Catch-up, apologies

I'm issuing a big apology to the folks who follow this blog, I have been lax in updating!  It wouldn't surprise me if many of you suspected that my Ford Fairmont did not make it through the winter...but in fact she is alive and well and now in her 38th year of bringing home the groceries.  And the Christmas tree, ala Family Truxster.

I managed to get in a few minor improvements before the cold weather hit--Gertrude now sports all her proper badges as well as two new ball joints.  Her fuel gauge continues to work intermittently; I admit to having run her out of gas twice, despite keeping track of mileage.  Thankfully, her simple mechanical fuel pump and single-barrel carburetor allow her to get going again (and get started on a cold morning) with a quick shot of ether.

With the collective experience of several helpful Ford Fox fans online (big shout-out to www.stangnet.com) I have ascertained that Gertie's shifting issue is likely due to a bad transmission vacuum modulator.  Unsurprisingly, the part is not expensive, although I'm not yet sure what's required to access it.  When the weather warms up again, this is going to be my first priority.

Honestly, the main reason you folks haven't heard anything from me in such a long time is that Gertrude is such a wonderful little everyday car I've hardly had anything worth reporting.  Like any older car, she takes a little cajoling on a cold morning, but even when the temperatures have plummeted into the negative digits, there hasn't been a single instance in which she couldn't get me where I needed to go.  She's been as surefooted in the snow as she was in the summer rainstorms.  She's taken me close to the border of Iowa, where she sheltered me and my sleeping bag for two nights.  We even attended our first car show last fall.  Gertrude didn't win any prizes--I wasn't expecting any--but several people appreciated her for what she is, and I even had an offer to buy!  I told the fella I'm flattered, but Gertie is emphatically not for sale.  I am still very much in love with my Ford Fairmont!

A welcome chill

The last couple of months have been hot, hot, humid and dry--I haven't updated the blog because it simply hasn't been great weather for working on a car outdoors--and I haven't done much.  Gertrude is nothing if not forgiving, and continues to get me there and back with no issues.  I have put nearly 5,000 miles on her since Leap Day and her performance has been consistent for the past couple of months.

Back in late June, I flushed and filled Gertrude's cooling system, since I didn't know when that had last been done.  Nothing but clean fluid came out, so it must have been done by the previous owner in the not-too-distant past.  I also replaced the lower radiator hose, managing to salvage an original hose clamp (I can see why they changed the design).  I changed the transmission fluid and filter as well, managing to get most of the fluid on Sam's driveway and on myself rather than in the pan.  It was one of those triumphantly oily experiences which ended up with me substituting household degreaser for shampoo.

For those of you who may not know, I am not a redhead.

I'd like to change the fluid in the pumpkin (rear-end gearbox) and work on the carburetor next, as well as upgrading the suspension all around.  I've decided to go with all new coil springs, as that is likely the cause of Gertrude's unevenly droopy posture.  Poor gal looks like she's had a stroke.  While I'm going to the trouble of replacing the springs, I think I'll give her just a bit of a body lift, too.  I'm hoping for more nice days like the one we had today; it's always so nice to go work on your vehicle when the weather is pleasant.

Today I removed Gertie's broken grille, took it inside and washed it, and am in the process of gluing the pieces back together.  Someone attempted this already, albeit in a slipshod manner, and half the work is undoing the bad repair.  In the meantime, Gertrude looks like an old lady with her dentures out, reminding me again of the hapless high-school Fairmont.

New grilles are available on eBay, but I'd like to do my best to fix this one rather than spend upwards of $100 on a piece of decorative plastic.  Speaking of decorative plastic, I've also ordered the rear "Fairmont" badge from Australia.  Although the logos look the same, the Fairmont was a muscle car there; I wonder how the seller would react, finding out that the badge will be going on a boxy, economical grocery-go-getter.

A fellow on a racing motorcycle gave me a thumbs-up as he overtook me on the Interstate today.  It's not unusual for Gertrude to elicit attention, but it always makes me feel a bit proud when the approval comes from someone with a lot of "coolth," like today's motorcyclist, or the handsome man on a skateboard who commented "cool vintage wagon" last spring.  I am plainly surprised at the number of people who fondly remember the Ford Fairmont, for all the flak it gets for being underpowered (I have calculated Gertrude's power-to-weight ratio at something like .028) and understyled, it's nice to know that I'm not the only person in the world who appreciates this little gem of a car.

After all...

From www.zazzle.com--and available for purchase on T-shirts, coffee mugs, and bumper stickers,  no less!

The cult of the overhead valve

Gertrude has been a great daily driver for the past couple months--although recently she has developed a bit of a cough and stumble when first applying throttle.  I suspect a fuel delivery problem and plan to change the fuel filter again.  On the plus side, Gertie may be a self-repairing car, as the fuel gauge has decided to start working intermittently.  The technical manual's only briefly mentions a fuel sending unit and the use of an unidentified "special tool" to remove it.  I think I'll just keep feeding her fresh gas and adding some fuel system cleaner from time to time.  Results for this method are hopeful so far.

Monday night Sam offered his garage, and I was able to replace the parking brake cables.  The poor transmission no longer has to bear the entire weight of the car when parked on a hill.  The brake shoes still had plenty of wear in them (despite what the Oregon garage said) so we opted to keep 'em a while.  Sam, of course, had the particular large/deep socket required for the job of replacing the hood ornament, so now I have a wonderful visual marker for gauging my lane position.  I've missed that.

We also did the long-overdue job of adjusting the transmission bands.  I'm fascinated by this concept.  A modern automatic transmission requires no periodic adjustment; some are factory-sealed units, for Pete's sake.  Getting the tools in there required uncoupling some shift linkages, and I got it as close to the 10 ft-lbs minus 1 3/4 turns as I could--which is pretty darn loose.  Since then, Gertie has been trying to shift into third almost immediately after shifting into second, so I must have done something wrong.  More tinkering is needed.

Gertrude doing what she was made to do...37 years later.  (No, I wasn't going to purchase a baguette and a bunch of carrots with the tops on in a brown paper bag just for the purpose of a photo op.)

All in all, I couldn't be more pleased.  There is still work to be done, but the next phase or two won't be complicated nor expensive.  A few more fluid flushes, some hose and belt replacements, maybe some new shocks.  Gertie is approaching forty years on her original suspension.  I've been hitting the gym on a regular occasion to help prevent rear-end droop, but Gertrude will need some outside help, a little elective surgery to show off those long Fox legs of hers.  I'd like to overhaul the carburetor before winter, and it seems that the seasons pass like individual months anymore, so I'd better keep my eye on the ball.

Filthy, filthy hands

Gertrude has been my daily driver for a couple of weeks now.  I am getting used to honks, smiles and waves as I am out and about.  I hope that as I continue to fix up the Fairmont both mechanically and aesthetically, these reactions will tend more towards "that's a cool vintage wagon" and less towards "uh, is that an actual Pinto?"  (Finding replacement badges has become a priority.)

You see, I'm still working on convincing folks that Gertrude and me are a good idea.  Mom and hubby and Sam all see the logic in a user-serviceable vehicle; hubby says his boss took some convincing but after financial analysis sees the practicality of the Ford Fairmont.  We're still working on some of our Ham radio friends.

For Gertrude is practical to a fault.  No frills.  No radio, manual windows, and as I discovered today, conical wheel bearings that do not require a hub puller to be serviced.  You just...pop 'em out.

Photo by Chris McClenney.  Another big shout-out to Sam for walking me through the process!

Packing wheel bearings has got to be the greasiest automotive activity you can do.  I haven't done it in sixteen years but it's just like I remembered.  My cuticles are soft and supple, and Gertrude's handling is much improved to boot.  I hadn't thought new wheel bearings and brake pads would make that much difference, but they did, and now my brakes are quiet as mice.  A pea-sized hole in the exhaust pipe directly under the driver's seat gives me a pleasant rumble to listen to, so radio or no, Gertrude is making beautiful music of her own.

I have a kit to patch the exhaust pinhole, but I really like the sound.  It won't wake the neighbors, and reminds me I am driving one of the last "real" cars ever made.

On the road!

FIRST A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR

This blog was made possible by teenagers texting and driving.
Remember that, kids!

Gertrude and me are good for each other.  I've been dragging myself out of bed extra-early (for those of you who don't know me, this is unheard of) to accomplish Fairmont-related tasks.  Friday morning (the day after Sam) I popped up at 7:00 A.M. to get tags taken care of.  Unfortunately, I got a clerk who was lazy, incompetent, or both--with only a cursory glance at the title, he told me my paperwork was incomplete.  After a passel of phone calls, I determined that the paperwork was complete, but by that time I had to report to work.  I spent the warm, sunny weekend watching every classic car, every motorcycle, and every hot rod in Kansas City come out of winter storage and play.

This morning I got a competent, engaged, and downright cheerful clerk at the DMV who obligingly took my money and issued me antique tags for my (only just) antique car.  People smiled at me in the parking lot as I affixed the new plate.  I took her to the car wash; the handful of singles I fed into the bill changer representing what was left over from the $500 I had put aside for sales tax--with less than $100 in the bank, I'm living on the edge!  The car wash attendant came over for a look-see and thanked me for buying American.  I didn't have the heart to tell him that the Ford Motor Company saw its last profit on this car in 1979.  I drove Gertrude to work and back, including a thrilling stint at 55 miles per hour.  Both windows down.  I got lots of grins from my fellow motorists.  Stopping for a gaggle of kids with a lemonade stand, I was complimented first on my hat and goggles, then my cool car.

For lack of a more relevant image, enjoy these spark plugs, which I removed last week.

I haven't been able to wipe the grin off my face all day.  After work, I hand waxed her 'till my arms fell off.

Gertrude still needs some work.  Her front brakes. standing at about 30%, screech.  The parking brake needs replacing, and I'm just paranoid enough to carry a chock.  I think she's running a bit lean, but...carburetor.  And while I'm at the brakes, I'd like to replace the wheel bearings--at $5 a wheel, the repack vs. replace argument isn't much of an argument.  And check and clean the EGR valve, backflush the cooling system, replace the lower radiator hose, and see if I can't figure out why the gas gauge doesn't work.  Perhaps most importantly (and strangely), Ford recommends adjusting the automatic transmission bands with each oil change, and due to the lack of a torque wrench, I have not yet performed this simple-looking yet heretofore unheard-of operation.

As much as it might sound like a pain to some (most, all) of you reading this, I can't wait to get my hands greasy.

Agony and victory

You'll remember the fuel filter from my last post.  Well, turns out, the fuel filter screws into something of a shutoff valve.  When I attempted to change the fuel filter, I accidentally fiddled with this shutoff valve and--you guessed it--shut off the fuel to my carburetor.

I figured the above as the most likely explanation, as the Fairmont had spark and would stumble along on starting fluid, but my husband cautioned me not to touch anything, and to get someone over here who knows carburetors.  "Carburetors are voodoo knowledge," he informed me, and I'd have to agree.  I never knew much about them, and it's all gone now.  I recognize the barrel, and I know the word "Venturi" is associated somehow.  I know there is a choke and what it does--but not how it does it.  So when hubby suggested recruiting someone capable of working this black magic, he of course meant Sam.

Behold!  The Holley 1946 1-bbl carburetor.  See that horizontal brass cylinder on the left?  That was the culprit.
(Photo courtesy of Amazon.com)

Our friend Sam is a hardworking American who can take apart anything and reassemble it better than it was before.  He works dawn to well after nightfall pretty much every day of the week, doing everything from remodeling buildings to fueling airplanes.  He knows engines from Weed-Eaters to bulldozers.  He'd give you the shirt off his back, and perhaps more significantly, let you use his tools.

No, you can't have him.

See, I'm reluctant to call upon Sam for precisely this reason.  Sam is such a capable fellow, there isn't really anything anyone can offer in return--he just keeps giving.  We've been taking the cars to garages you pay for for a couple years now, just so we don't bother the poor guy.  But due to a one-two punch of a $1200 repair to hubby's Yukon last month and the expense of getting a new car (and insurance, and taxes) worked into the household, we're pretty broke until the Fairmont is going as my daily driver and the old minivan is sold off.

OK, this isn't actually a picture of Sam.  I don't know if Sam wants to be on the Internet.  This guy is almost as epic as Sam.
(photo courtesy of Pintrest)

So I called Sam.  And Sam obligingly came by at 10:30 P.M., after his fourteen-hour workday, and let me show him what I'd done.  He tested the fuel pump, inspected the new and old fuel filters, and found the culprit--the infinitesimally tiny metal washer I'd thought for sure I'd gotten back onto the shutoff valve screw.  Its hair's-breadth thickness meant the difference between gas and no gas.  After a jump-start and much engine cranking, (shrieking and, I am ashamed to say, head-clutching on my part) Gertrude started to purr just as she had before "the fuel filter fiasco."  All in all, it took Sam less than half an hour to diagnose and treat my mistake, inform me which hoses needed to be replaced, and compliment me both on my purchase and on the work I'd done so far.

God bless ya, Sam.

Down to Business

The Fairmont had arrived, but I would have a while to wait for the title to arrive by mail.  Perfect time to take stock and get under the hood.  I did a walk-around, test runs and drives, assembled to-do and shopping lists, and took the latter to the store.

I got to know my new old car as I changed the oil and oil filter, replaced the oil filler cap gasket, replaced the wiper blades, filled the washer fluid, lubricated the door hinges and hood catches and shift linkages with household oil, lubricated the door locks and strikers with graphite, replaced the PCV valve and grommet and a piece of tubing attached to it which was completely blocked and had the consistency of taffy. I replaced the main and crankcase air filters, pulled the spark plugs, and replaced them with brand-new ones, set to .049" on one end and well-greased on the other.  I replaced the dome light bulb, lubricated the front ball joints, checked and topped off the transmission fluid, and checked the brake fluid.  I did a cursory check for vacuum leaks and didn't find anything major; the Fairmont has run better and better as the fresh fluids get worked in and the bad gas gets worked out.

I had found the power steering fluid to be full, but dark gray in color, so I emptied the reservoir, refilled it with fresh Type F transmission fluid as specified in the manual, and circulated the fluid.  Then I shut the car off and did it again.  And again.  And again.  Six flushes later, the fluid is still dark, but the texture seems better, with much less particulate matter.

Grease monkey

There were failures, too, and in the interest of documenting my experience with the car completely, I will list them here.  The power steering flushes remain an unknown quantity; Fairmonts are known for their sloppy steering so I don't know what to expect here.  In attempting to align the front passenger door, I succeeded only in chipping the 'wood paneling' applique at the edge of the door, although the blue paint underneath remains intact.  Should have left this to a body shop.  In fact, I suspect it's the striker plate that's causing the door to rattle and not the door alignment at all. The dome light still doesn't work, even with a new bulb; the wires and mounts are loose.  I attempted to lubricate the seized-up parking brake lever and cable, but it's too far gone and will need replacement.

Perhaps most significantly, this afternoon I removed what I thought was the fuel filter from the carburetor, found it was not the fuel filter, and screwed it back on.  Since then the car will not run for more than a few seconds.  Searching the Internet for information on the Holley 1946 single-barrel carb, I suspect it was the needle and seat that I removed, which is responsible for determining how much fuel gets dumped into the bowl that feeds the cylinders gasoline.  I theorize that I screwed it in too tightly, setting the float too low and starving the engine of gas.  I'd go out and test that theory right now if it wasn't raining cats and dogs.  I can't find anything under the hood that looks like the fuel filter that everyone swears up and down fits my car.  The Haynes manual's first instruction was to remove the air cleaner from the carburetor, so I find it reasonable to assume that's where the filter is located.  It doesn't look like it belongs on top of the fuel pump, either.  I'm mystified.  Not baffled, though.  That's reserved for modern cars.

Anybody know where this actually goes?

All in all, I am delighted to report that for the work I have done so far, total parts cost has been $141.61.  Once I have flushed the coolant, adjusted the transmission bands, and inspected and cleaned the EGR valve, I will have accomplished every single maintenance point in the manual.  Even I decide to replace the EGR valve rather than spend an hour reaming out the carbon, it's a $30 part, keeping the total price tag still well under $200 (considering I've somehow accumulated ten gallons of antifreeze in storage).

That sort of money wouldn't buy you spark plug service on a modern car.  Put that in your pipe and smoke it.  My Fairmont's name is Gertrude and she's a fun gal and a cheap date to boot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ADDENDUM: Ha, I'm an idiot.  I had removed both the fuel filter and the brass block the fuel filter screws into.  I have now replaced the fuel filter, and realized the reason the car won't run: At some point during my exuberant wrench-swinging, I broke the distributor cap.  Yeah, that'll do 'er.  For my carelessness I pay a fine of $25.  $30 if you count the rotor I'm throwing in for good measure.

Wouldn't you know that the title arrived today, and due to a dentist cancellation I thought for sure I had time to get her tagged.  Then this snafu.  *sigh*  It's supposed to rain all week.