The first work-day on the crap can
You may have come upon this page first. Hey, I would. Who wants to read about why we chose our dumb NAME or how we ended up with this CAR? And I know NOBODY wants to read about BRIAN. This page is a treat. Lots of pretty pictures. Not so much writing. Also, I'm almost out of wine and my laundry is pretty close to being done. So here's a rough idea of the first day of teamwork on the Tuna Chuckers' car.
That tall, lanky dude in the green shirt is Brian, and he is skinny because he is only about 15 year sold. OK, he's actually 25...I think. The other guy is Rob. Rob seems to be pointing at a small squirrel that took refuge in the engine compartment. I think they are arguing over who gets to poke it.
Mr. Blue on the far side of the car is Jamie. Jamie stayed cleaner than I have ever seen a man stay when working on a 40 year old car. I can't even put gas in my car and stay that clean. I think he coated himself with GoJo before he got there.
This is Mike. Me. The guy typing this. I don't recall what I'm doing here, which probably has something to do with that brown, fermented beverage I'm holding. Several bottles of this fizzy drink were consumed, and not all by me, I am happy to report.
Oh, I remember now. The rear axle. The driver's side suspension bracket was missing. Mike the Priest handed me the part when I loaded up the 122, but it went missing somewhere between Decatur, GA and my barn. So I had to fabricate a new mount. Here's the "before":
Here's after 8 hours of grinding and fabrication and welding:
I may not be good, but at least I'm slow.
In the quest to reduce weight, the heater came out. What it left was a square hole in the firewall. Brian peeks out, wondering what will protect the driver from the inevitable engine fires now. I suggested a piece of glass, so the driver could observe the engine while driving. Rob didn't think that was too safe.
Me? I couldn't resist a picture of Brian nest to that lovely stamping on the master cylinder. Truth is indeed stranger than Photoshop.
Speaking of holes, check out that floorboard. Yabba Dabba Doo!
In addition to removing parts of the car to reduce weight, there was a great pile of crap inside the car that needed to be cleaned out. Above we observe Jamie shoveling out decades of debris from the well under the back seat (which also got pitched).
Some of the crap:
But Jamie wasn't just our janitor. He also proved an able wrench, stripping the passenger side of all glass, interior panels, and other sundry useless bits.
Meanwhile, I get drunk and pissed at the rear suspension:
And Rob and Brian contemplate the variegated tape holding the tailight to the body:
Jamie 's daughter, Allison decided to come over for a visit, but she became shy when confronted by strange freaks wielding power tools and beer, so she stayed in her carseat and watched videos on her iPod. Here, Jamie scolds us for using four-letter words and tells me to shield the welding sparks from Allison.
Above: Rob decides he hates the generator, the regulator, and any wires he can find. So he rips them out. Hey, it still runs! This Amazon is going to weigh about 850 pounds when we're done with it!
And look at those twin SU carbs. Mmmmm...British fuel mixing.
At some point in our day of dismantling, welding, cursing and drinking, the Journey song "Loving Touching Feeling" came on the radio. The chorus became our theme: "She's tearing you apart every- every day. She's tearing you apart..." Yes, we love us some Journey.
Good day. Got quite a bit done. And there's still what, 4 months till the race? We should at least have a caricature tuna fin welded to the roof by then....
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