From: pz@keps.com (Paul Czarnecki)
Newsgroups: rec.autos.vw
Subject: Hildegarde - or - How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Fahvergnugen
Date: 17 Nov 92 16:41:55 GMT
Organization: Kodak Electronic Printing Systems

(This is a reprint of an article I wrote for PitTalk, the monthly
newsletter of the New England Region of the Sports Car Club of
America.  It mentions a lot of local people but don't let that stop
your enjoyment.  All of these events are true and happened in 1991.
Warning: this story is long! -- pZ)



			      Hildegarde

				  or

		    How I Learned to Stop Worrying
			and Love Fahvergnugen


______________________________________________________________________
The Birth - in which our heroes plunge head first into the unknown,
guided by ideals, a message from the past, and a long distance
carpenter.
______________________________________________________________________

Last winter a new addition was made to the Czarnecki garage.  On
Robert Burns' [1] birthday we welcomed Hildegarde, our beloved 1973 VW
bus into our loving arms.  Her previous owner was a Harvard Literature
major who wanted to send her to a good home.  Unlike normal cars, when
buying a micro-bus it is far more important to feel a good karma than
to measure a good compression ratio.  For those of you who haven't met
her in a paddock somewhere, she is Nixon blue with a white top, a
hardshell sunroof big enough to pass a 440 through, checkered flag
curtains, and a face only a mother could love.

Her odometer read 60,000 miles.  It was at least 160 and possibly 260.
Unlike most busses in the area, there is little rust on her body.  We
found a hippie message, possibly from the original owner, scrawled on
back of the faded and torn owner's manual:

	Muddingly towards Frugality
	...Faith, Science and Future

With brand new used seats up front, brand new used seat belts, a tune
up and about a grand of miscellaneous repairs we were almost ready to
go racing.  After much design work and long distance consultation with
an experienced carpenter and building contractor (okay, so he's my
brother) I built the bed so Sydnia and I could sleep in it.  The hours
of research culminated in a platform constructed of a piece of plywood
and 2 2x4 uprights.

______________________________________________________________________
The Maiden Voyage - in which we discover just how little 68 horsepower
is, are kicked out of a forest, and are pleased with our faithful
steed.
______________________________________________________________________

In early May the three of us headed for Lime Rock for the May
National, bringing along the CRX for the Solo II in Bristol CT on
Sunday.  The trip started auspiciously late on Thursday afternoon when
I got a frantic call at work from Sydnia; Hildegarde wouldn't start.
I drove home to try and see what was going on.  Hildegarde would turn
over but not fire.  After poking around a bit in the engine
compartment (yup, that's an engine allright!) I saw a spark from the
base of the fuel pump.  Sure enough, the shop that put the engine back
in stripped the threads on the bolt holding the aftermarket fuel pump
to the frame and it wasn't making a good connection.  We got underway
only a little bit late.  As usual, we stopped at the Plaza on the Mass
Pike for a good meal, and continued a leisurely pace towards the
sunset.  The Grateful Dead filled the interior:

	I set out running but I take my time
	A friend of the Devil is a friend of mine
	If I get home before daylight
	I might just get some sleep - tonight

We weren't really Deadheads but there something about a micro-bus that
turns you into one.  Maybe it's in the fumes.

Hildegarde made good speed.  Sure, she couldn't accelerate at all and
even the slightest hill slowed us noticeably, but overall the
performance was adequate.  At least it was until we crossed the bridge
before the six mile hill on the Mass Pike.  The winds were blowing
pretty strong and Hildegarde was dancing all over the lane.  Before we
reached the bridge, road construction closed one lane.  And when we
entered the bridge the winds increased.  The Jersey barriers were
getting awfully close so I had to back off down to about 40 mph.  With
a long line of traffic behind me, I hit the hill running but still we
had no speed.  Hildegarde couldn't maintain 45 mph up the hill.  3rd
gear was too low and 4th gear was too high.  Eventually we reached the
sign welcoming us to the highest point on the Mass Pike.  Lime Rock
was all downhill from there.

Even with the relaxed pace, we made it to a very cold Lime Rock Park
well before registration closed.  It looked the same as last year but
darker.  We weren't used to arriving on Thursday night.  Still, it
seemed far better than getting up at too early o'clock on Friday
morning.  We drove over through the mist to the usual worker camp site
but found it roped off.  Soon Jay Zegowitz appeared and we found a
gorgeous spot under the pines behind the Skip Barber buildings.  I
looked for a level area on the bed of pines and Jay started getting
his gear together.  Within moments, track security politely pointed
out our error and showed us out.  We parked over by the big tree
between stations six and seven where Sydnia and Marianne Stevens
claimed to hear monkeys.

Over the next 2 days all sorts of racing occurred. (well Karen, do I
get the job of racing reporter?)

After a dinner at Brothers, we set up camp in the paddock and started
a small campfire.  Lime Rock Park now allows Saturday night camping in
the paddock.  This is a wonderful policy.  We had more Dead coming out
of the bus but Charlie Hinchcliffe preferred R.E.M.  It seemed kinda
modern but it somehow worked.  With the glow of embers visible through
the curtains, the laughter of friends audible through the windows, and
the memories of a good weekend's racing fresh in our minds, we drifted
off to sleep.

______________________________________________________________________
The Warning - In which we discover the kindness of friends, bemoan the
lack of jumper cables, and are saved by an evil smelling barbarian
with a wrench in his pocket
______________________________________________________________________

Early next morning we set out for Bristol following John Howe.  A few
miles from Bristol we lost the alternator belt but still made it to
the lot.  I got my autocrossing done and started looking for a spare
belt.  Eric Strobel offered a spare Rabbit belt and it almost fit.
Ted Langlois offered the belt from his Solo Vee but his runs weren't
done until the very last heat.  I headed into town in Jim Franklin's
car (Sydnia was still racing the CRX) to get a new belt.  I brought
the old belt in but still the one they sold me didn't fit.  I went
back for a slightly bigger one, which was the correct size.  I still
couldn't get it over the pulley.  John lent a hand and quickly it was
all fixed.  We left soon after while we still had light just in case
there were problems.

After nightfall I noticed that it was getting harder and harder to
see.  I pulled into the rest area on 495 just south of Route 4.  The
headlights were quite dim and we were unable to restart the bus.
About this time the denizens of Massachusetts rest areas started to
emerge from the woods, we quickly called for a tow and huddled in the
CRX until it arrived.

The mechanic pronounced the battery dead and charged it for us and us
for it.  He recommended driving behind the Honda with only the bus's
parking lights on.  Hildegarde started running poorly once in New
Hampshire and died at a traffic light about 15 minutes from home.  I
guess the combination of a stopped micro- bus, a CRX with flashers
going, and the orange reflective safety triangle was too much for the
poor driver of the Oldsmobile who was unable to safely negotiate this
hazard and completely destroyed the only-used-once safety triangle.

After a quick trip to Steve McLafferty's house for jumper cables, we
got her started, limped her to Steve's house and abandoned her in his
driveway.  The next day I stopped by and hooked up my charger in the
morning and brought her home that rainy evening.  At the bottom of the
steep hill at the end of Steve's driveway, water just poured in the
sunroof and the windshield frame.  We weren't sure we liked the way
our first adventure went.

______________________________________________________________________
The Lulling - in which Hildegarde gets us there and back, completes a
pass, and pretends to explode.
______________________________________________________________________

I didn't get around to fixing the alternator by the time the May
National at New Hampshire International rolled around.  NHIS is only
about an hour from our house so I figured we would make it on battery
power.  The trip was uneventful except that we actually passed Dick
Shine towing Alan Dunklee's IT car.  This may not seem like much but
it was comforting to know we wouldn't be the slowest car in the
paddock.

Much racing occurred.

Overnight, we plugged my battery charger into Dick Patullo's motorhome
and fully charged our battery.  The sight of the two vehicles snuggled
together prompted many "Safe Charging" jokes.

After Monday's races we stayed too late bench racing.  It started
raining.  We had no lights nor wipers and it would be dark soon.  I
quickly Rain-x'd the windshield, set Mark Hamon down in a lawn chair
in back and caravaned south with Andy MacInnis following just in case
we broke.

So of course we broke.  Just south of Manchester there was a loud bang
coupled with a loss of power and a great big droning noise.  I figured
we blew a muffler but the power loss was surprising.  We were forced
to slow to about 50 mph, our new top speed, until we found a place to
pull over.  Manchester was under construction so there was no
shoulder.  About a mile later we were able to pull over.  As I walked
back in the rain to the engine, the noise was very loud through the
cooling vents.  "This isn't a muffler problem," I thought.  I opened
the lid and was greeted with a cacophony of sound and a light show in
need of exaggeration.  The #3 spark plug had unscrewed itself and was
laying alongside the engine sparking merrily along.

The repair was easy and quick but we were rapidly losing valuable
light.  We hurried onward.  About 5 miles from home Andy turned on the
foglights on the GTX so they would shine under Hildegarde and light up
the road.  Surprisingly, it helped.  I needed real headlights about a
mile from home and we made it without any more problems.

______________________________________________________________________
The Redemption - in which we understand "Just In Time" scheduling,
ping a million June bugs, enjoy our height, and watch in amazement as
Hildegarde performs adequately.
______________________________________________________________________

After an expert $9.95 Sears diagnosis ("It's broken") I got a $24.99
expert diagnosis ("It's broken") and decided to replace the
alternator.

The one that was originally in Hildegarde was a GM/Delco unit.  I
figured it was tissue rejection that caused the failure.  There was
simply no fahvergnugen in the GM/Delco unit.  After dropping the
muffler and half fabricating a bracket, I finished installing the
proper Bo$ch alternator at 6pm the night before the Mount Washington
Hillclimb.

We left for the Mountain at 2AM, high beams blazing and the stereo
blasting:

	out of nowhere this gust of wind
	brushed my hair and kissed my skin
	i aim to hold a bridled pace
	when with love itself i came face to face

I was tired and Sydnia was wired so I tried to sleep in the back while
she drove.  Looking out the back window as the asphalt flew by was not
sleep inducing.  I went back up front to try to sleep to the sound of
June bugs going PING PING as they hit the metal front of Hildegarde.
Out of the darkness loomed a huge mound in the road.  A deer had been
hit and was laying dead in the road.  Sydnia swerved onto the shoulder
missing the carcass.  As she eased back onto the road another carcass
blocked the road.  "We're going to hit it!" she yelled. We were close
enough that if we swerved the tires would likely have hit it.  She
aimed straight for it and we cleared it safely.  "Oh, we're tall," she
said, remembering our great ground clearance.  Except for a slight and
intermittent power loss we made it to the Mountain.

We camped near Josh and Barb Hill and their 1978 orange VW bus named
Gus.  We were a bit concerned about leaving the young couple alone
together but we figured we'd just let nature takes its course.  She
was 18 and he was 13, kinda young but...

Much racing occurred.

We also got to meet Dick whose brown '73 bus had been repainted since
we saw him last year at The Mountain.  Last year it was so foggy that
I had to stick my head out the passenger side window watching the edge
of the road and telling him "Left," "Right," and of course "No,the
other Left."

We made it home quite uneventfully, satisfied that out problem child
had redeemed herself and she wouldn't let us down again.

______________________________________________________________________
The Descent - in which Hildegarde again disappoints us, despair sets
in and the tortoise beats the hare.
______________________________________________________________________

We headed out to Lime Rock for the Berkshire Sprints in mid July.
Again we left with plenty of time on Thursday evening so we could stop
for a leisurely dinner at the Plaza.  Since there was a Solo II in
Bristol on Sunday we were once again traveling with the Honda.

It was a hot evening before a long hot weekend.  After dinner, much to
our dismay but not our surprise, Hildegarde would not start.  I
quickly connected the jumper cables to the Honda and Hildegarde
started easily.  However, it would be dark within an hour and a half
and we really didn't want to breakdown on the Mass Pike.  I checked
with my voltmeter and she was not charging at all.  I replaced the new
voltage regulator with the old one but still no charge.  About this
time the Mass Pike Emergency truck showed up.  I thought this was good
service particularly since we hadn't yet called.  He showed up to help
the driver next to us who lost her keys but he chatted with us also.
Since it wasn't charging he didn't think we would make it to Lime Rock
even with a brand new battery.  He also said it would take about 2
hours on average before an emergency truck would find us on the Pike.
He suggested we buy a new battery, sleep in the bus and go to Lime
Rock in the morning.  This seemed like a good idea except for the
sleeping in the bus part.  Two tired and cranky people would not be
happy on an 80+ degree night with the constant smell and clatter of
diesel coming in the windows.  Just before we left the driver of the
Omni found her keys in the trash can.  Why she was looking there was
never revealed.

We bought a battery at Goodhall's 24 hour garage in Stafford Springs,
Connecticut, and then headed towards the Budgetel in Auburn.  There
wasn't a Worker's Forum meeting going on so we got a room instead.

After not much rest we were back at the rest area at sunrise.  Sydnia
wanted to make sure we got there early so she could help crew for Andy
MacInnis of Right Foot Racing.  I installed the new battery.  She
didn't want to follow the slow bus so she just waited until Hildegarde
started, got a goodbye kiss and a caution about her lead foot.  She
zipped away down the entrance ramp.

In radio silence I followed.  Approaching Chicopee I came across a
disabled car and about a mile later a man was trudging quickly along
the shoulder.  Feeling sorry for someone who was having car trouble
(this was a situation I was becoming all too familiar with) I stopped
to give him a lift.  He had to be at work on the Chicopee Mass Pike
Station by 6 or he would be docked pay.  He was pleased with the ride
but I think he would have preferred a different type of rear engined,
air cooled, German 2 seater.  Even though we could only lumber along,
I dropped him off with several minutes to spare before 6.  After
rolling down his window and reaching outside to open the door (did I
forget to mention that?) he said goodbye and ran up the drive towards
work.

A few miles later I crested a hill only to find the flashing blues and
his flock of customers.  Sandwiched between the Black Trans-Am and the
nondescript American sedan sat a little red Honda CRX Si gaily
festooned with the SCCA, NER, Bob Roth, and Team.Net Racing decals.
As I passed at 55 mph I waved and got a glare in return.

Here she was, in the middle of nowhere at 6 o'clock in the morning,
not a car in sight, not a cloud in sight, and someone wants me to
believe that driving over 55 mph was considered dangerous.  And only
last night, I was told it would be about 2 hours on average before my
disabled bus would be helped late at night - "To Serve and Collect" -
life isn't fair at times.

After I climbed down off my soapbox, I made it to Lime Rock about half
an hour before registration opened.  I was showing Bill Hirschaut the
bus (he is also a VW freak).  We were peering into the engine
compartment when I saw the green dye mixed in with the oil.  (Our
garage was trying to fix an oil leak, there was a small pool of oil
with green dye in the bottom of the engine compartment) "So Bill," I
asked innocently, "do you think I should get my coolant leak fixed?"

About this time the red hare arrived.  "Good morning, Sydnia!" I too
cheerfully announced while quite obviously checking my watch.  Her
reply was very unladylike and I won't reprint both words of it here.

Over the weekend, Jerry Stevens let me use the power in the tech shed
and I charged both batteries.  (Yes of course I had my charger with
me.  If you've read this far do I you think I'd leave it home?  I had
almost my entire garage with me.)

Much racing occurred and it was very very hot.

We camped again on Saturday night but no tunes came out of Hildegarde.
It was also too hot for a campfire.

______________________________________________________________________
The Abyss - in which we drag ourselves to Bristol, attempt New
Hampshire, and are relieved when Hildegarde still manages to get us
home. Something must be done.
______________________________________________________________________

Sunday morning greeted us with heat which seemed even worse.  Last
time when we went straight to Bristol from Lime Rock the Honda was too
dirty from Lime Rock brand paddock dust to put the numbers on without
scratching the paint.  So as some of NER's and NNJR's finest watched,
I washed my car in the wee hours on a Sunday morning at Lime Rock.

We finished breakfast and caravaned out of there; John Howe towing his
CRX in the lead, then Andy MacInnis driving his ITC Civic, Hildegarde,
our CRX and Phil Cardoza bringing up the rear towing his SSC Honda.
We picked up gas and ice at a nearby store. The clerk watched in
amusement as the group of us push started the bus. With the long trip
to New Hampshire ahead of us, I didn't want to waste any battery power
on starting, especially when I had such a capable crew.

Much autocrossing occurred.  Phil happily broke a front hub.  He was
happy because breaking a front hub in a parking lot in Bristol is much
nicer than breaking a hub on the banking at New Hampshire
International.  Andy drove my Stock car in Street Prepared so he
didn't have to unload the 400lbs of junk.  (Andy, have you bought a
tow vehicle yet?)  The heat was taking its toll on the CRX.  Three
driver's and 100+ heat meant high engine temperature and exciting
adventures in braking.

After 3 runs we left since we absolutely had to get home before dark.
We were all beat; very hot and very tired.  With a half hearted push
we were off.  Still maintaining radio silence we headed East by
Northeast.  We did not encounter Cary Grant.  Some time later I was
passed by a whole slew of autocrossers towing their cars; Anne and
Greg Vincent, Jinx and Jinnette Jordan, Chuck Noonan, and Tina Kennedy
and Mike Donovan.  This was a new experience, without Hildegarde I was
used to passing race cars, I guess those times are gone.

About an hour from home I had to reduce speed.  At the higher revs
Hildegarde was missing.  I could have pulled over and swapped
batteries but I really didn't want to stick my arms into a hot engine
compartment on a 100 degree day.  Once off the highway I had to short
shift because the missing was real bad.  As we got nearer to home, it
got worse and worse.  I no longer stopped at stop signs and my right
turns on red were rolling right turns.  Proper line helped maintain
speed through turns.  Even the smallest hills were close to
impossible.  When we were a half mile from home Hildegarde was almost
undriveable, she'd shut off and then restart since she was still
moving.  Our house is midway up a steep hill but it is mostly downhill
before it.  I didn't know if the misfires were from no spark or no
fuel pressure.  If it was fuel, coasting to the bottom of the hill
would hopefully let the floats on the single Weber fill and I might
make it up to our driveway.  At the bottom of the hill, I swung way to
outside, dove for the apex, heel and toe'd her into first gear (yes,
it is possible, not easy but possible) and nailed the gas pedal.  One
does not call it the "accelerator" in a bus.

As I tracked to the outside, leaning crazily, camping supplies slid
across the floor and I fished around on the passenger seat for the
garage door opener.  We struggled up the hill, speed steadily
dropping.  As I approached,the door slowly opened and I glided in.
Hildegarde sputtered and spasmed and coughed to a halt, the motor
dead.  As I sat there in the driver's seat collecting my thoughts, the
heavens opened and the rain came down.

The next day I measured the voltage to see how much the battery had
drained.  I read only 6 1/2 volts on my 12 volt battery.  I've been
told that the coil needs a minimum of 9 volts to fire a spark plug.  A
normal car would have failed us, Hildegarde was not a normal car.

We made it to at least 2 more races on battery power.  It was never
pleasant and we realized that something had to be done.

______________________________________________________________________
The Forgiveness and Ascension - in which Hildegarde is journeys West
and North, competes in a sanctioned SCCA event, laps NHIS flat out and
behaves to 110% of our expectations.
______________________________________________________________________

We picked up Hildegarde from Dick Shine's shop on Wednesday and headed
to Lime Rock on Thursday evening for the IMSA races. We arrived on
time and much racing occurred.  I left on Saturday night so I could go
autocrossing at Horseneck Beach on Sunday.  Sydnia and Hildegarde
returned on Sunday without incident.

For the Racing Against Leukemia weekend, Hildegarde was entered in the
Friday night rally.  Fortunately for me, flagger Doug White did tech
for the rally so passing wasn't a problem.  While the more serious
ralliest zeroed their Zerons, cranked their Curtas, stashed their
Steven's, and hurried their Heuers, I picked cassettes and my
navigator extraordinaire, John Anderson, tried to find a flashlight
that worked.  Our official rally time was on my wrist, a watch with no
numbers and no second hand, nor had it been set in over a year.
Starter Kevin Leach waved a green flag at us and we were off!  The
first tape was "20 Great Truck Driving Hits."

	Well my rigs a little old but that don't mean she's slow
	There's flame from her stacks and that smokes a-blowing 
		black as coal
	My hometowns a-coming in sight
	If you think I'm happy you're right
	Six days on the road and I'm a-gonna make it home tonight.

A few miles in, we overshot a turn because Hildegarde's brakes aren't
the best and the Audi of Bill and Lynne Fralick got by.  Damn, already
one place down. [2] We came upon lots of cars pulled over.  We stopped
and John got out to check it out.  This was the odometer check.  Since
we really couldn't see ours and we were so slow we needed all the time
we could get, we blew it off gaining several positions.  Within
minutes a checkpoint crew tsk'd tsk'd over our times.  We drove around
a lot more never getting lost, this was fun!  Pretty soon it was time
to switch tapes:

	It happened on the strip where the road is wide
	Two cool sharks standing side by side
	My fuel injected Stingray and a 413
	We're revving up our engines and it sounds real mean
	Tach it up, tach it up, buddy gonna shut you down

Cheryl Babbe-Demming, of the Artic-Alaska region, caught us on video
rocking out at a checkpoint; John in his seat and myself through the
barely opened sunroof.

At the next checkpoint,the "Add Oil" light came on.  I was fumbling
around in the dark with John's poor excuse of a flashlight when a
silver BMW pulled up close and shined it's high beams into the engine
bay.  Manfred Moehring rolled down his window and said, "You have one
minute of light."  I finished adding oil with seconds to spare and we
were on our way.  I soon missed another turn and the Fralicks had
passed us again.  "We'll never catch them now!"  We rallied onward:

	Early North Jersey industrial skyline
	I'm a all set cobra jet creepin' through the nighttime
	Gotta find a gas station, gotta find a payphone
	This turnpike's sure is spooky at night when you're all alone
	Gotta hit the gas because I'm runnin' late
	New Jersey in the morning like a lunar landscape.

With horror, we read the next NRI - CAS 60.  For the non rallyist
reading this, "CAS" means "Commence Average Speed" and the "60" was 60
mph.  John and I just laughed.  It was about a minute and a half
before we reached 60, we maxed out at 67.  The Audi wasn't even in
sight.  After some more turns we were back at the Speedway, we had a
long pause to cross 106 in case there was traffic and we were allowed
to pause in sight of the checkpoint.  Waiting before the checkpoint
was our prey. With a burst of acceleration Hildegarde leapt ahead and
crept by the Audi into the final checkpoint.

The last leg of the rally was an optional 2 laps of New Hampshire
International Speedway at 30 mph.  Hildegarde went flat out, leaning
through turn 6, tires squealing through 10, we hit the front straight
at 20 mph, she ran up to the redline in 2nd, a quick shift to 3rd, and
then right at the #4 braking marker I was at redline in 3rd.  I hit
the brakes.  My top speed was only 50 mph.  On the next lap, we pulled
into the checkpoint in the pits only to find out we were over 1 minute
late!  All that effort and we couldn't maintain 30 mph.  We retired to
the Checkered Flag restaurant and figured out our score.  We sure
weren't first but last was also distant.

Even with all the problems we've had with Hildegarde, we also had a
lot of good times.  This can be attributed to all our friends who
helped us along this summer.  It is friends, not race cars, that make
being an SCCA member so wonderful.  From road racing, to pylon
chasing, to checkpoint catching, Hildegarde truly is in it, "For the
Fun of It."



----------    Footnotes    ----------    

1. Robert Burns is the Scottish poet whose memory encourages Scots and
Scot wanna-bes all over the world to eat haggis and oatcakes.

2. Before any hardcore rallyist gets upset at us, please forgive us. A
VW bus isn't the best car for a rally and we had to find fun, even
attempting to do well would have been frustrating.  This was my first
TSD rally and I've since competed in many more, including taking 2nd
in class C in Snow & Ice, driving for Steve McLafferty, and first in
Novice at May Mountain Melee.
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