Book6

AEROBUS

CHAPTER 6 - Brakes And Other Impediments

"Can you enlarge the stud holes on a new brake drum?" I began my exploration the next day with a machine shop I was familiar with.

"No we can't do that, try Precision Machine downtown."

"Precision Machine, can I help you?"

"I hope so. Can you enlarge the stud holes on a brake drum I just bought?"

"A brake part? No I can't do that."

Judging that there was some significance to my request involving a brake part I asked, "What's the difficulty in doing this?"

"No difficulty," said the guy from Precision "we just can't assume the liability for machining a brake part. They are very specifically engineered."

My story of how I had to acquire the drum and the unusual vehicle it was going on did not change his mind. He would not do the work and could think of no other machine shop that would risk doing it. I knew that in the city of Sacramento and vicinity there must be a machine shop that would turn a blind eye to potential litigation if the job were paid under the table. I'm still sure there is such a place but I never found it in my abbreviated search.

It finally occurred to me that I had a machine shop at work operated by a couple of motorheads, guys who love cars and things mechanical, who might do the work for a fellow TOD'er as we called ourselves who worked at the Technical Operations Division. Then I thought of Andy. Andy impressed me as the most brilliant mind at TOD. We had physicists at TOD but they were, for the most part, hard to talk to which was probably a combination of their feeling of superiority and the tendency among scientists for being a little eccentric. To be fair, their minds were probably just so full of what they had to deal with on a daily basis that to engage them in more pedestrian matters was unsatisfying for them. The physicists didn't work in the machine shop.

Andy was just plain cool in a geeky sort of way. He was huge, towering over my six foot-plus frame. He wore the government supplied eyeglasses which most of us called BCDs, for Birth Control Devices, since you certainly wouldn't get laid if you wore them. He carried a micrometer in his pocket and would whip it out to describe and measure most anything. He was the kind of guy who would still carry a slide rule if scientific calculators didn't exist and I'll bet he was one of the last to convert to the new technology.

Andy was brilliant. Many times I observed him enter a conversation between scientists who seemed at first to resent his intrusion, but were quickly impressed by his knowledge, all self taught. Andy saw no need for formal schooling and I suppose that worked for him but with the proper certificate or diploma he could have been making ten times the money that the Air Force was paying him to be a junior non-commissioned officer. I kept trying to convince Andy to go college.

Andy worked in the machine shop and he liked me. Surely he would help me.

"Andy, can you enlarge some stud holes for me?" I asked.

"It would be my pleasure, what are their names?" he responded.

He briefly caught me off guard by his double entendre but I countered with, "No they aren't women, there are five of them arranged in a circle."

"Hey! I'm not into that self manipulation thing."

Ignoring his worsening humor, I pulled the new drum out of the box and pointed out that I needed the half-inch stud holes enlarged to five-eighths.

"Five eighths?" Andy exclaimed knowledgeably, "I've never seen five eighths studs on a drum this small. You sure?"

"Yeah it's a big heavy 8-door station wagon."

"You got a Checker Aerobus?" Andy nearly shouted, surprising me with his knowledge.

"Yeah how'd you know?" I asked, not getting an answer.

"Sure I'll drill these out. Come back at the end of the day."

True to his word Andy had the holes drilled and he had even chamfered the edges of the holes so you couldn't tell them from original, an unnecessary touch of class for a simple job. Andy was good. I owed him for this one.

I hurried to John's house after work, removed the wheel, and slid the modified drum over the brake shoes. It fit smooth but snug, just like it should, the studs perfectly aligned in the holes. But what was this? The studs looked too short sticking through the drum. They were shorter than they should have been, shorter than on the other wheels. I wondered if that was worth worrying about. Everything else seemed good on the drum. Still, it wasn't perfect and that probably meant something was wrong.

I spent some time looking at the drum, spinning it, checking all that I could without the ability to observe the inside of it while it was installed on the car. I could feel the drum rub slightly on the shoes inside, as it should. What was the problem? Was it worth figuring out? By the time I got the wheels on I would not have much stud left for the nuts. I wanted to leave it as it was but just as a machine shop would not assume the liability for modifying a brake part I knew I should not take shortcuts. Brakes are an essential life-saving feature and wheels staying on is generally desirable.

After a while I realized that the rubbing that I was feeling was not the shoes inside but was the drum rubbing the backing plate. The backing plate is there to keep most water and dirt out of the brakes. I studied the drum, backing plate and studs for the better part of an hour before concluding that if I could shorten the drum by a small amount the rubbing would cease and I would gain the correct stud length. Both problems solved by one more modification. I took the drum back to Andy. I didn't want to keep asking for favors but I knew he was my only option.

Before going back I asked around to find out what Andy liked that I could "grease" him with. I was sure he would do the work but I wanted to reimburse him. If I could give him something he would appreciate I would feel better about asking the favor. No one who knew Andy seemed able to come up with anything. He didn't drink or smoke so that left out the universally acceptable case of beer or box of cigars. He had no specific hobbies that anyone knew about. I finally hit on an idea. Andy was big. Surely he had an appetite so I bought a $40 ham and took it with me.

"Hey Andy, I got you something," I offered "Thanks for helping me with the drum."

"You didn't have to buy this," Andy said "but I'll keep it, thanks."

"Good because I need one teeny bit more work done on it."

"Oh, I get it," Andy smiled "grease the monkey before you stick it to him huh?"

I didn't respond to Andy as he looked over his BCDs at me with a gently sarcastic sidelong glance. I continued, describing the problem and showing him where the drum had been rubbing and giving him my opinion on how much steel to remove. He agreed to do the work, unconvinced that it was going to solve my problem.

Once again, the end of the day found me, with my freshly modified part, dashing to John's house in anticipation. Each passing day increased the pressure of the approaching deadline that was the six-week Coast Guard School I was to attend. I went through the familiar routine of jacking that corner of the car up and removing the wheel. I slid the drum on. The studs popped through the holes and looked to be normal length this time. I was almost as elated by this development as I had been by the running of the engine.

I gave the drum a spin and it responded like metallic fingernails on a steel chalkboard.

Crap! What now? I wondered to myself. I spun it more, cringing at the noise. As near as I could tell I had shortened the lip on the drum enough but now there was a little shoulder that was hitting the backing plate. I really did not want to go back to Andy to have him machine the shoulder. I decided to try to file down the raised rim of the backing plate instead. I filed all around the edge with a flat hand file until my arms ached and tested the fit of the drum again. That little bit of filing made some difference. The noise was not as sharp. I took the drum off and filed the backing plate some more. Re-fit the drum andsilence. Silence! I sat for a long time, the ache in my arms now rewarded by success. Ache is tangible evidence of accomplishment at a time like this. Pain is not unpleasant when things come together, it's reward.

It was now Tuesday night and I had responsibilities at home. It was too cold after dark to do any more on the car. Wednesday I picked up the new piece of glass from the glass shop and reinstalled it in the car. Despite the blemishes remaining on the paint, the replacement of that piece of glass made the car look far more presentable. To have all 14 pieces of glass intact on a car as old as this one greatly improved its appearance. It was forty-five dollars well spent at this point. It would make the car less of an embarrassment to Vilma while I was away at school with it parked in front of the house.

"John, I'm not going to be able to get the car finished before going off to school."

I offered all the excuses I could come up with but life just seemed to interfere for those last few weeks before school started and I could not get back to the Checker. To this day I don't really know how John felt about it. He was such a pleasant person that he never complained.

"That's cool." John said, taking a big drag on his cigarette. He didn't offer any other comment which left me wanting to make more apologies and excuses.

"I'll be home every weekend and I'll try to break away and finish the brakes if I can," I continued "All that's left is to bleed the air out of the lines and they should be ready to go.

"Yeah if you can make it over some weekend I'll give you a hand," he replied. "A job like that on a car this big could take all day."

"Thanks John, and I'm sorry to overstay my welcome."

"That's cool," he repeated.

As expected I never did make it back to work on the Checker for the six weeks I was at school. I came home every weekend and I did go see John once or twice to let him know that I had not forgotten about his generosity but life had other demands. After three weeks in school a major demand reared its ugly head.

"What do you mean I have to go to Saudi Arabia?" I nearly spit the words out at the clerk who was giving me the bad news over the phone.

"Sorry sir but your name came up, it's a 120-day deployment reporting in April."

"But I'm away at school and by the time I'm done here I'll only have one month to prepare," I complained

"Most people get at least four months notice." Thinking that there was no point shooting the messenger who was just doing his job, I stopped myself. "All right thanks for calling me." I concluded.

I was resigned to doing my duty but one month was not enough time to prepare things around the house for my family. To ready them for all the things I normally do at home. Not to mention the Checker. There was no way I was going to impose on John for the four months I'd be in Saudi Arabia. I had to get all parts of the car operating and get it smogged and registered within a month. How was I going to justify the time away from my family commitments to work on a car when I was about to leave them for so long? It didn't seem possible. It wasn't fair to them either, so soon after being away for the school.

I was faced with the mild panic I felt trying to find a place to take the car when Jaime wanted it out. Fight or flight? Should I try to do it all in one month or just pay to store it somewhere? I didn't know of a storage place that was totally secure against vandalism, at least not at a price that I was willing to pay. I still had three weeks of school left to think about it before tackling the problem.

The remaining weekends at home from school gave me time to accomplish a lot more family preparations than I expected. Despite their reluctance at my departure, my family was now capable of doing almost everything without me. I'd have e-mail over there and would be able to communicate assistance when the unexpected arose. Vilma wanted me to get the Checker out of John's driveway as much as I did and vocalized support for whatever it took to do it.

I graduated from the school and TOD understood the problem that faced me with only a month to prepare. I was granted a very liberal time-off policy to allow me to get things done. I'm quite sure they didn't understand that most of it involved a twenty-five year-old car. They didn't ask and I didn't offer.

Since I had support on both fronts I dove into the Checker in earnest. With John's help I had the brakes bled the first day. In their simplest terms brakes operate by a pump at the brake pedal. This pump sends brake fluid under pressure to a small pump at each wheel that pushes the shoes apart and allows them to make contact with the drums, thus stopping the vehicle. The pump at the pedal is known as the master cylinder, the ones at the wheels are the wheel cylinders. The fluid in the whole system can't have any air in it or it won't work well. Since the master cylinder had been allowed to get so dry during all the years at Jaime's house the system was certain to have air in it. When John and I put fluid in before towing it we were only improving the performance slightly.

Bleeding involves getting all the air out of the system. It's done by having someone step on the brake pedal while someone else opens a little valve at each wheel cylinder. You capture a lot of fluid that you can't reuse when doing this but you force the air that's in the system to come out as well. Since you keep adding fresh fluid to the master cylinder you eventually end up with nothing but airless fluid throughout. It's a time consuming process because it has to be repeated many times over. My experience is that it can't be done too many times.

We completed the bleeding. The engine was still running well. Time to put the car in reverse and see if it would move with the transmission and stop with the brakes. I set the indicator to R and the car lurched away faster than I was prepared for. Most automatic transmissions have a slight delay between the time you select a gear and the time the car responds. This one didn't, it just hopped away. I figured something was wrong. It was too responsive. Must be a bad thing. The car moved down John's driveway. I stepped on the brake and it stopped, though not as well as I had hoped, but it did stop. I probably needed to bleed the brakes more and maybe adjust the shoes. That could wait. This response was good enough to drive it short distances. I put the transmission in D and it responded quickly and charged into John's carport. I had to stomp on the brakes pretty hard to prevent hitting John but it did stop. At least the transmission worked. I'd have to explore its responsiveness; the real test would be at road speed. Times like this I thought of Paul Ryan and wished he were still alive to talk to and get an opinion.

Another round of elation on my part as I hopped out of the car and shouted to John, "It runs!"

"It's pretty cool." John smiled.

"I'll get the lights and stuff working and get it out of here as soon as I can get a temporary pass from the DMV to get it smogged"

"Don't sweat it, you're almost there," said John "I'm going inside for the girls now."

"Thanks so much for helping me again, John."

I set about checking all the lights. Several needed new bulbs. The light fixtures on the roof still worked but those on the fenders didn't. Since nothing blinked when I used the turn signal lever I assumed the fender lights served that purpose. The bulbs checked good with my multi-meter but they would not light. I could run without turn signals for now, at least the brake lights and headlights worked. The twin horns needed some adjusting before they came to life with a sick squeak and after some tinkering they sounded more horn-like. Their reluctance a symptom of so many latent years.

I put a temporary patch on the hole in the exhaust pipe up near the front of the car and removed the rusty tail pipe, replacing it with a piece that turned out just prior to the rear wheels. It was a tacky setup but it didn't leak much and I felt it would get me through the smog check.