From: zowie@daedalus.stanford.edu (Craig "Powderkeg" DeForest)
Subject: SF -> SD/TJ trip stories, smog bitching, and bus report [long]
Organization: Stanford Center for Space Science and Astrophysics
Distribution: rec
Date: 6 Jan 93 16:44:55


Well, over Christmas break, I drove the '73 bus down to San Diego.  Rebuilt
the carburetors and distributor beforehand, and did the full tune-up 
and EGR-ectomy beforehand.  

I bought the bus in September for cheap.  Cheap, largely because it's hard
to smog the '73 ones here in California.  That was the first year we required
EGR on all new vehicles.  [EGR helps reduce nitrogen oxide emissions from
high-temperature, high-compression engines, by reducing the peak combustion
temperature, and thus efficiency, of the engine.]  Of course, on a low-
compression engine like a vee dub, EGR does more harm than good, reducing
engine power and efficiency and producing more hydrocarbons, while not
producing much less NxO (since half of near-zero is pretty near zero...).

So almost everyone with a California '73 bus ripped out the exhaust
return pipe and filter.  Furthermore, VW put the EGR valves too close to the
dual-port heads, and most of 'em burned out.  Wanting to be legal, I've been
pretty stumped trying to find smog parts for the bus.

I was pretty happy to find (via telephone) a place in SD that had a 
freshly-killed '73 bus with (they said) an intact smog system.  But, upon
arriving on the 24th, I found that they had a '72 and a '74, but no '73s.  
Damn -- struck out again.  

If *anyone* has a lead on a '73 smog system, drop me a line!

Just before the Christmas trip, I finally installed the dual stereo system
in the bus.  It originally came with an 8-track player in the dashboard, and
the standard Sapphire XVIII am radio in the dash.  I ripped out the trusty
Sapphire, and bent the sheet metal behind the dash, to make room for the 
8-track (which has long since survived its highly stealable years).  
The camper is the full-on two-cabinet type, with a rearward bucket seat
behind the driver, and a sink and icebox behind the passenger.  It turns
out that there's *exactly* enough space under the sink and above the fridge,
to fit a standard sized stereo.  I got a sabersaw and cut a hole in the 
cabinet, then slipped a sweet cassette deck (emergency backup sound) into 
the cabinet.  In front of it is a little switch panel so I can switch each
of the four speakers in the bus, between the front (8-trak) and rear
(emergency backup) stereo systems.  The whole stealable setup is hidden
under the fold-up table that comes up between the two cabinets, just
behind the driver.  Of course, I can reach it and control it by feel
while driving... :-D

It was pretty fun, ripping up the mid-'70s electric blue deep shag carpeting
of the floor to install wires from the 8-trak back to the switch panel, and
from there forward and back to the speakers.  Had to route a Y-junction 
from the antenna on the front, into the 8-trak (which has fm) and the
cassette player.  The front speakers rest on the dash; the rear ones hang 
down from the wood ceiling panel right in front of the rear hatch.  They're
velcroed in place for easy removal to get stuff in and out of the car.

Got a wild electric blue paisley sofa cover for $3 at a thrift store and
repanelled the front doors with it.  Beautiful -- driving down the 
highway in a large, blue VW with electric blue shag carpets, paisley
side panels, and patchouli incense, listening to ELO and Tower of Power.
Almost feels like a time machine!

* * *

Trip report -- we loaded up four folks and stuff in the bus, and set out on
the night of the 23rd.  Drove all night, got into SD on the 24th, at around
4am.  We were to meet a friend down there, who had flown down ahead of time.
He (Eric) called us and said that another friend, Stace, who goes to the
U.C. San Diego, was going to be down there, but was leaving on an 8:30 am 
flight on the 24th.  We agreed to meet at her place at 4, walk on the beach,
buy her breakfast, and drop her off at the San Diego airport.  Got directions
to her place.

There are few pleasures like those of driving all night in a well equipped
bus with several friends.  Having cold beer on hand for the passengers 
helped immensely... :-)

On arrival in San Diego, I drove, by memory, to Stace's place -- right next to 
campus.  Only to realize that the actual directions were still in my house
in San Diego!  OK -- no problem.  We drove over to campus to phone her.
Hippy bus pulls up to the Student Union at 4:15am, stops immediately in front
of the handicap ramp, and four bleary, unshaven, Patchouli-smelling freaks
hop out ( I was wearing my yellow tweed vest, poofy velvet travelling cap,
and motorcycle boots ) to find a payphone.  

Her number wasn't listed.

We chatted with the inevitable police officer, who seemed to believe our story
and in fact had his dispatcher look up Stace in six different kinds of 
directory, to no avail.

Well, we figured, no-one's going to be awake at 4:45 in the morning, *except*
Eric and Stace.  So we drove up her street, looking for the one house with the
inside lights on.  

We found three.

We stopped in front of the most likely-looking one, and Nick and Melinda, the
most innocent-looking of us, went up to the door. 

It was the wrong house.  A very frightened little old lady refused to open the
door, and said she was calling the police.

We split for a nearby Denny's to regroup.

Half an hour later, we'd gotten coffee and food and had no good leads.  We
knew Eric was staying with his mom, but didn't know her number and she's
unlisted.  We eventually decided to try the same neighborhood *once* more,
after which it would be about 5:45, and we could try calling my house in Palo
Alto once more.  (We'd already tried that, but none of my eight housemates
felt like getting up to answer the phone -- and I hardly blame 'em...)

We stopped at house number two, and I (who lost at rock-scissors-paper) got
out and went up to the door.  A rather un-frightened little middle-aged lady
came out another door, holding two leashes which were attached to bored
looking pit bulls.  We had a friendly discussion in which the police were
never even mentioned, but she'd never even heard of our friend.

We tried calling my house, but no-one answered.  By now it was dawn, and
stunningly beautiful.  Gorgeous streaks of purple were bubbling off the 
undersides of the puffy clouds that cushioned the eastern half of the sky.
Peach and orange highlights on the clouds buffered them from the raw yellow
of the pregnant horizon.

Just as the sun rose, thrusting ice knives into my retinas, Nick had the idea
of phoning Mike, a friend who was using Nick's bed while Nick was out of town
with us, and who therefore had a phone eight inches from his head.  I put on
shades.

Mike was a little groggy, but very kindly offered to drive across town to my
place to find the directions to Stace's place.  He did.  He couldn't find 'em.
He remembered that he had Eric's mom's number at his house.  He drove back 
across town (what're friends for?) and called us back with her number.
(By now we'd been milling around this gas station for about 45 minutes, and
the police had driven and eyed us all about four times...)

We got ahold of Eric's sister, who was talking to Eric on the other line
of the phone.  He gave her Stace's number, and she gave it to us.
We were there in five minutes.  Whew!  Got her to the airport just in time,
too.

* * *

On the 26th, we headed down to Tijuana.  I was staying with family up in
Carlsbad, on the north end of San Diego.  Eric, Nick, and Melinda were 
in La Jolla, about halfway to the border from Carlsbad.  We all met at Eric's
place, and took the bus down through downtown to the border.  Well, *to*
downtown at least.  It stalled at a light deep in the heart of the Financial
district, in front of (for you San Diegans) Horton Plaza.  

We pushed the bus out of the intersection, into a no-parking zone, and
proceeded to pile out of the bus and make the scene.  I hauled out the
big red toolbox, flipped up the back, and started looking around for the
trouble.  Had to keep fending off bums who wanted us to give them money,
or, worse, to help with the engine.

Well, the fuel pump was working -- disconnecting the line spilled lots of
gas on the carburetor -- and we had airflow.  No spark!  Hmm.  Opened the
distributor, to find that the points weren't opening *at* *all* when we
turned over the engine.  Okay -- adjust points, close distributor, 
feel stupid for not tightening them down enough, drive away.

Made it to Tijuana at around sunset.  Nick, who is English, had his passport,
and the rest of us had our drivers' licenses.  We parked about 4 miles 
away, and took public transit to the crossing, then walked out of the country.

Drank beers and had wonderful tacos and a great time.  I *like* Tijuana
(though not the more touristy bits) -- it has a gritty, real-people edge to
it.  The christmas festival was still going on, and lots of people were out
on the streets, singing, playing, selling stuff, and so forth.  We stopped
at a cathedral about five blocks from Revolucion (the tourist strip),
bought tacos in an open air food festival right outside, wandered around,
and generally had a great time.

* * *

On the way back, the engine seemed to be acting a bit weird.  The engine
felt like the point gap was too narrow at times, and like the timing was
too retarted at others.  Hard to call.  I checked the valves before we 
went north, but didn't have time to do all I wanted.  So we just went,
and I prayed to Muldoon that nothing serious was up.

Well, we left on Sunday morning, the 28th.  Got to L.A. around 11am, and
stopped to spend a few hours with more friends in Pasadena.  Got on the
Ventura Freeway towards 101, at around 3:45.  

At 4:15, in moderate (for LA) traffic, we shredded the right rear tire.  
Wondered what `that bumping' was... :-P  Well, no problem -- I *always* 
carry *everything* for the car...  We hauled out the tire irons, got the
spare tire off, and reached for the jack... the jack?  the JACK!  Yeah,
the jack that I'd moved out of its cubby to make room for the crate of 
lubricants, gas can, and big tools.  The one that was in Palo Alto.  Yep,
that jack.

Fortunately, LA has call boxes, so two of us walked to one and phoned AAA,
who gladly changed the tire for us.  We were even done in time to stop by
a Winston tire outlet and buy two all-weather radials for the rear (which
I knew I needed, but didn't think I needed 'em *NOW*...).

Made it the rest of the way back to SF in relative ease, despite the
strange feel to the engine.  Gnawing doubt and suspicion made the trip 
worrisome, until I stopped and looked into the distributor.

Oh -- *there's* the problem.  The grounding line from the case to the 
distributor plate had snapped.  The original one was really frayed when
I got the car, so I had pulled out the plate and soldered (with a big 
ol' blowtorch) a stranded 20-gauge snippet of wire to the plate.  Apparently
it wasn't flexible enough to cope with the stresses of multiple
spark advance.  No problem -- jumpy ignition mystery solved, since the
point ground is spotty and through a sliding connection.


* * *

Yesterday, I drove to a nearby junkyard with yet another freshly killed '73
bus, only to find it had no smog system to speak of.  Hadn't had a chance
to pull the distributor and re-solder the ground line yet.

On the way back, the bus finally wouldn't start.  Damn.  The bad contact
finally got too bad.  By fiddling with the plate, and making a little brush
out of a big ol' stranded wire scrap, I got it to start and drove home.  
Got home and pulled the distributor, intending to fix it and fix it good.

When I got it out in the light, that's when I noticed.

Distributors aren't supposed to have thumb-sized holes in the side.  Hm.
You could see the mechanical advance in there.  Yup.  No problem.

Got the cap & rotor off, and looked at the plate.  Hmm.  Now that it was
off the engine, I noticed the plate *was* a little wobbly.  So wobbly,
in fact, that the points almost never opened unless you spun the shaft
darn fast (like with a string wrapped around it).

In fact, the little pot-metal clip that holds the ball bearing that secures
the plate, was broken off!

The ball-bearing was gone!

There's a ball-bearing sized hole next to the race in most VW distributors.

just under the hole, and in line with the mechanical advance weights, was
the thumb-sized hole in the distributor.

All I can figure was that I must have fatigued the ball-bearing clip when I
disassembled the distributor.  It probably snapped in the middle of downtown
SD.  By monkeying with the points, I probably got 'em to open *despite* the
wobbling plate, and, in the dusk without a worklight, I must not have seen the
lack of a ball bearing in the dist. or the shards of cast iron on the top of
the engine.

So I used some duct tape as a form and filled in the hole with J-B weld, 
God's Epoxy Gift to VW Owners.

This afternoon, I'll pull the ballbearing clip and ball from the distributor
of my deceased '73 bug. (the one we put in the Band Shak, minus engine,
remember?)  Always keep your old VW stuff -- never know when it'll come in
handy...

Though maybe I should retire this distributor.  It certainly did a noble
job, lighting our fires for 700 miles despite severe injuries!
--
DON'T DRINK SOAP! DILUTE DILUTE! OK!
Newsgroups: rec.autos.vw