AEROBUS CHAPTER 4 - It Lives! At the appointed hour on Saturday I picked John up and we went over to Jaime's. "Jesus Christ" John exclaimed as we turned the corner, "You didn't say it was that big." "I told you, an eight-door station wagon" "Yeah but that thing is huge!" "Do you think it's going to be a problem towing it?" "Well no, probably not, but it may be a challenge turning corners." We poured some brake fluid into the powder-dry master cylinder and, despite my concerns, John assured me that we would get some braking action as a result of it. The road home was fairly flat and there was only one long downhill section that wasn't too steep. When towing a vehicle in this manner it is always best to let the towed vehicle do the braking for both vehicles in order to keep the towing chain taut. The long downhill section was the area that braking would be most critical but each stop sign and stoplight was also going to be an obstacle. The car was in Jaime's driveway headfirst so we had to push it out into the street to get it pointed in the right direction in order to attach a tow chain. The ten year old tires were still holding air over a month after I inflated them and the car rolled easily with just two of us pushing it. After much fiddling I was able to get a long chain around the ball on my trailer hitch and insert a bolt through two links which cinched it securely around the neck of the ball. Fortunately Checkers of that year had a very durable pipe-like cross-member just under and behind the front bumper. This smooth pipe gave me a good sliding mount for the other end of the chain. Another bolt through the links at that end and we were connected. "Okay, let's not waste any time" I urged John. I was real anxious to get the first significant phase of this project completed. Get it out of Jaime's driveway and finally make it mine. I had not seen Jaime that morning and thought about knocking on his door to tell him I was taking it but perhaps he did not want to see it leave. Perhaps he wasn't even home. No matter, it was paid for and it was mine. But oh, what was I in for? "Let's get it on!" said John, already in the driver's seat of the Checker. "Okay, I'll start slow and you check the brakes." I instructed. "After that I won't go much faster than twenty-five miles per hour all the way home. When you see my brake lights come on you do the braking." "Piece of cake." said John with a confidence that reassured me. John probably had a lot more experience doing this than me. I slowly crept my truck along until I heard the chink and clunk of the chain pulling taut. I gradually increased my speed. I could feel the weight of the Checker behind me but I didn't hear the grinding, creaking or squeaking I expected to hear when first towing a car that had sat for that length of time. It was moving! I was feeling pleased then suddenly lurched forward in my seat and heard a 'clunk, slam' as John applied the brakes of the Checker. I was surprised by the sudden jerk but immediately realized that the Checker brakes still had some stopping power left in them. How tenuous they were was a lesson to be learned shortly and not be fully resolved for some time to come. I began another gradual acceleration as we approached the corner of Harlequin Street. I felt John start to apply the brakes until he realized that I had no intention of stopping at that intersection and disrupting our progress unnecessarily. The first turn went surprisingly well despite the fourty-five feet of combined length of our vehicles and tow chain. There was some groaning of the tow chain as we made the corner and the clunking noises as the chain tension was taken up. The next intersection was a major one and John was applying the brakes even before I signaled him. Yeah, John had done this before. Another turn and we were on the first of two straight sections of our trip to John's house. Each section was about a half mile and was the only area where we were at risk of exposure to the Sheriff or Highway Patrol. Proper towing safety requires more than a chain, strap, or cable. And though the patrols might not ordinarily pay our methods any attention I was sure the sight of a Checker Aerobus would prompt a second glance. We got to the first light uneventfully but caught it red and had to stop again and repeat the slow clunking, jerky, start until the chain tension took up and both vehicles achieved synchronized movement. The slow take-off of our tandem contraption, allowed the short light to change red before we had cleared the intersection. The other traffic didn't move because they were too fascinated by what they were observing to realize they now had a green light. We made that corner and began the decent on the final quarter mile before being able to turn off into a residential area again and reduce our exposure. John applied the brakes down that whole section and it went far smoother than I expected. The turn into the side road made me feel like I had successfully pulled off a crime though we still had many turns and most of a mile to go to get to John's house. I signaled a stop and hopped out to inspect the connection on our chain and see if John was doing all right. "This thing is huge!" is all that John had to say. "Is everything okay?" "Yeah let's get going" "All right, but I'm not going to stop at any corners all the way to your house unless there's other traffic around" "Sounds good" After half a dozen turns without encountering any other cars we entered the back of the Air Force housing complex known as Capehart where John and I both lived. After the first turn in Capehart I heard the tinkling of chain as we headed down a fairly long grade and realized that we were no longer connected. I sped ahead to let John know we had a problem and to get away from him should the Checker brakes decide to pick this moment to fail. My fears were unfounded as John brought the beast to a halt. I hopped out and jogged back to him to see what had happened. Apparently we had snapped the bolt cinching the chain to my trailer hitch ball. We didn't have any other bolts with us. While I was trying to figure out a substitute I heard a woman's voice exclaim, "That is so cool! What the heck is it?" I looked toward the sound of the commotion only to discover that she was looking at the Checker. "I like my little station wagon", she said gesturing towards her Ford Fairmont, "but that's really neat. Where'd you get that? I've never seen anything like that. What the heck is it?" I figured I should answer at least one of her questions out of politeness so I told her it was a Checker. In what would become a common dissertation over the months to come I patiently explained the details. How Checkers were actually a car company, mostly known for the taxi cabs seen in cities years ago. It was a 1970 model but Checker went to this body style in 1959 and didn't change it significantly until they went out of business in 1984. That's why it looks older than it is. Station Wagon Lady was thrilled by the car and asked me more questions than I had answers for at that moment. I was pleased that someone appreciated it so enthusiastically and it made me feel good to think that perhaps I was on to something here. Back to the problem at hand. What should we do about the broken chain? Noticing the long downward grade towards John's house I asked him how far he thought the Checker would roll if we got it moving on its own. "I don't know if it would get to my street", he replied "but it would get close enough that I could run home from there and get another bolt." "Okay, lets get the chain off the front and I'll get you going with a push." The Checker started moving easily down the hill with a nudge from me and in very little time picked up speed faster than I could push it. I hopped into my truck to commence the chase. "Good luck with it." shouted Station Wagon Lady as I pulled from the curb and gave her a wave. The grade to John's house proved more effective than I expected, due perhaps to better wheel bearings than I gave the car credit for after ten years of inactivity. It stopped rolling just short of the entrance to John's cul-de-sac. I pulled up behind him and hopped out. Together we were able to push the car enough that it rolled easily down the cul-de-sac and into his carport. I was relieved to have it relocated where I could work on it a lot more conveniently. Now it was covered from the elements and just a short drive from my house. John and I walked around it looking it over like neither of us had ever seen it before. John kept commenting about how big it was while I kept noticing what a good deal I had acquired despite the work that lay ahead of me. A car this complete and this unusual was truly a rare find, especially at the price I paid. After a while John said he needed to get back to his daughters. I told him I was going home to get my tools and come back to get started. I knew the starting problem lay somewhere in the spark circuit so I brought the high energy ignition distributor, that I had been hanging on to for many years, back with me and installed it in the car. The high energy ignition, or HEI, is a system that eliminates ignition contact points and puts the coil right into the distributor cap. By installing this I eliminated those two possible sources of spark problem. By the time it was done it was dusk so I decided to quit for the day and get a fresh start the next day. I called Paul Ryan that night and discussed the day's events. We talked about cars in general and Checkers specifically. He gave me more advice for taking the next step in my journey with the car and just seemed pleased that someone was interested in his advice. He said he had a fuel tank he could sell me for fifty dollars and he would deliver it to me in Sacramento in a few weeks when he planned to pass by on his way to Oregon to visit his son. That would save me a lot of trouble trying to clean and repair mine. Later that week I received another envelope from him that contained reports that he authored on various car maintenance subjects. One covered the advantages of synthetic oils, a subject he had also discussed at length with me on the phone. The next day was Sunday and Vilma had other plans for me. "Forget that car now." she said when I woke the next morning. She could see that I was getting ready to go work on it. "Let's go to the movies." I sputtered and stammered and was caught between what I dearly wanted to do and my obligation for quality time with my family. "When we come back you can fix the Fiero," she added, "That car's been broken for a year." "Gosh would you allow me to do that?" I answered sarcastically and then shut up. I knew I was defeated without even firing another volley. The Checker would have to wait another week. Sunday night I gave Paul another call to discuss my project further and ask several more questions that I had thought of. His voice was hard to hear on the phone. "You don't sound good" I observed. "Yeah, I came down with something last night. I can't even get out of bed." He paused many times for long bouts of a hacking cough. I asked him a few questions but I could tell it was a strain for him to answer. "Well take care of yourself," I said, concluding the call as soon as I politely could. "I'll call you next weekend." At work that week I was notified that I had been selected as an exchange student to the US Coast Guard Chief Petty Officer Academy. This six-week management school for senior enlisted Coast Guardsmen allows one member of the Air Force to attend each class. The school was to start in two months so now I had a timeline for the Checker. Get it running and registered in two months. In California, vehicle registration includes getting a smog check. I wasn't sure this car would run let alone not have excessive emissions. I couldn't trouble myself with those thoughts right now. I had to make it start. If that was all I could do then perhaps I could finally take it home and drive it up my steep driveway to get it off the roads. I know Vilma did not want "that thing" in her driveway until it was finished and painted. Perhaps she would tolerate it for the six weeks I was at school. As it turns out she would do far more than that. It was Saturday again before I knew it. I had been the model husband and father all week long in order to pre-empt any demands on my time come the weekend. This did not relieve me from being the brunt of a little guilt trip as I prepared to leave the house. "Going to work on that car again?" the words purely leaking out of Vilma. "Yeah hon, I've been talking about it all week." "All you do is work on that car." "No, I eat, sleep, and defecate too." I muttered, echoing a frequent comment of hers. Evidently I muttered a little too loud and had to listen to a refrain of guilt. Having escaped relatively unscathed I loaded up my truck with every conceivable tool I might need along with my two-gallon can of gasoline, tools, floor jack, rags, coveralls, new HEI spark plug wires, rubber gloves and assorted other material to get me through the day. I also included a fire extinguisher just in case I got the car started and had some catastrophic leak of fuel. I've seen new cars catch fire when being worked on by backyard mechanics. This car could spring a leak of flammable fluids from just about anywhere after so many sedentary years. I was out of the driveway; I was down the street; I had arrived on the scene. I had at least eight hours of undisturbed time to get this thing running once and for all. I was determined to succeed. First order of business was to get the spark plug wires replaced. When I installed the HEI distributor I left the old wires and distributor cap connected as a guide to follow when installing the new ones. I had to roll under the car to get to the end of the wire on the spark plugs themselves. I appreciated the high stance of the Checker for performing this task but thought how much easier it would be to work on from above. Under the car I reached for the wire at the left front, or cylinder number 1, spark plug. I tugged it off the plug and it kept moving. I slowly pulled the wire away and into my field of view and saw that I only had about six inches of wire in my hand. I peered up next to the engine and saw the remaining portion of wire. Looking down at the piece I was holding I noticed it was mostly black while the color of the wire above was red. The wires were supposed to be all red. I felt the piece in my hand and it was inflexible. It broke when I tried to bend it. Now I was sure I had found the source of my problem. The wires hardened after being heated by the engine for several years of use and then allowed to sit for another ten years. I wondered why I didn't notice this when I inspected all the spark plugs. Could this have been the only problem all along? The wires weren't wire at all but were the type that have a soft graphite core that conducts the voltage. Now I wished I had put the HEI distributor in and spent the money on plug wires sooner. The discovery gave me momentum. I laced the new wires in place one at a time, quickly but carefully checking each connection as I made it. When I was done I checked the arrangement of the wires against the firing order embossed on the cast iron intake manifold. 18436572, yeah I had it right. Now as long as I had installed the HEI distributor properly the engine should at least start. I set a stool up next to one rear wheel to set my can of gasoline on and ran the temporary hose to the fuel line in the back. I figured that gravity might aid the flow of fuel if the can was on a stool. Once again I ran through the mental inventory: I had gas; I had reinstalled the battery; the plug wires were new; the carburetor was rebuilt; it was ready to go. Hop back in it, turn the key, and "ruh, ruh, ruh, pop" went the engine. Pop? What was that? It didn't start but it did sound like it had life. I could smell a little fuel so I knew there was gas in the carburetor. I took a look under the hood and everything seemed in order. Just then John came outside to see how I was doing. When I described where I was he told me to crank it again. I did it while he slowly turned the distributor. Suddenly the engine fired up! It was alive! It stalled fairly quickly so I shut the key off and went back under the hood. "Your timing was just too far off to be able to fire very well," said John. "put your timing light on it now and when it starts again I'll time it." We carefully timed the engine and it gradually settled into a smooth idle. We also adjusted the carburetor to make it use as little gas as possible. We went back and forth between the carburetor and distributor until it was eventually running as quiet as a new engine and not putting out any smoke. The only significant noise was coming from the exhaust system which evidently had more holes than my first assessment of it indicated. "You've got yourself a good engine there," John commented after a while. "Yeah," I was elated "this is cool!" |
