Five Hundred Miles, Then All Will Be Good, Right?
A Dodge Viper, several Corvettes, five Miatas and a plethora
of other sports cars passed by me at full-tilt, engines screaming and tires
screeching; later, as they returned to the staging area, a few of the drivers
cast curious glances out their window at the strange aberration by the side of
the pit road. That aberration was me and
my car that wasn’t modern, wasn’t fuel injected, and couldn’t make it through a
day of autocross without needing repair.
Still, it wasn’t bad.
As a matter of fact, it’d been great.
The car was much quicker than I thought it’d be. My little Locost had been quick and
responsive, pouncing around the autocross track like a puppy on a waxed
floor. Yeah, the skinny tires slid in
the corners, but it quickly regained footing and sped off, growling playfully
the entire time. In truth, the tires
slid less than I thought they would, since I’d bought the cheapest tires the
tire store stocked.
And the setting, Evergreen Aviation Museum, was rad; how cool is it to autocross with jets and rockets everywhere?!
Then the throttle cable snapped. The one I’d bought on ebay, because it was
cheap. Yep. That one.
Trust me, it’s always that one.
Don’t buy the cheap (anything) on ebay.
I’d completed half the course, when the cable snapped. The motor slowed to an idle. I’d went from growling puppy, to geriatric with
a walker. As I crawled past the timing
trailer the lady inside made rowing motions, her body language requesting that
I hurry my odd broken car off the course.
Oh, I would have, if I could have.
It was not a secret ploy to gain attention, but it was quite successful in
doing so. Everyone looked at the funny
little car and a few might have supposed I’d given up on a speed competition
and was taking up slow and peaceful sight-seeing instead.
An eternity later, I made it off the track.
And there I was, trying to figure out how to attach a broken
throttle cable to the throttle linkage, next to the pit road, for the second
time in a day, while reliable modern sports car, after reliable modern sports
car, passed by me.
My children came to see why I’d given up on
competition. My wife came to see if I’d
be making it home.
I stole a sheet-metal screw from elsewhere on the car, and
screwed the throttle-cable stub into the linkage. My previous solution, balling the end of the
cable after it passed through the linkage, had failed, eventually slipping out. This second fix got the car home.
For the second weekend in a row, the car had pleasantly
surprised me with its performance, then almost needed a tow truck to return
home.
The previous weekend I’d taken the Locost to a church’s car
show. The show is well-established and
brings high-quality cars; one owner I chatted with revealed that their car had
been a contender in a recent America’s Most Beautiful Roadster competition. I was mainly attending to the show to help; a
good friend takes part in organizing the event, but he encouraged me to also enter
my car. At award time I was hugely surprised
to hear my name called. I tentatively
approached the stage, thinking there must be a mistake, only to learn the
Locost had won the Best Rat Rod award. To
be forthright, there wasn’t any artistic and creative rat rods in attendance. But, the Locost had certainly surprised me
with its performance.
Between that church, and my home, there’s a small mountain, Bald Peak.
As the Locost jogged up the slopes it began to bog down. The car went slower and slower, popping and
burbling. As I neared the top of the hill the car completely died several times
but it bump-started itself each time, using what little forward motion it retained. That, or the endless prayers I was making, to
the effect of “Lord, I’d greatly appreciate it if it can just make it to the
top.” By the top I was moving at about three miles-an-hour, and the car sounded
like a turn-of-the-century farming hit-and-miss engine.
“Pop, poof, poof, poof… pop, poof, poof, poof… pop, poof,
poof poof”.
But, very thankfully, from the top of that mountain to my
doorstop I can essentially coast. Later,
I found the culprit to be a clogged fuel filter; I did use the old gas tank in
my build, a move that I’m now regretting.
Before I move entirely past the church car show, I’d like to
mention the pastor’s message, one that should resonate with car
owners.
The pastor owns the same car he’s had since high school, a car
from the 1930s. When he bought the
car, it was about thirty years old. It
had recently occurred to him that he has little time left with the car, when
considering his own timeline. The years
he’s spent with the car far outweigh the coming years. But, he’s more than ok with this. He has full-assurance of his future in
heaven, and that far outweighs worldly treasures, even his car. He wished, for all the owners gathered, that
they could share the same hope, through Jesus Christ’s work of redemption, that’s
available to anyone who chooses to trust in Jesus. He encouraged those with reservations to read
the Gospel of John. I wish the same for
all of you, and will second his suggestion.
Funny thing, my own pastor mentioned cars in a similar light
this weekend. He was talking about the many
silly ways we think worldly possessions will fulfill us. He mentioned the man that spends years building
the perfect car… and then it gets scratched.
Oh, how I can relate. I make no
claims to have built the perfect car, but I have achieved the non-fulfilling
part. Just after it wins a car show
award, the Locost almost dies. Just after
giving me several excellent autocross runs, the throttle cable snaps.
I’ve read that cars need a 500 mile “sorting” period. Meaning, it takes 500 miles to perfect the flaws
in a just-built project car. I’m at 350
miles, but I’m doubtful that at 500 miles all my problems will be solved. There are problems I’m noticing that will
never be solved. For example, at 60
miles-per-hour the wind buffets the side of my face and entirely dries out my left
eye. I’ll always need sunglasses, goggles,
safety glasses, or something for any longer trip at consequential speeds.
What’s the answer for such a terminal flaw? Should I sell it and get another car? I don’t think so. I have a lot of history with this car (five
years to build it). But also, all cars
will let me down in some way. There is
no perfect car and I don’t want to continue to chase for a dream of the “ideal”
car. I recently witnessed a Lamborghini owner struggle to get the car in gear;
even a Lamborghini doesn’t provide perfect bliss.
But then, modern car, after modern car, passes me as I work
on my throttle cable in the pit lane.
It seems the road-less-travelled also means you travel less. I think I’m ok with this. I’ll exchange a few less miles for more “character”,
and my car certainly has character.
Since I built it, I guess it has a little of my character, strangely.
But then, that’s just pride.
There’s just as much character in many of those modern cars. The owners picked their options, matched
their wheels, bought performance upgrades (tires, intakes, exhausts),
etc.. I guess all I’m choosing is to
embrace a less-reliable technology.
Why? I don’t know. I like my car when I look at it though. Maybe when I look at it and there’s no “like”,
it will be time to get rid of it. Unless
one of my kids looks at it with admiration.
Then it’ll probably be right to pass it on to them. With a strong
admonition that it will not fulfill them, even though it can be appreciated.
Speaking of my kiddos, let’s circle back around to surprise
performances. My kids and I were treated to quite the spectacle this summer
when we were out on a Saturday looking for something to do. I decided to take them to the Woodburn Dragstrip. While it’s a great dragstrip, it also has a
playground next to the grandstands!
At the gate I was surprised by the high price. I thought it seemed higher than usual, so I
asked. The gate-keeper responded , “We
had to pay for the jet car; we thought they were just bringing one, but they
brought two”.
That’s right. We’d
stumbled upon “The Night of Fire”, and witnessed two jet cars racing each other,
a wheel-standing horse-carriage powered by a dragster motor, funny-car
dragsters and one top-fuel(ish) car.
In
between the great spectacles were many excellent hot rods with massive
motors. It was an impressive performance
to stumble upon.
Then, on the way back, we discovered our town was finally shooting
off the fireworks the state officials had banned us from celebrating with on
the 4th of July. They’d argued
it was because of fire-risk, but here it was, weeks later, and not an ounce of
rain between the two dates. So we pulled
to the side of the road, and were treated to our tax dollars at work, along
with about two dozen other vehicles that had also seen the fireworks being
launched from the sewer-treatment plant.
It was the full fireworks show, all the way to the grand
finale a half-hour later. I’d say it was
quite the treat, but somehow it felt wrong that so few of us were watching it,
parked next to the sewage pond. It was a tainted treat. Thankfully my kiddos were oblivious to the
political, and literal, positioning of this non-4th, 4th
of July fireworks show.
We’re looking at moving.
How long until I’m shot at, during my commute in downtown Portland, for
being a white male that looks conservative?
It doesn’t seem far off.
I’ll probably take the Locost with us if we move, if I don’t
end up needing money. I’d rather live somewhere
with the freedom for my kids to play sports without face wrappers than have a “fun
car”. I haven’t allowed them to play sports requiring face wrappers so, sadly,
we’ve been sports free for a while.
Now if you live near me, you might say, “The world has
changed, there is no place like that”. You’d
be wrong. We just visited a place where
no one wore face wrappers, and yet they weren’t struggling with health any more
than here. I’d tell you where it is, but
then there’d suddenly and miraculously be data showing it’s horrible
there. Then, several weeks later they’d
issue a small retraction saying “oops, we messed up the data”, but who sees retractions?
On that note, make sure you search for the retractions for
FL and TX. Insanely political. And I’m in the wrong place, unwittingly
entrenched with those against me. Politics
might cost me the Locost, and my five years of effort. But we shall see.
I’ve also thought I could whip the 1957 MGA together, to add
to a moving fund. Anyone want to come over and help me escape… I mean, put the
MGA together? Unlike the Locost, it should
actually bolt together with parts from a catalog!
For now, I have a Locost throttle cable to fix. And an oil leak,
or two. And I still need to make better
seats. But after that, and 500 miles, I’ll
be fulfilled, right? Trouble-free running
from then on! Onward, to 500 miles! Or a different state.
