1990-1993 (FORMERLY 4 YEARS- NOW CONDENSED TO 3)

[Jim Ratto]

November 1990, The Long Journey In Front Of Us

Hey Jim, please sign me up for the "Cal Look Adventures" book you should be writing.

I am sure you will also have plenty, willing storyline and photographic contributors.

That would be cool but I don't know the first thing about getting stuff in print. Outside of some of the people here, I'm not sure if anybody else would even care about how I got sucked into this hobby 27 years ago. Though I'm sure how this all went down, is common throughout the automotive world.

Back to I-10 west, on a darkening Sunday afternoon, turning to night. We ended up stopping at a big truck stop outfit, just off the highway. I have no idea where this was, other than it was at least an hour's west of Phoenix. We pulled in and went into this sprawling place, and found a table. We were real misfits in this place, everybody else was wearing netted baseball caps and flannel vests and had giant thermoses. We were sunburnt, in shorts and had VW hot-rod T-shirts on. Over dinner we finally admitted to one another how exhausted we were. The last few days and nights were lots of driving, the run in with the cops in Norwalk and little in the way of decent food- or water. The plan was still to drive back to Pleasanton that night. We were nuts.
After a dinner of chicken fried steak and a few Cokes, I got back behind the wheel, trying to not zone out. Frank's conversation was now punctured with long stretches of silence. We discussed the "what if's", meaning what if we built better motors? Back then I remember you could mail order a forged Berg 82 crank for $695 plus shipping. That was decided, one of us would get home and call that in. That 130 Engle cam in Rhoads' car, that was decided too. In a half hour, we were now discussing what to do with my Dad's 1959 Sedan, a second owner, all mechanically original car, with less than 88,000 miles on it. While the stock 1200 had its charm, we decided we'd talk my old man into making the car a hot rod. He could afford to. We decided on a Berg 82 crank, 912 rods, 90.5mm, V6 heads from Performance Tech, Engle 130, and 48 IDA's. For my own car, all would be left as is, except for replacing the 44IDF's with 48IDA's. And Frank? He had figured out he wanted a "1700", 88 x 69, with Fumio heads, Engle 125, and 48 IDA's. (I thought he was out of his mind). Big plans all thought up in about 50 miles of trying to stay awake on the highway. Still, it was better than where my brain was just a few months ago.
After sometime, we settled on our plans, we found ourselves across the California border. Soon we were at the confluence of US 95 and Interstate 10. For the life of me, I cannot remember why, but with no reason, and no plan, I turned north onto 95, into the void of the jet black desert night. Don't ask me why....

[Richierich56]

Jim - you really have a knack for writing and painting a picture! Love it. Keep it coming.

[Fiatdude]

You were needing a Needles fix -- that's all LOL

[Jim Ratto]

Sorry I meant to share this stunning, high quality photography a few posts back. This was right after we dropped off the guy that ran out of gas, on our way to Phoenix. That's Frank in a Ramones T shirt, and my car, at the state line

[RFbuilt]

one of the great reads i have... hmm well ... read

i can almost feel like im in the background lurking as i read the timeline of how you tell the story/history Jim!

and i believe in any platform *my shop builds hondas/toytas  lol   the "first" engine build will always have a space in our hearts....

reading this though. has inspired me.. to do a semi-long term (maybe 5-6 months) engine project, 

ofcourse inspired/patterned to your story and first engine (ok maybe not patterned exactly but  you will get the idea)

so prepare for length PM's  again


p.s.  high five lucas for me!



Ralf

[Brian Rogers]

Just refreshing this so Mr Ratto doesn't forget about it.

[RFbuilt]

yeah man we need  darn updates on the first kill of his mighty 2054....  and maybe first track event back then

[Jim Ratto]

You were needing a Needles fix -- that's all LOL

We did end up in Needles that night.

Going north on 95 that night proved to be a challenge. I was sinking fast, after a stimulating, hot day watching the cars race and then the long monotonous drive on I-10. We never thought about stuff like enough sleep, enough water, or knowing where we were going, pretty much ever back then. By Vidal I was so tired I was seeing stuff cross the road, and was nodding off. It was obvious we were not making it back to Northern CA that night.

Now, 27 years later, I grab that old paper CA road map and unfold it, and look at some of the places my '67's been. I have to say, I was a bit reckless in my youth. Not too smart.

[Jim Ratto]

November 1990, Interstate 40, Going Home, Bad Pulley

After a much needed night of "dead to the world" sleep at the Needles Motel 6, I woke up to the high intensity beam of desert sunlight coming through the window. I got up, with the intention of looking over a few things on the car and making sure all was well. Today would get us back to the SF Bay Area. I grabbed a few of the motel's nice, bleached-white bath and hand towels and made my way to the parking lot. The early morning, autumn air had a real bite to it. It seemed, that on this trip, nothing, climate-wise was going to stay consistent. I unlocked the Bug, opened front hood and pulled out my red steel tool box. I unfolded the nice white motel towels under the motor and got to work, adjusting valves. Yes in the parking lot. Laying on the asphalt, before hot coffee was shocking, and it instantly sucked any heat from my body. After finishing the 1-2 side up and mopping up a little green Kendall, I noticed a pair of boots walking my way. Please don't be the Motel 6 guy...
Nope it turned out to be a big biker guy, just curious what I was up to. "Things OK under there?", he said in his coarse voice. "Yeah just adjusting valves, that's about it."
"Man you are dedicated... up this early and out here adjusting valves. Nice car, brother." And he climbed up on his bike, fired it up and was gone.
In a half hour, I was putting tools away and topping up the oil level. The engine compartment was clean, and I only found an air-cleaner wing-nut starting to work loose. I cranked on it a little and felt a "pop"- sure enough, the cheapie air cleaners that come in the Redline Weber kits, the A shaped bridge inside had a spot weld pop free. I pushed down on the air-cleaner top and hoped the filter element would kind of hold the cover on. Besides, all those cool cars yesterday didn't even run air filters. And they know way more than me, a kid rolling around on his back and a pile of stained and stolen room towels next to me. The alternator pulley had that dusty look to it too, the way they look when you know something isn't as it should be. Belt was tight, nut was tight. Good enough for the 7-plus hour drive home, right?

By 9:00am were we westward bound, on I-40, towards Barstow. Like a few nights prior, the drive was bleak, at best. I had never seen such stark landscapes, and so few exits and places to stop. In the distance was nothing but this alien, lifeless, treeless, unforgiving scene, that we never seemed to catch up to. Some of the cinder cones were interesting. And the names of some of the places kept conversation flowing. I distinctly remember "Sheep Hole Mountains" getting a few laughs, as Frank found them on the map. After another 15-20 minutes of droning speed and constant RPM, I decided to live it up a little. I downshifted to 3rd, and asked for all the 2.0 liter would give. We were going down a long grade, somewhere east of Ludlow, and then into fourth, again, foot down hard. I noticed Frank watching the 914 tach's needle wagging up and down and the climbing VDO speedometer's needle. Still downhill, we were traveling at an indicated 115mph, the engine screaming away and now the steering wheel shuddering. I knew this was stupid, as if we had needed any sort of car control, it wasn't there. The big cc engine had gone in, with the built trans, but I never did anything to tune up the brakes, suspension or steering. But there we were, two 19 year old dummies, at full clip in a car never designed to really exceed 70mph. And after a minute or two, sensibility won and I backed off.
We stopped in Ludlow for fuel and to check the air filter and pulley. The air filter top had shifted, but was still there. The pulley was dingy. Belt ok. Back on the highway. The excitement of the trip was pretty much over. At this point, it would be nice to just go back to normal... driving my Fiat. As much fun as the big motor was, there were still so many dumb issues with my car at that time. One of the micarta bushings in the top beam tube was wiped out, allowing the trailing arm to wiggle around. Not good. Many electrical things either didn't work (dome light, 4-way flashers, horn) or didn't come close to working like they should (wipers didn't self cancel, sometimes brake light circuit would pop a fuse, and the RH headlight was far from being adjusted correctly). When the big engine first burst to life, these issues were quickly forgotten. But after 4 days of basically living with the car, on the road, they were quickly becoming more than irritating. I questioned myself, why I allowed them to persist, and why I never took the time to fix these dumb things.
Next stop was Barstow. Not sure where we were in Barstow, but I remember a proliferation of freight trains, parked. And a lot of weirdoes walking around. Checked filter, shoved it back into position. Pulley was now that powdery, matte color, a cross between dark rust and eggplant skin. This was before I knew it was a must to run 10+ shims. The cheap chrome pulley was eating itself alive and at idle you could hear the two halves clacking away. We had started the trip, apprehensive of the new motor, then grew confident and comfortable as we had entered Southern California. Then smug as we rolled into Arizona. Now deep in the Mojave dessert, that nagging feeling had come back. Things weren't right, and that pulley could strand us.

More later.

[Brian Rogers]

Thanks Jim, I needed that.

[Jim Ratto]

November 1990, The Drive Home Sucks Now

Back to the empty parking lot somewhere in Barstow....

That generator pulley was looking worse and worse. The belt was still tight and I gave a good tug on the M12 nut. It had to make it home. We hit 58/I-40 west with Tehachapi off in the distance. Still, nothing but starkness, but with the mid-day sun, and shorter shadows, the emptiness was even more apparent, as the imagery of land contours took on a duller tone. Past Tehachapi, and down into the outer fringes of Bakersfield. It was only another four hours or so and the car could take its well deserved break. As we reached I-5, at the Stockdale Road onramp, the weather had changed yet again. The blue skies in the desert had given way to low, charcoal-colored thunderheads. Of course it started to rain. All those dreary freeway exits to nothing rolled by. I had stopped caring about cam timing and exhaust reversion and mail ordering a Berg 82 crank. The driver's wiper arm found a different place to stop on the up and down stroke, with every swipe. There was a misty, cold blast hitting my legs through the fuse box carrier. I could tell Frank was sick of being in the car. I certainly was. Little was said. We stopped for fuel somewhere in west Fresno county, maybe it was the exit for Firebaugh? I opened the trunk to fill the tank and looked at the rag tag mess jammed in there. A duffle bag with worn clothes, oily Motel 6 towels, a near empty spray bottle of Wax Shop detail spray, my tool box and a few bottles of Kendal GT1. The hood weatherstrip was kind of chewed up below the spare tire well and around the cowl and the cardboard wiring cover was now damp and beginning to prune up. I didn't even bother looking at the pulley.
I dropped Frank off about 2 hours later and headed to my parents' place. The car was still strong and sounded good and as I pulled into their garage, it hit me, we had spent 4 long days in this car, traveling out of state, and across some bleak country- and sometimes at a pretty high rate of speed. And this was my second engine build, and my first serious one. We had poured some oil into it along the way, we had chased a Corvette up Grapevine, we had been held at gunpoint, picked up a stranger in the desert. We got to see two sincere, blue-blooded California Look street cars do what they were made to do- right before our young, naïve eyes. We had had our minds blown to bits, and made it there and back in this car I had owned for around 4 years then. Just a few months prior, I was walking around OC Fairgrounds, convincing myself that I was embarking on a new path, and a new way of making money, meeting new people and becoming immersed. This trip kind of proved to me that all this was really happening, and it was going to continue. I looked at the car, completely filthy and rain streaked. I opened engine lid and disassembled the pulley and sure enough the square cutout of the outer half was now figure 8 shaped. The shims were dust.
I made a mental list of what needed to be dealt with, a pulley, cone, shims, new M12 nut too. Figure out what to do about air filters.
And seek out more go fast stuff- like 48IDA's

And what were those ported heads on the back engine shelf at the shop?

[Brian Rogers]

Wow!
More?
Thanks Jim, I needed that.

[Jim Ratto]

This thread could go all the way to include teaching my kid how to use a dial indicator and help me with cam timing. But you'd all die from boredom.

There's LOTS more.

[Brian Rogers]

I won't say it is enough. But this story reflects my own youth and ignorance of the things I did in SoCal, before any serious schooling, dating, marriage, kids. I moved to Utah to get away from my Mom who was nagging me about schooling (lack of), drugging and being a pain to my parents. This story tells of big engines and people in the biz. Road trips in cars are always an adventure, hot rods even more so. It's part of the American Dream.
Now please go cruise PCH for some more inspiration for the next build and lessons learned.
I for one will wait patiently.
Thanks

[Neil Davies]

As soon as you started describing the dust on the pulley I knew exactly what it looked like. Been there done that! Jim, it's an absolute pleasure reading your story, please keep it up!

[alex d]

awesome writing as always Jim!

Motel towels are always handy 

[Jim Ratto]

I won't say it is enough. But this story reflects my own youth and ignorance of the things I did in SoCal, before any serious schooling, dating, marriage, kids. I moved to Utah to get away from my Mom who was nagging me about schooling (lack of), drugging and being a pain to my parents. This story tells of big engines and people in the biz. Road trips in cars are always an adventure, hot rods even more so. It's part of the American Dream.
Now please go cruise PCH for some more inspiration for the next build and lessons learned.
I for one will wait patiently.
Thanks

Good to hear. This hobby, in my opinion, bridges between people and creates a hopefully universal, kind of "been there done that" storyline for anybody that's been doing this for a while. For me it's about somebody bringing up a completely non-VW-related incident from a time period, like maybe referencing the first Gulf War or something, and I can pinpoint that timeline and remember "oh yeah, that's when I was building the FK87 motor", or "That was the summer we ran out of gas on 101 near Gaviota State Beach on 101."
All the fuss about dyno numbers and ET's become just bragging rights that soon die on the vine, because someone will always be more concerned with being the alpha dog and usurp mere numbers. I don't think anybody's going to come along and say "I can top that... we were actually shot by the Norwalk cops!" Or at least I hope nobody will.

[andrewlandon67]

Well, we didn't get shot at, but my brother and I got home last week from a two week trip in our grandma's '70 Westy to eastern New Mexico, then to the Blackstar campout/El Prado show. I will admit, it was partially inspired by this thread, although much less in the spirit of VW hotrodding. I'm definitely thinking about typing up a summary of the adventure and putting it up somewhere on the Lounge, if for no other reason, to keep the spirit of harebrained aircooled adventuring alive! Definitely keep the stories coming, Mr. Ratto!

[Rick Meredith]

Always a good read, Jim
Thanks for taking the time to type it out.

[Andrew]

Yes, many thanks for your wonderful stories.

Andrew

[Fiatdude]

Wish I could remember enough from those years to put together a cohesive story

Great story -- --- just one problem, ended to soon -- need MORE

[Jim Ratto]

Wish I could remember enough from those years to put together a cohesive story

Great story -- --- just one problem, ended to soon -- need MORE

It's not over yet. I left off in November 1990. We still have all kinds of ground to cover.
Glad you're enjoying it.

Next we enter the era of parts breaking and aiming too high.

Thanks

[jpperf]

Sweet story Jim! I think you need to quit your day job and just concentrate on the year-by-year storybook, everyday memorializing a new event.  I see a #1 bestseller in the future for you!  Hit me up when you get a chance, I have a couple of questions about your '67

Popper

[2manytoys]

Loving it.

[Jim Ratto]

November 1990, T Bone My Door

Thanks again to everybody that is following along, and coping with this story. I appreciate the kind words.

Back to November 1990.
Outside my life as a VW-Bug parts guy and driving all over hell and back with my friends, doing VW stuff, yes there were other things going on as well. In late summer of 1989, I made my first go at taking junior college seriously. My mind was seriously elsewhere though. So it fizzled off, then back on, then off- once I started the job at the VW shop. Part of the problem was the girl that had ground me into dust went to the same campus. Last thing I wanted was to run into her. Or even see her. At least for a while... (this would change).

But by the fall and approaching Winter of 1990, I still wasn't into making any kind of scholastic efforts. I look back now and see so much of these years as a lot of fun and screwing off, but also in some ways, very insulating. My window of interests had really narrowed since scoring the job at the VW parts place. At 19 years old, at the time, that was probably best anyway.

A few weeks after returning from Phoenix, AZ, I was at work, and took my lunch break. Most days, at the time, I'd commute to work in the Bug, as the new Bus motor was still in boxes and while the X19 was fun, it didn't have the same fear factor as the VW. The VW was pretty reliable, as far as making the rear wheels turn, and it just seemed fitting, I had a job selling VW parts, I should live what I sell. Well, on this particular Wednesday, I drove the car just down the street, to hit the Carl's Jr. As I prowled along, right at that Engle 125 Transition, through the lot in first gear, I became aware of a peripheral wash of maroon, quickly, way too quickly approaching on my left side---- WHAM. A woman in a then brand new Honda Prelude had T-boned me in the driver's door. It was hard enough to shove the door panel into me and me partially into the passenger's seat. The T-handle of the Scat shifter Charlie-horsed my right leg. I was instantly aware of the pain, but more so I was instantly out of the car, through the passenger door. I was smoking mad and ready to lose it. She backed the Honda away from my center-punched driver's door and begins her rant with me-
"What in the hell were YOU doing?" she's screaming from her driver's seat.
I pulled my pen from my pocket and wrote her plate number on my hand, and replied "YOU HIT ME."
And so it starts.... she's irrational, I hit her, I swerved into her, I wasn't watching where I was going... she listed off every ridiculous excuse she could muster. I continued "Look, I was already in the lot, in first gear, you just came up that driveway way too fast, into the lot. You're at fault. "
In the end, my insurance determined, it was indeed her fault. They cut me a check for a door and everything to make a door new again, every seal, gasket, channel, weatherstrip, etc. The parts were no big deal, considering my employment and also since I was in charge of the West Coast Metric parts. But a '67 door. They weren't exactly piled up for the taking.

[Neil Davies]

Been there, done that! Spent 2 years restoring my car and within a month a stolen van took the side out of it.

[Jim Ratto]

Winter 1990, A New Girl? And Putting a Door Back Together Sucks

I'm leaving for a while for a vacation in the Utah desert, and then up in the high Sierra, so I thought I'd contribute a little more and see if we can get to the end of the year 1990.

So my door was punched in, hard, breaking the glass inside, and deforming the door panel. Luckily the hinge mount location and striker mount at pillar were ok. I ended up finding a decent used '67 driver's door at Bud's Bugs up off Highway 4 (where I had before found a '67 sedan decklid to replace the one I destroyed in 1987). I dropped it off with Reggie DeCoite, the man that had painted my car Porsche Adriatic Blue in December of 1989, less than a year prior. In the meantime, I bought every new weatherstrip and seal for the door that we carried at Buggy House. And a copy of the big dark blue Bentley Type 113/141/151 workshop book that had just gone into print at the time.

In the meantime, I was still, on a very limited basis, driving the car around, with the damaged door. One night, I had run the car out to meet a girl I had started talking to (through VW's off all things) and kind of hit it off with her Dad. Her Dad had apparently heard about "some metallic blue Bug from Pleasanton, that was out terrorizing the streets." So I drove the car out to Livermore, to pick up the girl (plans were to see the then new movie "Misery") and let her Dad check out my car, with the crushed door. I ended up taking her Dad for a ride up and down the street. The young lady drove a beautiful '79 Convertible Bug, with the stock injected motor. Her car looked showroom new. But the Dad couldn't believe what could be done with a Bug engine, if a guy worked outside the letter of the smog laws, etc. And looking back, the engine in my '67 at the time, really in the big picture, considered in the context of 1990, and especially today was quite tame:

94 x 74
Mexican new universal case
Engle W125 with VW stock rockers, bolt-together shafts, swivel feet and HD single springs and HD retainers.
044 Magnum 'as ported' by CB heads, with 40 x 35.5 valves and reworked (aka hogged out D-shaped exhaust ports by Hannan's)
7.8:1
Dual Weber 44IDF with 55 idles, but out-of-the-box main jet stacks and untouched Redline manifolds
Bosch 094 distributor with Bosch coil
And that treasured 4-Tuned 1-1/2" header with dual quiet mufflers.

In the end, the girl and I attended one movie showing and things ended there. Not sure why. She was moving away for college anyway.

In a few weeks time, the door was painted and ready for me to fill with all new scrapers and felts and seals. Like the summer before, with the engine-drama, I assumed I'd just cut the new parts out of their WCM skin packaging and start snapping it in place on the replacement door. I even had the workshop book, which showed guys with calm faces and clean hands gently assembling the vent wing and happily inserting the inner window scraper. Piece of cake!

And like the engine build, I was wrong again. First of all, I dragged the entire mess into my parents' kitchen, and propped the door up against their kitchen table, so I could work under sufficient light (their garage had one 4' fluorescent deal, and hung in the wrong place... it was ok for bench racing or sneaking beers out there, but for this work, I needed more illumination). Second of all, and this still applies (maybe even more so in my middle age) today, I don't have the knack, nor the patience for putting shiny new things together without scratching the crap out of everything. I could wrap everything in terry cloth towels and lay blankets down and wear a suit made of bubble pack, and in the end, whatever it is I am trying to preserve and protect looks like a wild, pissed off eagle tried to carry it away. I worked for hours, fighting every step installing basically everything. I was trying my best to keep things in order, and to keep the adhesive only where it belonged, but within 15 minutes my hands were striped with a combination of black glue and red blood. The upper ledge on the inside edge of the door sill had a series of nasty scratches down to the primer. Then the outher scraper. It was like trying to tame a cobra, trying to keep it from kinking and getting it in place. The felt channel- same story. The inner scraper, absolute fury trying to get it in straight and get it to snap in place. The vent wing wouldn't align correctly, meaning the channel at the bottom kept interfering with a relief that's pressed into the shape of the door, and then the screw hole wouldn't line up on top. My brow was pouring hot sweat, my hands hurt, and I was running out of illicit language to assault this mess with. I began to hit the vent wing rear edge with the palm of my hand, in an effort to get it to just "snap" into place. How come in the workshop book, all these guys in their factory lab coats looked so serene and weren't baring their teeth and throwing tools? Well I finally got the vent wing deal to line up but then realized I forgot the new weatherstrip that goes in before it.
Around 2am, I finished. The replacement door looked only slightly better than the bashed in one. There were bloody fingerprints all over it. The felt channels seemed to be protruding farther out than I remember in the old door. The inner scraper had this wavy look to it (I secretly knew not all the dumb snap clips bit into their holes in the door). Worst of all was the vent wing I had beat on. Somehow I distorted the shape of the frame and now the glass wouldn't close square- meaning it would be impossible to latch it closed. Immediately I thought of the night in the parking lot in Norwalk. No more leaving the car overnight in questionable areas. What had I done?

The next day I screwed the door to the car and did my best to align it. It sagged. I had had enough. I knew me trying to dial in any more that had to do with this door was going to result in bigger problem. That list of things that I was bummed out about, having to do with my car... well it had some fresh new entries. I was now more pissed off at the lady that hit my car. If it weren't for her lead foot and crap vision, I'd still have my old door, and a working vent wing and my hands wouldn't look like a slaughterhouse. But, from afar, the car was presentable again. And it still ran good.

The winter of 1990 was cold in the Pleasanton area. Our pool actually froze somewhat over. This was the first real period of time I had gone without any kind of heating in this car. The bite of the cold (down to 24F some nights that year) wasn't so much the issue, but the lack of defrost was. Say what you will about the weak effectiveness of stock VW defrosting, it's still better than none at all. But in spite of the cold and the murky visibility, the car was still out and "terrorizing."

And next time I add to this, we'll revisit the night going south on Hesperian Blvd, in Hayward, on the way to Rasputin's Records, when a little street throw-down action took place...

[kafercup]

I love it!

Sent from my SM-G955U using Tapatalk

[Brian Rogers]

Thank you Jim!
Please have a nice vacation. Drive safe as the Utards are some of the worst drivers in the nation.

[Fiatdude]

Cleaning out the garage today -- Thought It would keep the ambience of the story in place



Damn -- just looked at the date and it's 10 years to early  --- I tried!