Tell us your car ritual story
Years ago I owned a Volkswagen Rabbit diesel with a bad starter solenoid. I used to carry a small block of wood around with me -- if the engine didn't spin when I turned the key, I'd open the hood and rap on the starter with the block of wood, and she'd turn right over. The Rabbit even had a little space just under the hood, between the base of the windshield and the firewall, into which my block of wood fit perfectly. I suppose I could have had the car fixed, but the block-of-wood ritual was part of what made that little Rabbit so much fun.
Many of us have had cars that required some sort of process to make them do what we want. What's your car ritual story? Click the "comments" link below and tell us about it. -- Aaron Gold
Related: How un-cool was your first car?
Photo © Volkswagen of America
Comments
This isn’t exactly a ritual, but it fits well enough. My first car was a 1979 Pontiac Grand Prix. The driver’s door didn’t open, but the window worked. To get my day going, I’d use the slide-over method from the passenger door. For the rest of the day it was Luke Duke all the way! I even mounted bull horns on the hood in honor of Boss Hogg.
Back in High school I had a 92 Ford Ranger that I lowered to the point where the rear axle rested on the frame. I solved the problem of being able to drive it by putting a set of air shocks on the back with a wally-word $15 12v tire inflating air pump. It would take 2-3 minutes to “lift up” the rear end before I could drive anywhere.
I did this until I had the money for a real after market air suspension, and I sent about 5 of those cheap air pumps up in smoke before I could achieve this!
For a while while in college I had a raggedy Mustang II as my means to woo (read ‘bribe’) the ladies… (this was way back in the day when most kids fresh into college didn’t have a car and weren’t spoiled by their parents by getting something equivalent to a Range Rover or Lexus just for graduating high school!) Anyways, you had to pump the gas to the floor 3-4 times and crank it for about 10 seconds, then get out, pop the hood and stick a screwdriver down the carb neck opening the butterfly (the air cleaner lid went the way of the dodo really quick) and then quickly hop back in and start it, feathering the gas pedal for about a minute to warm it unless you had someone else to pull the screwdriver from the carb and close the hood. It was a finely tuned ballet that had to be performed everytime when starting cold, regardless of the weather, and any variation from the procedure would result in a no start condition for the next 20 or 30 minutes, as if the car was making you pay pennance for not adhering to the strict regimen it demanded.
I hated that car.
Years ago I owned a Jaguar 420G. It did indeed belong to the Lucas Prince of Darkness family. Each of the two fuel tanks had its own fuel pump. It was always a 50/50 proposition to turn the ignition on and wait to push the separate starter button until one would hear the tell-tale ticking of the fuel pumps …or not. They were hidden in the trunk behind two beatifully carpeted access panels over each wheel well. What feels like 100 beatifully chromed screws and beauty rings held them in place.When the car was new, I would patiently unscrew them, bash the fuel pumps with any object at hand and patiently re-screw them all in. Eventually I never screwed them back in and even left the cover panels partially loose, thereby exposing the…gasp…body work underneath them (Racing Green , naturally). My parents were horified when they came to vist and I had to place their luggage in the now not 100% carpeted trunk.I had one more Jag after that and finally switched to Mercedes. That was 13 Mercedi ago. Not a single fuel pump incident in I dont know how many hundreds of thousands of miles. Thanks for making me thinkk of fond memories. I wish I still had the 420G or the 2.5l MK2 Daimler before it.
In 1974, when I was 16 and in high school, I had a 1962 MG Midget. It was the first sports car at my school. The bendix on the starter only worked once because the return spring was not strong enough to pull back for a second try. The starter was accessed through the inside of the car through the passenger side foot well. I could take out the starter (two bolts) and reset the bendix in about 60 seconds. When I got to school in the morning, I always took the starter out and reset the bendix. This was done so that after school, when I jumped into the car with many fellow students awing and oohing, crossing my fingers, I would put the key in the ignition and start the car - but I only had one try. Not cool!!! If the car did not start, I would make up some excuse and go back in to the school. When the kids left, I would go to the car, pull out the starter, reset the bendix, and start her up. I did this ritual for about a year until the MG’s wiring harness caught fire and put the car out of its misery!
Well lets see, I had a ‘81 Ford Fairmont sedan with the 200ci straight 6 as my first car. It had all manner of idiosyncrasies that one. There was a delicate process with which to start her that involved feathering the gas pedal a few times, waiting the appropriate 10 seconds to turn the key (no more, no less or it would not turn over), and putting into gear as soon as it started or it would stall…never figured that one out. She also had heat when you wanted a/c and a/c when you wanted heat. The horn would honk whenever you turned right (that magically stopped after a while, guess it fixed itself). Oh yeah, and the fuel gauge would decide whether or not to work on its own, which was going to cost more to fix than I paid for the car…I just started carrying around a 2.5 gallon gas can and expecting to run out of gas no matter what the gauge said. Gee, I miss that car
sooo long ago - would always check the car dealers “back lot” for cheapies
I think it was a 46 pontaic ww/ 6 cyl
carb float would stick and I kept a special rock under the front seat - several taps on the carb and everything would be AOK
Mike,
Your comment– particularly the word “fire”– reminded me of a 1969 Mercedes 230 I owned while I was in college. There was no particular ritual involved in driving the car, but it did catch fire once when I was illegally parked in an alley (with no plates on the car!)
After calling 911 and putting out the flames with my sweater, I called the authorities back and told them not to worry about it. They said they had to come as a matter of protocol, so I responded by saying, “You can come if you want, but I’ll be long gone!”
And with that, I drove off into the night.
Basem
I’m only 13 so I’ll tell you of my friend’s ‘83 mercedes 300td wagon. The only way to start the darn thing was to hold the starter mechanism for 60 seconds before starting it! C’etait completement ridicule(It was totally ridiculous)! Pardon my french(literally).
My first car in high school was an ‘81 Toyota Corolla 1.8. It had been driven 150k miles by my parents and sister before I got my hands on it.
1) The driver’s seat latch was broken and the seat back would not stay up. I used an old cooler placed behind it in the backseat to keep the seat in place.
2) The driver’s door handle was broken and rested flush against the door, impossible to open with your fingers. After climbing in through the passenger door a few times, I eventually mastered a trick using the door key to pry up the door handle to open the door.
3) The battery cable was bad and constantly lost connection with the battery. About half the time the starter wouldn’t get any juice, so I’d pull the thing off the battery, scrape all sides of the terminal and cable with a screwdriver, replace, and it’d start right up.
My next car was an ‘82 Dodge Ram 3.8 I6. At one point, it had trouble idling and the idling screw on the carb didn’t work, so every time I’d let off the gas, the truck would shut off. So I had to drive with two feet and keep my right foot on the accelerator constantly, even while braking.
I had a ‘68 Chevy pickup with 307 2 BBL and a “three on the tree” manual column shifter–which I loved by the way–so cool jammin’ gears on that wide throw club. But I digress. The shifter linkage was pretty worn, and about every tenth downshift it would get stuck in first. I’d have to practically redline it getting off the road with traffic jammed up my butt so I could pop the hood and yank the linkage back into submission. God I miss that big green beast–even had a name for him–Gomer.
I had a 1953 Chevrolet with standard shift and a 216 c.i. straight six that desperately needed rings to stop the oil burning. We thought it was a 232 and put 232 rings in it although it was really tough to insert the pistons into the cylinders with those larger rings. The result was the starter could not turn the engine when warm. It was quite a benefit when on a date and driving a deserted dark country road I’d step on the brake without depressing the clutch to kill the engine. I had about 20 to 30 minutes alone with my date before the car would start again! What a great car!
Gomer. That’s hilarious. My Mustang II was the Toad. Bwaahaahaaa!!! Amazing what you’ll drive and do when you’re young, huh?!
Oh Scott you reminded me. I had a 2002 Ford Focus ZX3 I got pre-owned with about 20k miles on it, and about once a month I would loose 5th gear and reverse. I would have to pop the hood each time and tighten the shift cable linkages near the firewall.
The rear wheel bearing broke on this car also. I noticed sparks coming from the rear drivers side wheel; pulled over and noticed my wheel sticking out about 1.5 inches too far…
That was my last Ford.
In high school, I had a 1971 Fiat 850 Spider — a tiny car by any standard. In the morning, driving to school was simple and painless. Pull the choke, turn the key and away I went. After school, though, the return trip home required an interesting ritual: finding my car. Because the car was so light, my “friends” would often pick it up and move it to a different area of the parking lot. I loved that car. I eventually crashed it into a tree…
My first car was a circa ‘67 Opal. I was in college with no money and some guy I knew said, “If you can get it out of my garage, it’s yours.”
It was a least 3 shaded of blue with gobs of unsanded body putty over the rust spots. I had to remove the door panels to reset the windows which regularly off their tracks.
Also it wouldn’t start with the key. Don’t know why, didn’t have any money to find out. Drove it 25 mile to school and parked on hills at both ends. Used the starter to get it rolling down the hill and prayed I’d never stall it.
Back in the fifties I was at camp and got to sit in front seat next to the driver. A lady in her 70’s jeans and saddle shoes no socks.
The van had a floor starter. Did I get turned on seeing her put her left down on the clutch a and then her foot on the starter pedal. Wow! I got a high seeing her attack that starter.
A day I will never forget
Sherman Novoson