Happy New Year to all.
This is Right Hand Drive Man in Cold Southampton (yes, it's
been snowing even here). You don't have to read all this but I need to get
it off my chest.
Well, what an exciting Christmas! Having broken my
finger in the early hours of Christmas morning, whilst attempting to plant a
Christmas tree in its plastic pot, I set off to see my sister in hospital in
Chichester. Driving the D down the M27 was a sheer delight as the sunwas
out, the roads were clear and the car had started first go.
Having visited my sister, and stopped off in casualty to have
my finger x-rayed and strapped up, I headed back hopefully towards Southampton
for a traditional Christmas lunch. Admittedly I was a bit late, but I
felt confident that, with the car having been running fine on the way down,and
with the engine nicely warmed up, I could use a reasonable part of its potential
to hurry along the journey. Cornering fast round Chichester's wide open
roundabouts was great fun, and the turbo produced that lovely whine when
exercised above 3500 revs. What few cars there were on the road I passed
with ease and I felt their envious looks as I sailed past. I wasn't sure
of my speed, because the speedo doesn't work, but I simply multiply the revs by
a factor of 0.02 and subtract a bit and I'm sure that's close enough.
Imagine my surprise when I looked in the mirror and sawwhat I
took to be fog. At first it seemed odd that the fog was so localised,
being behind me but not in front nor to the sides. The awful truth
dawned on me that I was afire. I understand that wartime bomber
pilots in these circumstances used to dive, to try to blow the fire out,
and I momentarily considered an equivalent option, or even of driving off the
road straight into the adjacent sea, but a handy lay-by seemed a good first
step. As I stopped I saw the cars which I had so recently passed saunter
by with their drivers' looks of envy strangely changed to ones that approached
smugness. Upon opening the engine compartment I was greeted with a large
splattering of black oil and some flames issuing from the left hand
side.
After initially feeling that the only thing I could do
was unleash my bladder on it (I was prepared to risk burns to
my nether regions, but the trouble is you can never go just when you want to) I
am pleased to report that the Delorean Owners Club duster, of which I have been
so proud, came to the rescue. I soaked it in a nearby puddle of filthy
water and thrust it down into the flames where there was a great resultant
sizzling and steaming. It didn't do any good to my broken finger and its
bandage (Don't get it wet, said the nurse - but she said nothing about getting
it covered in oil) nor to my smart Christmas shirt. The shirt would have
had to have been the next soaking object to go into the flames, followed
presumably by my trousers, had I not found a bucket and old rags in the rubbish
in the lay-by. (The 'rags' later turned out to be a pair of boxer shorts,
with certain stains upon them. Think, why else would they be abandoned in
a bucket in a lay-by?) Putting hygienic considerations aside I
successfully doused all the flames and smoke and managed to clean up the
engine.
I replaced the oil filler cap, which, as you have probably
guessed, had blown off, let the engine cool a bit, and let my heart rate settle
down. As I couldn't see any damage I started up the car and watched it for
a while until I was sure it wasn't going to repeat the conflagration trick and
headed slowly back to Southampton. I had, however, a rather smoky
exhaust.
My garage now says there is no compression in one cylinder so
I guess it has a piston with a hole in it. They are preparing to takethe
engine out and set about repairing whatever damage has occurred. Does
anyone have any advice for taking the engine out, getting engine parts, and
doing any other jobs whilst it's out? In particular, I am concerned that
the engine may have been modified to take the turbo, possibly by fitting
different pistons, which may not be easy to identify. Any hints wouldbe
welcome, or even sympathy and encouragement. My garage mechanics are
specialised in Renault engines, though they keep pointing out how old this one
is.
I got my Christmas lunch at 9 o'clock in the
evening.
I feel a severe pain in the wallet coming on, and it's not a
good time of year.
Tony Lawther
Southampton
|