Not much real progress on the Beetle to report as I've been out of town, but yesterday I was working from home and my dear wife had just left when saw this Beetle being towed past our house, followed by a VW Bus that we know parks around the corner. She thought it was in crappy condition like my Beetle so she called me and I rode my bike over and talked to the guy as he pushed it into his garage.
Turns out the Beetle is in great condition, just customized to look awesome. The car was also the main character in this 8-minute film, which was entered in the 2009 48-Hour Film Project, an annual St. Louis event where teams of filmmakers are challenged to write, shoot, and edit a film in 48 hours or less.
I don't know if I enjoyed the film so much because it's great, or because I'd just met the Beetle and its owner. I'm pretty sure it's great. Not suitable for children -- look out for a few f-bombs.
Double-click to view larger:
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Sand blasting, Take 1.
So I was giddy with anticipation this past week thinking about the sandblaster on its way to me. I had several day dreams about the paint and primer flaking off in huge swaths, revealing pristine body panels smooth and tender as a baby's bum. Friday night I opened the blaster, took it apart to examine its parts, put it back together, read the instructions and read them again. I couldn't wait for the morning.
At go-time, I put the suction hose into an old bag of play sand we've had sitting around. I sipped my coffee while the air compressor filled its tank. Then I sat on an old paint bucket and fired away at the front wheel well. At first it was pretty sweet. Paint flaking off, check. Primer flaking off, check. Violent sandstorm to my face, check.
About 30 seconds into it, something strange happened. I'd read about it in the manual. The sand was a little damp, which caused it to clump up inside the hose. I got another bag of coarser sand that seemed drier than the first and went back at it. Maybe too coarse to be ideal but it still blew through pretty well. This time the sandstorm to my face had bits of glass and, as far as I could tell, shrapnel. A few minutes into it, I had water blowing out with the sand -- another condition from the manual which means there's water in the compressor tank. After filling and draining the tank a few times and still getting water, I put the blaster aside for the day and went back to sanding.
My sandblasting daydreams did not come true -- at least not this weekend. I poured the damp sand into a bucket in my brick-oven of a garage, hoping it'll dry out before Saturday.
I went to the store and found a 5" flexible disc for the drill that uses adhesive-backed sandpaper, which I tried after the lame attempt at sandblasting. It works awesome for the first few minutes, and fair after that. So after a couple hours on Saturday and a couple more on Sunday, I think I have all the primer off the hood and much of it off the deck lid, and several other areas are cleaned up as well.
In a couple weeks I'll need to do a 21-point turn in the garage and see what the other side of the Beetle looks like -- I haven't seen that side in 5 years.
* * * * *
I can't remember how long I had the Beetle before we started fixing it up. I'll track down the repair records and find out.
I have just a handful of memories driving it when it was blue-ish. One of which was taking a friend and her parents for an evening jaunt around Neosho, to show off the old beast. The top was down (because it made tearing noises when we tried to put it up). All I remember is how they commented on what a surprisingly smooth ride it was for such a small car, and then when we got back, after I took the key out it sputtered long enough for us to all get out and walk around to the back and watch the engine turn.
Another time, my friend Bryan and I drove it up to a soccer tournament in Joplin. We took highway 86 back to Neosho, and I sped up to about 75 approaching one of the highway's big S-curves and said something like, "Let's see how she corners!" Bryan tensed up and grabbed oh-crap bar on the dash. I put both hands in the air above the windshield as we hit the curve, and as he inquired as to my intentions, we blew straight off the highway and onto a side road -- my plan the whole time.
At go-time, I put the suction hose into an old bag of play sand we've had sitting around. I sipped my coffee while the air compressor filled its tank. Then I sat on an old paint bucket and fired away at the front wheel well. At first it was pretty sweet. Paint flaking off, check. Primer flaking off, check. Violent sandstorm to my face, check.
About 30 seconds into it, something strange happened. I'd read about it in the manual. The sand was a little damp, which caused it to clump up inside the hose. I got another bag of coarser sand that seemed drier than the first and went back at it. Maybe too coarse to be ideal but it still blew through pretty well. This time the sandstorm to my face had bits of glass and, as far as I could tell, shrapnel. A few minutes into it, I had water blowing out with the sand -- another condition from the manual which means there's water in the compressor tank. After filling and draining the tank a few times and still getting water, I put the blaster aside for the day and went back to sanding.
My sandblasting daydreams did not come true -- at least not this weekend. I poured the damp sand into a bucket in my brick-oven of a garage, hoping it'll dry out before Saturday.
I went to the store and found a 5" flexible disc for the drill that uses adhesive-backed sandpaper, which I tried after the lame attempt at sandblasting. It works awesome for the first few minutes, and fair after that. So after a couple hours on Saturday and a couple more on Sunday, I think I have all the primer off the hood and much of it off the deck lid, and several other areas are cleaned up as well.
In a couple weeks I'll need to do a 21-point turn in the garage and see what the other side of the Beetle looks like -- I haven't seen that side in 5 years.
* * * * *
I can't remember how long I had the Beetle before we started fixing it up. I'll track down the repair records and find out.
I have just a handful of memories driving it when it was blue-ish. One of which was taking a friend and her parents for an evening jaunt around Neosho, to show off the old beast. The top was down (because it made tearing noises when we tried to put it up). All I remember is how they commented on what a surprisingly smooth ride it was for such a small car, and then when we got back, after I took the key out it sputtered long enough for us to all get out and walk around to the back and watch the engine turn.
Another time, my friend Bryan and I drove it up to a soccer tournament in Joplin. We took highway 86 back to Neosho, and I sped up to about 75 approaching one of the highway's big S-curves and said something like, "Let's see how she corners!" Bryan tensed up and grabbed oh-crap bar on the dash. I put both hands in the air above the windshield as we hit the curve, and as he inquired as to my intentions, we blew straight off the highway and onto a side road -- my plan the whole time.
Monday, June 7, 2010
A Bug's Death
If our subtitle is A Bug's Life, there's gonna have to be a resurrection, because Saturday morning I got to thinking the Bug is plumb dead. And I don't mean no four days dead like Lazarus -- it died and was dismembered about a decade ago, and has been in decay ever since. Being a '71, it's been dead at least a quarter of its life.
In high school we used to name our cars. I’d call this one Lazarus but that might be jumping the gun. Maybe one day.
I'm still trying to figure out this resurrection business, though, at a rate of four hours per weekend and making progress at a rate of what feels like little to none per hour. I found an old can of auto paint stripper about a month ago and have been brushing that onto yellow parts and letting it soak in while I sand away at the grey, off-white, blue, and Bondo-colored parts. Did I mention it's slow-going?
I’ve spent time in my garage every Saturday and Sunday morning since I started this project, save a couple weekends of being out of town. I worked on it for a couple hours this past Saturday and then overslept on Sunday.
After finally talking to a sandblasting guy, I decided I'm too much of a do-it-yourselfer (tightwad) to go that route, though I may eat those words in the coming months. Offering a glimmer of hope, my brother told me last weekend that he owns a sandblaster. So with that and the big air compressor I stole from him several years ago, I might be blasting by next weekend.
I also saw a blaster on YouTube that's hooked to a vacuum, which eliminates much or all of the inherent sandblasting mess, so I might hit up Harbor Freight this week and swap a little green for a little convenience.
* * * * *
I got this car a few weeks before I turned 17. My older brother and I had the same “deal” with our parents about our first and second cars. When we turned 16, we each drove a brown 1987 Mazda B2000 (The Turd) for a year, and at 17, our parents would match however much money we’d saved up for a car.
Since the age of 13, I’d regularly scanned the Big Nickel and Auto Trader for cars, and by age 17 had narrowed the search down to old VWs, MGs, and Triumphs. One day around my 17th birthday, my dad and I test drove a blue Karmann Ghia hardtop, with a 1776cc engine and dual carbs.
It was fast and awesome.
I was about to pull the trigger on the Ghia, but then we saw an ad for a ‘71 convertible Bug for $1,800 in need of paint, a top, and rubbers. (My dad and I laughed about it needing rubbers. Come to find out, they meant window seals, etc.) It was an hour and a half away in Parsons, Kansas, but we figured we should go have a look to rule it out.
It was an oxidized metallic blue with a white top that was so deteriorated, the weight of the back window had caused the window to rip completely out. The front seats had faux sheepskin covers. The back seat and seatback were lacking upholstery but had been lovingly wrapped in an old bed sheet, which was ripped so the original horsehair padding was exposed.
The stock 1600cc engine ran fairly well but would spit and sputter for several seconds after killing the ignition. The convertible frame mechanism seemed straight and functional. The body had no rust – the owner said it had baked in the Arizona sun most of its existence.
I knew I had to make a decision on it before we left that day, because of the long drive from Neosho. My dad and I drove it around town and then stopped at Dairy Queen to kick the tires some more over ice cream. It was a warm but not hot September day, a great day for a convertible.
For some reason I was drawn to the Beetle even over the sexier and faster Ghia. I think the soft top was the deciding factor, and at this price we could afford to breathe some life back into it with a tune-up, paint job, top, upholstery… and rubbers.
I didn’t know this at the time, but I like to make things new, to give things a second chance.
So we bought the old Beetle and drove back to Neosho, taking turns driving it, taking turns passing each other, flying our hands in the wind out the window, and generally smiling the whole drive home.
In high school we used to name our cars. I’d call this one Lazarus but that might be jumping the gun. Maybe one day.
I'm still trying to figure out this resurrection business, though, at a rate of four hours per weekend and making progress at a rate of what feels like little to none per hour. I found an old can of auto paint stripper about a month ago and have been brushing that onto yellow parts and letting it soak in while I sand away at the grey, off-white, blue, and Bondo-colored parts. Did I mention it's slow-going?
I’ve spent time in my garage every Saturday and Sunday morning since I started this project, save a couple weekends of being out of town. I worked on it for a couple hours this past Saturday and then overslept on Sunday.
After finally talking to a sandblasting guy, I decided I'm too much of a do-it-yourselfer (tightwad) to go that route, though I may eat those words in the coming months. Offering a glimmer of hope, my brother told me last weekend that he owns a sandblaster. So with that and the big air compressor I stole from him several years ago, I might be blasting by next weekend.
I also saw a blaster on YouTube that's hooked to a vacuum, which eliminates much or all of the inherent sandblasting mess, so I might hit up Harbor Freight this week and swap a little green for a little convenience.
* * * * *
I got this car a few weeks before I turned 17. My older brother and I had the same “deal” with our parents about our first and second cars. When we turned 16, we each drove a brown 1987 Mazda B2000 (The Turd) for a year, and at 17, our parents would match however much money we’d saved up for a car.
Since the age of 13, I’d regularly scanned the Big Nickel and Auto Trader for cars, and by age 17 had narrowed the search down to old VWs, MGs, and Triumphs. One day around my 17th birthday, my dad and I test drove a blue Karmann Ghia hardtop, with a 1776cc engine and dual carbs.
It was fast and awesome.
I was about to pull the trigger on the Ghia, but then we saw an ad for a ‘71 convertible Bug for $1,800 in need of paint, a top, and rubbers. (My dad and I laughed about it needing rubbers. Come to find out, they meant window seals, etc.) It was an hour and a half away in Parsons, Kansas, but we figured we should go have a look to rule it out.
It was an oxidized metallic blue with a white top that was so deteriorated, the weight of the back window had caused the window to rip completely out. The front seats had faux sheepskin covers. The back seat and seatback were lacking upholstery but had been lovingly wrapped in an old bed sheet, which was ripped so the original horsehair padding was exposed.
The stock 1600cc engine ran fairly well but would spit and sputter for several seconds after killing the ignition. The convertible frame mechanism seemed straight and functional. The body had no rust – the owner said it had baked in the Arizona sun most of its existence.
I knew I had to make a decision on it before we left that day, because of the long drive from Neosho. My dad and I drove it around town and then stopped at Dairy Queen to kick the tires some more over ice cream. It was a warm but not hot September day, a great day for a convertible.
For some reason I was drawn to the Beetle even over the sexier and faster Ghia. I think the soft top was the deciding factor, and at this price we could afford to breathe some life back into it with a tune-up, paint job, top, upholstery… and rubbers.
I didn’t know this at the time, but I like to make things new, to give things a second chance.
So we bought the old Beetle and drove back to Neosho, taking turns driving it, taking turns passing each other, flying our hands in the wind out the window, and generally smiling the whole drive home.
* * * * *
Photos -- the second one is the paint stripper at work. The video at the end is a couple seconds of the paint stripper in action before my camera batteries died.
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