Monkey Wrenches (Post # 109)

By now there must be some people out there wondering "If it was good enough to place third in the "Coachwork by Zagato" class at the Arizona Concours d'Elegance in January, why are you still working on The Alfatross?"  My excuse is that it really doesn't take that much to put a car on the lawn: If it is a rare "Italian Exotic", runs well enough to cover a mile or two, has a shiny new coat of paint, fresh upholstery, and been under the same ownership for the last 47 years--that's good enough.  But not as good as it can be.  What we're doing now is making The Alfatross as good as it can be, and that takes a lot more work.

Who Knows Where the Time Goes?

I do, at least when it comes to the restoration of this particular vehicle!  The superb paint and bodywork done by Tim Marinos of Vintage Autocraft was finished 8 months ago. The excellent interior work done by Derrick Dunbar at Paul Russell and Co. was finished 6 months ago. We got the engine back from DeWayne Samuels at Samuels Speed Technologies 4 months ago.  Those three operations probably consumed on the order of 3,000 hours of other people's time and the results were well worth it. Ever since the body, interior, and engine were reunited at The Shed in January it has been up to us to get all those elements to fit together, and it hasn't been easy. Many of the things we did to get the car ready for the Arizona Concours have been undone and redone several times to achieve a better fit and finish.

Why Things Don't Fit

It appears that there are at least three different reasons why, even after a careful restoration, things don't fit:

1. They never fit in the first place (quality control didn't exist in 1955),

2. Original parts that did fit originally got bent, worn, or corroded over the last 61 years (imagine that!), and

3. The process of restoration interfered with the original fit (unintended consequences).

Welcome to My World

The hole for the toggle switch on the far right was made
too close to the lip on the underside of the dash, preventing
it from being oriented to match the others.  Now they look
the way they are supposed to. 

Here are three examples of where the time goes as a result of things not fitting:

Switches

The Alfatross has 6 toggle switches mounted under the dash where it turns from vertical to horizontal. Four of them fit so that the toggles are oriented to be "on" when their toggles are in the "up" position.  The mounting holes for the other two switches were drilled a couple of millimeters too close to the upward turning lip at the back of the dashboard so they sit cockeyed and look glaringly "wrong". This was the way they came from the Zagato factory. For the Arizona Concours we reinstalled them crooked to save time. Now that we are taking the time to do things right, I shaved a couple of millimeters off the backs of the two recalcitrant switches to make them fit the way they were supposed to 61 years ago. I don't think Ugo Zagato would disapprove.

Brake Lines

The Alfatross was taken off the road in 1971 when one of the metal brake lines rusted through and let all the fluid out. But the rest of the lines looked good after cleaning them inside and out and re-tapping the old flare connections. Deducing that it would be faster and more authentic to reuse as many of the old brake lines and flare connections as possible, I decided to replace all the small metal brake lines on the backs of the front wheels and on top of the rear axle, but to keep the larger diameter lines from the reservoir to the master cylinder and from the master cylinder to the front wheels and rear axle. 

Bad decision: This tiny hole in the longest brake line on
the car resulted in hours of additional, unnecessary work.

Bad decision.  I should have just replaced all the lines and connections with new ones.  After installing the original line from the master cylinder to the rear axle--the longest brake line on the car--it leaked, necessitating cleaning up a big mess, making another line, and buying two more bottles of fluid! 

It's the little things: The dash warning light that indicates
the heater fan is operating did not work until I realized
that paint was keeping its housing from grounding  inside
the hole it fits into.

Electrical Gremlins

The Alfatross has a new electrical harness made by YnZ Yesterday's Parts. It is supposedly a copy of the original harness which I removed and sent to them. Even though The Alfatross' electrical system is about as simple as one can get, wires can get crossed, labels can fall off, and ground wires can fail to make contact with the chassis due to the buildup of primer and paint. Getting the wiring right can be a hit-or-miss proposition.

YnZ's harness came with numbered wires and 3 sheets of instructions describing what the wires connected to, but there were problems, including the fact that some of the wires mentioned in the instructions didn't exist.  Fortunately, I also had the Alfa factory wiring schematics and a beautiful set of 9 drawings by Hans Josefsson, (owner of chassis 01977) segregating the circuits by function (starting, charging, lights, signalling, service, etc.).  

So rewiring The Alfatross should be a slam dunk . . . except that the schematics don't agree on a lot of important details.  Add to that the fact that the Alfatross has some extra circuits  not mentioned in any of the schematics. Given the simplicity of the car's electrical system, none of this is a big problem, it just means that some circuits have to be modified, eliminated, or added.  And that takes a lot of time.

The simple drawing accompanying YnZ 's replicated wiring harness shows  wires that don't exist in the instructions and the instructions mention wires and connections that don't show in the drawing.!

The answer to the question of why is it taking so long is that putting a 61 year-old, hand-made, unique Italian Exotic back together is not like putting a new, mass-produced, cloned, modern car together. There's a surprise around every corner. How long is it supposed to take?  Nobody knows.  They're all different . . . .

If You Build It, They Will Come (Post # 108)

It may look deserted here, but for one day a year this 60 mile stretch of Texas Highway 285 is the scene of  the "most challenging  road race in the world".  Richard Coberly.

A funny thing happened in New Guinea after World War II. Airplane effigies made from sticks and grass began appearing in clearings in the jungle. Investigators discovered that local tribesmen made the clearings and built the "airplanes" in the mistaken belief that they would bring back the halcyon days of WWII when airstrips built by the combatants supplied them with tons of "cargo"--their first taste of foodstuffs and luxuries from the outside world. Anthropologists called them "cargo cults", but you can think of it as the belief that "If you build it, they will come."  

Cargo cult, New Guinea  style.  

A Car-Go Cult Thrives in the Desert

About 20 years ago some folks in the vast, empty expanse of West Texas south of I-10 decided to establish their own "car-go" cult.  They arranged to have a 60 mile stretch of highway 285 between Ft. Stockton and Sanderson closed to traffic for a day and invited people to see how fast they could cover the 120 mile distance there and back. It worked! People came from all over and have kept coming ever since. Today it is billed as "The most challenging road race in the world."

Car-Go Cult, West Texas style.

The Alfatross and its siblings were created to be Grand Touring cars that you could drive all week and race on the weekends. As such, they all aspired to run in the most famous endurance road race of the period, the Mille Miglia (MM), one lap over a 1,000 mile course over Italian public highways. In fact, Alfa Romeo won more of these races than any other manufacturer. In 1956, the first year The Alfatross was eligible to run in the MM, 23 Alfa 1900s and 3 1900 Zagatos were entered.  Sadly, The Alfatross was not among them. Discontinued in 1957, there has been nothing like the MM since then (the modern MM is a completely different time/speed/distance rally) for classic and vintage cars built before 1957. 

Tech inspection takes 2 days.  They're looking for safety
rule compliance mainly because race classes are based on
target speed, not engine type, displacement or vehicle
modifications.

But what was the REAL MM like in?  To find the answer to that question we packed ourselves off to Ft. Stockton last weekend on the 60th anniversary of the 1956 MM to savor the 2016 Big Bend Open Road Race (BBORR), one of only four such races in the United States. 

Most entries were road-registered and driven to
the BBORR by their owners.  Others, like this example, were
trailered.

OK, I admit that it's kind of a stretch to compare the original 1,000 mile 1950s Italian national event with the little-known 120 mile race in Texas in 2016, and I doubt if any of the contestants we met made the a connection with the MM, but I saw some revealing parallels.

I was surprised at how few Italian exotics were present.
American supercars such as late-model Corvettes, Vipers,
Cobra replicas, and Chargers were the weapons of choice. 

At least two of these Radicals showed up.  I never found 
out how they did.

First of all, the MM was apparently open to the public, subject to an entry fee and some kind of inspection. None of the sources I consulted even mentioned how the organizers made the cut back then, but I do know that 534 cars divided into 12 classes made it to the starting line for the 1955 MM. 

Sure, some of them were factory entries, but most were probably driven by their owners who were wannabe racer gearheads. Given the length of the race, navigators were allowed in addition to the drivers. The vehicles ranged from the sublime, like the Mercedes 300 SLR driven by winner Stirling Moss, to the ridiculous, like the Fiat 600 of Osvaldo Pierie that finished 273rd. Cars were released at one minute intervals to lessen congestion on the roads. The simple goal was was to get to the finish line as fast as possible.

What I observed at the BBORR was essentially the same thing: Open to the public, entry fee, inspection, a limit on the number of entrants, wide disparity between vehicle and driver capabilities, navigators allowed, and cars released one at a time in sequence with the fastest cars going first. In 2015, the last year for which results are published, there were 158 cars divided into 16 classes. For cars in the "Unlimited" class the race was just like the MM: no upper speed limit, just cover the distance as fast as possible. The other classes, Super Sport, Grand Sport, Grand Touring, Touring, and Street Rod, were not defined by type of vehicle or engine displacement, but on the maintenance of a target speed ranging from 85 to 130 mph. For those classes it was more of a time/distance/speed rally than a race against the clock.

During the MM the course was lined by hundreds of thousands of spectators in towns and roadsides along the route cheering the cars as they blasted by. The BBORR has none of that. Unless you are driving or navigating there isn't much to see of the actual race. Public safety concerns killed the MM following a bad accident involving spectators in 1957, and the BBORR organizers are not taking any chances on suffering the same fate. Highway 285 is closed to traffic during the race and the only people who get to see the cars at speed are the official roadside monitors who note the passing of each car, record speeds, and deal with breakdowns.

In 1955, the year The Alfatross was produced, Stirling Moss set the all-time record covering the 1,000 miles  with an average speed of 157.650 kph (97.96 mph).  In 2015 Larry Robinson won the BBORR with an average speed of 250.543 kph--155.680 mph!

The rest of us have to be content gawking at the cars and schmoozing with the entrants during the tech inspections and car shows held in Ft. Stockton's Rooney Park before and after the race.  And you can drive the course all you want the other 364 days a year and dream about what it would be like to do it at 155 mph!

This race is for REAL!  In the 1956 MM there were 13 accidents, 3 of which were fatal.  Modern safety equipment and the absence of spectators meant the driver of this vehicle walked away with nothing worse than a bruised wallet.

Having driven her entry all the way from Santa Fe Toni was shocked when it was disqualified over safety concerns.   

What's in a Name? (Post # 107)

This is an Alfa Romeo 1900C SS.
Fantasyjunction.com.

. . . and so is this!

Does a car need a name? Apparently all the automobile manufacturers think so because they have created hundreds of them, so it must be right. But what about a specific car? Why does a specific, unique car like The Alfatross need a specific, unique name when it already has the perfectly descriptive, if not particularly attractive or memorable name "Alfa Romeo 1900C SS? 


An argument in favor of the latter is that it is so much more descriptive, including the name of the manufacturer, the general model type, the general engine type, the fact that the chassis is shortened, and that the engine is souped up. The argument for the former is that the oh-so-descriptive technical name is not actually as accurate as you might assume. 

Ford Thunderbird. boldride.com.

If you Google "alfatross" you will find out why--and end up right back here on this page!  Alfa Romeo made 21,304  1900s throughout the 1950s. 

Zagato bodied about 40 of them.  

But there  is only one "Alfatross". 

Pontiac Sunbird.  car.mitula.us.

Birds and Cars

The whimsical naming of automobile models after different types of birds is an idea that has been around a long time. Manufacturers hope that the name they give a particular model will convey something appropriate about the car . . . or at least make it attractive to buyers.


"Thunderbird" conjures up the image of a powerful, attention-getting vehicle.

"Roadrunner" is obviously not a sedate sedan. It captures the essence of Route 66.

"Talon" suggests something aggressive, a bird of prey. 

At the other end of the spectrum is the friendly "Bluebird", often associated with happiness. "Sunbird" is more middle-of-the-road, a compromise, but invokes the image of wind-in-your-hair and sun on your face.  

The three-wheeled Reliant "Robin" seems appropriately named, making no pretensions to power, speed, handling, style, or . . . anything else.

Ford Falcon.

American Motors Eagle. blog.nwautos.com.

And then there are the complete misnomers: the Ford Falcon was certainly a disappointment in the areas that the bird species is noted for: high speed and maneuverability. 

Aston Martin's diminutive "Cygnet" bore no resemblance whatsoever to a young swan, other than being white. 
Unlike its avian namesake, the American Motors "Eagle" was not large and impressive or particularly noteworthy. 

The various cars named "Blackhawk" over the decades range from swoopingly menacing black touring cars to ridiculous, chrome and gold 1970s abominations. 

Stutz Blackhawk, first generation.
SimeoneMuseum.org.

Stutz Blackhawk second generation.
camerachemist.wordpress.com

And the Point Is . . .

Which brings us back to "The Alfatross". Recently, a reader of this blog wrote to suggest that it might be time to drop the name "Alfatross" on the grounds that it is no longer appropriate now that the car is largely restored to its original glory. This post is about why I beg to differ.

For those readers who don't get his complaint, he is referring to the belief among seafarers that killing an albatross brings enormous misfortune. This superstition would have disappeared long ago were it not for the epic poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Rime of the Ancient Mariner (see what a college education can do for you?). Obviously, The Alfatross' name is a joke on several levels, and at the same time completely appropriate. From the moment when my friend KC Wordsmith first uttered the phrase "It's your Albatross!" I realized the perfection of the name.

In the first place, "albatross" is one of the most recognizable of all bird names, and  perfect for an awe-inspiring, rare and beautiful car designed to cover long distances with seeming effortlessness.  Not surprisingly, the name has been used by at least three erstwhile car manufacturers: the French "Albatros" (1912-12), the English "Albatros" (1922-24), and the American Albatross (1939-39). Disappointingly, association with the albatross did little to promote the success of these companies, each of which went the way of the "Dodo".  

And that's not all: The inventors of the first human-powered aircraft to cross the English Channel called it the "Gossamer Albatross" for obvious reasons.  In 1968 the rock band Fleetwood Mac released the hauntingly beautiful "Albatross", said to be one of the greatest instrumental tracks of all time.


Other birds may flit about cheerfully, sing enchantingly, dive daringly, or swoop menacingly, but only the albatross soars serenely over the oceans of the world for thousands of miles, returning to earth only to mate and raise its young (some species mate for life). Combining mystique with majesty, it has the longest wing span of any living bird--11 feet or more- and for such a large bird, a supernaturally long lifespan--50 years. 

So the name is appropriate. In the Rime of the Ancient Mariner I can relate to the ancient mariner who killed the albatross, and to the car as the albatross.  It died 47 years ago and I've  wore it around my neck ever since as a kind of penance, but little by little I came to see the seemingly insurmountable difficulties of its restoration as revitalizing challenges to embrace.  The writhing mass of brake lines under the transmission used to dismay me but now I see their innate beauty and harmony.

After 47 years of its stewardship The Alfatross will always be The Alfatross to me.   

Under Pressure (Post # 106)

Car guys like to brag about the special performance features of their cars, like a double overhead cam engine, 4:11 rear end, monococque chassis, or variable valve timing. Conversely, when they want to disparage someone else's car they credit it with having "high compression floor mats", "positive traction seat covers", or even a "high performance radiator cap".

Rolls Royce radiator cap. Adrian Brown.

Bentley radiator cap.

Like Rodney Dangerfield, the lowly radiator cap gets no respect. Say what you will about them (many modern cars do not even have them any more!), if your car has one and it isn't working you will soon be in big trouble. But there was a time when the radiator cap virtually defined the car itself.

Letting Off Steam

A radiator is, of course, just as essential as a car's gas tank, battery or its tires. The Alfatross' original radiator needed a new core (the part with all the fins), but the upper and lower tanks and frame were fine. My main concerns were over the curious piston and cylinder device that sits in the center of the header tank, and how to insure it wouldn't leak. I devoted a lot of time and effort to making sure the cylinder and radiator drain plug were water tight, without giving a second thought to the radiator cap. Big mistake.

The piston and cylinder device encased in the radiator header 
tank looked like an ideal place to spring a leak. As
the coolant in the radiator heats up, the fluid in the
cylinder expands an pushes the piston against a lever arm
to open the shutter in front of the radiator. 

During the Arizona Concours the shutter activator mechanism and the radiator drain plug gave no problems, but the radiator cap did not seal at all, allowing the expanding coolant (just water) to overflow.  No damage was done, but it was obvious that this was a problem that had to be addressed. 

Tilting at Windmills

The MityVac radiator pressure tester and its various adapters 
were indispensable for testing and rebuilding the radiator cap.  

The first step was to figure out a way to test how much pressure the cap could contain. I connected a hand-operated MityVac pump to the cap and quickly discovered that the gasket at the bottom of the pump would not hold any pressure at all. At this point I started asking around about how to rebuild a radiator cap. Over and over I heard the same advice: "You can't fix them. Just get a new one!" Yes, that would be the quickest way to solve the problem, and caps that will fit a 1955 Alfa 1900 are readily available. But now I was curious, and unable to resist listening to that dangerous little voice that has led many a well-intentioned tinkerer to tilting at windmills--and a few to solve important problems. Besides, it was the original cap and I wanted to save it if I could. 

It was apparent that the seal at the bottom of the cap, hard and permanently creased after 60 years of being pressed against the radiator neck wasn't doing its job, and would have to be replaced. This led to disassembling the lower part of the cap and discovering just how fiendishly simple it was.

Fiendishly simple.  Left to right: The upper part of the cap with the upper seal, lower seal backing plate,  poppet spring, poppet valve, lower seal, bottom plate.

Disassembled, it looks overly fussy and complicated, the kind of mechanism that results more from a century of slow, incremental trial-and-error development than from careful engineering. My first impression was all I have to do is replace the withered, hardened original lower rubber seal with a softer, thicker one made of silicone that will hold the right amount of pressure. No need to disassemble the upper part of the cap where the upper seal and big spring is. 

But what, exactly, was the right pressure?  I asked around and discovered that there was no strong agreement among experienced authorities, and even the omniscient Web couldn't give me a definitive answer. The Alfa Romeo service manual for 1900s states that the engine is designed to run at a maximum temperature of 220 to 230 degrees F, which would put the coolant well above the boiling point, particularly here where we live at the altitude of 7,000 ft and atmospheric pressure is only about 40% of what it is at sea level. The manual also gives a pressure value of 0.3 kg/cm2.  In the metric system nominal atmospheric pressure at sea level is 1 bar (about 1 kg/cm2), or 14.5 psi. So 0.3 X 14.5 psi = 4.35 psi. That seemed low to me so I ended up setting the pressure a little higher.   
                     

The spring-loaded  poppet valve lets air back into the radiator 
as it cools to equalize with ambient pressure.

The first attempt worked great! Too great, actually. It wouldn't release pressure even at 30 psi! For the second attempt I used a rubber diaphragm from a scuba regulator, which just happened to be the right diameter and thickness for the seal. That worked better and I thought I was through . . . until I realized that a radiator cap has to have a mechanism to let air back into the system as well as letting steam out, which began to explain the presence and configuration of the other four parts of the seal as well as the overly large hole in the center of the lower seal. 

The mechanism in question is a simple poppet valve ("valvola di depressione" in the illustration below from the Alfa service manual). It remains closed when under pressure, but as pressure is reduced it opens to allow pressure inside the radiator to equalize with ambient pressure. 

By now you are probably thinking this is way more than you need to know about radiator caps.  I agree.  No one needs to know any of this if they have a modern car and pay even just cursory attention to its needs. I would guess that 90+% of all drivers have never touched a radiator cap in their lives and have no desire to start now.  Today's humble radiator cap is an example of that rare class of simple yet critical mechanical devices that have been around so long and refined so thoroughly that they are utterly reliable and so maintenance free that they have become invisible--except to carchaeologists!

OK, I didn't solve any important problems, but I did get my original cap working again--eventually--and have a new appreciation for being under pressure!

Radiator cap schematic from the Alfa service and repair manual showing the cap seated within the filler neck of the header tank, closing it off  (a) and in the open position (b), allowing pressure to escape into the filler neck and vent pipe.  Note no. 5, the poppet valve that prevents a vacuum from forming in the cooling system.

4:44 (Post # 105)

Warning! This post is way too long in words and and way too short in imagery but I decided to post it anyway while the details were still fresh so I would not have to rely on memory alone when recalling what it was like to take The Alfatross to her first Concours. 

So what is it really like, taking a car to a concours event for the first time?  It must be fun!  All the excitement, the beautiful setting, the beautiful cars, the beautiful people!  Kind of an exotic weekend vacation just like in the car magazines, right?  And at Scottsdale's uber-luxurious Arizona Biltmore Hotel, too! 

Well . . . not exactly. Not this time, at least.  It was more of a . . . learning experience. The reality was a lot different for The Alfatross and I than for most of the other entrants and attendees, many of whom seemed to be old hands at this.

10 PM, Thursday, January 21st

Having started The Alfatross for the first time in 46 years, and driven all of about 60 feet from the back of The Shed to the end of the concrete slab, beyond which lay only ice and snow, all we knew for certain was that it would engage first gear, the clutch worked, and the brakes would stop you . . . eventually (see video below). The engine started easily, but ran much too rich because it was tuned for an elevation that was about 6,000 ft lower than Santa Fe. To be completely honest, I was hoping that it wouldn't run and we could use that as a perfectly valid reason for being a "no-show" at the Arizona Concours d'Elegance. But The Alfatross had other ideas!

4:30 AM Friday, January 22nd

I'm up before the 5:00 alarm has a chance to wake me. The plan is for Dave, Toni, and I to meet at The Shed at 6:30 to start loading The Alfatross in its trailer. It's cold as Hell and still dark. That's good, because it means that the 1,200 ft dirt road from The Shed to the pavement is frozen solid. But there are complications: We're going to use "bonnets" on The Alfatross' tires to hold it securely to steel tracks Dave installed in the trailer, but this is the first time we've used them so they have to be adjusted and set up in advance.  I'm watching the time because we're on a tight schedule and our destination is 500 miles away. We finally get off to a late start at just before 9:00. Toni and Lydia, Dave's wife, will fly down later in the day to join us in Scottsdale.

We didn't.

Dave has driven this route many times.  He gleefully points out the highlights: a billboard commanding drivers to "Eat Here, Get Gas." And another classic "Your Wife is Hot . . . And She's Calling Me!" (an air conditioning company). The big Dodge Ram 2500 eats up the road--and diesel fuel--but a fill-up gets you almost 500 miles, even pulling an enclosed trailer. At the halfway mark the vehicle condition monitoring screen sends a cryptic message to the effect that something is wrong with the engine and it needs immediate attention. We keep going, taking turns at the wheel as the miles and hours go by. 

Tim Marinos went the extra mile to make sure The
Alfatross put her best foot forward .  Eric Hoover.

Our first objective is to rendezvous with Tim Marinos, who did all The Alfatross' paint and bodywork, at the home of a friend of his, Wayne Cooper, in Mesa just East of Scottsdale. This is not Tim's first rodeo and he knows The Alfatross is going to need some considerable primping to be ready for the show field.  

He also knows that Dave and I don't know how to do that to the level necessary for an event like this and, left to our own devices, we would not be capable of showing 2 years of his hard work to best advantage. So he pretty much insisted on coming all the way from Nashville, TN to make sure we didn't drop the ball in the 11th hour. Which is fine with us!  By the time we arrive, late, and drop the car off, we are in no shape to be of use to him anyway. We can't leave the trailer in Wayne's neighborhood or at the Embassy Suites where we're staying, so we tow it back across town through rush-hour traffic to a lot designated for that purpose at the Scottsdale Automotive Museum.

Saturday, January 23rd

By this time my only thought was "OK, one more day to go and then it will all be over--one way or the other." And I didn't care which way. We can't register and pick up our entrant packets until 8:30, so we have a leisurely breakfast at the hotel and drive over to the show venue, the spectacular Arizona Biltmore Hotel. While we get registered and case the joint to see where The Alfatross will be displayed on the field, Toni, smitten by all the swag on display, thoughtfully loads up on Concours items to present to the Car Table Cavalry guys back in Santa Fe who worked so long and hard to get the car ready.

After breakfast it's pedal to the metal again. Tim sends us a list of things we need to pick up for him before we drive out to Mesa. It means several stops. Dave calls around to all the Dodge dealers to find out what the warning message means and discovers we need to replace some parts on the intake system.  We do the shopping first and pick up the trailer last then make the 45 minute trip to Mesa to link up with Tim.

He puts us to work immediately. The main task is to sharpen The Alfatross' "presentation" (car-show speak for its only chance to make a good first impression). Later, as the buffing, scrubbing, and polishing are winding down, I call DeWayne Samuels, who built the engine, to get some carburetor tuning tips. Then we fire her up and hesitantly back out into the cul-de-sac to conduct the first real tests of the engine, clutch, brakes, and transmission. We decide The Alfatross will be OK as long as we don't ask her to go fast, stop quick, or do wheelies. 

After an extensive detailing session with Tim Marinos and a thorough (100 yard!)  road test on the cul-de-sac in front of Wayne's house, the Alfatross is hastily loaded into her trailer for the race back to the Biltmore parking garage to beat the 5:00 closing deadline.  Dave Carrell. 

4:44 PM Saturday, January 23rd

As we pull up to the  parking garage, where we expected to find a line of trailers waiting their turn to unload, we are surprised to find it unoccupied. Are we too late?  Is it closed already?  No, a weary attendant comes out to greet us. With a whole 12 minutes to spare we're the last car to arrive!  By the time we find the part needed to repair the truck, install it, and return the trailer to the Scottsdale Automotive Museum it's late and we've put another 150+ miles on the odometer. 

4:30 AM Sunday, January 24th

Now it's 4:30 AM, the morning of the Arizona Concours and I can't sleep any more so I get up without waking Toni, shower, and put on my work clothes. Dave and I are supposed to meet at 5:30, but he's in the room next door so I hear him when he opens the door at 5:15 and we start loading up. We try to disguise our . . .  anxiety?  excitement? But there's no denying that we're way too awake for the hour.

It's dark and chilly as we make the short trip back to the parking garage where a big crowd is already gathering. With about 100 cars in the show there are at least that many drivers, and a lot of couples, too, so the place is thrumming. Engines are firing up, some with difficulty. Soon the whole garage is filled with eye-burning unburned hydrocarbons and a cacophony of ear-shattering under-muffled exhausts. 

Showtime! We head out of the parking garage for the field.  Feets, don't fail me now!  Dave Carrell. 

The organizers brief us to follow the car in front and look for directions from marshals with flashlights who will usher us to our appointed station on the lawn. I get the impression that it's a tricky route and there could be surprises along the way. The Alfatross starts easily but runs rough and the brake pedal goes almost to the floor before it begins to overcome the car's inertia. As we make our way to the exit through the echo-chamber of the garage I realize that The Alfatross is still running rich and probably making more than its share of both exhaust fumes and entertaining exhaust notes, that she is not going to let me down, and for the first time since leaving Santa Fe I am optimistic that this escapade is going to turn out all right after all.

The trip to the show field snakes up a public road a short distance before it turns into a narrow service alley, cuts across someone's lawn, passes over a tennis court, climbs a flight of stairs, squeezes between two guest houses, turns onto a golf-cart track, crosses over a swimming pool, makes a couple of switch-backs and finally ends with a climb over a plywood ramp to poop out onto the totally enclosed show field.  OK, I could be wrong about crossing a swimming pool--it was dark, my eyes were watering, and the windshield kept fogging up. 

About half way through the journey, really a series of abrupt starts and stops while the cars in front of me grope their way, Dave appears out of the night, much to my relief, to coach The Alfatross and I through the obstacle course. Looking concerned, he tells me we're overheating and wipes the fog off the windshield, but there's nothing to do except press on.  It is with a great sense of relief that we reach our spot, park, shut down the engine and take stock of the situation.

One by one the other cars find their places on the field, engines go silent, an early morning calm settles over the field, and it slowly sinks in that we made it! Such was the surreal beginning of The Alfatross' first public outing. A lot happened after that, too.  After all, the sun wasn't up and the Concours hadn't even started!   

Hot car, cool morning.  Randy Davis.

It was hours to go before the first spectators would arrive so we drivers, owners, and support crews could mingle at out leisure among the great cars, meet and greet and swap stories. Much to my delight the car next to us, a Zagato-bodied 1956 Ferrari, turned out to be shepherded by Dan Allen, a name that should by now be familiar to readers of this blog. After corresponding for years, trading information and parts, we finally got to meet in person! I think Dan and another old friend and Alfa TZ owner, Richard Ballantine, were almost as surprised as I was that The Alfatross made it to the show. I felt no sense of competition between the owners or representatives of any of the other cars in the Zagato class, just a spirit of camaraderie was as uplifting as it was genuine.

Lest anyone misinterpret my intentions in telling this story, the organizers of the Arizona Concours d'Elegance get my highest praise, as do the staff of the Arizona Biltmore. In my opinion they did a superb job. The challenges we had were entirely self-inflicted.  If you've even been a visitor to a concours, concorso, or just plain car show and thought it was exciting, now you know that's nothing compared to what an entrant experiences!  

The Alfatross did surprisingly well at the Arizona Concours--so well that many people got the impression its restoration is complete. From my perspective there is still a lot of work to be done.  Now that the weather up here in Santa Fe is getting better we will soon be able to take it on the road for real-world testing.  There's more to the story yet to come . . . .

Fasten-ating (Post # 104)

Early on the morning of the Arizona Concours d'Ellegance I was talking to some of the other entrants when one asked a seemingly simple question: "What was the hardest part?" I started to say "The front suspension," but no, that was just the most frustrating part. Then I considered the process of stripping and cleaning the body and chassis, but no, that was just the dirtiest part. Finally, spontaneously, I blurted out "writing the damn blog!" That got a good laugh, but as I sat down to do this post that conversation came back to me, and I had time to give it some serious thought.  

So what was the hardest part?  Randy Davis.

The hardest part of the hands-on work was not one of the individual sub-assemblies like "the brakes," or "the wiring harness."  It was--and this time I'm serious--the fasteners.  Just to make sure you know what I mean, I'm talking about the nuts, bolts, washers, screws and other objects that hold the car together.  Every sub-assembly depends on some kind of fasteners, and when you start adding them up, they number in the thousands!  I haven't actually counted yet, but we probably have at least 100 different "types" of fasteners if you consider sheet metal screws and machine screws manufactured in both metric and British Imperial systems, with a multitude of head shapes, shaft diameters, shaft lengths, thread pitches, metalurgical properties, hardnesses, identification codes, and platings . . . and scores of different types of washers!   

By the time we got to final assembly we were sorting through hundreds of different fasteners.

Cleaned, photographed, and bagged Alfatross fastener
sets awaiting installation. 

So what makes fasteners the hardest part of the restoration? Well, consider the urban legend about the guy who took his car apart, carefully identifying each and every fastener as it came off so that he could put each one back in the hole it came out of.  Frankly, I find that hard to believe.  Not impossible, but highly unlikely.  Why? Well, if you just put each fastener into a bag and label it with a number that could be correlated to a map of the car with each fastener hole it would be a monumental undertaking that would greatly increase the amount of time needed for the disassembly phase . . . but that is just the tip of the iceberg.  

Vibratory tumblers for cleaning and polishing fasteners.

When it comes time to reassemble you can't just take them out of the bag and put them back where they came from.  Fasteners have an important job to do, so they need additional attention. Many of them will be rusted, bent, broken. Some cannot be restored and re-used; they must be replaced with an exact replica.  Many others will need "reconditioning" which means mechanical or chemical cleaning, sometimes even re-plating.  
For those readers who have never tried restoring an old car, don't even think about it unless you have a set of machine screw and bolt size gauges, the kind that can measure both fastener diameter and thread spacing. If you're dealing with a mid-1950s Italian car be sure to get both metric and British Imperial gauges.

Cleaning the threads is the worst part. First you have to use your thread gauges to determine if the part was created according to the metric system or the Imperial system. Then you determine the part's nominal diameter and thread pitch. Which can be coarse, fine, or "special." Don't forget that the pitch for Imperial fasteners is defined as the number of threads per inch, while the pitch of metric fasteners is the distance from one thread to the next. Armed with the diameter and thread pitch parameters you run the fastener through the proper die to recondition the threads to make sure it will fit.  Then, of course, you have to do the same thing with the threads in the nut or hole it came out of using the matching tap. Don't forget to use the proper anti-seize, thread-locker, or lubrication before you put the two together, and remember that although the majority of fasteners are right-handed, some are left-handed!

All this assumes that by the time you get to the reassembly stage you kept track of each fastener throughout the disassembly, bagging, cleaning, photography, storage, and tapping and die-ing processes.  

I think we need a 17 mm LOBO bolt with a castellated nut, a heavy beveled washer and a
3/32" stainless cotter pin . . . .

If I had it to do all over again I would certainly pay a lot more attention to fasteners.  It is easy to underestimate their importance at the beginning of a restoration project, but in doing so you make a lot of extra work for yourself in the end.  I have seen amateur "restoration" projects where the restorer just let the original fasteners fall to the ground to be swept up and discarded like so many cigarette butts.  How he expected to put the car back together again I don't know.  Conversely, I have heard of professional restoration companies going to great lengths to make their own replica fasteners to replace original ones too far gone to be reused. 

One area I am still largely ignorant of is "fastener engineering"--Why are there so many different types? Who determines where to use one type vs. another? What do those letters and numbers some screws and bolts have on their heads mean? Where is it appropriate to use castellated nuts instead of regular nuts with lock washers?  When did the Phillips screw head type appear for use in Italian automobiles? Is there any relationship between a bolt's head size or shaft size and the maximum torque it can take? When was the 14 mm hex head bolt and nut combination replaced by 13 mm parts?  

Yes, it's a fasten-ating subject!