Okay, let’s set the record straight on a couple things.
First, as has been well documented (to death some would probably say), the reasons for my fondness for 1960 Fords can be traced back to the one I had for my first car as a high school senior. The car Buttercup and I dated in, got married in, and had all through college. It was nostalgic getting one just like it when Binderman emailed and said he knew where one was. It was like getting a huge piece of my youth back.
But, there was another element to the decision. I’m looking at retirement in a few years (maybe sooner, who knows). I wanted the Fairlane 500 as a hobby for when that day finally arrives. I was active in car clubs and car shows years ago, and looked forward to doing that again. A key component this time would be being able to learn to work on it myself. While dear ol’ Dad gave me his sense of humor, for which I’m eternally grateful, he also gave me his talent in turning a wrench. (Not as grateful.)
I wanted to be able to learn how to repair and maintain the car, something I’d never even attempted with the two other old classic cars I’ve owned. Other than a 1950s Volkswagen, I can’t imagine an easier car to work on than a 1960 Ford. No power steering. No power brakes. No automatic transmission. Not even a radio. I mean, I can almost stand in the engine compartment right next to the Mileage-Maker 223 cubic inch straight-six engine. I’m reasonably intelligent. (Hold your comments.) I’m willing to learn. I’ve even given thought to learning basic body work, despite Motcat’s best efforts to steer me away from that particular endeavor.
All that to say, I met the challenge to replace the fuel filter and fuel pump with open arms. Dare I say, I actually looked forward to it.
I had resources available Dad never had. I watched YouTube videos the night before. I got advice from friends who had experience. I had the 1960 Ford Motor Company Shop Manual that Buttercup had purchased for me for Father’s Day.
Granted, my collection of tools was a little janky. But I’ve known guys who could rebuild a transmission with nothing more than a ball of wax, bundle of twine, and a ball peen hammer.
I laid out everything I thought I’d need on a toweled flat surface nearby the engine bay. Even though it was early in the morning and the garage was only 90 degrees, I set up a box fan pointed in the direction of the massive open hood. I was initially put off by the fact that I had accumulated four rusty 9/16” open end wrenches, but couldn’t find a single 1/2”. How does that happen?
Nonetheless, I pushed forward. I was careful not to bend or twist the metal fuel lines as I took everything apart. Just like the guy in the YouTube video cautioned. I had new clamps to replace those that I’d be removing. My initial shock of seeing the picture of a plastic fuel on the box when I picked it from Consuelo up at O’Malley Zone Auto Parts and Fish Tacos was met with reassurances that the picture did not reflect the contents of the box. I’d checked to be sure. The new part seemed to match the old part. I laid it out next to the collection of tools. I was scrubbed and ready for the operation ahead.
I was slow. Thorough. Every step of the process was planned and double checked with the directions provided in the box, backed up with the YouTube video I’d watched twice. Someone with experience could have probably performed the installation in a half hour. I took two and a half.
In one of the most surprising aspects of the entire procedure, I didn’t cuss a single time. In talking to myself, I never raised my voice. The moment I felt like there could be any trouble, I set the rusty tools down, backed away from the Fairlane 500, and took a long sip of Folgers to calm my nerves. Like a surgeon stepping back during a heart transplant to let the scrub nurse wipe his brow. (Buttercup has not put the Nurse outfit back on since knee surgery. I was just being rhetorical.) As a result, everything fit perfectly. There were no parts left over when the installation was complete. I chuckled to myself that I had even worried about how it would all come together at the end.
I put all the tools away. Gathered up the old parts and put them in the box the new parts had come in. (The one with the misleading picture on the front.) I went into the house and scrubbed my hands, not wanting to get the inside of the car all dirty when I turned the key and listened to the sweet sound of that Mileage-Maker Six purring again. By the time I got back out to the garage, it was probably pushing a hundred degrees. It didn’t matter. No amount of heat and humidity could sap the joy out of a job well done, the feeling of confidence being built, the sense of accomplishment that goes with an almost spiritual type of personal growth.
Sitting behind the big blue wheel of the Ford, I pulled out the choke. Tapped the accelerator just a bit. Turned the key.
The sumbitch wouldn’t start.
Anyway, it was a full week here in The Fort. We had a series starring Thad Gunter trying to do good, but learning you can’t fix stupid. He had a good stay in Fort Stockton, nonetheless. I can’t imagine that he won’t be back again. We met Liam Lucas from up North, all the way to Canada, in fact. He shared some Canuck wisdom from the bench seat of his Mercury tow truck.
Late Saturday night at the CMC World Headquarters up above the Ben Franklin Lucinda gaveled the meeting of the CotW Committee to order and almost immediately lost control of the unruly bunch.
Rusty Hammer nominated Sailor Jim for his comment on Fort Stockton After Dark, Chapter 3:
“Rhino-hymen, I almost couldn’t type it whilst laughing, Rhino Hymen….!
The Cap is/has decided to go full Harold Robbins/Ray Chandler on us…
Used to sneak my moms Robbins novels at about 12-13 years old been ruined ever since. “The Betsy , blushing , just recalling the book!!
was introduced to Chandler shortly after college, didn’t even know there was a class on detective noir, damn would have gotten an A
“From 30 feet away she looked like a lot of class. From 10 feet away she looked like something made up to be seen from 30 feet away.” Classic, just Classic. Imagine a wokster reading that today! ahahahahaha
Keep practicing Cap. LOL”
Rex Hall from the drug store was having none of it. He nominated Motcat for his comment on the finale of the same story:
“I have a couple ideas that may explain the last few days. It is quite possible the Captain has not seen an offer from Hearst Publications to buy the rights to the blog, which would have set up the Captain financially for the rest of his life. So he turned a bit more edgy with the stories to raise awareness of his versatility as an author.
Or it could be he finally acquired the hardtop from a Colonial White 1957 Ford Thunderbird, put the top in his basement and he is hiding inside it, peering out through the porthole window. This may have given him a different perspective on writing.
In either explanation, we should have a contingency plan in place in case the spiral doesn’t level off. A bunch of us can meet up at the GFD and we can caravan to the Captain’s place and have an intervention. I already have Lucinda on board and she is in constant contact with Buttercup, who is monitoring the situation.”
Then, out of nowhere, Benard Marx storms into the room with a dark German beer in one hand and a bratwurst in the other and demands that Marty Roth’s comment be considered for this week’s award. It was from Chapter 2 and went something like this”
“One Button At A Time” …
The art of anticipation , an ultimate appreciation, the building of sensation…
Wouldn’t some of us like to think of ourselves as a mashup of Paul Newman and Steve McQueen, David Niven, James Cagney, Gregory Peck, Jimmy Stewart, and Marty Roth?”
“Well this is not an organization given to providing trophies for everyone. This is ‘Murica. If one candidate doesn’t rise to the occasion and present himself as the unabashed clear cut winner, then we just won’t present an award this week,” Lucinda shouted. “Besides that, we’re just about out of funds for the Prize Patrol.” A silence fell over the assembled group. “Hell, they’ve all won once, anyway.” She was done discussing it.
Benard looked disappointed. Delgado had to get in between Rex and Rusty before the situation devolved into fisticuffs and Chief Martin had to be called. I remember when these meetings used to be friendly. I damn sure wasn’t going to argue with Lucinda. “The hand that pours the Folgers rules the Fort,” is what I like to say. Plus, I told Buttercup I wouldn’t be late and I damn sure didn’t want to go back on my word, just in case she was putting some Rice Krispie Treats in the oven while I was gone.
But that’s all in the rearview mirror. “What have you done for me lately?” Mayor Goodman always likes to ask. (He usually has his hand out as he’s asking, and slurring his words, but we always know what he’s asking for.) This week we have another series. And with it, the return of a couple Fort Stockton favorites from the past. Surely it’s not possible that Eileen Parker, (aka Parker McHale), and Chance Collinsworth have paths that somehow cross. Or is it? Anything can happen. One of our own, DB Cooper makes an appearance later on this week, as well. It promises to be entertaining. (“Promises” might be a bit too strong.)
It’s gonna be a good week, I can just tell. I hope you enjoy the stories coming down the ‘pike. There are only 2 CMC mugs left on the shelf here at World Headquarters, if you haven’t purchased yours yet. The CMC cap special is still going on. And you can always click the button to buy the Captain a cup of coffee. Parts for a 1960 Ford Fairlane 500 don’t grow on trees, ya know.
Remember what my granddad always used to say . . . “Never let the same snake bite you twice.”
El Capitán
18 responses to “FROM THE BACK OF THE BERMUDA, 8/18/2024”
Following @Motcat’s suggestions, carefully extinguish the Pall Mall, and check the volume of fuel delivered into the container over a +/- 15 second period of time – it should be significant.
I tried to drive the ’95 Fleetwood Brougham today – turned the key – engine spun like a merry-go-round – wouldn’t run. Too darn hot around here to fart around with it – will play some other time.
Most effective remedial tool for the Lucas fuel pump on my MGA during its 1960s heyday of gamely transporting me around So.Cal was the handle of my copper mallet.
I have purchased – and installed – two (2!!!) brand new mechanical fuel pumps for the Mustang recently. Both worked poorly and/or intermittently and being new (NEW!!!) exceeded my less then optimal ability to diagnose resulting in much stress and reasonably inventive use of foul language & cursing.
Third time was the charm.
“Third time was a charm.” For the cursing or the fuel pumps?
probably both Cap’n
Yes.
Were the pumps from Mexico, China, Indonesia, or Guatemala?
I’ve had that complete lack of success and lack of concern from Rock(y) Auto. They won’t accept my orders anymore because I refuse to pay for items which never arrived.
“The sumbitch wouldn’t start.” “… I didn’t cuss a single time. In talking to myself, I never raised my voice.”
Shoot, Captain, THAT’S your problem, rat chair!
Nothing better than a dark German beer and a Bratwurst. Even though it would have been a 3-peat for me, I bow to the church of beer and sausage.
Never trust or take car advice from an old guy that wears a camo hat. Oh wait, your new friend in the bronco wasn’t the same guy recently picked for, well, you know.
BTW, there is a simple test to make sure the fuel pump is not working. And you haven’t lived a full life until you’re on your back under a 78 Cherokee Chief pulled over on I-10 replacing the fuel pump. I actually always have a spare fuel pump, along with tools, in the back of the Cherk, even if I’m just running to the Pig for marshmallows and a box of Rice Krispies.
So what’s the “simple test to see if the fuel pump is not working”? Or are you teasing us like it’s a Rice Krispie Treat.
Not going to lie, ‘flat on your back on I-10 under a Cherokee on the way to the Pig’ sounds like the premise for a new story.
Thad Gunter pulls up in the Pontimercrosoto Coupe to render aid. Benard’s mother, next to him in the passenger seat as they make their way to Mount Rushmore, holds his bratwurst so he can get the tools out of his lambskin valise in the trunk. . . .
Take the rubber fuel line off the original metal fuel line that is the output from the fuel pump.
If you want to be safe, put a long temporary piece of fuel hose on the original metal fuel line and run that into a fuel safe container like a gas can; or an old Folders can should work.
Have Buttercup throw on some overalls, get in the car and crank the engine. You should see fuel pumping out the hose if the pump is working, gas is in the tank, and the fuel line is clear.
If you don’t see any fuel, we’ll assume for the moment Consuelo at O’Malley Zone didn’t sell you a junk part. Next I would remove the gas cap from the tank (don’t forget this step, don’t forget this step, don’t forget this step).
Remove fuel line from the input side of the pump and lightly blow some compressed through the fuel line. You should hear air coming out the gas tank inlet. If you do not, you may have a clogged fuel line. Which is possible considering the fuel tank is 64 years old and may have rust inside. We’re all a little crusty at 64.
Now we have to remember, you are mucking around with a flammable substance, and I don’t mean anything dumped or passed by Mayor Goodman. Just make sure you don’t have a lit Chesterfield dangling from your lips. If you need more help, have your people call my people.
When agreement can not be reached for the COTW award it should default to Benard, even if he hasn’t commented. Given what we know of his traumatic youth, in particular the “swimming” lesson and the Mt. Rushmore lesson, he deserves plenty of awards.
Good advice has already been offered on the 500 troubles, you should be back to cruising soon. I love that engine bay, excellent example of where less is more.
Some items related to safely, in case you’re not already aware:
– Worm gear hose clamps can loosen over time, good idea to check tightness periodically. Especially those fuel lines.
– Consider replacing the single reservoir brake master cylinder with a dual reservoir unit. Might be best to have a mechanic do it, money well spent.
– Looks like your heater core has been bypassed. With Buttercup next to you probably don’t need the heater, even on cool days. But, there could be situations (not all rice krispy related) where you need the defroster.
Chance/Elileen, really hope I don’t get hit by a bus before the story comes out!
I should probably create a whole new page, just for the list of mechanical projects. I’m losing track.
Correct on the heater bypass. A kit from Amazon and a YouTube video was required after a trip to the post office to mail off some CMC caps. The intoxicating aroma of anti-freeze on the passenger side floorboard was short lived. (Note to self: put a new heater core on the mechanical list.)
Steer clear of public transportation this week DB, particularly busses.
Seems that the Bermuda has gone from red to turquoise (which being from Miami, I prefer).
The metaphorical Bermuda is a chameleon. (The wagon, not my shorts. Although….)
Looks like a job well done on the fuel pump and filter. Hard to underestimate the satisfaction of completing a repair and returning the car to its original intention. I believe we have an enormous untapped potential with our youths to take up a career in the automotive industry whether it be restoration, product design, electronics, or any number of a myriad of other specialties.
Back to the Fairlane – she’s a beauty and that engine compartment is too cool. Even that radiator tank resembles the same tank found in a Cobra. You didn’t mention if the car didn’t turn over or failed ignite – either should be an easy fix. That’s probably an over simplistic observation from afar, but keep at it, your solution is near! Like the old political adage, and if all else fails, keep your tools close and your mechanic closer. She’ll get there. In the meantime, consider a repaint of the rocker cover and air cleaner assembly and then perhaps a bracket or two – that is a beautiful canvas you’ve got to work with!
Looks like Cap is going to learn how to diagnose electrical problems. The coil looks close to original, so I would replace it regardless. Three wires and a clamp and they are pretty cheap. (I am a fan of Bosch blue coils.). Just make sure you get the polarity right. Fuel systems and the majority of electrical systems in a car of that vintage don’t just die overnight, save the coil. Heat takes a toll as it might be 64 years old.
Buy yourself a multimeter and inductive timing light, too. A multimeter, once you have learned how to use it and what is telling you, is a very valuable tool for almost everything electrical.
I have other opinions of what I see under the hood, but they are not relevant to your current situation.
(Something tells me that Marty will chime in soon ..)
I’m late getting to the game today, and appreciate being among vaunted commenters –
Thanks @Benard – (Check’s in the Mail) –
Just a hunch, but if points setting/dwell turns out to be close then my guess is a bad condenser. The new ones are very “iffy” quality, and I recently had on go out on the 1930 Packard. No warning – one day I drove it to a Cars & Coffee, came home and parked in the garage. Next day the battery and starter did their job, the engine spun but would not fire. I had fuel to the carb. I reinstalled the very old condenser I had swapped out at the most recent tune-up — BINGO !! Runs like I assume it did when it was taken from the Paris agency to the Royal family in Monaco, ninety-four years ago, and how I’ve driven it many thousands of miles since it came home with me maybe seven or eight years ago.
Thanks, @Carunch