Hey Gang,
First let me say that I really appreciate you guys who went to the
website to view my car show photos having enough class not to bust my
chops about the wrinkles in Tigger's top. You know, I busted my ass
trying to get that sucker RIGHT but just managed to get it acceptable.
It is a Robbins but I am damned if it fits right... No matter what I
did, it still came out with a wrinkle on each side where the rear
quarter light would be if one were seriously interested in seeing to the
rear with the top up. Well, you guys that have soft tops know exactly
where the wrinkle is...
But, hey! Gotta have a soft top, right? I mean, one of the things I
really liked about the Tigers was the nifty steel cover for the soft
top... so clean, so neat... The hard tops are great in the winter,
really makes the car a lot more livable, but for the occasional summer
shower when one is hundreds of miles from home, a soft top is a
necessity. Besides which, Tigger came with a brand new soft top, still
in the box, when I bought the car a year and a half ago.
So, anyway...
It took me like a year to work up the nerve to try the top installation
myself, a decision which I eventually took only because I had the
sinking feeling that neither of the trim shops around here knew any more
about the project than I did. It took another couple of months to
actually finish the job, which I never coulda done it without the
generous help of several of you listers.
When I first got the installation done, I thought it was pretty damned
nifty, pretty much uptown. But every time I looked at it... Well,
eventually I realized it was pretty much just a way to keep the speakers
dry in an emergency, anyway. But, with the weather changing at a
moment's notice from warm to not so very warm, I left the top up for a
couple of months.
But by Saturday afternoon, I knew Sunday was going to be clear and hot
and it would be totally unnecessary to run with the top up. At first I
thought, well, let's leave the top up for the morning run out to the
airport, about 20 miles away, for the Experimental Aircraft
Association's monthly pancake breakfast ($4 for a chile 'n cheese
omelet, three pancakes, two strips o' bacon, coffee and fruit cup) since
at 8:30 in the morning it is going to be pretty cold, like maybe 75
degrees F. Then, we could take the top down at the airport for the run
back home when the temp is about 90 degrees F.
But then I recalled some considerable traffic on the Tigers list about
how damned difficult it is to take the stinkin' top down on these little
dears and I decided, hey, for the first time takin' it down, why not do
it in the garage where I can get away with makin' a fool of myself just
in front of Janet, my bride of very nearly 34 years, and she is already
pretty much accustomed to it anyways and my friends and the airplane
people won't have any chance of seeing me go into my red zone.
So, I re-read the instructions in the manual, re-read the instruction's
in the Series V manual, and re-read the list traffic (I confess I keep
most of this stuff), all of which I found about as clear as my brake
fluid, which, perhaps I did not mention, is looking pretty damned cloudy
I discovered shortly before I started taking the top down...
So, anyway...
First thing to do is open the metal doors covering the space where the
top goes. Hah! Somehow my cover is, I don't know, perverse or something.
I oiled it all up and everything when I had it apart for the top
installation, but now it is working, like, not at all. After a quarter
hour of screwing around with it, I grabbed a wrench and a screwdriver
and got serious. Pulled the center panel out of the car, folded the side
pieces in, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Janet kept edging toward the garage's side door until I mentioned that I
thought I heard the buzz of a rattlesnake out there as I was coming in.
Rattlers are dangerous in the spring and after considerable thought,
Janet chose the lesser of two evils and bolted through the door...
Eventually she returned and took her station on the right side of the
car. In unison, we released the clamps, and stripped the velcro. Then
lifted the front of the top and disengaged the appropriate metal and
plastic bits. Hey, I said, this is a piece o' cake!
We gently laid the top back toward the boot and began folding the top
bows back and down... We gently folded the rear window down, and eased
the top bows down... I quickly came to realize that the whole thing was
a total blivet. I mean, there just was no way... (A "blivet," for the
sake of our readers Down Under, is 10 pounds of manure in a 5 pound
sack.) Up and almost down, up and almost down, up and almost down we put
the top... After 30 or 40 minutes we accidentally hit on the right
combination--I think the keys are to get the two top bows really close
together as they are going down and to stow the front piece on top of
everything else, after everything else is mushed down in there.
Then I grabbed my trusty wrench and screwdriver and put the top cover
together again and slammed the whole thing shut...
Did I learn from my mistakes? I am sure I did, I am sure I can repeat
them exactly!
So, anyway...
Sure enough, at 8:20 Sunday morning the temperature hovered down around
74 degrees F. Brrrrrr! I opened the bonnet and did a quick check of
fluids, yep, the brake fluid is still full and still cloudy... Damn!
Tigger, Janet, and I headed down the highway as I lamented the fact that
I had forgotten to put on a jacket. We cruised on down the US 70, a four
lane divided highway with, on a crystal clear Sunday morning, moderately
light traffic. This stretch of road is a frequent site for "selective
enforcement" so I watch the speed pretty carefully, keeping it just
below the posted limit of 55. The car just hums happily along and all is
good with the world...
As we got closer to town, maybe 7 or 8 miles down the road, we
simultaneously spotted a metallic green Mercedes SLK on a side street,
about a quarter mile ahead of us. The car made a California stop (that's
where you hardly slow down for the stop sign but do glance to your left
before running it). We knew the car, the driver, and the passenger, and
noted that they were accelerating hard in the short merging lane. These
folks have several Mercedeses (Mercedesai?) housed in three two car
garages, all of which are immaculate, no dirt on the floor, let alone
grease or oil spots... Do Mercedesai even use grease and oil?
Now, I mused to myself, I know those little supercharged devils go
pretty good on the top end but how does that automatic do under hard
acceleration? The question then became moot because my copilot, bless
her heart, yelled, "Blow his doors off!"
Well....
Traffic is light, so what the hell... I throw it into third and slam the
accelerator to the floor, shifting back into fourth within seconds and
we wave gaily as we go around the Mercedes at around 90. I was too busy
to note whether the wave was returned...
So, anyway...
We meet up with the rest of the pancake eaters and head out for the
airport at around 9:00. Our little parade includes us and Tigger, Walt
Kowalski in his white MGB with his friend Dave from Santa Fe who is
normally a Porsche 356 driver but this weekend toured down on his
Norton, Charlotte Johnson in her Spridget, Charlie & Jennie Beard in
their MGB, David Cox in his TR3A, Robert Abernathy, an Alpine Guy whose
Alpine is hors d'combat with a head gasket blown a couple of weeks ago
during the Rallye Picante, drove his Toyota (but kept back a respectful
distance) and Steve Cauffman shepherded his flame encrusted Ford Pickup.
Usually at the EAA Pancake Breakfast there are quite a few neat
experimentals, ultra lights, kit builts, WWII warbirds, as well as
regular airplanes. Attendance this time was a little lighter than usual
but there was an interesting P63 belonging to Frank Borman. The P63 is a
WWII fighter plane with the engine which is located behind the driver
driving the nose mounted prop via a drive shaft which must be, like, 15
feet or so long and runs, apparently, right between the pilot's knees...
Man, would I ever want to be sitting on my steel pot in that baby!
After having breakfast and bench racing for awhile the gathering breaks
up around 11:00 and we all head for home our separate ways. Ten minutes
and ten miles later, Kowalski in his nice Weber carbed MGB catches up
with us at a stoplight in downtown Las Cruces where I am sitting
peacefully anointing myself with sunscreen. As the light changes,
Kowalski climbs on the MGB and yells back over his shoulder, "Wanna
race?"
Needless to say, I responded in kind and jumped on Tigger pretty good
catching Kowalski just as he laid a pretty decent patch in second and,
seconds later, I, too, rammed my foot to the floor and grabbed 2nd gear.
Which is when, all of a sudden, nothin' happened...
Yeah, nothin'...
As I coasted in the right lane, Kowalski came up on the left and I
shouted, "I'm dead in the water..."
Engine idling, we coasted into a liquor store parking lot and I climbed
out as the MGB pulled up. I immediately figured out that I had managed
to snap the accelerator cable...
Sigh...
I figured to take the manual choke cable off and hook it to the carb
linkage but, of course, had nary a tool with me (I know, I know). Of
course, Kowalski in the MG had a brand new tool set in his boot. We
discussed possible fixes for a few minutes and Kowalski pulled the
broken wire out of the cable housing while I practiced breathing like a
carp that has been out of the water way too long.
With the wire in hand we realized that it was the same apparent diameter
as the electric fence wire I was carrying for emergency repairs. (Hey! I
may be dumb enough to be street racing without a tool kit in the car but
I am not dumb enough to go Tigerin' without some scrap wire!)
Within minutes Walt and Dave had the aluminum fence wire threaded into
the accelerator cable housing, the ends tied off, and we were back in
business, albeit somewhat subdued. We sedately pulled back onto the
streets and headed for home...
So, anyway...
Where can I buy a replacement accelerator cable that runs from the
accelerator to the carb linkage? Just a little ol' short thing, maybe a
foot or so long?
And, just to take a load off your minds, nobody needs to write me notes
reminding me that this type of behavior really isn't appropriate for an
elderly, retired gentleman such as myself. "Sane drivers, safe streets,
yadda, yadda, yadda..."
Believe me, I already know that stuff! I know it because last night I
had a little phone conversation with Mrs. Kowalski. Ouch! My ears are
still burning...
Cheers!
--Colin Cobb
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