Another Dry Hole

It's the way of things that you pays your money, and you makes your choice. Embarking on the restoration of something old involves challenging your assumptions in sometimes interesting ways.

Modern technical progress has conditioned us to believe that stuff should just work. Thanks to amazing innovations in design, manufacturing, and materials we've abstracted away much of the challenge out of our lives. No longer are the products we rely on daily in any way inconvenient or upsetting to deal with. This is all for the positive! No one wants to give up the ease of things that their cell phones or central heating do for them. 

However, it's a remarkable contrast to go back, even just a generation or two, and find out that life wasn't always this way. Not too long ago, the products that we used every day were designed in almost a different world, with a different understanding of what "good" was. It used to be that a quality product was one that relied upon its owner for labor in order to continue to function as intended. And, when the owner of a product -- a refrigerator or a Land Rover, for example -- ran out of talent, an expert was called in to maintain or repair that product. This was a requirement for its continued use and a key understanding of the men who designed it. Their world revolved around things like tolerances, and lubricants, and maintenance schedules. There are no sensors on an old Land Rover gearbox. To make them better, you have to go in there, disassemble them, and get your calipers out. 

In the modern world, the very last thing I want to do is call a repairman. For one thing, it's always hideously expensive and it's often wasteful. These days, parts are made to be replaced, not repaired. Your 'thing,' whatever it is, not working? Go to Home Depot or whatever and buy a new one. 

Some of you may have read "zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance" before.  In the book, Pirsig introduces the dichotomy between the old way of doing things and the new. He valued being self-reliant and wrote about the contrast between his old motorcycle (a Honda, currently in the Smithsonian) which he knew well and could maintain, and his touring friends' BMW which they neither understood nor cared to learn more about. The book is about our relationship to technology. 

I write all of this not to make a philosophical point but rather to highlight the nature of what it is that we attempt when we step back into that other, older world. Much of the time, it is inconvenient. I complain on this blog a lot about the hassle. That's mostly me attempting to come to terms with how things were done in the 1950s and 60s, trying to reconcile that world with the one I understand well. In my world, software is precise and you can see immediately when it's not working. 

This is a concept that's alien to the designer of the Land Rover transmission and transfer case. 

A piece of technology so sophisticated that it requires a (checks notes) fish scale to calibrate properly via the application of shims. 

Whatever. Let's dig right in and find out what we have, shall we?

Look at all these lovely bits!

Let's play Eye Spy. I see:

1. An intermediate shaft, worn beyond specification;

2. A 3-4 synchro that is rusted and stiff;

3. Shafts worn beyond spec; and

4. A layshaft assembly that looks like an absolute dog to disassemble. 

Let's dig in some more. 

What could this be? Could it be a circlip that a previous person put back in with one of the 'ears' missing?

Yes! Yes it could. Seriously, who does this!? How are you supposed to get a circlip out with just *one* eye for the circlip pliers to fit into? 

Answer: You do what I did, and cut / chisel the circlip in half, trying desperately not to destroy a part in the process.

Some of the parts from this Series 1 gearbox are still serviceable but, sadly, not enough of them to make the purchase of the 'box worthwhile. Between moisture intrusion, wear, and time, the parts are largely unusable. :(

Now I have two heavy buckets of metal scrap!