I have a standing joke with my good friend about cars coming "online in a few years". This assumption roughly calculates the the time that a car or truck will stop depreciating in value all toghether but will still be new enough that mint examples can be found.
For my latest purchase, the time is about 13 years. I recently acquired a mint 1995 Tacoma 4x4 LX extra cab. I have wanted one of these trucks since 1995 (the first year they were out) and distinctly remember going to the Toyota dealer in my 1984 VW Rabbit GTI on a cold and icy November night in 1995 to check one out. I managed to keep my cool and convince the dealer to let me test drive it, so I could remember what a new one felt like when it finally "came online" for me.
I remember it to be quite a bit more quiet and smooth, but no matter the sweet look of utility and no fuss is still there. I am not sure why I am so atracted to cars that have that 3rd world country look and feel (see my articles on the Benz and Hilux).
Anyway, the only thing I would have chosen differently is the color.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Monday, February 26, 2007
Old Reliable
As you may have read before in previous installments of Autopia, I’m all for longevity and endurance when it comes to cars. Sure I love an Alfa or a nice Fiat (not to pick on Italians or anything) but they are just not cars that come to mind when I have to choose one to drive myself and my wife to work every morning. I’ve always wanted (desperately) to own and drive the Lancia Monte Carlo (known as the Scorpio in North America). I think it’s a beautiful car, sort of looks like an 80’s icon, that like the rest of the 80’s did not go out of style. Most things in the 80’s were horrible looking, even haircuts so how could they possibly go right with the Countach. But, the Scorpio just cannot serve me as a practical daily driver and not just because of the lack of space. They were not popular in Canada so spares are rare, and they like most Italian cars are tricky to tune and keep in good order.
You see this brings me right to my point of this oceanic difference. In Italy for example, the lifestyle is so vastly different that cars don’t have to live as long. Fashion, city life, expensive gas and well dressed Italians will not put up with old cars, and as such they don’t have to be built to last.
In North America, the exact opposite is true. Lets not talk about fashion and I don’t just mean clothes, but anything from furniture to watches. The life in most places consists of sprawling cities with freeways and big box stores and large parking spaces. Gas is cheap and plentiful. And lots of North America is still inaccessible. So you don’t really need a car, you need a truck!
I bet there is no one in all of North America that does not know someone with a truck. Not one person. We really really love them. They are the ultimate in practicality. My favorite is the Toyota Tacoma.
The Tacoma (or Hilux anywhere else in the world) is a standard by which all trucks must be measured by. Now, I love the F-150 as much as the next guy, but the Hilux is made in such staggering numbers that it’s nearly sold in every country on earth. From the Dhobi desert to the Antarctic it is one of the most dependable and desirable machines out there. It is reliable like nothing else on the road (you must see the Top Gear attempt at destroying one), it is economical and comes in a variety of engines (too bad we don’t get diesels in North America), endless combinations of drive trains and body styles (my favorite is the double cab, 4x4) and they hold their value like gold….except gold goes down once in a while, they don’t.
The Hilux was until 2004 largely unchanged. The front end was massaged a bit here and there as they gave it a makeover. I absolutely loved that about the truck. No frills, no clever cup holders, just plain old truck. Old reliable to the core. Slim body on big wheels. Lots of suspension travel. Rear hitch that gave it that “U.N” official look. Metal bumpers that would look like crap after 5 years from hitting things and got swapped for bush bars and rear tailgates that eventually all spelled “Toy” or “yota”. Those were trucks, when men were men.
Than 2005 came along. Oh my. I still remembered the day, when I heard “the all new Tacoma is here”. I thought, “oh great, maybe a bit more squint to the front end, maybe a slimmer door”, but nothing could prepare me for the 05. Lets start with the faux tough look. Do they think we are mentally retarded? I mean, it’s a bunch of plastic that’s made to look like it’s budging tough truck until you press on it and the paint cracks. Plastic bumpers with matching truck paint????!!! Who puts plastic bumpers on a TRUCK? What are you doing with plastic bumpers? Pushing fluffy pillows around? Even my Kiwi friends will dent it pushing fluffy sheep around!
Than there is the new midsize. I guess it’s like most of North America thou, where last years medium is today’s extra small. This midsize truck looks like a monster compared to say a 1970 Chevy C30 ¾ ton truck – a full size truck. Why? The old one was small because it didn’t need to be bigger for 25 years! Are the dunes bigger this year in the Dhobi? Is the snow higher in the Antarctic?...I think it’s melting, no?
You see this brings me right to my point of this oceanic difference. In Italy for example, the lifestyle is so vastly different that cars don’t have to live as long. Fashion, city life, expensive gas and well dressed Italians will not put up with old cars, and as such they don’t have to be built to last.
In North America, the exact opposite is true. Lets not talk about fashion and I don’t just mean clothes, but anything from furniture to watches. The life in most places consists of sprawling cities with freeways and big box stores and large parking spaces. Gas is cheap and plentiful. And lots of North America is still inaccessible. So you don’t really need a car, you need a truck!
I bet there is no one in all of North America that does not know someone with a truck. Not one person. We really really love them. They are the ultimate in practicality. My favorite is the Toyota Tacoma.
The Tacoma (or Hilux anywhere else in the world) is a standard by which all trucks must be measured by. Now, I love the F-150 as much as the next guy, but the Hilux is made in such staggering numbers that it’s nearly sold in every country on earth. From the Dhobi desert to the Antarctic it is one of the most dependable and desirable machines out there. It is reliable like nothing else on the road (you must see the Top Gear attempt at destroying one), it is economical and comes in a variety of engines (too bad we don’t get diesels in North America), endless combinations of drive trains and body styles (my favorite is the double cab, 4x4) and they hold their value like gold….except gold goes down once in a while, they don’t.
The Hilux was until 2004 largely unchanged. The front end was massaged a bit here and there as they gave it a makeover. I absolutely loved that about the truck. No frills, no clever cup holders, just plain old truck. Old reliable to the core. Slim body on big wheels. Lots of suspension travel. Rear hitch that gave it that “U.N” official look. Metal bumpers that would look like crap after 5 years from hitting things and got swapped for bush bars and rear tailgates that eventually all spelled “Toy” or “yota”. Those were trucks, when men were men.
Than 2005 came along. Oh my. I still remembered the day, when I heard “the all new Tacoma is here”. I thought, “oh great, maybe a bit more squint to the front end, maybe a slimmer door”, but nothing could prepare me for the 05. Lets start with the faux tough look. Do they think we are mentally retarded? I mean, it’s a bunch of plastic that’s made to look like it’s budging tough truck until you press on it and the paint cracks. Plastic bumpers with matching truck paint????!!! Who puts plastic bumpers on a TRUCK? What are you doing with plastic bumpers? Pushing fluffy pillows around? Even my Kiwi friends will dent it pushing fluffy sheep around!
Than there is the new midsize. I guess it’s like most of North America thou, where last years medium is today’s extra small. This midsize truck looks like a monster compared to say a 1970 Chevy C30 ¾ ton truck – a full size truck. Why? The old one was small because it didn’t need to be bigger for 25 years! Are the dunes bigger this year in the Dhobi? Is the snow higher in the Antarctic?...I think it’s melting, no?
The new truck is borrowing from the new styling that seems to be engulfing Toyota these days. Rather than the harder edged 70’s and 80’s cars they’ve started to look into nature for inspiration. Except they must have dropped the styling team at the beach where there was a beached whale. Have you seen the new Camry? It’s brutal. It looks exactly like a water logged beluga lying on the beach. It’s the size of 2 Crown Victoria’s. Its like Christy Alley.
So there you have it. Mark your calendar black. Toyota has stopped making the last cool car they had going for them. I’m going to buy a used Hilux, too bad I have to pay the same money for a used one, but I think it’s worth it.
kk
Saturday, January 06, 2007
The Merc
As a connoisseur of coarse (as opposed to fine) automobilia, one is used to having to often explain himself to others on automotive decisions.
In an attempt to reduce our living costs (and the burden of juggling three cars between one parking spot) I recently convinced my better half that we should get rid of all the cars in our possession and replace it with one. The "one" would have all the virtues of a great commute car, be just as reliable as the virtually new loaner X-Terra , just as cool as the Impreza WRX, practical like the VW Westfalia and comfortable like a car we don't own yet. Being on a money saving kick, I wanted to spend less than about $5000.
I scoured the classifieds from Vancouver to LA with more intensity and gusto than ever before and went on vision quests that took me as far away as classic Beemers and Audi wagons to older Tacoma pickups and Jeep Wranglers to really old Jag XJ's (with Chevy 350 conversions), with a brief and disturbing side quest for a monster lifted Land cruiser and gas guzzling Range Rovers.
And then it came to me. I was probably lying on the cold concrete floor by this time, in the fetal position and sucking my thumb when I saw the light. I reached for it, and as it turned out, there were two lights: one white and the other a beautiful bright yellow.
And there it was. A perfect 1983 Mercedes 300D turbo diesel.
It was in astonishingly mint shape, the kind of completeness and good order one often dreams about when looking for twentysomething year old cars. It was under four grand and it was recently gone through by a very competent bloke who owned a Mercedes specialist shop in San Francisco. I found it on a two-day business trip completely by accident and bought it on the spot. It was one of those rare retro car moments indeed.
It was acquired in our usual Autopia fashion, cheap and under the cover of darkness. The flight was booked, money was exchanged in unmarked bills, the paperwork was non-existent (later forcing me to use the finely honed skill of looking dumb with mouth agape at the Canadian border crossing official until he let us import it with only a hastily handwritten note that needed explanation of every sentence. Luckily it had the all important "Bill of Sale" scribbled at the top). We crossed the border on fresh diesel and not a minute shy of twenty to midnight on New Year's Eve, pressing hard to make it home to celebrate the victory of the drive and welcome 2007...albeit I wished it was 1983 again.
You see, deep down inside I've always wanted the old Merc. When I was a young lad growing up behind the iron curtain, once in a blue moon an old W123 Merc would roll through our town and against the backdrop of ordinary Fiat's and Skodas it looked like something out of this world. Later as I travelled throughout the world and watched movies I saw the same cars. Even as time passed they stayed the same, like they just would not die.
Cabs and cop cars in Germany, old beat up Mercs rolling through the dusty streets of Karachi, carrying suspicious looking fellows in headscarves in Afghanistan, selling trinkets out of trunks in Turkey, carrying the equivalent load of another Merc on the roof in Africa. I suspect that if you looked at one of those “world in pictures” books, you would be hard pressed NOT to find an old Merc fairly completing that perfect National Geographic photo in the background. I dare say the old Merc is somewhat of an automotive icon, like a Moleskine notebook or a Nikon camera or a Burberry trench coat. It is not posh and glossy like the Mercedes name is today; it is the dusty, hardworking, silent and most dependable piece of machinery of the last 25 years.
We flew out from our home in Vancouver over 1000 miles away to beautiful San Francisco to pick up the car. I have purchased classics in the Bay Area before, (mostly due to the temperate climate and no intense sun like the desert or even LA). This is the birthplace of Craigslist (www.craigslist.com) a virtual goldmine of anything and everything, which is how I got this car. Thanks to Craig Newmark, the founder of craigslist I've gotten nowhere in my career but I sure have had some great cars, parts, chairs, lamps...you get the picture. The car was the fifth in a series of Mercs I test-drove with a friend (Meech is a fellow Merc expert and it was only because of his enthusiasm that I was able to pull this off) and as always it really pays off to have a few examples to compare it to. This not only helps to identify what condition cars in your price range are going for but also gives you a great sense of what they are supposed to drive and feel like.
So what are they like?
The cars are made as solid as their reputation. It’s amazing to think that they are all over 20 years old mostly due to the entire car still holding up extremely well. The doors are heavy and shut with that coveted, nearly trademarked German “thunk”, the interiors are unbelievably hard wearing with the Mercedes M-Tex vinyl (it looks like leather, but it’s actually vinyl) looking like the car is a year old. The seats almost all sag and feel a bit soft, as they are constructed from a spring loaded sandwich with horsehair padding, all which gets a bit old in 20 odd years but albeit are more comfortable to sit in than a modern seat. The body metal is thick, the suspension is made to last a million miles - the ball joints and all suspension points are fist sized – think ¾ ton truck, not passenger car. The turning radius is in golf cart category, simply amazing.
The performance is hardly brisk from stop (it gets much better with a warm engine as it’s a diesel) with the old turbo diesel lumbering along. However the most surprising to me was the massive amount of torque these cars develop once rolling on the highway. They are like a freight train; it just keeps pulling and pulling.
The most memorable part of the drive back to Vancouver was late at night heading into Mt. Shasta. I’ve driven the road many times and certainly in many different cars. I’ve been through it in a Volvo 850T5, a Subaru WRX, a Saab Viggen, a Miata and a 25ft motor home. I can honestly say I have never had more fun and been more impressed than that drive in the Merc. When you drive a Viggen or a WRX you absolutely expect the car to be amazing and often you pick it apart wishing it was better at handling this or that or that the turbo lag is just a bit too long or the torque curve being a bit off. So it came to me as a total surprise when the Merc got into the hills and blew the doors off anything on the road.
It’s a heavy car, and as such has this amazing momentum, which takes a bit to get used to but when you realize that all you have to do is keep your foot in it and plan a couple of curves ahead it really comes out very very graceful. The torque of the 5 cylinder turbo diesel is flat. Which means whether you are going up or down a hill, it just keeps pulling. Overall fantastic. As the night settled, and the left lane was unobstructed, we reached speeds over 100 mph! With the big Merc singing a nice low hum with that 3 ft single overhead camshaft. The noise is the same, by the way, whether you go 70 or 100 mph.
In an attempt to reduce our living costs (and the burden of juggling three cars between one parking spot) I recently convinced my better half that we should get rid of all the cars in our possession and replace it with one. The "one" would have all the virtues of a great commute car, be just as reliable as the virtually new loaner X-Terra , just as cool as the Impreza WRX, practical like the VW Westfalia and comfortable like a car we don't own yet. Being on a money saving kick, I wanted to spend less than about $5000.
I scoured the classifieds from Vancouver to LA with more intensity and gusto than ever before and went on vision quests that took me as far away as classic Beemers and Audi wagons to older Tacoma pickups and Jeep Wranglers to really old Jag XJ's (with Chevy 350 conversions), with a brief and disturbing side quest for a monster lifted Land cruiser and gas guzzling Range Rovers.
And then it came to me. I was probably lying on the cold concrete floor by this time, in the fetal position and sucking my thumb when I saw the light. I reached for it, and as it turned out, there were two lights: one white and the other a beautiful bright yellow.
And there it was. A perfect 1983 Mercedes 300D turbo diesel.
It was in astonishingly mint shape, the kind of completeness and good order one often dreams about when looking for twentysomething year old cars. It was under four grand and it was recently gone through by a very competent bloke who owned a Mercedes specialist shop in San Francisco. I found it on a two-day business trip completely by accident and bought it on the spot. It was one of those rare retro car moments indeed.It was acquired in our usual Autopia fashion, cheap and under the cover of darkness. The flight was booked, money was exchanged in unmarked bills, the paperwork was non-existent (later forcing me to use the finely honed skill of looking dumb with mouth agape at the Canadian border crossing official until he let us import it with only a hastily handwritten note that needed explanation of every sentence. Luckily it had the all important "Bill of Sale" scribbled at the top). We crossed the border on fresh diesel and not a minute shy of twenty to midnight on New Year's Eve, pressing hard to make it home to celebrate the victory of the drive and welcome 2007...albeit I wished it was 1983 again.
You see, deep down inside I've always wanted the old Merc. When I was a young lad growing up behind the iron curtain, once in a blue moon an old W123 Merc would roll through our town and against the backdrop of ordinary Fiat's and Skodas it looked like something out of this world. Later as I travelled throughout the world and watched movies I saw the same cars. Even as time passed they stayed the same, like they just would not die.
Cabs and cop cars in Germany, old beat up Mercs rolling through the dusty streets of Karachi, carrying suspicious looking fellows in headscarves in Afghanistan, selling trinkets out of trunks in Turkey, carrying the equivalent load of another Merc on the roof in Africa. I suspect that if you looked at one of those “world in pictures” books, you would be hard pressed NOT to find an old Merc fairly completing that perfect National Geographic photo in the background. I dare say the old Merc is somewhat of an automotive icon, like a Moleskine notebook or a Nikon camera or a Burberry trench coat. It is not posh and glossy like the Mercedes name is today; it is the dusty, hardworking, silent and most dependable piece of machinery of the last 25 years.
We flew out from our home in Vancouver over 1000 miles away to beautiful San Francisco to pick up the car. I have purchased classics in the Bay Area before, (mostly due to the temperate climate and no intense sun like the desert or even LA). This is the birthplace of Craigslist (www.craigslist.com) a virtual goldmine of anything and everything, which is how I got this car. Thanks to Craig Newmark, the founder of craigslist I've gotten nowhere in my career but I sure have had some great cars, parts, chairs, lamps...you get the picture. The car was the fifth in a series of Mercs I test-drove with a friend (Meech is a fellow Merc expert and it was only because of his enthusiasm that I was able to pull this off) and as always it really pays off to have a few examples to compare it to. This not only helps to identify what condition cars in your price range are going for but also gives you a great sense of what they are supposed to drive and feel like.
So what are they like?
The cars are made as solid as their reputation. It’s amazing to think that they are all over 20 years old mostly due to the entire car still holding up extremely well. The doors are heavy and shut with that coveted, nearly trademarked German “thunk”, the interiors are unbelievably hard wearing with the Mercedes M-Tex vinyl (it looks like leather, but it’s actually vinyl) looking like the car is a year old. The seats almost all sag and feel a bit soft, as they are constructed from a spring loaded sandwich with horsehair padding, all which gets a bit old in 20 odd years but albeit are more comfortable to sit in than a modern seat. The body metal is thick, the suspension is made to last a million miles - the ball joints and all suspension points are fist sized – think ¾ ton truck, not passenger car. The turning radius is in golf cart category, simply amazing.
The performance is hardly brisk from stop (it gets much better with a warm engine as it’s a diesel) with the old turbo diesel lumbering along. However the most surprising to me was the massive amount of torque these cars develop once rolling on the highway. They are like a freight train; it just keeps pulling and pulling.
The most memorable part of the drive back to Vancouver was late at night heading into Mt. Shasta. I’ve driven the road many times and certainly in many different cars. I’ve been through it in a Volvo 850T5, a Subaru WRX, a Saab Viggen, a Miata and a 25ft motor home. I can honestly say I have never had more fun and been more impressed than that drive in the Merc. When you drive a Viggen or a WRX you absolutely expect the car to be amazing and often you pick it apart wishing it was better at handling this or that or that the turbo lag is just a bit too long or the torque curve being a bit off. So it came to me as a total surprise when the Merc got into the hills and blew the doors off anything on the road.
It’s a heavy car, and as such has this amazing momentum, which takes a bit to get used to but when you realize that all you have to do is keep your foot in it and plan a couple of curves ahead it really comes out very very graceful. The torque of the 5 cylinder turbo diesel is flat. Which means whether you are going up or down a hill, it just keeps pulling. Overall fantastic. As the night settled, and the left lane was unobstructed, we reached speeds over 100 mph! With the big Merc singing a nice low hum with that 3 ft single overhead camshaft. The noise is the same, by the way, whether you go 70 or 100 mph.
Even my better half is coming around, I think she likes all the attention we get and cleaned up, it's undoubedly cooler downtown. Who knew that "bleak yellow" could be so attractive in a sea of new Bimmer silver.
Now all I have to do is figure out a way to park four cars instead of three in that one parking spot.
Now all I have to do is figure out a way to park four cars instead of three in that one parking spot.
Saving money has never been harder.
KK
Monday, August 22, 2005
The Ups and Downs of Pipes
It’s a funny thing about all aftermarket performance parts that muse the shopping catalogs and Internet pages for your fav ride. They all promise power gains. They all promise “bling”, a new term of my (or maybe even younger generation) that hints at the cool factor, but always leaves mea feeling a bit like I want to stand up and walk out. Don’t get me wrong, I like some bling, but a spoiler that makes your car look like a shopping cart is just stupid looking unless it’s on an Audi S1 Sport Quattro, then in literally brings tears to my eyes. Sometimes I think there is something very wrong with me, but I swear it’s the only time I budge….Group B rally cars from the 80's is always a tear jerker. Anyway, on with the parts. They all promise easy installation. I bought in.
I purchased a set of pipes (turbo down-pipe and up-pipe) for my Impreza and waited anxiously for a free evening to install them. This was my first mistake, the evening part. I rent a shop on the outskirts of San Francisco at the old Navy grounds, read, “totally deserted” after 6 pm. I anxiously went after a dinner at around 7 pm full of energy and desire, dreaming of power gains and easy installation, as I had not worked too much on the Impreza before. I settled in and as I waited for the engine to cool down I decided to first change the plugs. Let’s just say the engine was ice cold by the time I finished. The plugs are a total biatch to change but after some fiddling and actually getting to know the car the remaining 3 took the same amount of combined time as the first one.
This should have been my warning that starting a major exhaust upgrade on a turbo charged car well after 9 pm. It started all according to plan and on time. I thought I would have the stock down-pipe unbolted in 1 hour (as we had done on a friends STI). The bolts were all pretty rusty do to heat and as I struggled with continuously having to lift the car up and down due to not having the proper tools (small thin wrenches etc.) and crawling underneath (I am not as “swelt” I used to be and my jack only lifts up the car enough to change the tire). By the time I had wrestled the down-pipe like a beast I looked like the crocodile man on the Discovery Channel….pants stained, sweat out of every orifice, panting and fingers looking like spicy raw Italian sausages. I looked at the mess on the floor and decided right there and then that I would probably not install the up-pipe if I had to go through this again. A feeling that I wished I gave some thought to some hours later. I looked and looked at the steel fortress of pipes, wires and components that stood between the up-pipe and me. For a moment in the silent shop I thought I hear it laughing at me. From any angle (top, bottom, wheel well or across the room) it was barely visible. My back and I had a small sit down and decided on a game plan. It was simple. Unbolt 7 bolts securing the short but potent beast, unbolt the engine support, lift the engine a few inches and dispense with the stock horsepower robbing embarrassment. It was 1 am. I set to the task and by 2 am I was sitting back down not having touched one bolt, but removed many heat shields, crossover pipes and brackets which I swear were designed with one purpose in mind – to guard the up-pipe like Satan’s disciples at the gates of Narnia. Then came the bottom heat shield. The Fuji Heavy Industries engineers apparently decided that everyone has a range of oxygen sensor sockets in their toolbox. I was the only asshole that did not. I had however a small and possibly experimental set of sheet metal shears and they might as well been cuticle scissors. After another immeasurable amount of time trying to remove the bolts guarded by the iron curtain I decided to resort back to Plan A and cut the shield with my cuticle scissors. In the next hour I felt the full spectrum of human emotions from deep Satanic anger, through hysterical laughing and babbling of a mental patient to just plain vegetative mental state of staring at the metal fortress and feeling like I had to slay a tiger with a toothpick. Like a prisoner digging a tunnel with a teaspoon I clawed at the thick metal when finally I cut through it. Exhausted I lay on the floor and wondered about world politics for a moment. A moment of euphoria engulfed me; I thought it was all just a matter of bolts for now. I was running dangerously low on cigarettes.
It was all bolts and they all came fairly easily. The up-pipe had finally budged and I could feel it stirring in the iron cave. But still it was a long way from coming out of the car. In order to remove it, the procedure is to unbolt the engine mounts, lift the motor slightly and remove the pipe. I crawled under the car for the millionth time. I saw the bolt. I froze. It looked suspiciously stripped. I optimistically sprayed it with WD-40 and waited staring dumbly at the rounded edges. I went to my toolbox and prepared my killer combo….the Mac “big gun” ratchet I treasure and my finest socket. It was late, I lost track of time by this point. I engaged with the bolt gently at first. Trying to coax it first with song, later with vulgar words. It was still stripped and by the time my last and final knuckle looked like raw chicken it was finally totally and completely round. Unfit for any tool at my disposal. I proceeded to use every technique I know of from heating, cooling, spraying, and notching to beating it senselessly with a hammer like a caveman. I lay in a pool of my own sweat with 5 pounds of grime in my eyes totally spent. I thought passed my mind…maybe I’ll fix the taillights of my classic Saab so I could drive home and rest, but looking at the mess around me I decided against it as I would probably never come back. I looked inside the engine bay again. The Impreza engine looks like a full size Eiffel tower smashed down to a cube. I started weighing my options. The only one was to remove the turbocharger, which is connected it seemed to absolutely everything. An hour later I held in my hand the turbo and stared into the void where it was trying not to think how I was going to put it back in. The rest was like a bad dream laced with vivid images of stubborn bolts, ill fitting flanges, bastard brackets sharp like razors and stubborn bolts that seem to constantly commit suicide by jumping into the void of the engine bay and never hitting the ground below. If something falls under the car it has a tendency to roll to the exact geometric center just out of reach. I was having visions and hearing voices, later it turned out to be a morning delivery person, who walked by hurriedly and looked very frightened at the sight of me, the creature of the oily night.
At 9:30 am (13.5 hours later) I started the car and drove home, not enjoying any of the power gains and just trying not to crash into anything.
I purchased a set of pipes (turbo down-pipe and up-pipe) for my Impreza and waited anxiously for a free evening to install them. This was my first mistake, the evening part. I rent a shop on the outskirts of San Francisco at the old Navy grounds, read, “totally deserted” after 6 pm. I anxiously went after a dinner at around 7 pm full of energy and desire, dreaming of power gains and easy installation, as I had not worked too much on the Impreza before. I settled in and as I waited for the engine to cool down I decided to first change the plugs. Let’s just say the engine was ice cold by the time I finished. The plugs are a total biatch to change but after some fiddling and actually getting to know the car the remaining 3 took the same amount of combined time as the first one.
This should have been my warning that starting a major exhaust upgrade on a turbo charged car well after 9 pm. It started all according to plan and on time. I thought I would have the stock down-pipe unbolted in 1 hour (as we had done on a friends STI). The bolts were all pretty rusty do to heat and as I struggled with continuously having to lift the car up and down due to not having the proper tools (small thin wrenches etc.) and crawling underneath (I am not as “swelt” I used to be and my jack only lifts up the car enough to change the tire). By the time I had wrestled the down-pipe like a beast I looked like the crocodile man on the Discovery Channel….pants stained, sweat out of every orifice, panting and fingers looking like spicy raw Italian sausages. I looked at the mess on the floor and decided right there and then that I would probably not install the up-pipe if I had to go through this again. A feeling that I wished I gave some thought to some hours later. I looked and looked at the steel fortress of pipes, wires and components that stood between the up-pipe and me. For a moment in the silent shop I thought I hear it laughing at me. From any angle (top, bottom, wheel well or across the room) it was barely visible. My back and I had a small sit down and decided on a game plan. It was simple. Unbolt 7 bolts securing the short but potent beast, unbolt the engine support, lift the engine a few inches and dispense with the stock horsepower robbing embarrassment. It was 1 am. I set to the task and by 2 am I was sitting back down not having touched one bolt, but removed many heat shields, crossover pipes and brackets which I swear were designed with one purpose in mind – to guard the up-pipe like Satan’s disciples at the gates of Narnia. Then came the bottom heat shield. The Fuji Heavy Industries engineers apparently decided that everyone has a range of oxygen sensor sockets in their toolbox. I was the only asshole that did not. I had however a small and possibly experimental set of sheet metal shears and they might as well been cuticle scissors. After another immeasurable amount of time trying to remove the bolts guarded by the iron curtain I decided to resort back to Plan A and cut the shield with my cuticle scissors. In the next hour I felt the full spectrum of human emotions from deep Satanic anger, through hysterical laughing and babbling of a mental patient to just plain vegetative mental state of staring at the metal fortress and feeling like I had to slay a tiger with a toothpick. Like a prisoner digging a tunnel with a teaspoon I clawed at the thick metal when finally I cut through it. Exhausted I lay on the floor and wondered about world politics for a moment. A moment of euphoria engulfed me; I thought it was all just a matter of bolts for now. I was running dangerously low on cigarettes.
It was all bolts and they all came fairly easily. The up-pipe had finally budged and I could feel it stirring in the iron cave. But still it was a long way from coming out of the car. In order to remove it, the procedure is to unbolt the engine mounts, lift the motor slightly and remove the pipe. I crawled under the car for the millionth time. I saw the bolt. I froze. It looked suspiciously stripped. I optimistically sprayed it with WD-40 and waited staring dumbly at the rounded edges. I went to my toolbox and prepared my killer combo….the Mac “big gun” ratchet I treasure and my finest socket. It was late, I lost track of time by this point. I engaged with the bolt gently at first. Trying to coax it first with song, later with vulgar words. It was still stripped and by the time my last and final knuckle looked like raw chicken it was finally totally and completely round. Unfit for any tool at my disposal. I proceeded to use every technique I know of from heating, cooling, spraying, and notching to beating it senselessly with a hammer like a caveman. I lay in a pool of my own sweat with 5 pounds of grime in my eyes totally spent. I thought passed my mind…maybe I’ll fix the taillights of my classic Saab so I could drive home and rest, but looking at the mess around me I decided against it as I would probably never come back. I looked inside the engine bay again. The Impreza engine looks like a full size Eiffel tower smashed down to a cube. I started weighing my options. The only one was to remove the turbocharger, which is connected it seemed to absolutely everything. An hour later I held in my hand the turbo and stared into the void where it was trying not to think how I was going to put it back in. The rest was like a bad dream laced with vivid images of stubborn bolts, ill fitting flanges, bastard brackets sharp like razors and stubborn bolts that seem to constantly commit suicide by jumping into the void of the engine bay and never hitting the ground below. If something falls under the car it has a tendency to roll to the exact geometric center just out of reach. I was having visions and hearing voices, later it turned out to be a morning delivery person, who walked by hurriedly and looked very frightened at the sight of me, the creature of the oily night.
At 9:30 am (13.5 hours later) I started the car and drove home, not enjoying any of the power gains and just trying not to crash into anything.
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