Custom, right?

Back when I was younger and dumber I found myself caught up in the auto styling mania that followed the first Fast and Furious film.  Those days seemed to be filled with a craze of dress-up items you could practically buy in most any store.  The most hilarious products (which also were most popular) were the least useful. I remember seeing kits that had stickers you could put over where you wanted light to pass through on your headlights so you could paint the rest, effectively rendering your headlights useless.  Of those, the colored hose and sleeving kits for dressing up the under hood caught my eye.  Blue and Red were most popular, but my preference was the yellow, which happened to go on clearance when I started working at an auto parts store.

Out I went to the truck and used every scrap of the dress-up kit to "beautify" and "customize" my engine bay.  The results were surely not show-worthy but my pride remained.  Eventually I did show underneath the hood to someone who introduced me to the term 'ricer.'   

I was offended. 

I had spent a lot of time getting that together.  I thought it looked good.  Everybody else was doing it.  But it was exactly not what I wanted.  It was not custom.  Somebody once used the phrase "polish a turd and its still a turd."  I had done nothing to improve performance, function, or (even questionably) appearance.

Since that time custom has taken on a new meaning for me.  I have learned that putting in things that don't belong with the deception of originality is custom.  I found that engineering custom parts with the same mindset is very custom.  These days, custom can be subtle and it can also be glaringly obvious, but hardly obnoxious to avoid being 'ricer.'

And so, as my professional career continues, I remain stalwart to the conviction of never being called a ricer again.

...and in the beginning there was one white truck

July 6th, 1997  marks an important and pivotal day in my life for it was on that day I picked up my 1982 Datsun from it's former owner.  I frankly didn't have a clue about the outcome that one day would have.  My excitement over the matter was too much for me, a 15 year old, to really feel very prophetic.

The summer of 1997 was one of great growth for me.  I was supposed to visit my grandparents, help my grandpa rebuild a 1968 Datsun truck and then drive it back to Nevada as my own.  In May those plans were frustrated when he had a severe stroke that left him paralyzed and unable to work at all.  My parents asked if I even wanted to go at all.  I responded with a yes and knew I'd be in for a tough summer.

Since the object of my trip was to acquire a vehicle to drive as my "first car" Grandma and I began looking for one.  I wanted a small 4x4 truck, and had a list of 4x4 Nissans, Datsuns and Toyotas pulled from the Nickel's Worth that we called on.  Grandma didn't care whether it was a 4x4 or not, but she agreed I should get a small pickup truck.

After several viewings, we found a listing that read "1982 Datsun King Cab  Runs Good $800 OBO".  When we went to find the said truck, we didn't find it.  I rejoiced because what I really wanted was a 4x4.  Strange as it may seem, we ended up calling the guy back when we discovered the truck had not been taken off the listings.  Kei Freidricks met us at his home in Coeur D' Alene, ID and showed us the vehicle July, 5th.  I warmed up to it when I saw how clean it was on the inside.  My impression of the truck instantly changed.  After a short period of dickering the truck was sold for $650.  I promised my grandma I'd pay back every penny and more.

July 6th was the day we got it home.  I was truly excited, but that was when the work began.  It had 151,000 miles on it, but still needed a lot of work.  Lights were broken out, bulbs blown out and it needed an oil change badly.  This is where my knowledge of cars grew from.  At some point during the summer my Grandma called my shop teacher and enrolled me in his Auto classes, though I had decided to keep automotive as only a hobby.  From those things a career blossomed, and one that has blessed the lives of many people.

After a while, I continued tinkering on the old truck.  I soon decided to do a 4x4 swap and converted the truck to 4 wheel drive at the age of 17.  By the age of 18 I had rewired the truck, added A/C (I still use the same system and compressor) and a host of other goodies.  I converted the truck to EFI upon my return home from Brazil in 2004 and even trubocharged the truck for about a year from 2010-11.

Few people can brag about a vehicle like I can.  The truck has hosted many important events of my life. I went all over creation with my grandfather in that truck and he became one of the closest friends to me.  I drove my first road trip alone for 26 hours in that truck at age 17.  I got to know the woman I eventually married on a road trip back home from Salt Lake City in the truck.   I can't remember how many times I would go out, drive somewhere and take my most pressing problems and work them out while driving the truck.

More so than that, how many people out there can honestly say they still have the same vehicle they owned in high school, put 190,000 miles on it and it still is there used as a daily driver?  The truck survived a male teenager, collision with a deer, multiple mechanical changes, broken leaf spring, off-roading, turbocharging, abuse of teaching a wife to drive "stick," towing a number of really heavy loads, Nevada summers and still much more.

To say I'm proud of my 1982 Datsun truck is an understatement.  There are some out there who have suggested the truck has become more than it should.  Some have even insinuated that it is just a "thing, and things don't bring happiness.  True, things do not bring happiness, but the truck is really more of a place than a thing.  It's a place, not so much a thing.  It's my happy place, the place I go when I need somewhere to go to relax and get answers.

But none of this would not have happened without the day July 6th, 1997

The Money Pit

I've been pondering the last few months and recently thought a lot about how my life relates to the movie "The Money Pit."  Those of you who may not be familiar have the convenience of using www.google.com to find out what I'm talking about.  Needless to say, after you get familiar with the movie, you'll understand the rest of what I'm about to say.

If you've been following the blog, you'll see that my vehicle fortunes are not great right now.  I'd like to consider myself "challenged" right now.  Of course the big issue is with everything I drive as it seems they all are cursed.  In fact, I'd go as far as to say that if it is a car and I drive it, expect something major to go wrong.  

With the above thought on my mind, I decided to take a different approach.  Pondering on my fortunes and the personal desire to get into better shape, I readied my bike and prepared to ride my bicycle to work.  I intend this to become a regular function of my week too.

I got my old bike from Mom and Dad's house, were it has been sitting under the abuse of the elements for some time.  After some wrenching and liberal use of WD40, I had a bike ready to test-ride.  The test went well for about half a block, when at such point the chain broke and halted my journey.  I returned home.

A new chain later and I was ready to embark on this momentous journey.  The ride is about seven miles and is uphill most the way.  I decided to pace myself and not try to rush right out of the gate as I don't want to be too hard on myself right now.  Upon departure, I realized how much I really did miss riding my bike.

The climb was tough at the 2/3 point and from there on.  My legs burned and my butt reeled in pain as the hard plastic seat (covered in duct tape of course) carved a spot out with every undulation of the road.  

At the five mile point I felt a bump in the rear tire.  With every rotation there was a thud and the sound of something rubbing against the frame.  I looked down only to see what I perceived as some object stuck to the tire.

When I got to a point to dismount from the bike I saw what I could only describe as amazing - I had blown a bicycle tire!  Forget about the apparent impossibility.  Forget that at no point did this bike pass faster than 35 mph.  Right then and there I began to laugh hysterically.

You see, I referred to the movie "the Money Pit."  In it, the main character and his wife buy a beautiful house that they discover later is a gold plated piece of septic waste.  As they discover more problems, the husband goes about the business of actually fixing the house, but soon finds it overwhelming to fix the house and keep up his relationship.  In a classic scene when literally everything that could go wrong went wrong, he draws a bath and gets into the tub to take a bath.  A short while later he falls through the floor of the house with the tub down to the main floor.  

And he begins to laugh hysterically.

And so it is, a reminder that the money pits of our lives can either consume us or make us better for them.  I hope to find that after the end of this trial that it is similar to the ending of the movie.  In the end he gets his relationship worked out stronger than ever and they live together in that old beautiful house, fully repaired.

And hopefully all they had to do was keep up on the furnace filters in order to live happily ever after

The End

The battle is half the battle...

This week has been characterized by the continuing war of man versus machine.  An epitaph to these efforts might read:

"In the beginning, there was only junk; a few scraps of metal, a roll of unusually thin electrical tape and some zip ties.  Somehow he made it something and the ensuing profanity and work of wrench throwing wrought a great work"

As many know I have been working on my '72 Datsun 1200 for the last 2 months.  Last week my '82 Datsun 720 went suicidal and has not ran since.  I began to overreact at first - I NEED a motor!  I started coming up with a plan to get the truck on the road as soon as possible.  Then it hit me, soft at first, but like a ton of bricks when the realization really set in.  "Your truck doesn't need just a motor.  It needs a new rear axle, a set of brake pads and rotors, the front suspension rebuilt, and etc."  I was sunk.  Months of deferred maintenance had caught up.  Robbing Peter to pay Paul had resulted in Peter calling the cops and I getting proverbially beaten by a cop with an agenda.

"Alright," I thought, " I'll get back to work on the 1200 and finish that first, then I'll treat my truck to some loving care."  Peace came with that thought.  Also with that thought came the need to finish a few other outstanding favors I have out and need time to fulfill.  With some new momentum I go back up and went to battle.

"Patrick always bit off more than he could chew, but if given time to do so he could probably eat his own food and then your leftovers too."


So it goes on, the epic battle each man wages with his foe.  An epic saga of man versus machine.  On the one hand, the machines in their 'transformer-esque' surroundings. On the other, emerging from the smoke and fire stands one man bathed in sweat, wrench in one hand, hammer of death in the other. They wage war as the machines raise up and fight against the mechanic who with sweeping, heroic movements causes them to succumb to his every whim...

On the other hand maybe it is just going to be a few long nights and some trying times. The reward will be to drive these creations and enjoy them.  Someone once got on my case about my truck when it broke down the last time and said that it was a reflection of what a mechanic I am.  I guess that is true though, I'm not perfect, nor can I expect that an imperfect individual could produce something immune to abuse and wear.  If I were, I would certainly not be among you at this present time. Perhaps it really is as my fortune cookie said today, "You may lose the small ones but win the big ones."

Just when you thought it was safe to get out of the water...

Life has a funny way of sneaking up and depriving us of sleep and resources.  Such has been the circumstances of mine over the course of the last week.  In my determination to forge ahead in an undertaking that has been years in the making, I discovered that Murphy's Law truly applies.

In 2007 I purchased an very unlikely car, a Datsun LB110 1200 Coupe.  The lines of the car are true early '70s Japanese and yet not over exaggerated as they became by 1974.  It is simple, spartan and yet so full of potential.   It would appear the designer had the Chevrolet Nova on his mind when he set out to design this body, but when seeing a full-sized American squish into it, maybe he had circus clowns as inspiration.  Needless to say, for a paltry sum I purchased the car and drove it for about a month.

After a month of driving the car it became clear the engine miss was not going to magically disappear, so I decided to investigate further.  My discovery showed that I was running around on a three cylinder and not the four the car was endowed with initially. I tore the motor apart and then the car sat for lack of funds.

It taunted me.  For years it would stalk me.  Every time I would see a part that could be used on it I would hoard it away for the unlikely future of glory.  Then the great day came and I began to get serious about its future.

I'm about half way into the project now, so no turning back.  My daily driven Datsun 720 4x4 truck has been my favorite vehicle since I bought it at age 15.  I mourn when it has problems and does not run.  And so, while I work on another, perhaps my truck feels a bit cheated and jealous.  On a very inconvenient Tuesday afternoon a few weeks ago I was returning home when I heard a noise.  This did not sound like the noise of peace and tranquility, nor was it the sound of raw horsepower.  It was the sound of death and self-destruction. Sparing the details for another time, my truck decided it was high time it got some attention.

So what is the moral to this story?  Don't cheat, especially on your favorite car, for it will hurt you where it counts - your wallet and your spare time.