Robert Allen writes lots of good stuff about setting dwell, then
concludes with:
> Once you've gained these skills, you have acquired what is known as a
> 'lost art' as all the new cars have electronic ignition. With electronic
> ignition, maintenance consists of driving the car until it dies
> somewhere in the middle of nowhere, tow the car home or to a very
> expensive garage and swap out all that computer shit for more computer
> shit.
Others have abused this forum with grumblings about modern cars, so now
it's my turn.
The reason that my MGB occupies a parking space in front of my office
building today is because of computer shit. Specifically, because of
computer shit installed in my Volvo. More specifically, because the
computer shit in my Volvo bit the silicon dust in a rather nasty way.
You see, my 'B looks like absolute hell (ask Thomas) because it's never
had any body work done, it's never had a respray, and I damaged the
front wing and bonnet in an accident a year and a half ago. So I got me
a replacement wing, disassembled the front end, hammered out a little
damage to the undercarriage, and started prepping the car for paint.
All the cute little chromey things had to be shelved, and all the glass
came out for new rubber (and to prevent overspray). The poor bugger sat
in the garage in this very state all winter long.
Springtime came around, all the SOL people were atwitter with glowing
prose about top-down drives through the fragrant countryside, and I got
more sickeningly jealous by the day. I began to have feverish dreams in
which I frantically tried to recall the way in which the suspension
firmly guided the car through sweeping left-handers, or the exact timbre
of the factory-exhaust-minus-center-resonator engine note. It was bad.
And then IT happened. The family wagon, the '84 Volvo 245, beloved by
all at chez Mullins and repeatedly commended for service above and
beyond the call of duty, had the Scandinavian gall to BREAK DOWN. Hard.
As in, "I absolutely refuse to start for you or any other person".
Systematic sleuthing coupled with scans of Volvo-list archives (great
list, BTW) all pointed towards the Air Mass Meter going down in
electronic flames. Sure enough, disconnecting the little bastard
allowed the car to start and run, badly, but enough to drive her home.
The Air Mass Meter, for those of you unversed in Bosch Jetronic 2, tells
the computer how much air is coming into the engine, so the computer
knows how much gasoline to mix with it. It works well, when it works,
which turns out to be a big problem when it doesn't work. Not
surprisingly, the damned things are expensive.
"That's it", thought I, "I now have all the reason I need to
re-assemble the 'B and use her as Kimber intended". So three days of
bolting and clamping and pouring and adjusting, followed by fresh
gasoline and a generous dose of ether (Miracle-in-a-Can #6) got me a
running LBC again. She looks like hell, with primer covering the spots
that I had wire-brushed the rust from, and holes where unnecessary (boot
badges) or unwanted (side marker lights) items once resided, and a
REALLY UGLY bonnet from the parts car, but she's happy to be on the road
again.
And so I tool along every day in my 'B, while the wife drives her '65
Mustang, both of us with tops down, and neither one of us is propelled
by a single bit of electronic circuitry (does my fuel pump diode count?),
and neither one of us is held prisoner by the threat of microprocessor
failure, and all is once again right with the world. All, that is,
except for the great Scandinavian hulk in the driveway...
--
Todd Mullins
Todd.Mullins@nrlssc.navy.mil On the lovely Mississippi (USA) Coast
'65 Mustang convertible 289 2V Cruise-O-Matic Americana-on-a-stick
'74 MGB Tourer drive-by-telepathy and bugs in grinning teeth
'84 Volvo 245GL on mechanical probation
That's me at the corner.
That's me at the stoplight,
Losing my transmission...
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