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

[Jim Ratto]

Autumn 1990, Night Miles

Sorry for the delay people. The weekend was eaten up by fixing an intake leak on the Bug Saturday morning, then whirlwind of house stuff and kids. Good news is the VW is running as it's supposed to, got some painting done in the house, and my younger son has graduated from training wheels and has picked out a pretty cool Fit BMX bike.

So back to the age when alternative rock and grunge were becoming household words, and we began to become familiar with a guy named Saddam.

I had figured I'd give up on trying to get to bed and fall asleep. By 11pm I was out in the car again, quietly (?) growling and muttering around my suburban neighborhood. The streets were laced upon the eastern hills of the city I lived in then, and it all probably looked like one of those time-space-gravity grids, from the sky. So trying to keep the car quiet, as I geared down for corners and ascended grades was a little tough to do. Not only that but I distinctly remember that Engle 125 just begged for throttle. Not that it lacked anything down low, but as I mentioned a few posts back, it preferred some revs. Soft-shoeing around on the idle circuit wasn't really it's choice thing to do.
After 20 minutes of just circling my immediate neighborhood, and making sure nothing catastrophic was going to happen, I got the nerve up to drive out to the small ranch where Frank lived at the time, and would for the next 10 years or so. Adjacent to Pleasanton, just to the east is the city of Livermore. In the 1980's and 1990's the few miles of "space" between the two, was just that: space. Most of it used to be open grassland (to the north) or hillsides inhabited by old black oak trees (to the south). In the middle was a large series of gravel quarries and a few small man-made bodies of water. Frank lived on an old, old dairy ranch, smack up against the backside of a small municipal airport and one of the gravel quarries. Other than these two landmarks, you'd never find much of anything else around the ranch, other than some goats and geese. The road to reach the ranch was accessed by exiting Interstate 580 in no man's land, and then following an arrow straight private line of two lane for maybe 3/4th of a mile. Back then nobody really knew the road existed, unless you knew of the ranch. Later, in a few months, this lonely, dusty road would become an important piece of proving one's car's worth on a Friday night.
That night, as I merged onto I-580 east, I was still a bit unsure of how long all the big motor paradise was going to last... a few more hours? Minutes? Oil pressure was certainly good. Oil temp was barely doing anything. Everything was sounding and feeling consistent, and actually pretty damn good. The onramp going east was a long, sort of downhill lane, giving you a good run to build speed to merge (In 1990 the housewife next door to you wasn't driving a 450hp Audi wagon to take kids to soccer like today, it was probably an 80hp Accord then). The freeway was fairly open and empty and no sign of Pleasanton PD anywhere, so what the hell... let's see what difference all this work made. In second gear I slowly squeezed on a big slice of throttle and kept my foot planted.

The difference from 1641cc to 2054cc? I doubt I can used written words to describe just how blindingly different the big engine was.

Just 6-8 months prior, I was daily driving the 1641 around, a melting-pot of parts that were destined for a 1914cc that never was: 044 Magnum CB heads (40 x 35.5 and polished ports with no guide bosses), dual Dellorto 36DRLA CB carb kit, an Engle VZ-25 mini-stocker cam, 9.0:1 and various exhaust systems that normally lived in my dad's garden shed (at the end of it's life the 1641 alternated beween an S&S Rallye 4-tip and a 4-into-1 with either a stinger or one of those hide a way things that rode next to the 1/2 valve cover). I wasn't very judicial in my use of the throttle with the 1641, it was almost always "go for broke" and what usually happened was a lot of intake "confusion" until 3500 rpm, when that (obviously too wild of a-) cam got everything going in one direction, and then the little motor would howl its way up to 6500-7000, and aside from the noise, nobody probably was in any danger. It was a great first performance motor and made sounds like it thought it was part Porsche.
But the big engine made everything seem much more intense. Opening the throttle wide and keeping it there meant you better be paying attention. Things just happened, and fast. The carburetors, the cam, the heads (same heads that were on the 1641, just milled open for the 94's and exhaust port opened up) and the real merged header all seemed to work like they were made to go together. There was no burbling back up through carbs for half a second. You step down, they crack open and the motor just went "Wwwwrrrraaaaaawwwww" and away I went. Six thousand, sixty-five-hundred, sixty-eight, shit I better shift! Third gear, again, just a very strong push in the back and an unbelievable, deep wail from behind me, as the motor jerked the tach needle up to 5000. Into fourth and I was well over any speed of nearby traffic, so clack the Scat shifter into gear and let the motor sit at a nice quiet (ish) 3800 rpm, but it doesn't want to cruise, I could feel the powerband trying to come in, trying to throw the car up to 100mph, the nose of the car going light, and the steering going a bit scary.
Frank's exit was another half a mile, at "El Charro" and as I pulled off the throttle, I listened to the motor and peeked at oil gauges. I imagined all those parts in the motor had just kind of gone into a state of shock or something after me opening it up, and felt like I better acknowledge what they just went through, with a little break, so I coasted off the freeway, to the stopsign and lone streetlamp at the end of the offramp. I pulled into the gravel along the lane and parked the car. Idle- still rock solid at 1000rpm, exactly where I had set it that afternoon. Oil pressure still showing near 30 psi and temperature now just beginning to creep up, but way under 180F. I got out and walked around to back of the car. Using the limited illumination from the streetlight, I scanned under the car, looking for glistening drops of oil. Everything looked dry. I reached under and ran my fingers along the side of the case, and along the lower edge of each (pretty warm) valve cover.... still dry. I lifted the decklid and let it rest on my head (lost the spring months prior) and looked for signs of trouble in the engine room. Belt was ok, no M6 screws were laying lost on the tin, no spray of oil, nothing looked to be wrong. But I still was deathly afraid. No way was I signing off and claiming all was good. I had just, basically, given birth to this motor, with no real doctor present. The last few months, all the income earned, all the angst and anxiety, all the worry, all the driving around for parts, etc, and now all those parts were whirling around in a frothy bath of green Kendal oil, but for who knows how much longer. I could be seconds away from a rod making a window in that brand new case. The coming week could be filled with the nightmare of an exhaust valve getting freaky and putting holes in a piston. Or worse, I could get cocky and stuff the car into a guard rail.

I know, I look back now, and it try to understand why I couldn't just accept that the engine was running, and running well, and had accepted it and been happy for myself. Reflecting back to this time, I do remember an awful lot of fun, but also a bunch of suspicion of allowing goals to be reached. The year before, 1989, had been a real yo-yo, permeated with all kinds of nasty surprises and cooked nerves. We all go through these murky periods. As 1990 came around, and getting the VW-speed shop job, I realized the car, and getting to know others with same interests and wacky goals, was going to be my way to fix '89, and sort of define myself as a 20 year old.

Standing there, with the car, parked on that gravel shoulder, with the dual quiet packs pounding away at idle, the red glow of the tail lights penetrating the night, I started thinking about "I wonder how it would have run had I put a 130 Engle in it. A 140?"

I hopped back in and went and picked up a very surprised Frank.

[kafercup]

I'm loving the flashbacks.  We had many, many interesting Friday nights on Franks frontage road "drag strip".  I've still got some 8mm video of some of our grudge matches out there.

[Bill Schwimmer]

I remember going from the 1776cc to the 2016cc in my '55. The small motor ran 14:80's all day long on 165's. It was quick in a cheerful sort of way. The 2L had an FK89, FF heads ect. Same car 2 completely different worlds. Things just happened really fast, and if you did the wrong thing it could get away from you & it was gonna hurt. Keep it coming Jim, great read.

[Jim Ratto]

I remember going from the 1776cc to the 2016cc in my '55. The small motor ran 14:80's all day long on 165's. It was quick in a cheerful sort of way. The 2L had an FK89, FF heads ect. Same car 2 completely different worlds. Things just happened really fast, and if you did the wrong thing it could get away from you & it was gonna hurt. Keep it coming Jim, great read.

Thanks Bill. I can imagine your oval became a whole new thrillride with the 11:1+ 2-liter. It's funny, when I was building this motor, the 2054 in 1990, I was very aware of your '59 with the 1776 in it, and I think in 1992, when I was buttoning up my money-pit 2276 48IDA, Super Flow head motor, I remember seeing your car at the Expo in Pomona with 48's and all the new stuff and raised an eyebrow.
Then seeing your car go high 12's a few months later at Sears Pt, I knew something was up. 
So that must have been a pretty contrasting drive too, going from the 42DCNF 1776 to the big motor in the '59?

[Martin S.]

Everyone can relate to the money pit motor. I wonder what motor holds the title as the biggest money pit motor ever. The 2000's were awesome until the big crash when I was laid off my job. Luckily I spent a ton of money during those years and have something to show for it. It was almost worth losing a job to get to enjoy a new car/motor and lots of time to drive around 
It's hard to believe I spent a couple grand on a little box that looked like a cheap car stereo amp for my motor back then 

[Jim Ratto]

When I was younger, most of the time I would open the Bugpack or JSC or whatever book up and scan down to the "biggest" and almost without exception order "that."

As we will see in a few posts....

[Zach Gomulka]

Everyone can relate to the money pit motor. I wonder what motor holds the title as the biggest money pit motor ever. The 2000's were awesome until the big crash when I was laid off my job. Luckily I spent a ton of money during those years and have something to show for it. It was almost worth losing a job to get to enjoy a new car/motor and lots of time to drive around 
It's hard to believe I spent a couple grand on a little box that looked like a cheap car stereo amp for my motor back then 

As far as hp/dollar goes, the 88x69 EMPI engine I (re)built for my GTV was pretty fucking stupid. I have no idea what the final number was, I didn't want to know how much 75hp cost me It was everything I hoped it would be though, and more.

Those hipo 36hp engines are ridiculous as well.

[Jim Ratto]

Autumn 1990, Weber Sounds After Midnight

Yeah Zach, about 15 years ago I put a lot of effort into a 1776 that in my head, should have been all it never actually turned out to be. And then there was all those cobbled together 1914's built in haste that never missed a beat, leaked and they ran like wildfire. Never fails.

Back to Sunday night, turning into early Monday morning. While normal smart people were sleeping, I was out scaring myself with the new-found pleasures of displacement and torque. I quietly idled down the narrow lane that led to Frank's dairy ranch, and turned the headlights off. Frank lived with his dad, who had no appreciation whatsoever for a high-strung valvetrain or the bassy beats of merged dual quiet packs. We'd had words before, regarding my smaller engine and its "damn 4 pipes!", and that was during daylight.
As I shut the car off and clicked the driver's door shut, the porch light announced somebody was up as it clicked on. The front window drape pulled aside and I saw Frank peek out. He opened the door and said "Hoooolllly shit.... you got it running....  but dude, it's midnight!!" We both laughed and I went over Sunday's trials, and gave him a quick rundown of how it all went, and how the car ran. In site of the late hour, Frank willingly hopped in and we set off. Again, I was careful with the noise, and tiptoed on almost no throttle out to the long frontage road. Once on the long road, I stopped the car and said "Ok, check this out..."
And from there, I engaged the clutch, the car rolled away, and I let it run up to 3500 in first, then shifted to second, and then let it have it. I remember the rear suspension squatting and the 914-tach needle wig-wagged up to 6000 rpm like nothing, the last 2500 rpm giving the real thrill. Frank was laughing hysterically, as I shifted into third. We were now going much faster than the west-bound freeway traffic next to us and accelerating very hard. At 85mph I shifted to fourth gear and let it cruise. I looked at Frank and he had this look of manic confusion, looking at the instruments. I think he said something about being able to see almost 90mph in 3rd gear that quickly. I was amazed myself.
We reached the entrance to I-580, heading east this time, into Livermore. I had no idea where we were going, but knew there were long stretches of roads nobody used in east Livermore. But for whatever reason, we headed towards downtown, then further south, out of town and into winery-country, on CA-84 which would connect us with Sunol in a matter of minutes, over a few hilly second and third gear corners. Here again, coming out of a second gear corner, going into an uphill straight, I found where the real difference was, when compared to the 1641. We came into the corner, gearing down into second, then I came down hard on the throttle, a little too hard and a little too early. The tach quickly told me "Jim the rear tires are hopeless right now" as the back of the car stepped out and gave me a good scare, but all the while it was pure teenage heaven, now having a car that looked slow, but had enough power to cook the 205-60 Yokohamas off in a corner. I thought to myself "I'll have to remember that corner for the future..."
From Sunol we coursed through Niles Canyon, the only people stupid enough to be out after midnight, coming into turns, gearing down, and then letting it fly free coming out. We ended up in Fremont and again, I had no idea where we were going but the acceleration and the effortless way this car found speed was too fun to call it quits. We crossed the Dumbarton bridge and took US 101 north to Redwood City, exiting at CA-84 headed west, towards Woodside and San Gregorio, at the cliffs overhanging the Pacific Ocean.
CA-84 just west of Redwood City had a real draw for me, ever since I got my driver's license. Looking at it on a road map, a few years earlier, it looked like someone dropped a spaghetti noodle haphazardly between Urban Bay Area and the beach, and by the looks of the map, there wasn't much out there. I had driven it before, in fact the last time I had been out here, was on a day trip to the beach with former girlfriend. It was something we had planned together, pack lunches and stuff in her Baja convertible Bug and enjoy a drive through the woods to the state beach. It was a day I wished I could have back, up until that night. Now it was about finding more places to practice power-on oversteer.

More later this week or weekend. Thanks for reading,

[Esky]

I love reading your stories Jim. It reminds me of the same time driving around with a new car or build with friends with no real plan on where we were going. Many times just hopping onto hwy 17 and just going to Santa Cruz or Capitola and grabbing a coffee late at night. That drive is great to break in a new engine and a little scary to say the least. Great to hear we were not the only one doing this stuff in the bay back then. Fun times!

[Good-Old-Ragtop60]

Hey Jim, every time I look on the Lounge I hope this treat has a new posting from you. 
I really enjoy your stories and the way you can describe al details. It´s like riding on the passenger seat. 
This year I was on vacation in California and it is awesome to read this and think about the spots you´ve described.
Thank you very much for taking the time to write this down!

[Jim Ratto]

Autumn 1990, First Drive to Work (and it makes it)

I don't know what time we finally went home. It had to be after 2am. Ended up running CA-84 all the way to its end where it intersects with Highway 1, at San Gregorio beach. Ran Highway 1 up into Pacifica, then through SF, etc. A very indirect route and a tank of fuel used. And no real technical issues.
The next morning was a work day, at Buggy House. Of course I was going to drive the '67 in. Even after the lengthy drive earlier that morning, I guess you can call that "seat time", the urgency of the new motor hadn't really set in yet. A few new freeway junctions to test out were between my parents' house and Buggy House. It was too hard to resist the call of that new rush of power in 2nd and 3rd gear, so obviously I was looking for opportunities to use it. The long, steep grade just west of Pleasanton, heading into Castro Valley and Hayward wasn't much to worry about now. Just keep the revs somewhere north of 32-3500 and there was a wall of power just a throttle-feathering away.
Once I got to the shop, I could see Big Mark and Jerry were already at work. I actually used some restraint and uncharacteristic maturity as I pulled into the back lot, resisting the urge to make a landing like a fighter plane, or to write my name in rear tire as I growled down the driveway. They'd hear the unmistakable resonance of a big cc motor rolling in and wonder whose car it was. I parked the car, peeked underneath searching for drips, flames, loose oil lines, cam bolts... still nothing and walked into the service bay of the shop. A white K Ghia was up on jack stands, and Jerry's black jeans and black shoes were sticking out from under the rear of the car.
"Got that goddamn car running huh?", his voice said from under the car.
"Yep", I answered, already glad he noticed.
"Sounds like you didn't forget any parts."
I took that as a compliment, from a man that didn't hand them out often.

I punched in, and walked into the parts room. Mark was digging in bin boxes and said "What's up Jimmy?"
"Monday. Work. Same shit", I said.
"That your car I heard pull in?"
"Yeah I got the motor in and done and hopefully broken in, yesterday, drove it all over the place last night and it's still running, for now"
Mark was cool. He began to loosen the reins some, as a manager. He started to ask me questions when customers had questions about Webers, or big engines, etc. He had been into VW's for at least 12 years or so before I got the job, so it was a big deal to me that this guy trusted my answers. And sometimes when customers would come in to quote out a big cc motor Mark would say "Let me get Jim to talk to you, he's building a healthy big motor right now...", and this morning, Mark took a genuine, sincere interest in what I had put in the car and asked me all kinds of questions about what bore and stroke it was, what camshaft I used, where compression was, and my answers were followed with "Good!", or "Cool deal dude", or some other form of affirmation. None of the "Is that all?" crap. So it felt good to know these guys, that I looked up to, were already approving.
The shop's engine builder, Rob, was always late to work. He shared custody of his very young son, and I think he had to pick him up or drop him off, often. So he rolled in a good 30 min late most days, including this Monday. I heard his arrival marked by Jerry's tone of voice about cases that were waiting to be hot tanked or something. In a few minutes Rob walked to front counter and said "Jimmy! Got the car running!", cool.... somebody else was excited too. It was like I had had a baby or something, like we should all light cigars up and talk about how fast they grow up. He asked if we could go for a spin at lunch. Well, yeah, of course, you buy, and I'll drive!

[Jim Ratto]

Autumn 1990, 55 Idle Jets

Rob and I ended up heading over to west Hayward at lunch, where all the wrecking yards were, as well as some interesting automotive businesses. Within a few blocks you could hit a Porsche new-parts and dismantler place, same thing, but with BMW and a wrecking yard that at the time was packed wall to wall with air cooled VW stuff. We grabbed some good grease-pit burgers (the kind that are wrapped in plain white paper and drool grease through it) and then headed back to the shop. On the way back, I got to learn about Weber idle jets, and how they do more than make the car idle.

Rob, being very in tune with being able to discern if you were running too much advance, or had the wrong plugs in the car, (seemingly by just be in same zip code while you were driving it), kept looking at tach and listening to something. "Feel that?", he asked.
"Feel what?" I said, removing my foot from the throttle in a cold wave of paranoia.
"That little hesitation, like when you pulled away from that light. Feel that?"

?

All I felt was it was pretty cool blasting around with an irresponsible amount of power now. Hesitation? No way did I pick up on any hesitation.
So Rob told me, as we got on 880 freeway, to NOT wind it up in between gears, just short shift it, and so I did. He listened, like a doctor, and with his index finger raised, waiting, I did as he said and he said "That!"
I had to admit, yes there was something there, though it seemed very minimal. Rob asked me what carbs I had, and I told them they were brand new 44 IDF's, from the shop. "Yeah, that's what it is, I thought so..." he said. I didn't get it? I bought brand new carbs, and bolted them on just like the booklet of pink, photo-copied papers told me to. If I didn't screw them up, then why should they hesitate? If I don't understand them, and more importantly, don't take the time to understand what I don't know, then they were fine. Right?
Wrong.  Rob told me to buy a set of "55's" and try them. 55-whats? We got back to the shop and visited the pretty extensive Weber set of drawers the shop had. I didn't understand how jetting worked, or floats or air-fuel mixtures. I felt like if I even tried to comprehend any of this, I'd get the carbs so screwed up, and out of whack, I'd never get them right. So I had always avoided anything to do with jetting, reading about jetting, etc. But Rob picked out four little brass idle jets that, if viewed with a magnifying glass, said "55" on them.
"What do I do with these?"
"You gotta take the 50's out and put these in and then re-tune the car"

So that night when I got home from work all focus was on exchanging the 50's for 55's. I had no idea where to begin, so naturally, I just kept unscrewing things, until I had pretty much field stripped the tops of the carbs down to the float bowls, and still hadn't found anything that looked like these idle jets. It was now late, dark and I was frustrated, even defeated. I swept the pile of velocity stacks, metric hardware and air filters into a box and gave up. I'd have to drive the Fiat to work the next day and everybody would ask "Where's the Bug? Did you drive it into a wall? Or did the motor fall out?"

[Jim Ratto]

Autumn 1990, Cops Pay a Visit

The next day at work I bought the Pat Braden "Weber Carburetors" and the Haynes Weber books, and remembered to ask Rob where the idle jets lived in the IDF. We pulled another 44IDF kit from the shelf and unboxed one carb, and he showed me, just under and behind the fuel inlet, were two brass screws, "Those are the little mother**ckers, right there. And they get crap in them, too, all the time. You'll know 'cause it will not run on that cylinder until it gets into the main." I visualized in my head where these brass screws were with carbs in the engine compartment, so they're right next to fuel pipes into carbs and those are......   right up against the engine compartment wall. Wonderful. I pacified myself by convincing myself a stubby screwdriver would do the trick.
That night I found that even with air cleaner base plates unscrewed from carbs, there was no way to get into the idle jet holders with carbs on. And back then, I had a real slipshod mess of tools, most of them "borrowed" from my dad's carry-around tool box. Mostly cheapie metric combination open end wrenches that were never designed to get IDF manifolds off a Bug motor. If I could actually get the 12mm wrench on the 8mm manifold nuts, I could then only get about 3 degrees of movement going, to loosen them. It was awful, and I could sense the neighbor's presence... as he stood and glared at me from the sidewalk. How stupid could this guy be? Obviously, with my Webers all ripped apart, and now, coming off the car, there was going to be no noise problems tonight. I ignored him.
I managed to get one carb-manifold assembly off and on the workbench, and proceeded to unscrew the idle screw holders. I remember it was weird, but I heard a car pull up and park at foot of our driveway. Then I heard the fuzzy and muffled sound of a two way radio. It was the Pleasanton cops, parked in front of our place. A tubby officer meandered up the driveway and looked at the mess of parts and the small pool of fuel on the garage floor, and asked me "What do we have going on here?"
So I did my best to explain the plight of running the car a few days prior, with too small of idle jets. All the while, the cop's eyes are jumping from the car, to the workbench, to the parts all over the floor, and then me again. As I was explaining, with all honesty "what was going on", he interrupted me and said "Neighbor next door says you're terrorizing him and his wife and kids with all the noise tonight."
All the noise? What noise? The goddamn car is pulled APART. One carburetor is on the workbench. The other is missing 60% of its parts. I was dumbfounded.
"How can I be making any noise? The car isn't running..", I asked, with an attitude.
"We got a call that you're over here raising hell with this car tonight. That's why I'm here"
I showed the cop the bench. I showed him the open intake ports of cylinder 3/4. I suggested he feel the motor. It's room temp. He then seemed to change his tune. "So you haven't been driving this thing?"
"Nope. Not in two days."
The cop looked at the neighbor's house and said "I'll go talk to this guy. I better not have to come back tonight. Is that clear?"

While much of the 4 years spent building various engines, and taking them racing, and going to events, was an incredible amount of fun, this ongoing ordeal with the neighbor was not. It went from awkward, not making eye contact and not saying hello to one another, to a pretty ugly war between he and I. And then it got worse.

But in a few weeks, I was leaving work early, on a Friday, with 55 idle jets installed. Rob was right, they made all the difference he promised they would. The car idled better and was silky smooth all the way up the rev range.
I was now heading east on 580, at 3pm, with a trunk full of tools, a few spare parts and a case of Kendall 40W GT1. I'd be picking Frank up at the ranch in 15 minutes, and from there we'd be on our way to Phoenix, Arizona for Bug a Rama.
.

[Tony Wilkie]

Great read as always Jim! I was almost late to work this morning (I'm never late).
Good times!

tw

[Martin S.]

Reminds me of the neighbor next to the shop where my car was thru the engine building process. A clapboard 2-storey house right beside an automotive shop on a busy service road, why? I dunno. The lady would come out shaking her fist at us, with Steve nodding, trying to pacify her, knowing she could call the cops and had done so in the past. He said it was always my car. The engine that sounded more like a cross between a V8 and a fast streetbike. What do you expect for a long-rod 2332 with an open turbo header? And it was always late at night when the excitement happened at his shop. 'Let's go for a ride with the laptop and do some tuning. You drive and I'll tune.' Steve said as we slipped into the darkness... good times!

[Jim Ratto]

The problem with the neighbor was a real black mark on my early 20's. He ended up getting the other neighbors to band together and the met with Alameda County district attorney. Some kind of petition was circulated to make my life miserable. I'm not kidding. I had to appear at county courthouse. They had VHS and pictures of me, caught in the act, red handed. Some of the pictures showed me laying on my back under the car, with AN8 hose in hand. Another showed me rolling a floor jack under the car. VHS tape showed footage of me coming up the street and pulling the car into the driveway. Obviously, all very malicious and it was clear my intention was to drive the neighborhood to its knees. I will admit, I did take a large piece of white posterboard and in red poster paint, wrote "F __K  Y O U" and had stuck it to the side of my parents' house, in clear sight of the neighbor's kitchen window. I think that kind of sealed the deal with the DA.

[axam48ida]

Same situation when the dinks buy a house next to the fairgrounds or near an airport and try to get closed down because of the noise. Many race tracks in California have closed for that same reason.

[mg]

Neighbors would turn in my car trailer for being parked on the street when I drove Tickled Pink around the block.
Best to avoid the pissing matches...
https://youtu.be/VtzYtud4JaI

The problem with the neighbor was a real black mark on my early 20's. He ended up getting the other neighbors to band together and the met with Alameda County district attorney. Some kind of petition was circulated to make my life miserable. I'm not kidding. I had to appear at county courthouse. They had VHS and pictures of me, caught in the act, red handed. Some of the pictures showed me laying on my back under the car, with AN8 hose in hand. Another showed me rolling a floor jack under the car. VHS tape showed footage of me coming up the street and pulling the car into the driveway. Obviously, all very malicious and it was clear my intention was to drive the neighborhood to its knees. I will admit, I did take a large piece of white posterboard and in red poster paint, wrote "F __K  Y O U" and had stuck it to the side of my parents' house, in clear sight of the neighbor's kitchen window. I think that kind of sealed the deal with the DA.

[Brian Rogers]

The dirt track in Ventura is experiencing this now. They have raced at the fairgrounds for decades. We were there shortly before Labor Day, heard them having fun from a couple of miles away. My curmugionly liberal outlaw made the comment he'd been with a group trying to out law the racing group at a county facility. I asked how often they raced?  Every other weekend as they shared it with the horse races. He wanted them out because of the noice and air pollution. I said horses bring black flies and stink as well, not to mention the noise from the crowd. He even whined about concerts held there in the summer. Can't please every one I guess.

[mg]

Laguna Seca (all Nor Cal Tracks) have sound limited public track days.
Also a few special sound free weekends too for the big events.
You can pass the 92db limit if you lift by the sound shack.
But that kills your momentum and you will get overtaken.
Frustrating and dangereous to lift for sound, like driving through a school zone on the way to the corkscrew.
https://youtu.be/lkZYVj89fA0?t=13s

[Richierich56]

Awesome reading these memories Jim. Sound like great times!

[Brian Rogers]

Paging Mr. Ratto,  paging Mr. Ratto! We are (I am) impatiently waiting on the next installment!

[Jim Ratto]

November 1990, Leaving for Phoenix in the '67

Ok let's get past the neighbor issues, I'd rather not remember, elaborate, or frankly discuss it any further.

Back to the road...

By 3:45pm I was crunching through gravel, on the path to Frank's ranch. I look back at this now, from 2016 perspective, here were two kids with hardly any money, no cell phones, no GPS, sat-nav, Instagram, or a 10yr/100,000 mi warranty. We had a few hundred bucks between us, that same wrinkled, dirty gas-station fold up map, tools, some spare parts, a case of Kendall GT1 and a 24 year old car that had just underwent heart surgery in a suburban garage, next to a washing machine and some cans of old house paint. All performed by a kid who really had no clue. Two kids, going away for 4 days, across the SW desert, going somewhere they've never been. What, really, could go wrong? Actually only a few things, and one was going to hit us right between the eyes in about 6-7 hours.

We hit I-580 east, to meet the intersection with I-5 out west of Modesto. By then it was now dusk, and getting cold. The long, endless conveyor belt of Interstate 5 south rolled under the '67, and for a good 60-70 miles, we just hummed along at around 3200rpm. It was no effort, the car wasn't even breathing hard. We glided along at around 65mph (by gear ratio, not by indicated speed on instrument, it was very optimistic), with that 2.0 liter, just calmly doing its work behind us. Oil pressure was over 70psi, and to my surprise, oil temp was barely showing. In those days I had a VDO cylinder head temp gauge, and it was giving about 250F. Fuel consumption seemed decent (though I never did formally calculate anything back then). The car had no problem maintain a cruising speed which kept us rolling with the majority of what little traffic there was on 5 back then. The big rigs owned the slow lane, doing 55, and until probably the Merced-Fresno county line, we just puttered at 65 mph. But there was a problem.
They showed us all in high school, in those horrific traffic safety movies, what can happen on a long trip, at one speed. You begin to zone out. It's like that constant drone of tire noise, engine noise, wind noise, combined with the rhythmic dashing of the lane markers and fatigue, it all begins to work to hypnotize you. Which it was. Our plan was to make it to somewhere in Los Angeles and spend the night, then get up the next morning and head east to Phoenix. We were still 4-5 hours from northern LA county and I was blinking and cranking the vent wing open to blast myself with cold air. That and my shin and ankle were getting cramped keeping the throttle angle where it was. So I adjust my ankle, and here comes the scream of approval from behind. Again, the engine was purring along, just under where the combination of the 44mm Webers, the heads, the 125 Engle and that merged header made things happen. It was just begging to jump from 3200 to 4000, which it did. Here we were, in the ink black no-man's land, just a pair of yellow headlight streaks and a lot of Weber induction noise, now zeroing in fast on traffic ahead of us. I'd let off, and the slower car in front of me would politely change to RH lane (Remember when people used to do that? Way back 26 years ago? ), and then I'd just squeeze on some throttle and with no complaint, that stroker motor would cooperate with that addicting howl through the carburetors and we'd blast back up to 4200-4400 rpm, the engine still wanting more. We did this for another 2.5 hours, the same pattern, find an open stretch and give the car some throttle, and maintain an honest 85mph, then having to back off for a slower car, only to get on the move again. It was sensational, the car would just pull with no protest, and no ominous warnings from the temperature gauges. Even with wide throttle and enthusiastic speed, the oil temp was far below 180F and the head temp was stuck at 250F. It was a lot of fun, even to back off, only so I could lean on the Webers again and have the rush and that shove in the back, all the while I am remembering how weak-kneed the 1641 was, it never had this urgency to it. I envisioned this sort of sonic wave thing going on, this chain reaction of the merged header and the dual quiets becoming like a pipe organ, and creating this unstoppable vacuum, pulling through the header pipes, through the exhaust ports, and when the time was right, that 125 cam was allowing this vacuum chain reaction thing to reach into the cylinders and scour every bit of waste gases, and even being to ask the Webers and the intakes for an extra dose of that cold November night air mixed with 92 octane. There was a certain throttle angle and rpm where it all "happened" and when it did, it was if the engine grew 4 more cylinders. Whereas the old 1641 certainly was "cammy" thanks to the 256 degree (0.050") circle track cam, it didn't have the ball busting shove that the stroker had. The big motor was not only cammy, but it actually did something worthwhile once you got it up on pipe. And it still wasn't working hard.
By 9:30pm, we had reached the exit for CA 46 at lovely Lost Hills. We were both dying for Jack in the Box and I figured it would be ok to give the car a break for 30 minutes and refuel it. An icy wind blew through, smelling of animal and soil. A digital thermometer flashed "42F" at the gas station. Well no wonder we're not seeing any oil temp. I had set the car up with a Mesa 72-plate cooler, plumbed in the full flow circuit, along with an HP1 Fram and Earl's AN8 hoses and fittings. The cooler was mounted in where I thought was a good place for air flow, just behind the LH rear torsion tube, angled down slightly at the rear, to hopefully get a blast of air. By all accounts, it seemed to be working, maybe too well. I had yet to see the oil temp get near 180F.
We scarfed some 99-cent cheeseburgers and slugged bad coffee and got back on the road. The worries I had in the Fiat just a few months before, during the infernal drive to OC down 5 were gone. The VW welcomed the cold night, lunging at the freeway onramp like a rabid dog. I blew through 2nd gear, past where the markings stopped on my 914 tach, and into third, headlights blaring and foot down, up to 6000 still in third, rocketing away from slower trucks and minivans, and now into fourth and just let it relax. We still had Grapevine to wrestle in an hour or so....

More later. Including the guns drawn.

[Andrew]

Paging Mr Ratto, please don't leave us in suspense like this.....

[Brian Rogers]

Give him some time. Takes awhile doing it with only your index finger. 

[axam48ida]

I understand he has an actual job and can't leave customers on hold forever........... :)d

[Brian Rogers]

Please good Sir, Could you feed us a crumb of this story? Maybe tide us over till the New Year?
Thank You and Merry Christmas.

[Jim Ratto]

November 1990, Fast Lane on 5 Freeway

I look back at this night, 26 years+ now ago, and after all the times I've driven "I-5" since between Southern and Northern CA during late autumn, I'm surprised we didn't have tule fog to contend with on this night. If you've never driven either I-5 or Highway 99 in the San Joaquin Valley in the fog season (especially at night), then you don't know true panic. Think of smearing wheel bearing grease all over your windshield and headlights and then driving in pitch black, in an almost perfectly straight line. For 6 plus hours, looking for lane markers and dodging 18-wheel semi trailer trucks that can't see either. It's good for losing weight due to stress.

But on this night, we had the weather on our side. It was cool and slightly damp and just a little wind, but not enough to skate us around up above 85mph. If you're just catching up and don't care to read the previous 5 pages of how I got into hot rodding VW's, my friend Frank and I were on a somewhat aimless roadtrip in my 1967 VW Bug, which I had, just weeks before, built a 2054cc engine (my first stab at a big cc stroker engine) for. It's November 1990. We're heading south, averaging 80mph on Interstate 5, somewhere northwest of Bakersfield. We had just stopped for coffee, 99-cent Jack in the Box cheeseburgers and to fill up with 92 octane. By tomorrow night this time, we plan on being in Phoenix AZ for the Bug A Rama.
As we continued south, now deep into Kern County's cotton/oil filed country, I began to gain the respect and confidence in this new engine and my own work, that I was previously apprehensive of. If we had made it as far as Lost Hills CA, from Pleasanton, in this car, with this engine, with absolutely no sign of an any troubles, then I could let my guard down. Just a few months prior, I was traveling south on the same road, at a slower speed, in a bone-stock Fiat X19 and was much closer to mayhem and end-days with its tendency to run (very) warm. I had to keep engine temp at bay with judicious use of the throttle in the (stock, fuel-injected, weak-kneed) X19. The homegrown VW was almost asking to be used hard, and didn't seem to care at all. After hours of 3000-4500 rpm down 5, the car was running just as it had when I first started earlier that morning. In fact it was running just as well as when I had swapped out the 50 idle jets for 55's a few weeks prior. It felt good to know things had turned out OK, that we were going much faster than the car was designed to go, with no ill effects, and it was all down to what I had done with basic tools, in my parents' garage. And the advice I had been given along the way.
Within an hour, thanks to the clear night sky, the faint yellow glow of northbound chain of headlights came into view, as they descended down the Grapevine from Lebec, into the wide valley floor. We'd be climbing this grade, which in those days, used to be notorious for causing all kinds of cars and trucks to boil over, gasping for their last few breaths, as they seized up and croaked on the side of the road. I was fairly sure we'd not have any heating issues, as all night the oil temperature had maybe seen at most, 150F. The uphill climb begins much before you actually get to the grade, as was very evident in the X19. But not in the VW. It just continued to eat miles, and hover between 42-4500 rpm, gobbling cold air and asking for more. Soon we could see the uphill climb, and so many cars and trucks laboring up. We kept our lane, far left and began to climb. While the engine note did change, the car still proceeded, with little effort. We came up on a mid 80's Corvette in the left lane, quite quickly. I expected our fast approach to elicit the "Corvette Response" out of the driver (which means jump on it and rocket away), but much to our surprise, the 'Vette politely moved over a lane and let us get by. We were ascending, just north of Fort Tejon, at about 75-78mph, in fourth. The oil temperature was still indicating under 180F. By the time we reached the summit, south of Gorman, CA, our speed had increased, and temperature remained. In a half hour, the previously ink black sky began to take on an orange cast, illuminated by Los Angeles, just 20-30 miles south of us. We rolled past Magic Mountain on our right. The exit for Pasadena. The 405 interchange and points south. Through Burbank and now into East LA, hugging the left lanes, as to not miss the exit to stay on 5 south. I had no idea where we were going, or how we'd get from there to Arizona, but figured we'd end up somewhere, drink some more awful coffee and consult my old map.
Well that somewhere ended up being Norwalk CA. Specifically the Motel 6 just off the 5 freeway. Near the Jack in the Box.

I promise, next segment, guns out.

[Nico86]

I still want your stories and words published along with pictures. I'd buy that! Thanks for sharing Jim!

[Brian Rogers]

As we wait for another thrilling installment of 4 Years.....,