Good Morning, Miss Febuary, 1991!! Gee, honey, you must not realize
it's 28 deg (F) in the garage today.
I've now aquired a number of cardboard boxes, each carefully labeled
as to is contents...Body Lamps...Interior...Small Electrics...Engine Room
Small Bits...the joke is to invite a friend over to the house and ask him if
he'd like to see the convertible I just bought. I take him out to the garage,
point at the 15 or so boxes lining the overhead shelves, and say "There it is!"
Brother advises to document everything, especially the wiring, as we
take the car apart. I look up at the aforementioned boxes, jamb my hands down
in my pockets, and hope we can figure it all out again.
I figured at this point, I should decide what I wanted to do first.
I decide to do the engine last. I hear its not good to let an engine sit unused
and to have a freshly renewed powerplant that I couldn't take for a ride would
frustrate me to no end. I am a success driven person with shallow financial
reserves and this is supposed to be a cash and carry project. OK, we'll strip
the little rust-bucket down to (whats left off) the shell, that won`t cost
anything, saving money in the meanwhile to purchase the parts nessesary to
get the the shell 'ready to paint'. Need a few more cardboard boxes. And
Zip-lock bags! Lots and lots of zip-lock bags!
Well, let's survey the damage. Engine has oil, but no coolant. None.
Apparently hasn't had any for a long time. But a borrowed battery shows the
engine will turn over. Let's not attempt to crank it, shall we? Just be
grateful the thing is not seized. No hydraulic fluids in brakes or clutch.
This explains the excitement of chasing the car across the yard, with Brother
at the wheel, when it came off the wrecker. Radiator looks OK. Hood won't
latch due to front end damage. Bumper and grill are not the right year for a
1970 and are suffering from 'park by ear' syndrome anyway.
Interior. Lets just say that everything that will survive to the
finished car fit neatly into the kind of box copy machine paper comes in.
Those are nice boxes, by the way. They have lids, not flaps, on top and this
makes for easy in and out and dust free storage.
Tires. Dry rot beyond all hope. Spare rostyle rim is present, in fact
all the rims are in restorable condition. A little sandblasting and paint is all
they want. Spare tire has a hole as big as my thumb in the sidewall. A trip
to the garage man and $10 gets the leaky tires holding air so the car can be
rolled around a bit. Three of the tires are Michelin. One is labeled 'Sampson
Tires, made in Israel'. Its valve stem is shorter than the rest. No kidding.
Peeling up the 'optional' lime green shag carpet reveals fresh air
floors. Brother peels up a strip of rusted floor with his fingers, cheerfully
observing 'This should be fairly easy to remove, anyway!'
Squirrels love British Cars! I removed half a bushel of native Georgia
nuts from all sorts of 'hidey-holes'. And of course, the prior owner just
*had* to put the battery in the trunk, giving me a 9 by 12 inch problem to
solve. Being a 1970, I falsely accussed the prior owner of sawing the back
bumper in two. Brother pointed out they came thay way from BL. YUCK! Brother
says 'But, you HAVE to put them back that way or it won't be original'. YUCK!
No way! YUCK! Besides, the catalogs don't carry them. (Note: 3 years have
passed, they are now available...YUCK!) I decide not to be original.
Pulling the dash reveals the wiring harness is in a state of total
meltdown. Bare copper, black ash, and several attempts by some creative person
to 'work around the problem' are evident. None of the fuses are blown. We pull
the harness out, roll it up and stuff it in a box. Why are all those wires
running back to the transmisson? Hmmm...
We begin the Bump And Grind phase. Bump out the dents, they are legion,
and grind out the rust. Sections of the shell are cut out and hung on the wall,
the nailhead being placed in the rust holes.
Brother's car shares the other bay in my two car garage. Sweet Wife
Kathy`s car is booted out to the driveway. She only complains when it rains.
He has had a considerable head start, and his shell is now ready to paint.
Wanting to be original, he goes back with YL-12 yellow. Hmm...neat color,
but is that what I want? I debate within myself...I can paint my car ANY color
I want...and cannot make up my mind. I like red. I also like white. I really
like BRG! Driving around I realize we don't need another red car, or a white
one for that matter on the road. That leaves BRG and that yellow color. Hmm...
There are five layers of paint on my car. What rust is there came from the
inside and worked its way out. The top two layers were orange. Ugly orange.
Then came red, then a mustard color, and the original factory color. YL-12.
Brother says it was built Primrose Yellow, it should stay Primrose Yellow.
Besides, how many yellow cars do you see on the road? And it's cooler in the
hot Georgia sun than BRG. I decide not to decide, for now.
My car is chopped up and dismantled. An MGB without doors or floors
looks cut in half. Almost $900 in new body panels is on its way. The engine
is the only thing left in the shell. While we wait for the panels to arrive we
decide to pull the engine and tranny out. Since it's my car, I get to do the
under car work. 'Transmisson is weird,' I said, 'It's got some pumpkin shaped
gizmo back where the driveshaft joins onto it'. Brothers eyeballs appear under
the car. 'What? You think this little tub might have overdrive?' I've never
seen an overdrive. I've never driven this car, or even heard it run, so how
should I know? In about 15 minutes the engine, transmission, and yes, the
overdrive are out on the floor. Hurrah, Hurrah! That makes up for all the mean
things the prior owners have done to me! I am elated! That expains all those
wires running dowm into the transmission tunnel!!
So I help Brother with his yellow paint. These are low budget projects
so we do the paint ourselves. Neither of us has painted a car before. To myself,
I'm glad we're doing his first. Practice run, if you will. Sweet Wife Kathy
comes out to see was the stink is all about.
'Oh, what a pretty color!' she beams, 'What is it? Sunflower Yellow?
Are you going to paint our car that color, too?' Even wearing the respirator,
the smile in Brother's eyes is obvious. Now it's *our* car. Hmmm...
'It's Primrose Yellow and yes, I'm painting our cat that color'.
'Oh, good! That a neat color, like daisy petals. She needs a name,
and we'll call her "Daisy"' Our car...we'll call her...Hmmm....
The body panels arrive. The kids reluctantly pose for a picture with
the big boxes and the basement is a sea of styrofoam peanuts.
Said good-by to Miss June on the way to work one morning. The Boss
calls me into his office, said although I was an excellent Senior Field Service
Engineer and my customers were really happy, it seemed my meager wages was more
than the company could now aford...'What we'd like now, is for you to clean out
your desk, turn in your tools and the company van, and go away'
I believe Miss September was the last NAPA girl to see signifigant
activity in the garage in 1991.
More later.
Wade
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