Pedals, Brakes and Wheels

With the rear brake lines finally fitted with the new custom brackets, I turned my attention to two other areas of concern; the pedals and the wheels.

Missing pedal stop

The missing piece

The pedals had been refurbished after purchasing the set used at Austin VeeDub.  I went to install them a couple of weeks earlier, but discovered that they would not stay in a resting position because I was missing a part.  This was the pedal stop, a two dollar piece of steel with a hole for a bolt and a curved lip to keep the pedal set from flopping backward when released.

Hole drilled in the pan

Bolt up through it...

The reason I missed it was because the original piece was on the rusted out floor pan, and I think I threw it away.  I don't recall seeing it and it isn't in any of the early pictures, so it may have been missing.

...and the pedal stop is in.

Stopping the pedals...

In any case, it can be hard to catch something you didn't know was supposed to be there, but it was an easy and inexpensive fix.  I ordered the part and installed it in a few minutes.  I drilled a hole in the floor pan where the bolt was supposed to go, then slipped it up through the bottom side.  I used some epoxy to hold the bolt head in place and mounted the stop with no trouble.  Then, with the accelerator and clutch cables connected, the whole assembly fit together perfectly.

Drag out the wheels...

...and buff 'em and paint 'em

The next step was to get the car back on its wheels and tires.  What I really wanted to do next was to put the engine back on the car so I could test it, but I knew this couldn't happen until I had the wheels and tires back on because I knew the weight of the engine made it more likely to tip over on the jack stands that had held the chassis for over a year.  I just didn't want to risk the whole thing falling on the ground.

That lovely VW mark

The wheels were a bit of a rusty mess.  I had the tires removed many months ago, to make the storage easier.  I stuck the wheels up under the chassis, so if they weren't rusty when I put them there, they were when I took them out.  It was all just surface rust and a lot of grime.  I set to work cleaning the wheels and this was one of the most labor-intensive jobs I had on the car so far.  I must have spent at least two hours cleaning, buffing, blasting, sanding and painting each wheel.  This was a tedious and particularly boring job, and if it hadn't been for the vision of the car finally back on a set of tires, I might not have done it.  I kept my shoulder to the wheels, so to speak, and in about two weeks I had them ready for tires.

First wheel goes on

Polish the old hubcaps

Tires were a bit of a problem.  Originally I envisioned buying a set of used tires just to put the car back on the ground.  Figuring it would be another year at least, I thought I could wait to buy a new set of rubber when I was ready to put the body back on.  Well the best laid plans never work out.  In fact used tires for an old VW are nonexistent because they are just not on the road in the numbers they used to be.  So, I had to figure out a way to buy a new set.  This wasn't easy because at this point I have just about run out of money.  I sure didn't have the $300 needed to go get my shiny clean wheels clad in fresh rubber, but I couldn't wait any longer.  So I went to Walmart and bought a set of tires on credit, putting $100 down and planning to pay of the balance at $50 a month.  I had my tires that afternoon, and in a few short minutes, I had reached a major milestone.

The Ghia was back on her feet.

Voila!  A rolling chassis

Next I had to finish the brake system.  Two major pieces were now missing, the front-to-back hard line and the brake fluid reservoir.  The former was relatively easy.  I had the part and it was just a matter of bending it into the right shape and hooking it up.  Like the other lines, it was a little long, but a little looping at the end made it all fit.  I went around and tightened all the fittings again, just to make sure they wouldn't leak when pressure was applied.

Front-to-back brake line

Under the pedals

But before I could apply any pressure to the brakes, I had to fill the lines with fluid.  And to do that, I had to install the brake fluid reservoir and the hoses that connect it to the master cylinder.  This wasn't easy because the the bracket onto which the reservoir properly mounts is actually on the body, up under the hood.  So I needed a temporary bracket to mount it, and this meant making one from scratch.

Cardboard template

It's the wrong size...too short

Like my brake line brackets, this one started with a cardboard template.  I measured it, cut it out and bent it into shape.  I figured out a way to mount it to the floor using one of the drain holes already in it and put it in.  Right away, I found out that my design was flawed.  The bracket was too low and it caused the hoses to buckle.

New bracket and reservoir mounted

This time it fits

This wasn't going to work, so I re-designed the bracket, cut it out and installed it.  This one, about six inches taller, worked perfectly.  I hooked up the hoses and mounted the reservoir to the bracket with a simple screw and a wire harness.  It looks a bit goofy, but it's only temporary after all.

Next, it's time to put the engine back on the chassis.

Stuck

I'm stuck.

It's not a big problem, really. But it is enough to have got me stuck in what Robert Pirsig, author of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance called a "gumption trap." This is a place where, for a reason often very, very small, an entire project grinds to a halt because the driving desire behind the project--the gumption--is lost.

A gumption trap starts with something simple that fails or doesn't work the way it is supposed to. In my case, it's a stuck nut. I know, I know, that sounds like a perfect description of yours truly.

In this case, the nut I'm talking about--the one that has me figuratively stuck because it is literally stuck--is a rather large steel one. To be precise, it is a 36mm nut, and it holds the brake assembly--drum, brakes and backing plate--to the rear driveaxle. There are two of these nuts, one on each side of the car.  They are--quite naturally, given the job that they do (holding the wheels on)--torqued down very, very tight.  I got one off, no problem.  But the other one is, well, stuck.

I don't know how many foot-pounds it takes to break this nut exactly, nor do I really care, but I do know it's one helluva lot. I know (now) that you are supposed to break these nuts while the car is not merely still assembled, but also while it is still resting on the ground. In other words, this should have been one of the first things I did, like six months ago.

This nut is stuck because the amount of force required to break it free is no more than two or three pounds less than the entire weight of the car.  Now that it's stripped down to the frame, I just can't bring enough force to bear. My puny little 140 pounds of dead weight is just not enough. Even the breaker bar that extends my reach by a foot and a half and doubles my leverage is insufficient to the task.

So, there you go.  I'm stuck. I've tried various solutions, but so far, nothing's worked. In fact, so many things haven't worked that I can say with some certainty: I am stuck. I look at it. I think about it. Nothing comes to mind. Yet.

Actually, being stuck isn't all bad. In fact, it may be the very reason why I've undertaken this project in the first place. In Zen, Pirsig used the idea of 'stuckness' as a pivotal point for his inquiry into the nature of Reality.  He observed that it's not until we are stuck--that is, in a critical situation without an obvious solution--that we become momentarily aware of Reality itself.

Reality appears to us only for that moment, however. As soon as we find our solution, we lose that direct contact with it, and find ourselves dealing instead with the duality that masquerades as the world.  We turn from the light and again see only the shadows.

Fear not, I'm in no danger of losing touch with Reality.  Though I am staring at the light, I'm still well and truly stuck on this damn nut.

The exasperating aspect of this situation is the fact that this is a double-edged sword (or wrench, if you will) that I'm holding here. On the one hand, as both Readers know, I love the metal and the grease and the whole taking-things-apart idea that the Ghia project embodies. In a simple world, it'd be easy to explain these impulses as simple boyish desires to have fun tinkering and getting dirty.  I don't deny it. To a large extent, that is actually the case.

On the other hand, if it were all too easy (if that nut were to just come rightoff), it'd be no fun either.  Ironically, it actually feels good to be stuck.  For a while, anyway.  It seems that I seek stuckness as a way of finding satisfaction in what I do.  It's an integral part of the process and the source of my motivation.  Escaping from the gumption trap is truly an exhilarating feeling.  But you can't get that feeling without getting stuck, first.

I know, to a casual observer driving down our street on a Sunday afternoon, it might look like I'm just standing over a rusted hulk of a car with a couple of buddies, drinking beer from a green bottle and doing nothing. There's some truth to that.

But that's only part of the story.

Inside that stereotypical South Austin driveway mechanic is a true philosophical type, pondering the infinite mysteries of a stuck bolt in much the same way Socrates considered the nature of Love during one of those infamous all night drinking parties he had with his buddies.

Ok, ok, so I'm no Socrates and this is no Symposium. But then, could he, would he, have figured out how to break this damn nut?

Heavy Metal

 I didn't get to work on the Ghia yesterday because I had to drive to Dallas on business, but it would have been a great day to turn a corner, so to speak, in the process.  As it is, I was able to get after some of the front suspension the week before, when the temperature dropped and just enough snow fell that we got a day off.  Cold though it was, it was still a bright sunshiney day, and I went out to bust some knuckles on some cold and heavy steel.

As it turns out, I didn't manage to hurt myself in spite of the cold and the repeated use of a hammer to remove the tie rod ends and the ball joints.  Because they have to literally support all the steel I've already managed to strip off the car, the suspension parts are the heaviest and hardest to remove of all the pieces on the frame, including the engine.  I used a special tool called a 'pickle fork' to remove the tie rod ends, driving the wedge-like steel fork into the gap between the stuck tie-rod end and the pitman arm (on the steering box) and the wheel spindles.  It seemed like mayhem, but after a couple of whacks, they came right out.

I wish the same could be said for the ball joints.  The top joints fell out of their mountings with a couple of hard whacks with the hammer, but the bottom joints are in too fast to simply bang out, especially on a cold day.  I've been reading that the way to get them out is to heat the torsion arm mounts until they are a dull red, then bang 'em out with the hammer.  It doesn't sound very precise, but it might be easier and cheaper than buying a special tool.

Once I removed the brake rotors I had my first look at the front wheel bearings, which looked perfect.  A little clean and some new grease and it will work perfectly.  I am not so sure about the rotors, which are a bit rusty on the edges but otherwise smooth across the braking surface.  They aren't expensive to replace, but I am working on the principle that anything not broken or worn out can be cleaned up and put back on the car.  It's both economical and respectful of the mechanics--if it ain't broke, I am not going to fix it.  Besides, there's plenty of broken and rusty stuff that I can replace!  In any case, I am finally down to the most basic element.  Once I replace the two bushings on the torsion bar arms, I'll be on my way back up.

Next: Ball joint banging