1990-1993 (FORMERLY 4 YEARS- NOW CONDENSED TO 3)
Brandon Sinclair:
Bumping this up to the top for those who are missing the shows and of course Ratto's writing always bring back my good memories about the fun times with the VW addiction.
Jim Ratto:
VZ35 and the long drive from Bay Area to Ventura and then back home Spring 1991 (return trip)
As my anxiety grew and the Sunday high noon sun began to seek its way to the horizon, I found myself still just silent. Here I was at the polar opposite of the high times of just a few months prior. The trip to Phoenix last fall had gone so well. Obviously this was an utter disaster. Nobody but myself to blame.
We were headed south on US101, along the Southern California coast, straddling the border of Santa Barbara and Ventura. We had to take Jason's cousin back to her pad in Ojai, and then begin the arduous journey, for 6 hours, back to Bay Area. Jason and his cousin engaged in stupid, meaningless banter, while I just drove, completely submerged in my own disgust and anger. While they chit chatted about smoking pot and TV shows, and not paying rent on time, my mind jumped from one unpleasant reality to the next. Unlike Jason, when I returned later that night, I had to keeping mind reporting for a job early the next morning. A job I felt very fortunate to have. At this point, a job I very much needed. I began to conjure a plan of repair, a solution to what had gone so wrong. All I had changed was that damn cam. Everything else was identical, since I had moved to the Pauter ported 40 x 35.5 heads. No change in deck height, no change in valve train. Yes I had jetted the carbs to hell and back, trying to make this car run like it used to, but still remembered my reference point. And in my Dad's cabinet, on the north wall of our garage, was my W125 cam and the Scat lifters that were married to it, marked for location. It was that easy. Split this open, maybe as soon as tomorrow night, wash everything, and drop the 125 back in and move on. Forget the whole ordeal.
As I had consoled myself out of my own storm, as we burped along @ 65 mph south, the car began to falter. More throttle made it worse. Less throttle made it worse. Then the questions started.
"Dude, NOW what's wrong with your car?"
We had run out of fuel. Here we were, powerless, slowly coming to a slow roll, along the shore, about 10 miles outside of Ventura. No choice but to pull to shoulder and, I guess, start walking. I sat there just staring ahead. By now it had to be 3-4pm, based on the tint of the sky and the sun's position. This was going to cost us. No, not us, it was going to cost me. I got out, not saying anything, walked around to passenger side of car, and just stared at the sea. How in the hell did I get to this point? My stupidity trying to "go extreme" had landed me here, literally, stuck at some position of despair, and saddled with company I didn't want at the moment. These two had absolutely no idea of the angst building within because of all this. I had flown too close to the sun, and here I stood, stuck and paying the price. My number one problem at the moment was how to get fuel and get the hell home, to be at work the next morning.
And I noticed, these were all problems entirely controlled and hopefully solved by me. Unlike the issues from last year with "her." The very issues I would refuse to allow my brain to process. The very issues that had set me on this path.
Nope, I could wrestle this and win.
Within a half hour, a CHP had spotted us crestfallen on the shoulder, like a dead skunk. He had asked what the trouble was and I explained the car was running terribly, and had run out of fuel, as I had estimated our range all wrong. He asked if I had "triple A", nope. A gas can? Nope. Money? Yeah, I've got cash. He lectured me and said "I'm not supposed to do this but I will give one of you a ride to next exit, you can use the gas can in my trunk, and I'll bring you back. Get whatever is wrong with this thing fixed and get moving."
(yes officer, I'll tear the motor down here on the beach and swap cams and all will be right in the world).
Jason volunteered to make the trip, so I could stay with my car. And so I sat, laden down with the scintillating conversation with his cousin. What took 40 minutes seemed like a bad winter. It was obvious she had no interest, let alone any understanding of what was going on. I avoided any explanation and kept myself occupied watching a bee trying to get nectar from my wiper blade.
After a change in geologic time, the CHP rolled up behind me. Jason brought me the jerry can of fuel and I poured most of it into the tank. Some, of course on the trunk liner. Within 5 minutes I was thanking the cop with a sincere handshake and firing my car up. Probably all psychological, but it seemed "sharper" in its tone and response. The dull idle and lazy yelp had yielded to a more urgent beat and feral feel. The pounding exhaust note was mostly back.
We pulled into southbound traffic, throttles wide. We fired ahead and assumed a place in the left of two lanes. The horizontal rays of the sunset created some new hues on my hood, which I had never noticed. Things were going to be tricky getting home, but I would have time to think and schedule the fix. Best of all, it was time to actually learn what all those camshaft numbers really meant. And why this all turned out so wrong.
snedman:
I was just about to bemoan the fact that I'd read to the end of the thread and you've updated it. Thanks for sharing.
Jeff68:
Thanks for taking the time to write and recount all of these hotrod VW experiences Jim! For a long time I thought i was the only one that ever selected the wrong cam for an engine combination and then the aftermath of a poorly running car. For me it was with my first car that was not a VW it was an Oldsmobile that I hotrodded. I overcammed the hell out of that thing on the first engine build and a year later changed the cam. It's funny (funny now but not funny then!!) but I had very similar things happen with that car that happened with yours. I remember feeling the same way that you did and coming to the same conclusions too. Sometimes I think it's part of the journey. My friends still remember most of the experiences as well and they laugh about it today with me. I still had lots of fun with that car and learned so much from building, wrenching and tuning it to finally get it to run very well. It was the hard way to learn but it was a great experience.
Thanks again Jim!
karl h:
cant wait for the next installment!
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