And somehow I manage to get up in the morning...

Wherein it is described the events of July 22, 2005.

It's about a 90 minute drive from my house to BlackHawk Farms Raceway. I had arrived home around 9pm the night before, and needed to be at the track by 7:30AM the next day. I've adapted (much to my dismay) to Pacific time after spending the week in San Francisco, so the 4:30AM which I set the alarm for is going to feel more like 2:30. Ouch.

Of course, I barely slept anyway, and found myself awake at 4:20AM ready to roll.

Run downstairs and whip up a couple of PB&J sandwiches. Grab some last minute pieces and parts (timing light, 13mm Socket, contact paper), some extra clothes, and a cooler. Manage to pack all this into the car and head over to Andy's house at 5:15.

Andy you see, decided a while back that he wanted to see what the DE thing was all about and managed to get today off of work to drive up to the track with me. Andy, being the young man he is who typically goes to bed around 2AM, decided the night before that the easiest way for him to get up at 5AM was to not sleep at all. Holy crap - this kid is going to be TIRED!

Well, leave the driving to me - sit back and relax. Oh, we just have to stop at Starbucks (Josh needs coffee!), and a gas station (need gatorade and ice), and a cash machine (for - duh - cash). Finally, by a quarter of six we're on the road.

Nothing much of consequence on the drive up there - traffic was light, weather was hot and the car was running well. We did manage to catch up and pass the Eurosport Racing rig on the way to the track which is cool.

Fill up the tank at the local BP and head out to the track. Find a decent squatting ground and stake our claim. The other bastards arrive in short order and we're headed for registration, tech and the driver's meeting.

Typically at the driver's meeting, the organizer presents a speech revolving around safety and respect. A short review of the flags (can you tell me what they all mean? green; yellow; red; white; checkered; black; black with an orange ball; red and yellow stripes - leave me a comment and tell me your guess), and some of the passing rules, then it's time to be paired with our instructors.

Well, I'll be damned - guess what? There aren't enough instructors to go around! Oh, and there is a large group in the C/Novice class (which is the class I registered for) and not so much in the B2 class (which is the next one up the ladder) - it is permissible for 'experienced' Blackhawk drivers to drive in the B2 class to free up space for the novices.

I'm not feeling THAT confident yet. No thanks. I'll stay in C - sans instructor, and play it by ear.

Back to our little plot of turf - and time to check over the particulars before our session. I torque up the lug nuts, check the tire pressure ("oh - hey Mike? Can I borrow that little air-compressor dealie. Thanks!") and wait for our grid time.

About 5 minutes prior to our starting time, I squirrel my way into the car and strap on the harness. Ohhhhhhhh yeah -- harness. That's the stuff - look at me, I'm a racecardriver! I do so like the harness!

Drive up to the grid area and await the cue from the worker. Start out nice and easy, watching the revs to get in the habit (remember - I'm running on a standard rotor - no rev limiter - so I can easily do some engine damage if I don't pay attention to the tach). Stay low and inside for turn 1 - well within the 'blend line' and track out nicely heading to turn 2. By turn 3 I've already caught the car ahead of me. And pretty much the car ahead of him - and so on. It's a freight train - and we haven't completed a full lap yet!

*sigh*

Oh well, just more work for me to get some clear space so I'll get some accurate (no traffic) lap times.

By the time we're back to the start/finish for the green, the guy ahead of me has the idea that I'm ready to roll - so graciously gives me the point before we even get the official green. Thanks!

But there's another right in front - and now I have to wait until turn 6 before getting his point.

Then another back after turn seven.

Do that about 6 more times (I'm not kidding here) and I finally get a bit of clear space. A few laps of 'pointerless' driving, and out comes the checkered.

That's it - I'm moving up to B2...

Mosey on back to the paddock and shut'r down. Take a quick tire pressure reading - even though the tires are barely warm (up from 36psi to around 38 on the left side, 37 on the right) and re-torque the lugs. Down some gatorade (yeah - it's gonna be a hot one today...) and go ask the organizers how to upgrade into the B2 group (turns out to be nothing more than tell the starter on the grid the situation). Jot down the lap times for the first session before resetting the hot-lap timer:

1. 2:11.45
2. 1:55.28
3. 1:54.54
4. 1:43.59
5. 1:36.18
6. 1:38.97
7. 1:35.23
8. 1:52.43
9. 1:34.80
10. 1:33.29

Average lap time : 1:43.88
Median lap time : 1:41.28
Standard Deviation : 8.92 seconds
Average speed : 67.58
Maximum Speed : 75.25
Minimum Speed : 53.40


Oh barf. Remember, I'm a number junkie - so this stuff is in my blood. Take a look at this entry to see my first foray into number crunching on the track. Anyway, that standard deviation number pretty much tells the tale - inconsistent as all hell. I maintain that this is due to the heavy traffic. Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong...

After writing these numbers down in my cool-as-beans PCA DE logbook, I affirm my desire to upgrade into the B2 group -- damn straight!

In short order, the B2 group is ready to roll - and I'm getting some butterflys. I'm gonna run with the big boys! Hell ya! Watch out punks, here comes big blue! Yeah yeah - look at these cars! GT3, Twin turbo, 944 Turbos - uhhuh. Umm wait - is that a Maxima? And a Subaru? (oh, ok - it's a WRX. Approved). Well - Porsche snobbery aside, it looks like a fast group of cars.

A few of the other bastards have joined up, so we've got a nice mix of people out there. Start off nicely and, in general, feel real good about the whole session - except, damn! these tires are squealing like a stuck pig. I'm pointing by more cars than I'm passing - but not too many, so I feel like I made the right decision moving up.

At the end of the session I pull off and do a short drive around the paddock to try and cool off the brakes a little more - then head back to home base. Park and shut off the engine, then jump out to feel the tires and take pressure readings.

Yowza - they are hot! Pressures are high too - 42 on the left rear, 40 front - 40 right rear and 38 front. They all started at 36.

Hmmm - well, I'll lower them overall by about 2psi for the next run and see what happens - maybe they will quiet down a bit.

Jot down the laptimes from session 2:

1. 1:41.94
2. 1:38.54
3. 1:36.64
4. 1:38.72
5. 1:34.91
6. 1:39.48
7. 1:39.88
8. 1:33.29
9. 1:31.96 (oh yeah baby!)
   
10. 1:32.34
11. 1:39.53
12. 1:34.89

Average lap time : 1:36.82
Median lap time : 1:37.59
Standard Deviation : 2.79 seconds
Average speed 72.5
Maximum (lap) Speed : 76.34
Minimum (lap) Speed : 68.86

Now we're talking!

Comparing this to the June DE (last session):

Session 4:
Average Lap time : 1:38.01
Median Lap time : 1:37.66
Standard Deviation : 0.74 seconds

My average lap time has gone down over one second (but my deviation has gone up quite a bit - this may be due to allowing people to pass me and lifting off the throttle). I'm happy with those numbers (and that 1:31.96 is my first under 1:32 ever - although it's not counted in my simple statistical analysis).

It's now time to break for lunch and general troublemaking. Wolf down a PB&J, drink a quart of gatorade and go watch some of the group A maniacs tearing up the track.

For reference, these guys run the course in the low 1:20's. It's amazing to watch, and almost as amazing to listen.

By 1pm I'm feeling pretty sluggish. The heat is wearing on us all, and I'm looking forward to the distraction of driving for twenty minutes so I don't have to time to obsess on how freaking hot it is.

Session 3 was another in the B2 group for me - hell, I'm feeling cocky. I lower the starting pressure in all four tires to 34 PSI and head to the grid. Start up nice and fast behind Mike (a GruppeB brother) and get the point right as the green is waved - vrrrooooooom!!

I'm getting used to the howling tires, so the sound isn't bothering me as much - I figure, better to hear them complaining while gripping rather then keeping quiet and breaking loose. A few more laps around into turn 4 and I catch up to a early nineties Carrerra - I'm prepared to wait until turn six to get the point when he waves me on as soon as we're past the apex of turn 5! Huh!?

Oh yeah - B2 group. We're allowed to pass there. Sweet! The routine for passing on this turn is a bit counterintuitive in terms of the class rules - the passer stays on the racing line, while the person being passed pulls off line and points to the right.

I barrel past this dude and head into the entry of turn 6 fast and inside (I'm now completely OFF the racing line btw), do a bit of a panic brake, and apex really late. Managing to recover that entry and get back on the line, I dive back down into the exit of six and regain some composure and head off to seven.

A couple of laps later, and I'm staring at the nose of a GT3 in my rearview mirror while downshifting (heel and toe!) into turn 4. By the entry of turn five, I can see the logo on the driver's helmet, so I point past my first car on turn five while pulling over to the left. The GT3 zooms by me like I'm standing still, hits six and is gone.... see ya.

It's about at this time that I notice the oil temps creeping close to the red. Hmmm, time for an oil cooler upgrade. A couple more trips around the course, and it's time to head in. Cool down the brakes, drive back to camp, record some tire pressures, and jot down the lap times:

1. 1:38.81
2. 1:36.32
3. 1:33.60
4. 1:33.72
5. 1:32.32
6. 1:34.36
7. 1:34.91
8. 1:34.48
9. 1:37.48
10. 1:36.82
11. 1:34.00
12. 1:34.10
13. 1:37.92

Average lap time : 1:35.30
Median lap time : 1:34.48
Standard Deviation : 1.97 seconds
Average speed 73.67
Maximum (lap) Speed : 76.04
Minimum (lap) Speed : 71.05

Getting better - slowly, but surely.

Wow - I'm tired. This is pretty grueling, and the harness is making my shoulders and collerbones sore as hell. One more session to go - better make it a good one!

I decide to try lower the pressure one more notch on all four tires to see if the squealing gets any better - down to 32 all around. At this point, in retrospect, I probably should have just let them be as my fatigue was going to play a much larger role in my lap times than the tire pressures.

So we're back on the grid about an hour after session 3 - and you can almost feel the nervousness in the air. Last session of the day - better make it count!

Not much happens until about 6 laps down - I've been pointing a lot of people past and it seems I just can't find any clear space. I'm coming out of six and apex too early, which puts my track-out wider than expected and I get two wheels off - at full throttle; no panic, no knee-jerk reactions - eaaaaaaase back on the track with those left wheels and proceed as usual.

Except now I'm a bit frazzled.

The next few laps felt very sloppy - it seemed hard to regain my composure. I continue pointing cars past me until I get some clear space, and manage to get my act back together and start feeling in the groove again.

Well, in the groove until this BMW looms up behind me. I'm already well into five, so decide I'll give him the point after we're through six and all will be good. Now, I've learned enough while out with the B2 boys that, even when you give the passing signal, there is no need to let off the throttle - if this guy is behind you fast-and-furious like, he'll be able to overtake you without issue.

So - apex out of six, stick the left arm out of the window and point right - loud pedal to the floor.

For those of you just joining, or those who have forgotten the track map at Blackhawk, I need to explain passing between turn six and turn seven. Basically, all passing is supposed to be done before the "kink" at turn 6a since, typically, the racing line calls for you to pull all the way to the right over the kink and track back out to the left in preparation for (right hand) turn seven...

So here's this six series BMW passing me on the right, and we're coming up to 6a really quickly. As soon as he passes, I'm ready to tuck in behind him when I notice a burgandy Carrerra close behind the bimmer, and racing me to that kink.

Lessee - two rule violations here; passing without being pointed (I pointed the pass for the BMW, not the 911) and passing during (and after) the kink.

So, I stay to the left to allow homeboy room and he blows by me just at the apex of 6a.

And he is MOVING.

And he is BRAKING.

And he is turning in - and (kind of) apexing, and he is headed off the track. All-four-wheels-you-gonna-git-black flagged kind of off.

And he's fighting it - while in the grass. Overcorrect right - overcorrect left, overcorrect right (and here I come), and holy shit, this guy is trying to get back on course - and with my luck, will T-bone me in the process.

Brain: process. Reflex: priority. Right foot : BRAKE

This is after traversing turn 7 btw.

SCREEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!!!

Ummm, ya - near as I can figure, I locked up all four wheels.

Mr. four-wheels-off manages to get it back together and on track with me close behind - my adrenaline pumping through me with a surge.

Needless to say, my next few laps consisted of inconsistency - and lots of pointing. The checkered flag was a welcome sight, and I headed for homebase. Laptimes were, all things considered, pretty good for a mess of a session.

1. 1:36.0
2. 1:34.42
3. 1:40.46
4. 1:34.15
5. 1:32.70
6. 1:34.37
7. 1:35.19
8. 1:41.84
9. 1:38.50
10. 1:34.13
11. 1:35.35
12. 1:40.05

Average lap time : 1:36.43
Median lap time : 1:35.27
Standard Deviation : 2.99 seconds
Average speed 72.80
Maximum (lap) Speed : 75.73
Minimum (lap) Speed : 68.93

Time to pack on up, and drive it home. All in all a successful day - I managed to show some measurable improvement, not lose control of the car (too much) and had fun to boot.

Oh - and Andy managed to stay awake the entire day - I think by the time we'd gotten home he was pushing 30 hours without sleep.

Ahhh youth.

It's alive - IT'S ALIVE

Oh yeah - I get her running again!

It was a hectic weekend for sure - got back with the family from a short visit with friends up in Madison Wisconsin, wherein my oldest boy decided to get married. Anyway - I was pretty distracted for most of the trip thinking about this damn fuel issue, and bummed beyond any reasonable amount because I was going to miss the DE on Friday. Although I would like to replace the fuel system from pump to regulator, I just don't have the time this week since I'm out of town on business from Monday until late Thursday night.

Damned the luck.

So, it's really hot up there - and Sunday, we're pretty much cooped up inside and the kids are getting wild. Really wild. Wild to the point that we're afraid something may end up broken, or a trip to the ER was inevitable. So we decide that, being prudent parents, we should probably get on the road sooner than later. After a nice starchy lunch for the boys, we're on the road and heading home. A distressingly short 30 minute nap was followed by another 2 hours of driving and general mayhem leading to us pulling into the driveway around 3pm. And it's just as hot here at home.

Of course, during the ride home I'm thinking about how I can leverage our early time back to possibly work on the car and make one last attempt to get the thing running well enough to get me up to the track on Friday.

- back to parenthood. We've got three boys who have been in the car for the last 150 minutes and need to use up some energy.

Sprinkler time! Snack time! Runaround time! Iced latte time!!

Whip up some burgers, make some lemonade - hey! Don't spray your brother. No, NO! the grill is hot. Here, eat this - NO MORE SPRAYING. Sit HERE. Ok, inside - wash your hands. Downstairs while we get a bath ready. Hut hut hut hut.

Whew.

Side bar - Amy and I have the bath thing down to military like efficiency. If required, we can get three boys bathed and dried in under 9 minutes. It's quite frantic, but somewhat satisfying.

Anyway - it's about 6pm now, and everyone is winding down. The Incredibles is on the DVD and the boys are chilling in their PJs. A calm falls on the Stein household.

Then Amy, my wife and soul mate - best friend and confidant issues forth the most pertinent, loving and opportune question to be heard all weekend: "Do you want to go work on the car? I can put the kids to bed."

ShaaaaaZAM!

Wow - that woman is amazing.

So, I'm out in the driveway in a flash - cars on the street, push out the 911, jack up the front - block the wheels and begin:

1. Drain tank via plug on the bottom - most of the tank had been emptied already on Friday, so this is just the dregs at the bottom. Messy work, but not too bad. The integrated filter on the plug was 'kind of' dirty, but not that bad. Clean the filter, re-insert the plug.
2. Drop the skid plate under the steering rack and disconnect the feed tube from the fuel pump to filter and blow some compressed air through the line - with any luck, I'll un-clog gunk stored in there.
3. Remove the filter and tap tap tap - pretty dirty in there. Blow some air through there for good measure.
4. Re-plumb everything and add a couple of gallons to the tank. Turn the fuel pump on and look for leaks. Everything seems kosher and I've got some (marginal) pressure building up. Crank the engine and.... Vroooom. We have ignition!
5. Pressure still poor - clamp off return line and watch it rise to almost 5PSI - nice! Rig up a clamp to pinch more of the return line with some wire and balance it out ~2.5PSI. Engine is idling a little rough, but that's probably due to the timing issue (remember, I have an old rotor in here now after the back fire incident).
6. Button up the skid plate while the car idles and lower the front end - pressure still holding. Sweet!
7. Whip out the timing light and re-adjust the timing. Engine now sounds smoooooooth.
8. Dump the rest of the reclaimed fuel back into the tank, button'r up and go for a test drive.
   

So out I go at around 8:30pm. 2.5 hours and a lot of work later, but damn, the car feels good! I've got myself half convinced that the gargle/hesitation is gone and I'm tooling around town. Stop by the local Shell station and fill up the tank. Start up the car again and take a gander at the pressure gauge.

Shit.

1PSI - barely.

*sigh*

Well, let's see how it feels. Take the long way home and spend some time on the road in a 'spirited' manner to see how things feel. Not perfect, but better. I think the hesitation is back, but maybe not so pronounced - then again, it might all be in my head. Well - let's try a couple more hard accelerations...

Left turn behind an older Ford Explorer - gad dude can you GO ANY SLOWER? Goose it after we're past the turn and blow by him on the right - winding it up to 6000 RPM. Hmmm, not too bad - I can certainly live with this for the Friday DE and then I'll...oh shit, is that a cop in the mirror. Coming up fast - could be, may be, SHIT. Queue racing heart. Well - lessee, what kind of excuse can I whip up here? "Well you see officer, I was out trying to diagnose this fuel flow issue and the only way I can really tell is when I accelerate hard, you know and I wasn't trying to speed or anything but unless I wind the engine up to like 4000 RPM under load I can't tell if the problem still exists except for the silly mis-calibrated pressure gauge which is under the deck lid so I can't see it while I'm driving and have you ever heard of a blog? because I have one that kind of describes..."

Never mind - I'll just take my licking.

I decided to be a bit proactive and pull over before he hits the lights - so I take a right into the nearest parking lot and stop underneath a nice bright light. Open the door and I'm out of the car just as Officer Friendly pulls up. He rolls down the passenger side window and says (I'm paraphrasing here, since my brain has basically stopped functioning at this point) "Don't be hot rodding around right in front of a marked squad."

"Sorry," I replied, "it's just that..."

"I don't care - really" he stopped my excuse. "It's just that, when you go flying by someone like that, and that guy is looking at me with that 'are you going to do something about that?' look, I have to do something."

"I understand," I stated "I've been trying to..."

"I really don't care," he says, again breaking into my excuse "be safe."

Then he drives off.


Yeah, I need to write that again - THEN HE DRIVES OFF.

No ticket - no warning. Just a cool cop.

Whew.

So I drive - nice-and-slow like back to my house, park the car and close the garage.


Time? 9:30pm. Better go pack for my trip tomorrow.

Arrrrgggg - it's all in the timing!

Ever since I've had the Porsche, the fuel pressure gauge has registered zero. The car seemed to be running fine, so I figured (in a typical, American, denial-sort-of-way) that the gauge must be broken. No big deal, I'll repair it "sometime".

As I started driving the car more aggressively and learning the feel of a 200 horsepower flat-six engine, I came to the conclusion that something was amiss during hard acceleration - especially around 3500 RPM (feel free to insert cool-guy wrench-head terms like "up on the cam" or "in the power band" here). During these times, the car would hesitate and/or make a gargling noise.

Discussing the issue with some of my newly found Porsche friends, I decided it was a fuel delivery issue - not enough gas was getting into the carbs during these times of accelerating causing the air/fuel mixture to get out of wack (wrench term: "leaning out"). When that happens, the power drops since the detonation in the cylinders is not as powerful and the driver feels this as a hesitation or stuttering. (hey mechanics, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong here, or anywhere else for that matter - remember, I'm an ELECTRICAL engineer - my mechanical skills usually revolve around a soldering iron). Anyway, the first lead to try (also, coincidently the easiest to work with) was the dreaded "Main Jets" within the carburetors. I'm not going to begin to try and explain how a carburetor works - frankly, I think the last guy to really understand the operation of one of these things died in WWII - but, if you feel the need, take a trip over here for a simple explanation; realize, however, that the Weber carbs in the 911 have about as much in common with the carbs they talk about in that web page as my pet cat has with a leopard.

Anyway, where was I? Oh - Main Jets. Yeah, the main jets may be the problem. Sure - just gotta change them, and the problem will go away - no trouble at all. "What, exactly, is a main jet?" you ask? Well, here is my take on the whole jet thing. The carburetor is responsible for delivering a nice fuel/air mixture to the cylinders to support detonation during operation of the engine. It's not as simple as it sounds, so a Rube Goldberg-esq collection of nuts, bolts, screws and scary sounding things like "butterfly valves", "venturis" and whatnot are cobbled together. One function of the carb is to adjust to the demands of the throttle - when Mr. Andretti wants to go fast, we better be able to dump fuel into the engine in volumes. Well, it turns out the engines don't like a constant fuel/air mixture; during idle, for example, the fuel flow needs to be really low - but while under hard throttle, we want to pump that fuel into the engine fast-and-furious like. Cue the Jets. In the Weber carbs on my car there are two different jets for each cylinder - an idle jet and a main jet. During idle, the main jet is blocked so fuel basically trickles through the small orifice in the idle jet into the cylinder. After depressing the throttle a certain distance, the main jets are opened and a much greater amount of fuel flows into the cylinders. The size of the jets (how big the hole is) determines the amount of fuel flowing through it.

Ok, ok Mr. Technical - let me clarify. The size of the jets determines the flow rate ASSUMING THE FUEL PRESSURE IS ADEQUATE.

So anyway - I'm going to try and get some new jets which are just a fraction bigger than the installed ones. Order'm up!

It will take a while - so, I'll just sit tight and drive. Drive! Drive baby, drive!!!

[Meanwhile, a month or two later]

Finally, the new jets arrive, and I manage to get a spare moment to replace them.

Out with old.

In with the .... Damnit! Wrong ones. Shit!

In with the old.

Re-order the new.

*sigh*

Then something clicks in my mind - maybe the problem isn't the jets, but the flow?

On a lark, I pinch off the return line from the fuel manifold - and guess what? The pressure gauge is reading a healthy 3 PSI.

Weird.

Time to surf the net. Learned a lot on good old Pelican.

Wow - this car has been through a lot.

Quick synopses. My car originally came equipped with fuel injection - something that Porsche dubbed "CIS". A common upgrade was to pull the injection system out and put in Weber carburetors. This will add a healthy 15-19 HP to the engine, and sound oh-so-cool to boot! You can't lose!! This is NOT a bolt-on replacement; we're talking about a big job here.

One of the consequence of the Weber conversion is a change in the fuel delivery system. The stock fuel pump is made to deliver a healthy 40 PSI to help force that fuel through those small fuel injection holes - as a consequence of this high pressure, much of the fuel pumped out of the tank (in the front of the car) to the engine (in the back of the car) is not used; so is returned through another line back to the tank. So; fuel tank -> fuel pump -> fuel line -> fuel filter -> injection system -> fuel return line -> fuel tank. Rinse, repeat. Carburetors, on the other hand, need about 3-5 PSI of pressure to function. Quite a difference.

So - a common solution was to have a fuel manifold with one input and four outlet ports - fuel into the inlet, one outlet for each carb (two total), one outlet for a pressure gauge, and the final outlet to the return line. To regulate the pressure, a small clamp is placed on the return line and pinched down until the pressure gauge reads about 4 PSI.

Simple and elegant. Not my style - I like complicated and convoluted.

So anyway, that's what my car is doing with Webers - installed by the previous owner with (I hope) care and prudence.

So - I'm thinking I have something amiss in the fuel pump or line ahead of the filter. Hmmm - time for some more opinions.

Anyway - this entry is getting VERY long winded - I'm going to enclose a snippet of the thread I started on one of my local boards regarding what happened, and call it a night.



Had the car in at work yesterday to discuss my thoughts on the fuel flow issues with some of the wrenches here. I tried pinching off the return line to show them how the pressure on the gauge would build, but no go - the needle moved just a hair. WTF?

Well, I decide that I'll let things be for now (I mean, hey - the car has been running like this for at least 8 months) - 4:45, time to go home. Start'r up, drive a few blocks and...dead. That kind of dead we all know - it's not getting fuel.

FUCH FUCH FUCH FUCH!

I coast into a parking spot, still on site here at the lab. Wait a minute or two. Cross fingers. Crank... Crank... Crank... Sputter.... Crank Crank.

FUCH FUCH FUCH!! *sigh*

Just because my heritage is from the south - I try a few more times. Knowing, deep in my heart, my fuel delivery is nil.

Begin the walk of shame.

I get a ride home - call a flatbed, get the thing up on jackstands in my garage, and begin tearing into the skidplate at around 9:30 last night.

By 10:00 I expose the pump (it's obviously (to me) a low pressure dealie - no markings on it, very small, obviously not OE). Decide to see if the thing is pumping at all, so remove the hose from the outlet side - drain the gas still in the line, put a pan under the outlet, and turn the key to activate the pump. Whirrrrrrr; gas is happily pouring out of the thing.

*sigh*

Ok, I figure I'll reconnect, and check the flow rate out of the filter.

Connect up the outlet again, turn on the pump and wiggle under the car to check for good seating of the hoses. No leaks.

On a lark, I check out the engine compartment while the pump is on.

guess what? 3 PSI!

WTF!?

well - let's see if she starts.

Crank. Crank. Whirrr. Crank. Sputter. Crank Wirrrrr. Wait.... gotta fill up the line. Crank Crank Whirrr Sputter. Wait. Shit, maybe I flooded the carbs. Lessee, one more time. Crank Crank BANG!

Uhoh.

That was the loudest bang I've heard from a motor EVER.

Walk to the engine compartment. Nothing obvious, hmmm - check this, look at that, pretend I know what to look for..WAIT A MINUTE - The dizzy cap is off - just resting on the distributor! Well, that can't be good?

I pull the cap off completely to find a bunch of bakelite (I think that's what it's made out of?) shavings and a broken piece about 1/4" long inside. Well, it turns out that piece is the registration key for the inside of the rotor - I had somehow torqued the rotor enough that the key piece broke, but it still remained on the shaft.

FUCH FUCH FUCH FUCH!

So much for my nice new rev-limiting rotor

Step back from the vehicle. Take a deep breath. What to do, what to do.

Well, I crank the engine by hand via the fan bolt and belt. Things seem to feel OK - compression, no binding, blah blah.

I have my old rotor around here somewhere.... Should I? Do I dare?

Sure.

Pop it in, clean up the cap, button it up. Cross fingers. Crank crank.

Vroooom!

Running. Not even that rough considering I will have to re-time with the new rotor.

WTF!?

Fuel pressure - 3PSI.

Engine idling, 1200 RPM.

All seems well.

Ok - I'll let'r idle for a while, while I button back up the front end skid plate.

15 minutes later, she's still running nice - pressure is 3PSI - I decide I'm going to reset the timing and go for a spin (it's almost midnight by this time - I'm sure my neighbors are loving this). At this point, I'm thinking I might have had a fuel blockage that I inadvertantly cleared when I disconnected the feed line from the pump.

Lower the front end (the only end I had up, so the car was tilted up a bit... foreshadowing

Go grab the timing light, head back to the engine bay - check the fuel pressure. Wait - WTF! 2psi. and falling.

ARRRRRGG

I watch it drop slowly back beneath 1 and the gauge needle hits the stop registering (effectively zero).

FUCHING HELL.

That's it. I'm done.


So I'm thinking that maybe the pump is failing - having the car up in the front was allowing gravity to help pressurize the line. I guess the best plan of action would be to replace this pump.

I'm thinking of buying a new pump, lines, regulator and whanot. QUICKLY. Move the pump into the smugglers box (for easier access - gad, I hate working right underneath fuel lines) and go from there. Does this sound reasonable to you guys?

Alas, this means I will miss the friday DE

But, if the stars align, I WILL be ready for Gingerman in August.


Just lie still - this will only take a few minutes

"You're getting old"

This, said to me by my family doctor, was a bit more painful than my left knee which was the reason I was talking with him in the first place.

You see, I've had this long-term knee pain for almost seven months now. It's really annoying and makes me nervous. So, I go to the doctor. He does some poking and moving examining the kneecap, and basically comes up with that simple conclusion above. Great.

However, it finally gets to the point that the pain is waking me up at night and whatnot. So I go back. This time I press the issue - I want to find out what's wrong ya know?

"Ok - I'll send you for an MRI - then a specialist will determine if there is anything we can do, or how we can proceed - how's that sound?"

Alrighty then! Bring on the technology!

So, I go get an MRI. This is the second I've had. It's been a while since the first one, however, so things have changed quite a bit. The machine is much smaller, the environment is much nicer, oh - and you get to have your own CD with the images - sweet!


If you're squeamish, you might want to turn away. Then again, if you're squeamish, you're probably not reading this crap anyway.



Nice huh? There are 149 more. Maybe if you're interested, I'll put them on my Flikr page.

What's it telling me? I dunno. If I did, the title of this blog would be more like "Rich and conservative Radiologist in malpractice hell".

Oh - and what are the results as reported by the specialists?

I dunno - haven't heard a thing.

But my knee is feeling much better, thanks for asking.

It's not the heat - it's the HEAT

Holy shit - it's been HOT around here.

95 degree days - in June - just ain't right. Amy and I pick up the kids from day care everyday, and it's like they've run a marathon. Dirty, sweaty, hungry. This heat is a brutal. It's been like this almost two weeks straight.

Last weekend we went to the local carnival/fest thing. They've been holding it in downtown Downers Grove for years. Typical carnie/corndog stuff - they block off a couple of the main streets, invite a variety of 'vendors' in to set up booths - and, of course, section off a large area for the carnival rides.

How scary are those things, huh?

I'm not talking about "Wheeeeeee!!! This ride is SO scary!! I want to go again" - no sir; I'm talking "Ummm - is that bolt supposed to be THAT loose there?" or "Geee - wouldn't it be horrible if that giant spinning piece of metal containing 20 or 30 humans would break loose and go careening down main street?"

I never thought about that stuff when I was a teenager - I guess I was too obsessed with breasts. Ahh, the innocence of youth.

So Max, our five year old, is all cocky now that he has been on the rides before (last year), so has a good feeling for what is scary and what isn't ("Wheeeeeee! scary"). He has a plan already since he has previously reconnoitered the area - motorcycles, then dump trucks, then dune buggies, then motorcycles again and maybe some more rides, but then COTTON CANDY. ok? OK? ok? Can we go? Can we go NOW? Ok? Howabout now?

This will be the twins' first encounter with the carnival - we're all sooooo excited.

So tour guide Max tells us that the first ride will be (of course) the motorcycles.

Quick aside on the "design" of carnival rides in general, and the motorcycles specifically. I'm sure after many board meetings, brainstorming sessions and design reviews, the engineers who designed these rides have come up with the cheapest to produce, easiest to set-up and tear-down, most maintainable, easily operated 'rides' achievable.

Notice what's missing from those design parameters? Three letters. "F U N". I think the "fun" part of the design was forgotten - or cut from the budget.

On the other hand, I'm the sucker paying $2 per kid, per ride to populate this thing...

So, Max marches right up to the "RIDE OPERATOR", hands in his two tickets - and coaxes his two brothers into the caged area, and up to the motorcycles. Apparently, the choice of a particular flavor of motorcycle is more a matter of finding one with a vacant 'drivers' position, than that of color, chrome, or handlebar style. Lucky for us, there are two 'cycles one-in-front-o- the-other. The boys load up (Wil and Max in front of their respective machines, and Sam sitting in the passenger seat behind Max).


Snap off a few pictures before the "RIDE OPERATOR" presses the green start button - and... we're on our way.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Wow - that's annoying. No wonder the "RIDE OPERATOR" looks like he's ready to go off the deep end.

"Hi Sammy!! Hi Wil!! Hi Max!!"

One lap - done (and no, I don't know the lap times of these things. Suffice it to say, the whole ride lasts a little longer than one lap around the track Blackhawk).

Uhoh - Wil is NOT enjoying his first carnival ride.

Wil's parents are now feeling terrible. And we've only just done one lap!

Then, a miracle occurred. The kind-hearted soul running this contraption (previously referred to as "THE RIDE OPERATOR") stopped the ride to let Wil off.

And gave us the two tickets back.

There are still angels walking the earth. This one is named Buddy.



Thanks Buddy