In the late '90s, after seven or so years of seeing the LeMans sitting forlornly in a corner of our backyard, I decided it was time to take it for a drive. I invited my buddy Bill to share in this optimistic adventure. The gas tank was empty at that point, so I flipped down the rear license plate and poured a few gallons of hi-test down the filler. All the other fluids needed topping off and the tires needed air, while the belts and hoses were crack-filled but functional. Fortunately, the master cylinder hadn’t gone dry, so the brake pedal still stopped short of the floorboard. At the time, I owned a couple other older Pontiacs, so I borrowed a historic tag and a battery from one of them. I was able to find the keys, and lo-and-behold the engine started with some fuel poured down the carburetor. After letting it run for a few minutes letting it warm up and making sure it wasn't going to die, Bill and I climbed in, belted up, and headed on down the driveway. She passed the brake tests, so we pulled out onto the city street. The engine was a little balky, and the transmission was still hesitant to upshift, but it was quite a thrill to make multiple circuits around the neighborhood.
At the time Bill also drove a big-body Pontiac (a beautiful Bonneville), and I remember we both remarked how much smaller the A-body felt than our boat-like B-bodies. However, I hadn't forgotten my time behind the wheel of a Corvair, so I also had GM’s smallest car of that decade for reference, and the LeMans is noticeably larger.
Sadly, the thrill was short-lived and the car was parked and ignored for another three years until we had to move to Long Island, but that’s a story for another post.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Monday, January 30, 2017
Driving South
In 1992, we moved from Baltimore, MD to Lynchburg, VA. The relocation package I got did not include moving our old cars. Since, at that time, we didn’t have a vehicle capable of towing, the LeMans and our ’62 Corvair would have to be driven the 220 miles. The Corvair had been a daily-driver just a year earlier, so I was confident it would make the trip without an issue. The LeMans, however, was still top-less (this will be important later in this missive) and hadn’t been driven farther than around the block since we’d left California six years before.
Prior to moving day, I checked the fluids and tires, affixed the temporary tag, and took the car for a test drive. Other than a non-functional carburetor choke that forced a full warm-up before driving and a balky transmission that had to be manually encouraged to shift from Low to Drive, the car was as ready to go as I could afford to make it.
The weather prediction for our mid-summer’s driving day was favorable other than the threat of thunderstorms later in the afternoon. We finally hit the road around two in the afternoon, with the lovely Loriann and our two daughters in the Celebrity wagon and me manning the LeMans. A thankfully uneventful drive ensued; at least the first two hundred miles. As we neared our destination, the angry sky opened up and I was thankful the wipers worked. As long as the car was moving, I kept relatively dry with the airflow taking the torrents of rain over my exposed head. Much to the amusement of my family, I couldn’t keep moving; they pulled up next to me at every redlight and laughed and laughed until the light turned green.
With the rain still coming down in buckets, I finally pulled into my neighbor’s rickety old car port where I could bail out the gallons of water that had collected in the wheelwells.
Prior to moving day, I checked the fluids and tires, affixed the temporary tag, and took the car for a test drive. Other than a non-functional carburetor choke that forced a full warm-up before driving and a balky transmission that had to be manually encouraged to shift from Low to Drive, the car was as ready to go as I could afford to make it.
The weather prediction for our mid-summer’s driving day was favorable other than the threat of thunderstorms later in the afternoon. We finally hit the road around two in the afternoon, with the lovely Loriann and our two daughters in the Celebrity wagon and me manning the LeMans. A thankfully uneventful drive ensued; at least the first two hundred miles. As we neared our destination, the angry sky opened up and I was thankful the wipers worked. As long as the car was moving, I kept relatively dry with the airflow taking the torrents of rain over my exposed head. Much to the amusement of my family, I couldn’t keep moving; they pulled up next to me at every redlight and laughed and laughed until the light turned green.
With the rain still coming down in buckets, I finally pulled into my neighbor’s rickety old car port where I could bail out the gallons of water that had collected in the wheelwells.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
The Engine Rebuild; Circa 1984
A little background on how car-smart I was back in 1984. I could maintain the two Mazda daily-drivers doing oil and filter changes, lubing the suspension, adjusting the valves, and doing tune-ups. I’d also bought and roadified a 1965 Buick Skylark. For those of you new to my blogging, roadification is the process of repairing and refurbishing a car up to the point where it can safely be driven on public roads - cosmetic restoration is not a priority. That car had required a carb rebuild and a coolant flush with a new thermostat installed. I struggled to get the Skylark to run right, so after a year of unsuccessful tinkering, I sold it.
Soon after, I bought the LeMans and flat-towed it to the carport of the rowhouse I was renting. As I relayed in my initial post, I got the engine to run, but a seized main bearing forced me into the adventure of rebuilding an engine in a carport in the fall. Thankfully it was the SF Bay Area and it never got too cold. Some of my memories of that effort include sweeping the leaves out of my work area every time I wanted to work on the car, rebuilding the carburetor and heads on our kitchen table (the lovely Loriann has always been very understanding), taking the block and crank to the machine shop in my dad’s VW bus, ordering the rebuild kit from P.A.W. (they did a lot of advertising in Car Craft magazine and were the Summit or JEGS of the day), renting a ridge-reamer and a dingle-ball hone to clean up the cylinder bores and a ring compressor to install the pistons, guessing wrongly on the color of the valve covers and air cleaner, and having the engine finally fire up after I reinstalled the distributor correctly.
One thing I’ve never admitted to anyone before now is that one of the pistons I put into the engine is missing part of its skirt. I was on a very tight budget back then (nothing’s changed) and when I discovered a crack in a piston skirt, I decided to remove the at risk piece and clean up the sharp edges with a file. I’ve only put a few hundred miles on the engine since I rebuilt, and, at this point, I have no idea if it’ll spin since the last time I started it was about ten years ago. Regardless, I’ll be keeping that in mind as I evaluate the engine. If it starts right up and shows good compression, I’ll probably hold off tearing it down to replace the piston(s). If it won’t run right, I’ll be yanking it and repeating the rebuild, but this time with complete components.
Here's a photo of the engine taken a very long time ago.
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
It's Been a Long Time Coming
When I was a child growing up in California during the late 60's and through the 70s, I would play in the front yard and watch the cars go past. Often I'd see a neighbor, Mr. Hayes, drive by in his convertible, and I would think what a nice looking car he had.
Skip ahead to 1984. I'm married with an entry level engineering job. Since we had just bought a new car, my wife was back in school, and we were paying Silicon Valley rent, money is tight. During one of our weekly dinners at my parent's house, my mom mentions that Mr. Hayes had passed away a few months ago. I had noticed that his car had been sitting in his driveway for quite a while with four flat tires and holes in the cloth roof. I looked at my wife, and asked her if I could buy the car. She replied that our checking account had $150 in it and half of that had to get us to the next payday. So I got up from the table, walked down the street, knocked on the door, and bought a 1965 LeMans convertible for $75.
The following week I met AAA at the car. After they put enough air in the tires to get the car rolling, my buddy, Steve, and I pushed the car down the street to my parent’s driveway. A week later I rented a tow bar and, after putting more air in the tires, I pulled the car the fifteen miles to my two-car carport.
The car had sat for so long the antifreeze had coagulated into a greasy mess. I flushed out the coolant system as best I could, changed the oil and filter, topped off the other fluids, cleaned the plugs, put some oil in the cylinders, and turned the engine by hand a bunch of times. I hooked up a borrowed batter and turned the key. The engine ran, but a banging noise was coming from the bottom end of the 326 cid V-8. Just about the time I turned the key to off, the engine seized.
I rented a cherry picker, and with my dad's help, pulled the engine and transmission. During teardown, I found one of the rod bearings had spun. I had the block hot-tanked and the crank turned 0.010” under. A borrowed inside micrometer indicated the bores were still to spec, so I rented a ridge-reamer and ball hone to clean up the cylinders. All the valves were lapped to their seats with a borrowed lapper that reminded me of an egg-beater. I bought the cheapest rebuild kit that PAW offered (gaskets, rings, timing chain, bearings), rented a ring compressor, and put the engine back together. My dad and I put the engine and tranny back into the car with a borrowed cherry picker. After bolting on all the accessories, it was the moment of truth. I turned the key and the engine ran, but this time without the dreaded banging. Hurray!! All this work was done during late summer and early fall in our carport. Reassembly was a real challenge during the fall because I had to sweep leaves out of the way before I could proceed each day.
With California's lenient safety laws I was able to drive the car during the rain-less summers with the cracked windshield and the shredded top stowed, but that ended when we moved to Pennsylvania two years later. Safety inspections in PA, and subsequently MD, prevented me from driving the car, so the only time she moved was when I trailered her from one parking spot to the next. By this time, disuse had resulted in issues that needed addressing before she’d be road-worthy again.
Finally, I thought her time had come when I took a job in VA and the house we rented had a garage. I excitedly removed fenders, doors, hood and trunk; rebuilt the brake system; replaced the rusted exhaust; and started removing the nearly forty year-old paint. At that point I was informed that my contracting services were no longer needed. With my next job back in MD, the LeMans and all her parts and pieces were trailered to her current resting spot – covered storage behind my garage.
I have considered selling the car a number of times over the years, but my wise wife (hereafter referred to as the Lovely Loriann), has always talked me into keeping it. She reminds me of all the stories I’ve read about guys that have sold their first cars only ending up paying a ton of money years later recreating their dream.
Skip ahead to 1984. I'm married with an entry level engineering job. Since we had just bought a new car, my wife was back in school, and we were paying Silicon Valley rent, money is tight. During one of our weekly dinners at my parent's house, my mom mentions that Mr. Hayes had passed away a few months ago. I had noticed that his car had been sitting in his driveway for quite a while with four flat tires and holes in the cloth roof. I looked at my wife, and asked her if I could buy the car. She replied that our checking account had $150 in it and half of that had to get us to the next payday. So I got up from the table, walked down the street, knocked on the door, and bought a 1965 LeMans convertible for $75.
The following week I met AAA at the car. After they put enough air in the tires to get the car rolling, my buddy, Steve, and I pushed the car down the street to my parent’s driveway. A week later I rented a tow bar and, after putting more air in the tires, I pulled the car the fifteen miles to my two-car carport.
The car had sat for so long the antifreeze had coagulated into a greasy mess. I flushed out the coolant system as best I could, changed the oil and filter, topped off the other fluids, cleaned the plugs, put some oil in the cylinders, and turned the engine by hand a bunch of times. I hooked up a borrowed batter and turned the key. The engine ran, but a banging noise was coming from the bottom end of the 326 cid V-8. Just about the time I turned the key to off, the engine seized.
I rented a cherry picker, and with my dad's help, pulled the engine and transmission. During teardown, I found one of the rod bearings had spun. I had the block hot-tanked and the crank turned 0.010” under. A borrowed inside micrometer indicated the bores were still to spec, so I rented a ridge-reamer and ball hone to clean up the cylinders. All the valves were lapped to their seats with a borrowed lapper that reminded me of an egg-beater. I bought the cheapest rebuild kit that PAW offered (gaskets, rings, timing chain, bearings), rented a ring compressor, and put the engine back together. My dad and I put the engine and tranny back into the car with a borrowed cherry picker. After bolting on all the accessories, it was the moment of truth. I turned the key and the engine ran, but this time without the dreaded banging. Hurray!! All this work was done during late summer and early fall in our carport. Reassembly was a real challenge during the fall because I had to sweep leaves out of the way before I could proceed each day.
With California's lenient safety laws I was able to drive the car during the rain-less summers with the cracked windshield and the shredded top stowed, but that ended when we moved to Pennsylvania two years later. Safety inspections in PA, and subsequently MD, prevented me from driving the car, so the only time she moved was when I trailered her from one parking spot to the next. By this time, disuse had resulted in issues that needed addressing before she’d be road-worthy again.
Finally, I thought her time had come when I took a job in VA and the house we rented had a garage. I excitedly removed fenders, doors, hood and trunk; rebuilt the brake system; replaced the rusted exhaust; and started removing the nearly forty year-old paint. At that point I was informed that my contracting services were no longer needed. With my next job back in MD, the LeMans and all her parts and pieces were trailered to her current resting spot – covered storage behind my garage.
I have considered selling the car a number of times over the years, but my wise wife (hereafter referred to as the Lovely Loriann), has always talked me into keeping it. She reminds me of all the stories I’ve read about guys that have sold their first cars only ending up paying a ton of money years later recreating their dream.
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