Date: Sun, 16 Feb 1997 00:47:50 -0500 From: Charlie Ford Subject: Of Junkyards and Fellowship Life in LA.............. and the Power of Fellowship (even on a listserv) When I began this journey in search for the beginning of wind I thought I had everything taken care of. I felt that all was in good enough shape for me to strike out on the road and tour the country with very few, and then only minuet problems. Little did I know of the evils of repairs that lurked before me. Hiding in the shadows like a thief. I eased out of Georgia into Alabama, no problems. I continued through Arkansas and into Oklahoma, no problem. I left the home a beautiful woman (already engaged) and headed south. South into the mid phase of the nation and the trip. The first problem as many of you will remember was in Purcell Oklahoma. The golden fuel pump that hangs muddy underneath the VW bus decided to quit with no warning. I checked the points, the plugs, the tires and everything else trying to figure out my problem. I didnıt even think about the fuel pump, later finding out that it was the culprit all along. That little glitch ended up costing me roughly $220.00 and created a sense of paranoia in me. It was kinda like when I was in college, and me and the other heads would go out and burn one or two and end up with the cops driving closely on our bumper. That agony of mystery suffered directly after the agony of defeat. I drove in total attention to each sound the engine made, trying all the while to act straight. My knowledge of mechanics and electricıs fall abruptly about 6 inches from my face as most of you have ascertained. I am also hampered by the fact that I am 6.4 and have hands like a person wearing mittens. Still I checked all the things I new to check. Each time I would shut down I would feel the engine with my hand for any heat build up. Each time I cranked I listened for any small change in tone or hum, a rattle or roll. The dreaded paranoia had disrupted my trip, my mind, and it was making life a living hell. Like Chinese water torture. Finally I reached Austin, Texas, my destination on that leg of the trip, many of you will recall that that is where the idle problem reared it ugly head. Once again I felt the need to try my hand at troubleshooting. I dove in teeth and toenail working with it all week using the Haynes manual, The Muir idiot book, and the trusty playboy (for the pictures). Nothing ventured nothing gained and in the end it was no better than when I had begun. I took her to a shop at the end of the week and right before I left town. The gentleman that worked on it at the Austin shop called Metaphysical VW did his best. He tuned her for higher altitude, toned her down to a purr, and sent me on my way for a cheap price. I made it all the way to Taos with the Mothership running like a dream. She climbed mountains and coasted valleys, never making a sound that sounded contrary. As soon as I hit Taos she grew negative again. Many of you once again remember, no power....no power. I found yet another shop in Taos, Action Auto. Len sellers the owner of the shop went right to work on her. He changed the oil (the old had gas in it from running to rich), tuned her up, and sent me on my way for $87.00 + the $45.00 I had already spent on wires and other stuff electrical in my and Brianıs effort to revitalize her to her original glory. After a few days on I went to Winslow. No real problems there except for the kind that made my skin crawl at the way my cousin was being treated by his own kin. That was enough to make me want to cuss a blue streak, but as Kit Carson said ³I never cuss anymore than is absolutely necessary² so on I went to somehow ease my mind and to once again find Shangri-La. The Grand Canyon lay ahead along with new people to meet, and new sites to see. I kinda think I should have stayed up there. Vegas came all to quickly. I dropped in altitude from 6500 ft above to 1800 ft in one day. Once again the Mothership started coughing a bit right at the bottom of Hoover Dam, so did my spirits. We spat our way out of that canyon and into the city of recycled money and lights that lay in the low desert of Nevada. I camped that night in the parking lot of a Home Depot, disturbed by what might be wrong and that ever constant questioning of why was I doing this to myself, I should just quit now. I finally found my way to sleep solaced by the fact the lodging was safe, comfy, and cheap. The next morning I found The Beetle Barn and a fine shop owner that has been working on bugs and busses for 40 years. Warren is a gentleman of the first order. He carries himself as a man of knowledge, especially of VW knowledge. I found him to be quite the expert in all phases of the ³peopleıs car². He told me quickly what was causing the problems. He reset my timing and later in the day diagnosed further to find the Airflow meter problem. He looked at it and told me exactly where it was cutting out. Then he went inside and told me the price, $402.00 for a new one in Vegas. I was already down to $260.00 total and there was no way I could find any work in Vegas, so off I went with reassurance from him that I could make it to LA if I kept it out of that zone. I did, it did, and arrive in LA, or smell A as Kyle, another Volks folk on the list calls it explaining that ³he used to live here². I understand now what he means. I havenıt breathed near as good here as in the mountains above Taos. Hell, I havenıt breathed really good since the Grand Canyon. I am once again in a region that cars abound. Traffic jams are the thing to try and avoid rather than animals, and life is at the hustle pace I left. Smog is the rule of the day. When I finally got settled at yet another cousinıs here in LA, actually Santa Ana, a suburb of LA, I started looking for an Airflow Meter. I called a few junkyards, all of which said they didnıt have one. I have received dozens of suggestions that I bend it to swipe on another track, and tried but with my mitten hands that tend to be stronger than I think they are I froze up suffering from the fear of breaking the damn thing. While here another dilemma occurred, my cousin had a heart attack. He is 69 years old and though active is still less healthy than some of the elderly I know. It looks as if he will be aright as of today anyway. Last night Jack Stafford a list member, sent me mail that he would be glad to escort me around to some graveyards to help me find an airflow meter. He lives in Costa Mesa which is a few miles from Santa Ana and today we went on a junkyard tour. We visited the first one, Pick Your Part, that looked as much like a Walmart as any junkyard I have ever seen. It reminded me of a buffet of used auto parts. All the cars neatly set on jackstands in neat sectioned organized rows, and all the hoods raised like shelves just waiting to be rummaged through like sale bins at Walmart during Christmas. The only thing they didnıt have was air conditioning for the parts yard. I expect next time I am here they will have even accomplished that. While there, Jack found a fuel regulator and we scoped out some busses due to be brought out on the aisles tomorrow morning by the junkyard jockeys. We were not able to find much for the Mothership but we had great fun and enjoyed total used parts shopping pleasure. We even almost got to see two of the customers go at it, like two old ladies fighting over cucumbers in a grocery market produce section. After walking through and not finding all we wanted to find, Jack paid for his goods and we continued our tour by driving about two miles down the road to another junkyard. This one much less fancy than the Pick Your Parts. This one was more kin to the ones I see back home in south Georgia. The type where the guys inside had just as soon cuss you out as to haggle with you over a part. Actually they were pretty helpful and entertaining in a manly sort of way although we were not able to take our tools out on the lot. We were issued one hard-hat for the two of us to walk out and take a look. I still havenıt quite figured out how both of us would have been protected by that one hard-hat. Maybe they have stuff falling that is only large enough to hit one persons head. Jack said he felt un-official. The first bus we came to had no engine, but upon further scrutiny I looked under the bus and there lay the golden chalice I had searched for. An airflow meter the same shape color and number as the one that needed replacing. It was exciting to see it laying there in the dirt with dust covering her and shrouding her form the sun. I pointed it out to Jack, he grabbed it, and we inspected numbers. Oh Happy Dayı when Jesus found an airflow meter for me. Jack also found a hard-hat and a few things for his bus. I was genuinely excited. At least until we reached the shack. The guy looked at the airflow meter and said that he would take $75.00 for it. Hey I only have a couple hundred left and work is on the horizon, so I started poor mouthing like any good man would do. I have an Al Bundy streak that runs deep through me. Haggling is the American Way and an ancient art. It is how our great country achieved parts of itıs greatness and there is nothing wrong with following the fruitful habits of the Jewish nation and trying for the rock bottom deal of the day!. I did my best lonely puppy face and gnawed in with a goal in mind. Jack chimed in and said he also needed a couple things off the bus. The guy said aright $75.00 for all of it. Jack went back, got his part, and we split the bill. I know that my part cost much more than Jacks, but he insisted. One day I will give him something, not because I owe him, but because he is a kind and decent man. In fact I owe all of you a great deal of thanks. They hardly even know me except for the list post which are sometimes nothing to do with VW and yet. Each time there has been problems, you guys rallied to the call with an undenying willingness to help. I one day will repay the favors and maybe one day I can just offer a note to one of you that will just make you feel better. I wish there were words that could describe the nice folks that lurk and write on this list, but there arenıt. Every time a problem has occurred I have had all of you to fall back on for advice. For years I have been volunteering and working with special populations, Mentally retarded adults, the elderly, juveniles and the like, that is my career and has been for 20 years. You folks are an example to what community can be. You are much more learned than me, but I am getting better even though it is as I go along. I am privileged to know all of you. I am not a very bright man, but I know goodness when I see it. Thanks once again for the opportunity to be a part of this listserv. I think one day we should have a rally somewhere in Kansas. On that day I will buy all of you a beer and hold up a toast to you. Then we will drink and have a barbecue. Iıll do the cooking. Thanks for helping me make it 4000 miles, and thanks for tolerating my petty ramblings. If a book ever does get created from this (after some editing of course) I will dedicate it to all of you and my Mother (she might kick my butt if I didnıt). Charlie Ford "79" Transporter, dressed for the road The Mothership The"Turning 40 Nostalgic VW Service Tour, and Search for the Beginning of Wind". www.armory.com/~y21cvb/charlie/charlie.html "Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set"