and shorter. We fixed signal lights that were burnt out, and others that were dim. This actually involved me going up to an auto supply parts store and having one of the guys there custom modify a 3 wire light socket and bulb to fit my machine. That trip was an experience in and of itself. My sometimes try-too-hard charm and humor fell on deaf ears and fields of crickets over there. But I quickly made my way back to the safety of Dave's garage victorious, with new part in hand.
What a satisfying feeling when the new bulb went in, and my blinker indicator light on my dash calmed down to the proper and familiar cadence. Blink...... blink..... blink... instead of the blink-blink-blink of a circuit that's not under the proper load when one bulb gets taken out of the equation and the remaining good one blinks nervously and hastily in longing for it's dead brethren.
We loosened up my stiff windshield wiper, and my seized passenger side rear view mirror that had never pointed the right way with a product called "Jiggle Juice". Wonderful stuff that turned frozen solid rusted out parts, into smooth acting fresh working parts! And also happens to smell exactly like Banana Medicine! Funny that!
But the biggest job, and the biggest champion result, was on the speedometer.
At one point in our long battle with the bizarre "only Volkswagen does it this way" speedometer cable, I was told to sit in the cab, while the Van got lifted up to the ceiling. I don't need to tell you that my inner child was elated with mischievous satisfaction at being asked to sit in my Van as it was lifted slowly and silently to the ceiling of the garage. I've always loved seeing things from new vantage points, climbing up to places I'm not supposed to be in order to see something familiar in a different light was a regular activity of mine in my youth, and still today in my reluctant adulthood. I was PUMPED to be sitting up there! I pulled out my cellphone during a down time when Dave was busy welding a new extension on to my Speedometer linkage in order to get it to mesh back up with the overly complicated system of cables and gears and snapped a couple shots of my view for prosperity.
Here are the shots I took:
While sitting up in the cab I also took the time to reassemble my dashboard. It was reassuringly simple as well. Didn't take long for me to study the parts before instinctively knowing just how to gently push them back into their respective places. This whole Van goes together like brick-a-brack. Or lego even! Things fit easily and comfortably. That is, when they don't control major functionality, like reading the vehicles speed. :^)
I was happy to have someone creative and ingenuitive handling the speedometer issue. The solution for this problem came the slowest, with many failed attempts before the final solution was attained. But Dave never gave up, and I never lost hope, and now I have a working Speedometer! Just as the previous owner Peter had told me, having the Speedo makes it a lot easier to read how the vehicle wants to be driven, and when it's time to shift gears. :^) Turns out he was right; the engine wants to work harder then I've been pushing it. :^D
So that's the story of the series of awesome game changing repairs made to the Vanagon! Not only did we accomplish WAY more then I thought we would, but I learned along the way! And will now be able to continue the repairs myself! The price Dave charged me for all the wonderful work we did, and for what he taught me, was criminally low! Back to the reason I opened this entry by explaining that my Dad ran a hobby shop. I have a feeling that some extra care and attention my Father and his team have given Dave as a hobbiest, have been carried on and payed forward to me as I become Dave's client.
I had to pen this entry because of how great of an experience it was. Dave basically let me hang out with him for 3 hours, teaching me about my machine and making it run like new!
Or as he hilariously said "Made it run like an old used fixed one!"
hahahahaha
I'm so friggin' happy!
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