Lanval Round 2 ~ The Rat bites back!
Posted: Sun Aug 07, 2011 10:32 pm
Quick rehash (check "85 Digijet" at the bottom of the itinerary to see round 1):
3 weeks ago, van died, towed home. Replaced the starter, no start. Here it waited for Colin. I wasn't totally worthless in the meantime. Last February, Colin commented that the van "has the heart of a Porsche" or some such nonsense. At the time, he couldn't show me because we were hauling around tools and whatnot that weren't tied down. Since I very much wanted to see this "heart" in action, I focused on finishing out the interior, and getting it back together. The last section was the water tank cabinet. Plenty O mouse poop in there, but got it cleaned up:
So here's how the van looked at 1pm, just prior to Colin's arrival:
After the necessary political discussion, coffee and review of the flow chart for ignition diagnosis, it was off to test our mettle against a van that is both generous and cruel. There are many strong aspects of the van, and some real punishing aspects as well. This "no start" turned out to be tricky.
We walked through the diagnosis and came up with a funky rotor and cap, and a spark that wasn't optimal, but probably sufficient. The van persisted in "no start" mode, which made Colin somewhat more madcap than usual:
The Man wanted to test the engine with sufficient spark and gas in the plenum to ensure firing. This required an entrance point, which in turned drew his attention to the most rat-chewed, half-assed, "iconic" rubber elbow left on the engine. Problem was, it had a two prong nipple that didn't want to come out. So Colin, with utter professionalism and aplomb gracefully worked on removing the plastic prong until SNAP went my precious OEM plastic piece.
Oh look, here's a little piece of OEM heaven, broken off from the mother piece:
Now we took a step back. Can't fire the engine until we can reconnect our old pal Rat Rubber. So Colin, using his ingenuity, and super fix-it skills, fabricated this Frankensteinian abomination out of what is apparently a relatively rare and expensive VW Transporter piece. It ain't pretty but it works. Hell, that oughtta be the motto of this van:
With that issue out of the way, Colin could get to work figuring out why the darned thing wouldn't start. We checked the rotor and cap, which were funky, with some odd wear marks. The cap was replaced (I had one on hand) and the rotor tested for resistance. Things looked good there, so we tested the resistance of a wire, and then the coil. All were within spec, though perhaps not optimal. A visual check suggested the spark was not blue/hot but yellow/sufficient. So why no start?! Such anomalies make Colin crazy; here's the proof:
This set of difficulties led to a check of #3 spark plug. Soaking wet, and gritty crap stuck to plug. "This is no good" muttered Colin, and proceeded to check all of the remaining plugs. Wet, wet, wet. All plugs were dried, cleaned and replaced. "Let's check to see if we're getting spark" he proclaims, and I get the timing gun.
No spark on #1. "This gun don't work" he says, and we set it aside. "Go up there and try to start it" says Colin. I do, and it seems to want to start. "OK," he warbles, "It wants to start. Let the starter run for awhile." At first I think it won't work, but slowly, surely it fires up. He gives it some gas to get it warmed up and idling; "let's drive it" he exclaims:
Happiness is fleeting; while sitting in the driver's seat, Colin notes that it's missing. So we hop out while it idles, and asks me, "Do you hear the miss? Where do you think it is?"
"Number one" I crack.
"Why number one?" he queries.
"Because I know the goddamn timing gun works!"
He tests the #1 wire at the cap, by removing it ever so gently (do NOT try this at home without Colin-esque supervision ~ apparently it can be dangerous) only to discover that, in fact, number one isn't firing. "Check to see if the number one plug wire is attached" he commands; what am I to do? I pay for his pleasure and serve at his command. I check; the top of the plug is as visible as panty lines on a tight dress. "Go down there and plug in that wire" says Colin, and why not? Laughing, he grabs the camera for proof to Sylvester that I pay AND I do the work:
"Now let's check that misfire!" he happily exclaims. I start, he listens ~ oh yeah, purrs like a happy cat:
From here, the pix die down a bit; we went for a drive, and Colin showed me that I can turn much harder and tighter in this van than ever I could imagine. "Heart of a Porsche" indeed; Colin being Colin also took this opportunity to savage me for my OEM standard 8ply rated tires from China, and their under-inflated mushiness. We also discovered a bushing badly in need of replacing. "Squeak, squeak, squeak, goes the bushing, clunk, clunk, clunk goes the van; zing, zing, zing went my wallet, straight to the GoWesty Man!" [*sung to the tune of The Trolley Song; for maximum effect, imagine the singer is Rosie O'Donnell]
Once back at the ranch, we attacked the passenger side leaky brake cylinder. After pounding on the brake drum for some good time, we got it off only to discover not ONLY a leak cylinder, but the inside of the brake drum was coated blacker than the heart of the Teutonic madman who slapped water-jackets on the air-cooled engine and routed vacuum lines like he was being paid by the foot. Not to worry, a severe application of Gum Out (which, according to Colin has changed it's formula like Coke in the 80's and is now just another sad victim of the Crapification of American automotive goods ~ you know, sometimes Colin sounds like a cross between a conspiracy theorist and your grumpy old uncle; I mean really, how does he know they changed the formula? From the smell? The taste?! Wait; this is Colin we're talking about here, right? I mean, he might actually be able to taste the difference, right? I mean, he might even just be able to feel the difference in the way it sprays out the can. His automotive sense is creepy-scary sometimes... gawd. Heebie-Jeebies...)
So we finished up the brake replacement with a modicum of speed; after all, dinner was wafting down from on high, and Lanval didn't get that chubby by skipping meals; Colin, well, he does skip meals, when he's not working off a Diet Coke induced, Gumout inflected aura of automotive delirium.
Tonight's feast is Yakiniku ~ Japanese for Korean Barbecue. This being So Cal, we eat outside, to a view of sun setting on the multi-million dollar mansions sneering down on us from on high.
The Queen of my Palace tends to Korean beef on the grill:
And Colin regales me with political and social thoughts aplenty; oh, who am I kidding... I did most of the pontificating, and Colin demolished freshly cooked beef and vegetables. Oh, and an occasional shrimp.
And our evening waxed philosophical from there ~ a rare treat. I've never been able to get Colin to stay... too many VWs, not enough time. Or maybe it's the desert. He disappeared into the dark after promising to return promptly in the morning. Til then...
3 weeks ago, van died, towed home. Replaced the starter, no start. Here it waited for Colin. I wasn't totally worthless in the meantime. Last February, Colin commented that the van "has the heart of a Porsche" or some such nonsense. At the time, he couldn't show me because we were hauling around tools and whatnot that weren't tied down. Since I very much wanted to see this "heart" in action, I focused on finishing out the interior, and getting it back together. The last section was the water tank cabinet. Plenty O mouse poop in there, but got it cleaned up:
So here's how the van looked at 1pm, just prior to Colin's arrival:
After the necessary political discussion, coffee and review of the flow chart for ignition diagnosis, it was off to test our mettle against a van that is both generous and cruel. There are many strong aspects of the van, and some real punishing aspects as well. This "no start" turned out to be tricky.
We walked through the diagnosis and came up with a funky rotor and cap, and a spark that wasn't optimal, but probably sufficient. The van persisted in "no start" mode, which made Colin somewhat more madcap than usual:
The Man wanted to test the engine with sufficient spark and gas in the plenum to ensure firing. This required an entrance point, which in turned drew his attention to the most rat-chewed, half-assed, "iconic" rubber elbow left on the engine. Problem was, it had a two prong nipple that didn't want to come out. So Colin, with utter professionalism and aplomb gracefully worked on removing the plastic prong until SNAP went my precious OEM plastic piece.
Oh look, here's a little piece of OEM heaven, broken off from the mother piece:
Now we took a step back. Can't fire the engine until we can reconnect our old pal Rat Rubber. So Colin, using his ingenuity, and super fix-it skills, fabricated this Frankensteinian abomination out of what is apparently a relatively rare and expensive VW Transporter piece. It ain't pretty but it works. Hell, that oughtta be the motto of this van:
With that issue out of the way, Colin could get to work figuring out why the darned thing wouldn't start. We checked the rotor and cap, which were funky, with some odd wear marks. The cap was replaced (I had one on hand) and the rotor tested for resistance. Things looked good there, so we tested the resistance of a wire, and then the coil. All were within spec, though perhaps not optimal. A visual check suggested the spark was not blue/hot but yellow/sufficient. So why no start?! Such anomalies make Colin crazy; here's the proof:
This set of difficulties led to a check of #3 spark plug. Soaking wet, and gritty crap stuck to plug. "This is no good" muttered Colin, and proceeded to check all of the remaining plugs. Wet, wet, wet. All plugs were dried, cleaned and replaced. "Let's check to see if we're getting spark" he proclaims, and I get the timing gun.
No spark on #1. "This gun don't work" he says, and we set it aside. "Go up there and try to start it" says Colin. I do, and it seems to want to start. "OK," he warbles, "It wants to start. Let the starter run for awhile." At first I think it won't work, but slowly, surely it fires up. He gives it some gas to get it warmed up and idling; "let's drive it" he exclaims:
Happiness is fleeting; while sitting in the driver's seat, Colin notes that it's missing. So we hop out while it idles, and asks me, "Do you hear the miss? Where do you think it is?"
"Number one" I crack.
"Why number one?" he queries.
"Because I know the goddamn timing gun works!"
He tests the #1 wire at the cap, by removing it ever so gently (do NOT try this at home without Colin-esque supervision ~ apparently it can be dangerous) only to discover that, in fact, number one isn't firing. "Check to see if the number one plug wire is attached" he commands; what am I to do? I pay for his pleasure and serve at his command. I check; the top of the plug is as visible as panty lines on a tight dress. "Go down there and plug in that wire" says Colin, and why not? Laughing, he grabs the camera for proof to Sylvester that I pay AND I do the work:
"Now let's check that misfire!" he happily exclaims. I start, he listens ~ oh yeah, purrs like a happy cat:
From here, the pix die down a bit; we went for a drive, and Colin showed me that I can turn much harder and tighter in this van than ever I could imagine. "Heart of a Porsche" indeed; Colin being Colin also took this opportunity to savage me for my OEM standard 8ply rated tires from China, and their under-inflated mushiness. We also discovered a bushing badly in need of replacing. "Squeak, squeak, squeak, goes the bushing, clunk, clunk, clunk goes the van; zing, zing, zing went my wallet, straight to the GoWesty Man!" [*sung to the tune of The Trolley Song; for maximum effect, imagine the singer is Rosie O'Donnell]
Once back at the ranch, we attacked the passenger side leaky brake cylinder. After pounding on the brake drum for some good time, we got it off only to discover not ONLY a leak cylinder, but the inside of the brake drum was coated blacker than the heart of the Teutonic madman who slapped water-jackets on the air-cooled engine and routed vacuum lines like he was being paid by the foot. Not to worry, a severe application of Gum Out (which, according to Colin has changed it's formula like Coke in the 80's and is now just another sad victim of the Crapification of American automotive goods ~ you know, sometimes Colin sounds like a cross between a conspiracy theorist and your grumpy old uncle; I mean really, how does he know they changed the formula? From the smell? The taste?! Wait; this is Colin we're talking about here, right? I mean, he might actually be able to taste the difference, right? I mean, he might even just be able to feel the difference in the way it sprays out the can. His automotive sense is creepy-scary sometimes... gawd. Heebie-Jeebies...)
So we finished up the brake replacement with a modicum of speed; after all, dinner was wafting down from on high, and Lanval didn't get that chubby by skipping meals; Colin, well, he does skip meals, when he's not working off a Diet Coke induced, Gumout inflected aura of automotive delirium.
Tonight's feast is Yakiniku ~ Japanese for Korean Barbecue. This being So Cal, we eat outside, to a view of sun setting on the multi-million dollar mansions sneering down on us from on high.
The Queen of my Palace tends to Korean beef on the grill:
And Colin regales me with political and social thoughts aplenty; oh, who am I kidding... I did most of the pontificating, and Colin demolished freshly cooked beef and vegetables. Oh, and an occasional shrimp.
And our evening waxed philosophical from there ~ a rare treat. I've never been able to get Colin to stay... too many VWs, not enough time. Or maybe it's the desert. He disappeared into the dark after promising to return promptly in the morning. Til then...