Why we replace the Intake

Fixing Engine Oil Drips

Interactive Video Part 3

Your Keys Please

Ever heard of the slang "punter"? My mothers side of the family was from Great Britain. We always had fun poking at British jargon. I’ll always remember my uncle, who was in the Venetian blind business, back in the early days when blinds were made from wood. Uncle Barney always referred to his problem customers as "punters". As generations pass down habits, I found myself using that term in reference to my problem automotive customers.

One "punter" was especially difficult to handle. Dealing with him was a delicate matter. Imagine this. A little Hyundai Elantra drives up and a unrefined horse of a man, weighing in at around 400 pounds and reaching a towering six feet six inches, climbs out. This was Big Al.

Big Al was the kind of driver that made you appreciate the extra strength that engineers put into designing cars. Even with the seat all the way back in the Hyundai Elantra, he could hardly fit behind the steering wheel. The seat belt barely went all the way around his huge stomach—with the extra add-on extension—just making it to the latch.

Big Al was as one of those Dr. Jeckell & Mr. Hyde characters. His pock-marked face was a vestige of an acne-filled teenhood and his enormous waist size was attributed to overeating and lack of exercise. Add a dose of genetics for the height factor and you've got the image of this huge man. Al had been a punter long enough for us to learn that he was a liar. We had shaky dealings with him in the past. He would ask us to fix one thing, then say that something else broke after the work was completed.

We quickly learned to document every problem in advance of touching anything. That way he couldn’t come storming in and threatening us because we broke something that he swore was working perfectly okay before we touched his car. In short, the guy was a scam artist. But even scan artists need car repairs. And his money was just as good as the next person—just so long as we handled him right.

“What do you know?” he would always say when he came up to the desk. It seems most really big and fat people, were outgoing like Big Al. He was easy to get to like, once you got past his intimidating sheer size and pock-marked face. But, on order for a confidence man to work, he has to win your confidence, right? Big Al’s easy-going, pleasant and jovial manner made him as believable as the day is long, and he could sell you the Eiffel Tower and you’d think he was sincere.

But, let me take a minute to tell you about my theory of problem customers.

My theory concerns what I call the “Vampire Punter.” This theory has a great deal of meaning to me in terms of how well my business works. And how the people who come in the door interact with me, and my staff. And, my theory can also be applied to people in our lives, too. It’s kind of universal, as you’ll see.

I’ve found there are two basic types of problem customers. Those that are punters who are a pain, and those who take advantage, the “Vampire Punters.” In reality, all punters are more or less one or the other. Our job is to be able to distinguish who is which. For our own betterment, we must prepare ourselves to deal with the Vampires, or they will feast on our energies, getting away with as much as they can for free. They have the ability to manipulate us into doing all sorts of things for them—or their cars, all the while paying nothing for the “extra freebies”.

Instead of blood, Vampire Punters suck our energies. They use us, take advantage of us, and keep us from doing other—profitable—work. They’re always replete with problems, and play on our sympathies to come bail them out. Their modus operandi is to use one of two ploys to maintain their disguise. They’re either aggressive or passive. The aggressive ones are easy to spot, just like Big Al.

They’re nice to start off with, then they find an excuse to blow up at you—making you feel guilty for something you’ve done—or not done. They’re always coming up with something we did wrong, and laying the blame on us. They try to make us feel guilty and in return, we do things for them—for free. They start out nice and mild as a lamb, and then turn into roaring tigers as they play the blame game. “You worked on it last, therefore you broke it” is their favorite ploy.

The passive ones are not so easy to spot. Their disguises make us totally blind to them. I say blind, but actually we are blinded. A Vampire Punter has the uncanny ability to con us, and prevent us from seeing how they use our energies. It’s like a spell that they put on us.

The passive vamps are easy going, nice, mild-mannered and friendly people. They easily win over our confidence. But it’s only part of their disguise. All the time, they’re looking for ways to take advantage of us. And because being so nice, they’re hard to spot.

Oh, and speaking of disguise! Vampires sometimes appear as model customers, friends, co-workers--and are even family members. The clever part of their disguise is that they’re friendly, and act as if you are near and dear to them. Or they put up a fuss when their don’t get their way. To keep fooling us into believing they’re allies, they’ll shell out just enough money. But in reality, they’re nothing but rip-off’s.

The exact opposite of the Vampire Punter is the model customer. These are customers that always seem to somehow assist us in getting their car problem repaired. Then, after the job is completed, they’re happy to pay their bill. They don’t gripe, bitch, and moan. They don’t ask for you to do extra’s at no charge—and don’t for that matter, expect freebies every time you turn around.

Free tow job. Free pick up and delivery of their broken car. Free advice over the phone so they can fix it themselves without paying us to do it. And worst of all, free repairs because they blame us for the problem—saying that it didn’t exist before we worked on it—and we caused it to happen… so we must repair it or they’ll sue!

Over the years I’ve hit on a tried-and-true ways to spot a Vampire Punter. I call it “personal introspection”. This can help you spot a Vampire that’s feeding on your businesses services and good will. To use personal introspection, you must pay attention to your gut, to how your stomach (guts) feels at the exact moment when the Vampire calls—or comes through the door. As soon as your gut recognizes the Vampire Punter, you’ll feel it knot up and grimace.

Then, a spell will overcome you, and your mind will be clouded by the con. You won’t know what’s happening to you, and will be unable to snap out of it. They now have your confidence. You are now too duped to keep them from sucking your shop services. The parasite has now latched on to its host and your gut is silent.

Big Al latched onto us just after we changed the oil in Big Al’s Elantra. That’s all we did. An oil change. Then the next day he’s calling on the phone, hopping mad that we broke his car. As soon as I heard Big Al’s booming voice on the other end of the phone, my stomach started doing flip-flops.

“Here it comes!” I said to myself as I heard Al’s booming voice from the other end of the phone. “Oh, no. What’s wrong now!?” I grimaced. He said that after he picked up his car, the engine began knocking. Sometimes it cuts off.

He’s really upset, saying his car is unsafe to drive…that we ruined his engine… that we ran it without oil… that we didn’t use the right kind of oil... that someone revved the engine too high… that we hot-rodded his car.

Now, we’re talking about a 1995 Hyundai Elantra, with a lot of miles on it. And on top of that, there’s the abuse it gets from lugging around this monster of a man! And he’s accusing us of abusing his car? Well, I’m hip enough to know how to diffuse a problem customer.

Don’t argue. Agree with everything. Don’t deny anything, and agree with what they say. Let them vent. And after they’re done, offer a solution.

After Big Al finished dumping on me, I offered to send my truck over and tow it back to the shop so I could look it over. I would look into the matter personally. And if we were responsible for ruining his motor, we would certainly make good on it. But, I wanted to run some tests and see if we could establish a cause first, I explained to him over the phone. All the while I’m suspicious that he’s trying to get more free work from us.

He agreed, and I dispatched one of the techs to go fetch his Elantra. Within an hour it was being unloaded at the shop door. I watched as Big Al climbed down from where he had been riding shotgun in the tow truck. The normal angelic look on his face was gone, and it’s place was the look of a madman. He was really scary. Four-hundred-plus pounds of ranting and raving madman. That’s what I had on my hands. Wowser!

“Okay, Al, what do ya know?” I said, using his favorite phrase to help calm him down. “My car, that’s what. You guys f---ed up my car.” “I’m awful sorry if we did, Al. I’ll get right on it and get to the bottom of it right away.” I said hoping to placate him even further. “Can I offer you a ride?”

The day was late and I was about at the end of my wits by this time of the day. Five-o’clock was less than an hour away and I didn’t want to get involved anymore than necessary. “Hell, what about my ride?” I mean, what am I supposed to do, walk?” he said with such fervor that suddenly I found myself with new unfound energy. “Sure, no problem, Al. I’ll get right on it.” I said as I removed the ignition key from Al’s massive key ring.

I remember thinking how everything about him was big—even his keyring! And how about those monster-sized Marlboro’s, or little cigars that he always was smoking. The whole inside stank of the cigars and cigarillos. Oh, how I hated sitting in a smoker’s car—especially Big Al’s! Ashes were everywhere. Ashtray was overflowing with butts. And, speaking of ashtrays, it was like the entire inside of the car was one giant ashtray!

I hate it when smokers borrow my car and smoke in it. Even if the windows are open, smokers still leave their smell behind. A while back, when Big Al got a free tire balance after we did CV joints—that’s another story for some other time—I wound up lending him my car because our loaner was already in use. He raised such a fuss that I handed him my own car keys just to get him out of the waiting room. And it stunk of smoke for weeks after.

But, unlike Al, his car wasn’t big. And being a Hyundai, there wasn’t any way I could connect a scanner and flight recorder to capture his intermittent stall problem. I’d have to check it out with my four senses—eyes, ears, nose and touch. What could be the matter? Well, as I drove it I immediately found out that it did ping. Big time. It pinged like it was going to beat the band.

Pulling back into the shop, I grabbed the lead tech, and said, “Shawn, what’s been done—or not done to this Hyundai? I’m going to pull the RO’s and have a look. While I do, give it a good once over, looking for a reason for stalling and pinging.” A few minutes later I had the past repair orders in my hand and was pouring over them for any clues. Nothing. At least, nothing we had done. But one thing was apparent. He hadn’t been in for and recent oil changes—other than the one we did yesterday.

That’s when the red flags went up. It was then that I realized he was trying to pull another fast one. Big Al purposely brought us the Hyundai so he could blame this new problem on us. He figured he’d snooker us into thinking we’d caused it. And we’d end up fixing it for free. No dice. Not this time. We’d already been there and done that enough times in the past. He wasn’t going to sucker us this time! Over my dead body—even if he was a vampire!!

By the time I got back out in the shop, Shawn had our diagnostic machine connected up to the Hyundai’s 1.6 liter engine. He had a puzzled look on his face. “S’up?” I inquired.

“Distributor. Someone’s been cranking on the distributor—got the timing way off.” He replied.

“How far?” was my query. “Maybe ten degrees advanced.” Shawn replied.

“Ten degrees! Well now, there’s a good reason for ping. Betcha someone was monkeying around with the timing and idle to try and cure the stalling problem. Betcha!” I announced.

Well, I decided that as long as it wasn’t going to cost us in parts, I would go ahead and have Shawn straighten out the timing and troubleshoot the idle. Big Al said the car just quit. Maybe he meant that it just stalled. I mean, people get confused between when their engine quits while they are going along, and when it quits when they are stopped. All they know is that the engine conked out. They don’t know to look around and see what’s happening when it quits. They are so upset by it happening, they forget.

So, to make a long story short, this was only the beginning of a wild goose chase. We reset the timing and base idle speed—which is a long and time consuming process—and figured we had it whipped. But, the very next day Big Al was back at the front desk, hammering his huge meaty fist on the counter and accusing us of causing his problem. Funny how his problem had evolved from “The engine knocks like it has been ruined and then quits” to “The engine won’t run anymore. It just stops.”

So, once again we went at it. Using what Ford calls the “wiggle-test,” every wire and connector under the dash and engine compartment was tugged, shaken, and cajoled. Just for good measure, every connector in sight was opened up and the terminals cleaned and tightened. The only thing we could find was a normal engine rpm change of about 150 rpm when the radiator cooling fan cycled on and off.

No such luck. It still had a mystery problem that would only happen for Big Al. So, just before turning the car over to him, I decided to take my health in my hands and go for a ride with him. I wanted to make sure that I really knew what caused it—if anything!

As we drove out of the shop parking lot, Big Al suggested that our shop must have some kind of electrical field around it—that we have wired the ground around the repair shop. “You guys have an electric grid under this place--that's why it never acts up while it's here. Those electric wires buried under the parking lot make all things electrical behave… kinda like a cattle prod... those wires send out an electrical field and affect the electrical system of my car.

Well, it performed perfectly. Not a hiccup, and not a burp. Nothing. “Maybe I should leave it with you for a day or two so you can drive it around town. Then you'll see what I mean,” he said. It didn't help. We took turns driving the car for two days and it never did stall. No end. And of course, Al came back again—even more angry than before.

So, once again we swapped cars with him and I took on driving his stinky Elantra. One thing that I did notice was the way the seat collapsed under this enormous weight. I had to sit on a chair cushion in order to drive the car. I could swear the car's springs were sagging as I drove it home.

The years of smoke had coated the inside of the windows with a layer of soot and driving it made me feel a little like I was driving in a fog. Still, it ran with aplomb and never even hiccuped once. “Maybe the car had a personality conflict with the driver” I thought.

When Big Al returned for his car, I told him my theory about the personality conflict. “Hmmmmm. Seems strange. Never heard of that one before. Maybe you're onto something. Why don't you ride along with me and check it out?”

“Sure,” I said. “Let's go. Here's your key.”

When I handed him the car key, Big Al reached into his enormous pants pocket and pulled out an equally enormous set of keys. He slipped the ignition key onto the keyring and swung his enormous body behind the steering wheel. The car sagged and I could hear the springs groan. I climbed into the passenger seat and Big Al immediately lit up a smoke.

“Mind if I roll down the window,” I gagged.  “No, go right ahead. I understand. Sorry. Miserable habit.”

He was in the process of twisting the ignition key when it hit me. The massive key ring was the cause of the stalling. The weight of all those keys tugged down on the ignition switch, causing it to go open-circuit. To test my theory, I told him to wait a moment before taking off. I reached over and began tugging and pulling on the key ring. Sure enough, when I pulled his heavy key ring toward the dash, the car stalled.

Oh, that reminds me. There’s a second way to tell if someone is a Punter Vampire. You just have to meditate on it. Uncle Barney used to say, “cogitate”. To me, it’s more like “reflecting in the mirror of time”. I like to use this technique after hours, when everyone’s gone and you’re alone doing your paperwork. Kinda’ like reflecting your day’s work.

To know if a person in question is a vampire, you use a mirror of sorts. Remember how one of the details in the vampire myth used a mirror to tell? Remember how you could tell if a vampire was standing next to you? You could look for their reflection in a mirror and it isn’t there. They’re invisible to a mirror.

In a similar fashion, a Punter Vampire can’t be seen in a mirror—only this is a different mirror—the mirror of time. Take a minute and reflect your experiences with the person in question using the mirror of time. Here’s how. Simply ask yourself, “Ever since this person started doing business here, what’s happened? What comes to mind?”

Take a reflective review of the relationship your shop has had with this customer. If all that shows up in your review is hardships, grief, hassles, annoyances, aggravation, bother, and frustration—look out! This person is a Vampire!

On the other hand, if your mirror-of-life reflects goodness, helpfulness, good deeds, paid bills, no long standing debts, and no list of special favors—your customer is an Ally.

Once you’re able to identify a Vampire as one of your customers, you have two choices. You can cast them aside—or deal with them. I know a shop owner who keeps a customer black list. If you show up at the door and you name’s on that list, you’re asked to vacate the premises—or the police will be called immediately! This owner believes in casting customers aside like that to keep them away. While it’s true that Vampires must learn to fend for themselves, I believe there’s a better way.

I believe that once we know what they are, we don’t have to be a host. I believe that if we refuse to go along with their influence, they’ll either disappear or change their ways. I believe in giving all people the benefit of doubt; giving them an incentive to pull their lives together. Giving them an incentive to do things for themselves.

That’s why I put up with customers like Big Al. And that’s why this episode with his broken car was such a nightmare. It was like the car had a dark cloud over it. Every time we came near it, something went wrong; most of the time Big Al intimidated us to the point that he got the repairs free.

You see, even though Al was a huge a vampire punter, we didn’t see it. We wanted to believe him—despite the fact he’d lied to us, manipulated us, and used our good graces so many times in the past. However, once I caught on that he was a vampire, I became dubious of his “story”.

The trouble with finding Big Al's problem was Big Al. Part of it was that we wanted to believe him, but his complaint never happened for us. Every time he dropped off his car, he’d take his ignition key off his key ring and hand it to us. We dutifully would tie a numbered keytag onto it and attach it to the repair order. Then, unknowingly, Big Al would slip the problem into his cavern of a pants pocket. Then he would walk away-with it in his pocket!

But, he didn’t walk away with a free fix. No, not this time. I charged him for two hours diagnostic time and the ignition switch. Well, he did get away with a free tow job, and a good four hours of unbillable time. But, it was worth it to get him off my back—and to see that big smile on his face. As luck would have it, he moved up north somewhere—and out of my life.

The lessons to be learned are:

> You can never put a wrench on a word problem.

> Find out the basis of the complaint before proceeding.

> Make the complaint happen, so you can witness it, before proceeding.

> Dig into the vehicle history for clues.

> Changes you make in attempting to repair a problem can compound the problem.

Goss Garage audio segment from news channel 8(yellow engine light)

Scotty Kilmer Car Talk: Your Car Questions Answered Live

Interactive Video 04 Part 2

Interactive Video 04 part 1

Fixing Broken Door Locks And Handles

Pat Goss on Transmissions(segment from news channel 8)

School Of Hard Knocks

I was working on a 1997 Sebring JX, which is a convertible in case you don't
know Chrysler terminology. Anyway, I was looking for a noise that the owner said
was driving her crazy. Now, it's not unusual for me to try to check out a "noise
complaint." But this one turned out to be one of the most interesting ones that
I've come across. And when I finally did figure it out, it reminded me of some
of the wacky things I've run across in my many years turning wrenches.

Anyway, the owner says the noise is coming from somewhere in the dash-console
area. And it doesn't seem to matter if the car is running or not. The noise is
supposed to be there all the time. Sure enough, I hear the noise. This is an
important distinction. Quite often I just can't. Sure, it might be there, but I
just don't hear it. Maybe my ears are just too old or maybe I'm just not
familiar with the cacophony of sounds that the car normally emits, and the new
addition is just drowned in the background.

But this noise is distinct. It is a clear beep. And if you were to time it, like
with a stop watch, which is what I did, you'd discover that it beeps exactly
every 2 minutes. On the dot. And like most noises, it's damn hard to locate. It
seems to be coming from everywhere. Kinda' like a pager going off in a crowded
room and everyone looking down at the same time. And being a convertible made
matters even worse, because the noise was less confined than it would be if
there was a top on the car.

I have this cool tool that is essentially a pair of headphones connected to a
microphone. You can use it to hear teeny weenie sounds that are impossible
to locate. Just stick the microphone where you think the sound is coming from
and give it a listen. It hears valve tap, piston knock, and water pump bearing
noises really well. It also hears air leaks and hard to track down squeaks and
rattles. And you can turn up the volume and even hear your own heart beat!

So I grab the tool and find the beeper lodged between the passenger seat and the
console. The lady owner lost it a week before, and was absolutely grateful when
I showed it to her. Now how do you charge for a job like that? Anyway, it
reminded me of other strange jobs I've had. Like the 1991 Buick Regal that came
in with the red battery warning light glowing. Open the hood and there's a
brand-spanking new battery and alternator. Whoops. Something really wrong here.
Somebody's spent a bundle and isn't very happy.

It turned out to be a real hair-puller too. Turn the key on and start it, and
that light is there staring you right in the face. So I decided to do a little
detective work and pull the alternator connector, which should turn off the
light. Right? Wrong. This means there's something wrong in the wiring. Big time!
Further investigation with a razor into the wiring harness reveals a mass of the
harness wires melted all together. A real mess. But oh no! It just doesn't end
there. Not a chance.

I spend a whole day splicing and repairing the wiring harness only to find that
this doesn't fix the problem, which was a dead short. Further detective work
found aluminum foil wrapped around the courtesy light fuse. But that was not
all. No, it doesn't end there. Nope. The reason the fuse is wrapped with
aluminum foil was because of a dead short in one of the accessories, mainly the
cigarette lighter. And the kicker is that someone (maybe the same boyfriend that
was kind enough to wrap the aluminum foil around the fuse for her), has put a
brand-new shiny penny in the cigarette lighter socket.

Which reminds me of another weird alternator electrical one on a 1989 Cadillac
Deville, which was towed in with a no start complaint. After running the
standard charging and starter draw tests, it looks like the alternator is bad.
No biggie. Wham-bam thank-you-ma'am and it's done. Right? Wrong again, Charlie!

Two days later, it's back in my face along with the customer who's this
hot-headed 22-year-old military dude swearing that I'm a rip-off and he's gonna'
call the police. I say wait just a sec while I check this out, and lo and behold
I see that the battery cable ends are toast. Funny, I didn't remember them that
way before. How could I have missed it? So I slap on a couple of those
do-it-yourselfer battery cable ends and send him on his way.

Well, the Cadillac is back in my face a week later, hanging from the back of a
wrecker. And Mr. Military Macho-man is madder than ever. Well, this calls for
some further investigative work and I tell him to call a cab and I'll let him
know tomorrow what's the problem with his Deville. Now, mind you, this ain't no
ordinary Deville. The suspension has been chopped, the wheels are "stylin"
California super-chromed with tires the thickness of rubber-bands. The windows
are all blackened-out and the floor in front of the back seat is covered with
huge speakers. And there are more speakers mounted on the back deck and woofers
under each of the seats.

And this time, when I go to turn the key on, I'm greeted with an audio
bombardment of gansta-rap that is loud enough to loosen my fillings and give me
a concussion! It scared me right out of my wits, and I couldn't move fast enough
to turn the damn thing off. Which of the 57 buttons is OFF? You know, the kind
of lyrics-that-spew-expletives-every-two-words kinda' rap-music. Did I say
rap-music? Now that's a real oxymoron.

Oh yes, did I forget to tell you? There's a hole where the factory radio used to
be and stuffed in it and hanging half-out of the hole is a huge stereo. And in
the trunk, next to the pair of 27" speakers is a huge amplifier. Gingerly, I
grabbed hold of the stereo and pulled it out of the dash. There was a huge gang
of wires going to it, and the factory harness was severely butchered. The first
thing I noticed was that the orange wire with a black stripe that goes to the
Body Control Module was cut and spliced, and that the dash stereo was tapped
into it using common household electrical wire nuts.

While wire nuts are fine and good inside an electrical outlet box in the wall of
your house, wire nuts are not meant to be used in automotive wiring. Why? They
aren't shake proof. And I cringe any time I see wire nuts on a car or truck. I
can't tell you how exasperating it was to see literally dozens of them in the
wiring that was hiding behind the radio. I still shudder when I think about it.
More detective work reveals that the A/C fuse is missing, which just happens to
be on the same circuit as the alternator. Okay.

With the fuse happily back in place, the alternator begins charging again. But,
why was it removed? Did it blow? Further investigation and charging tests reveal
that when the stereo is cranked up, which I'm sure this brain-dead soldier must
do when he's cruising, causes the system to draw more than 80 amps. Now, this
alternator is only rated for 75 amps. You do the math and you'll understand why
the alternator fuse blew when I cranked it up (with ear protection this time).

The key to unraveling the mystery in the Gansta-Deville was knowing that we as
mechanics are having to deal with a whole new breed of customer. To solve the
riddle, it was necessary to crank up the stereo so that it became obvious that
the charging system couldn't handle that kind of drain. That lesson I had
learned the hard way, literally from the school of "Hard Knocks". It involved a
1994 Chevy Caprice that came to me with a low power complaint.

The reason this Caprice comes to mind is because it also involved one of those
high-powered stereo systems. But, I hadn't been to the school of "Knocks" and
didn't know that the stereo played a part in solving the riddle. Anyway, owner
had some other shop install a junkyard engine in the Caprice, and that's when he
said the problem began. But, this was one of those kinds of problems that only
happens for the customer. You know, it just wouldn't run right for him, but
purred like a kitten for me.

Finally, after trying and trying to do what I call "Put a wrench on his word
problem," I decided to make him show me exactly what he was talking about. So,
we jump in the Chevy and off we go for a spin. And we're not very far down the
road when he reaches over and turns on the stereo. Then, he proceeds to crank it
up to ear-shattering levels. Well, there I sit with my fingers sticking in my
ears while he is driving and sure enough, the engine starts to falter, surge and
buck.

"Whoa! What's happening here?" I shouted. He says, "Wait a minute," and proceeds
to turn down the stereo. And the moment he did, the problem vanished. "That's
why I couldn't find your problem. It's connected to your blasted rap music!" I
said. I never ran the stereo, nor would I think to run the stereo while checking
out his problem. In fact, I never touch anyone's radio while working on their
cars.

Oh sure, I've seen plenty of techs blasting their customer's radios as they
service their cars. And from time to time they get caught, as the customer gets
into the car, only to turn on the ignition and be greeted with a huge blast of
their stereo. And of course, it's always playing the kind of music they hate
most. And even worse, the volume is left turned to full blast. Now imagine a
little old lady who only listens to classical music, getting into her car and
being greeted by gangster rap at 130 decibels! Not a pretty picture.

And those car radio presets are an even worse problem. You know, the programming
feature that lets you set the stations to the ones you like to listen to. The
radio loses its presets when you disconnect the battery to service the
terminals, right? But even worse, probably Murphy's seventeenth-law or some
such, it will automatically program itself to those stations that play the kind
of music the owner of the car hates most. If the owner likes country, it will
reset to classical. If he likes classical, it will reset to rap, and so on.

And when the customer returns and gets in his car to drive away, he is convinced
that the mechanic purposely reset all the stations to the kind of music the
mechanic likes. As if we mechanics have the time in the day to sit around and
reprogram our customer's radios! Right! But, thanks to Murphy and his laws, it
sure does get us in trouble, or at least leaves us with some explaining to do.

And to make matters worse, the late model radios will just plain lock up and
refuse to work if you disconnect power from them. And boy, howdy-do, you take a
customer's music away and they'll really get hopping mad in a big hurry. In
those cases, you have to contact the dealership and get the unlock code to make
the radio work again. Talk about a hassle!

Anyway, as I was saying before I drifted away into radio land, this Chevy would
only run bad when the radio was cranked up. Talk about an odd problem! "Now what
can playing a radio loud possibly have to do with how a car runs?" you may be
asking. I sure was.

The very next thing I did was to monitor the computer with my diagnostic
scanner. Why? Because I had a hunch that the noise the speakers were making were
somehow rattling a circuit in the engine control computer, which is pretty much
in the vicinity of the right-hand radio speaker. I figured that this would show
up somehow on the data stream from the computer

Well, I was right and wrong. While the computer didn't show any problems with
the data stream when I cranked up the stereo, the engine knock detection system
did. In fact, when the stereo peaked with its "bump-and-thump" chest-pounding
rhythm, the engine timing retarded in perfect cadence. It was as if the engine
knock sensor was keeping time with the stereo!

Not believing that an engine knock sensor could be so sensitive as to be affected
by the stereo, I decided to do a little detective work. I would try another
knock sensor. That's called "test by substitution," and that's when the fun
really began. When I went to the side of the engine block to unscrew the old one
and replace it with a new one, it was gone. There wasn't any place for it to
screw it into the engine block, and the wiring harness that should lead to it
was clipped!

How could I be seeing a knock signal, if the sensor is missing and the harness
has been cut?" I asked myself. Well, to make a long detective story short, it
turned out that there was still a knock sensor, and it was still connected to
the computer. You see, in order for the General Motors engine timing control
system to operate correctly, the knock sensor must be present and accounted for.
If you disconnect it, the engine control computer will immediately miss it,
throw off the timing and turn on the "Check Engine" light.

So when the engine block had been swapped out with another one, the used block
didn't have anywhere to mount the knock sensor. The previous mechanic had
clipped off the wire, thinking that he could simply eliminate this little sensor
and no one would be the wiser. But then, when he started the engine and the
check engine light came on, he realized that he wasn't going to get away with
it. So what do you think he did? Well, I'll tell you. He traced the knock sensor
wire back to the computer, spliced in another wire, and added the knock sensor
back into the circuit right there at the computer. And when he was done, he
tucked the knock sensor out of sight, right behind the speaker! And that's why
the Chevy ran so bad every time the stereo was cranked up. The knock sensor
thought the engine was pinging and the computer responded by retarding the
timing!

Anyway, as I said when I started, this business of being a mechanic has
certainly turned into a challenge. You never know what kind of strange and
unusual problem is going to roll into the door next. I remember the time a fat
rat got into a Fiat timing belt and ruined the engine. Ah, but that's another
story.  

How To Remove Stuck Nuts And Bolts

Daniel and the Mammoth

Daniel was an avid race fan and long-time backyard mechanic, just like millions of other Americans. And just like millions of other mechanics, he went to the races whenever he could. He would pile his family and friends into his huge motor home and leave behind the fast-food franchise that he managed in his little home town in Indiana. Off to the races they would go.

Daniel lived for it. And almost died. Read on. Over the years, Daniel and his wife scrimped and saved enough money to buy a liquor store. They had just closed the deal on the store one week before Daniel’s nightmare, which happened just before a racing weekend. Because racing was real important to Daniel, a big race meant everything else came to a standstill. He lived for NASCAR. And this race promised to be an exciting one too.

Daniel had his heart set on going and wanted to make absolutely sure he didn’t miss it. Nothing was going to stop him, not even a new store. And because Daniel was detail oriented, he’d leave nothing to chance. But he had a funny feeling about the motor home. Maybe it was that nagging oil leak. He wanted to make completely sure the RV wasn’t gong to leave them stranded along side the road in the breakdown lane somewhere. No way. Not on his watch.

There’s one kind of nightmare any traveler faces. Breakdown. Ever since man became dependent on something other than his own two legs for transportation, he’s faced the threat of a break down on the way. In days of old, the horse or camel could become lame, leaving the traveler stranded. Many perished because they weren’t able to reach their destinations due to a “broken ride” problem. Some died from the elements, others from lack of food or water.

In modern times, a broken ride problem is certainly just as hazardous. Stranded motorists have been smitten by freezing cold. Some people breakdown in a bad place, leaving them in the path of harm. Another vehicle may be unable to stop in time to avoid a collision. We’ve all seen pictures of what happens to a car stalled on the train tracks. Equally horrifying is the thought of having an unplanned breakdown in a motor home.

For one thing, a motor home is bigger than a wooly mammoth. Because of its huge size, if it does break down, it’s likely to create a terrific traffic jam. Imagine a big RV stuck blocking an intersection. Or even worse, failure of the steering or brakes. Imagine several tons of motor home hurling out of control into a crowd—or crashing into a storefront. Unthinkable.

Being accountable for operating a safe piece of equipment—especially when there are other lives involved—is a tremendous responsibility. Being a racecar mechanic has this same kind of responsibility. Consider the potential horrific consequences. A mistake could result in the race car losing control and flying off the track into innocent bystanders.

This kind of responsibility is one that mechanics face on a daily basis. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how serious the consequences might be if a vehicle you just did a brake job on wasn’t able to stop. I believe the legal term for such a screw up is called involuntary manslaughter. What a heavy thought—causing the death of another because of your stupidity. Whew!

It was this kind of thinking that was driving Daniel. He wanted to be as thorough as possible as he prepped the motor home for his trip. And as usual, his buddy Alan was pitching in and helping. Daniel wasn’t a fool either. He was trying to be careful. But with his job and the store they had just bought, he was really pinched for time. He was in a hurry. And that was a part of his big mistake.

He knew that the massive motor home was too much to trust to a jack, so he carefully placed safety stands under the front end to take the weight off the jack. His driveway was level, so he didn’t have to worry about it rolling. But to err on the safe side, he even chocked the rear wheels to keep it from rolling. This was important, since he planned to check the brakes all the way around.

It was strictly for safety’s sake that Daniel wanted to inspect the brakes. There was nothing really wrong with them. Maybe you’d call it preventative maintenance. Anyway, after pulling the drums, Daniel concluded everything was okay on the rears. So, he reinstalled the drums, rear wheels, and moved his attention to the front. The front rotors were scored and could use turning to true them. He decided it was a good time to replace the pads too.

Daniel pulled the front rotors and dropped them off at the local machine shop to be machined. While waiting for them to get done, he decided to chase after an annoying oil leak. It was coming from somewhere in the back of the engine, a place where the sun never shines. He hated dealing with things that were hard-to-find. In fact, one of his favorite sayings was, “Why can’t they ever make anything easy!”

This pesky leak had been evading him for a while now and he was determined to find its source. Daniel considered the oil leak just like any weak link. “A chain is only as strong as its weakest link.” This was another of Daniel’s favorite sayings. And to him, this was another detail that needed attention. He always took care of minor details, lest they become major ones.

To Daniel, this pesky oil leak represented a weak link that could suddenly break. The next thing you know, oil is gushing out. Then the engine loses its life blood. If not caught in time, it could wind up costing a motor. If it didn’t happen in a fortuitous place, the failed engine could cause even more frightening possibilities. Remember, this is a big motor home.

While the brake rotors were being cut, Daniel chased after the weak link in the chain. Crawling around under the RV, he poked and prodded while Alan looked down from above and held the drop light for him. The two of them looked and looked, but the source of the leak remained a mystery.

After all, this was a RV, and motor home builders don’t make mechanical access easy. They build RV’s to look good, not for ease of repair. This means the driver and front seat area are designed for eye appeal, not accessibility for the mechanic—who’s destined to work on it. The back of the engine was completely covered up—and wouldn’t you know it—that’s where the engine oil leak was coming from. You couldn’t see it or even touch it from above. But Daniel thought it might be possible to touch it from below, if he reached up and felt around.

Practically wrapping himself around the transmission, Daniel was reaching up as far as he could and was trying to run his hand along the back of the engine, to find the spot that leaked fresh oil. Time was of the essence. The rotors would be ready shortly and Daniel was feeling pressured to find the leak. Time was slipping away, and the races loomed in his mind. He was pressured to find it so he’d still have time to get to the parts store and buy the gasket—or whatever was needed to stop the leak.

Then the unthinkable happened. Maybe it was fate reaching out and calling him. Maybe it was just plain old bad luck. Maybe it happened because he bumped the linkage. Suddenly the transmission fell into gear and the mammoth machine began to move. The rear wheels started pushing the RV forward. Remember that Daniel placed the wheel chocks behind the rear wheels. They were totally useless in keeping it from moving in a forward direction.

The jack stands, which were ordinary do-it-yourselfer quality, weren’t capable of withstanding sideways force. The moment the RV lurched forward, the jack stands collapsed, leaving nothing to keep it from crushing Daniel. He was trapped underneath.

It all happened in slow motion. First he heard the click of the transmission as it fell into drive. Next, he heard the engine speed slow down as it coupled to the driveline and began working the torque converter. He then heard the RV creak as it lurched forward. All while this happened in less than a second. And while it happened, Daniel was hastily trying to extricate himself from underneath and escape.

But, in the time it takes you to say, “Hello,” the two jacks stands flattened sideways. The RV fell with a horrific thud, coming down on his chest and head. In reality all happened very fast—except for those who were witnesses. They would describe the event later on as if it had all happened in slow motion.

Daniel had just run a rag across the back of the motor in order to pinpoint the oil leak. Alan was laying across the floor, looked down into the engine bay and holding the light. The gear shift lever was still in the neutral position. It had been left there earlier to facilitate rear brake drum removal. Following Daniel’s instructions, Alan got up, started the engine, and lay back down on the floor. Several minutes passed. Suddenly he felt the RV lurch forward.

Alan will always remember that sickening feeling. The feeling he had in his stomach as the RV lurched forward… and downward. Down. Then there was the crash. Then silence. “Stalled motor. Crushed Daniel!” Were Alan’s thoughts as he jumped up. Now remember, it’s all happening in slow motion.

It seemed to take forever for Alan to get to his feet. Then there was another forever—like moving in molasses—before he breached the doorway. His yells seemed to come from somewhere else, like he heard someone else shouting. “Dan? Dan! DAN! Can you hear me?!” He shouted.

Nothing. Not a peep. Silence. Again, Alan felt like it took forever to position the jack and pump the handle. It all happened so slow. His view become like a tunnel, with only the jack in the foreground and the RV filling the remainder of his field of vision. He didn’t hear Daniel’s wife screaming behind him.

When she heard the crunch, Daniel’s wife felt as if someone had just walked across her grave. You know that sinking feeling when your heart and soul speaks out and says that you’ve just suffered a tragic loss. She knew as soon as she heard it. It was Daniel. And just as in a nightmare—one of those kind where you are struggling to move—your movements are slow and laborious. Like running in water, her legs couldn’t move fast enough. Slow motion. Then she heard Alan’s frantic calls and she knew.

She’s running to the door and her fingers are punching in the phone number to emergency rescue on her cell phone.   She knows the number by heart because her husband is also volunteer fireman. She struggles to press the buttons. Her fingers don’t want to seem to move.

She hears herself screaming, “Danny. Danny! Answer me Danny! Can you hear me? Danny!!” as if it was from someone else. Then she sees the RV, nose down on the ground. Her heart sinks.

One of the local volunteer firemen was the first to arrive, just minutes after she called. The ambulance was next, arriving about five minutes after the RV fell. The men carefully moved his crushed body onto the gurney, not knowing if there was any life left in it. If they didn’t know who he was, they would have never recognized their compatriot. Daniel’s poor body was crushed beyond recognition.

The ambulance took him to the Randolph County Hospital with hopes that he could be stabilized enough to be transferred to Miami Valley Trauma Hospital in Dayton. Even though his lungs were collapsed, his heart kept on beating. Daniel was still alive. But he suffered from multiple skull fractures, nine broken ribs, collapsed lungs, lacerated liver, ruptured spleen, shattered left humorous and broken clavicle. His situation looked very grim, and he wasn’t expected to survive much longer. The attending physician told Daniel’s parents and wife that only a miracle could save him.

In the hours that followed the accident, Daniel’s life was in limbo, as he held on by a thread. He underwent five prolonged and extensive surgeries to repair his internal organs. However, it was his crushed skull—and associated brain damage—that gave the doctors such a grave outlook. Then the process to reconstruct his crushed body began. Daniel remained unconscious until several days after the incident occurred. When he came to, he didn’t remember anything about what had happened.

During the next five weeks he underwent operation after operation, as the surgeons tried to mend the damage to his organs. Multiple skin grafts were needed to try to close off the tears. And then complications set in. First, the muscles could not withstand the surgery to repair them. Then several fistulas spontaneously developed. These are holes that open in the organs. As soon as they were discovered, they were repaired one by one. The abdomen was kept open so the surgeons could continue to make repairs as needed. Eating and drinking were impossible. Daniel was kept alive by life-support machines.

The doctors believed his internal organs were too damaged to ever heal again. It was thought he would always need to be connected to an intravenous feeding system because he would never recover enough to eat again. The surgeons were in the process of the procedure to attach a life-support apparatus when they discovered the fistulas had healed! His condition had taken a turn for the better. A miracle happened.

It was a major feat for Daniel to be able to nourish himself again. However, he would still require many more surgical operations to repair the damage. Daniel’s incredible determination to make it drove him on. Soon he was able to walk, and began physical therapy three times a week. Long before the doctors thought he’d get out of bed Daniel was taking long walks around town.

The accident left him deaf in his left ear and with nerve damage to his right eye. He returned to the trauma hospital for bi-monthly checkups and had his final abdominal surgery last July. In September he underwent a special surgical procedure to return part of his hearing. In an incredible total of six months time he returned to work.

From the very start of his recovery, Daniel said he wanted to resume his life as soon as possible. “I knew that I would go back, that it would be on my time frame and not theirs. I had seen everything my wife, my girls, and my mom and dad had gone through. And I just wanted to get life back to normal,” he said. “I felt if I didn’t get back to work—get my life back—that I had lost. I’m not a good loser.”

And he wasn’t a loser. In fact, Daniel’s gallant efforts to recover, take back control of his life, and determination to return to work were awarded in yet another way. The WillReturn Council honored him with the Perseverance Award, which is bestowed on individuals who demonstrate remarkable initiative and positive attitude, either during recovery from a disabling injury or illness, or while adapting to a new lifestyle necessitated by their disability. 

The lessons to be learned are:

Never work under a running vehicle without taking special precautions.

Never trust jack stands to hold up a vehicle with its wheels removed.

Place the wheels under the vehicle as a precaution in case a stand fails.

Never go cheap on jack stands.

Never get in a hurry and compromise your safety.

VALVE STEM MAYHEM

Joe was a very meticulous mechanic. His productivity level was on the low side but when he finished a job, it never came back. That was until he met the Dodge van with the V-8. It came in for a timing chain and waterpump. "Piece of cake" Joe thought to himself. Instead, the cake turned out to be a bitter pill he would never forget.

The job went smoothly; too smoothly. For good measure, Joe ran a compression test as soon as he had the new timing gears in place. It was the thorough thing to do. The readings weren't bad, but they weren't good either. He suspected the valves weren't in great shape and suggested the heads be pulled so the engine could get a valve job. The owner was perfectly happy to comply.

The rest of the job passed smoothly, at least until the owner came roaring back into the shop yelling "What have you done to my engine!" He was steaming mad and wanted an immediate explanation. Joe asked what the problem was and the owner threw his keys at him and said, "Just drive it. It's pretty obvious!"

A test drive revealed a total lack of power. Ironically, the engine didn't idle rough. But under power, it was a real dog. The first thing he did was take compression readings. They were all normal. Next he warmed up the gas analyzer.

The exhaust gas analysis readings were so high they went right off the scale. "It must be the carburetor. Nothing could make the exhaust readings that high except a carburetor problem. It's flooding," he thought.

Rebuilding the carburetor made no difference. Reasoning that it may have an internal flaw, he installed another carburetor. No difference. Maybe the timing isn't advancing or is wrong. Joe began to suspect the timing chain. Could he have installed it wrong? It wasn't a happy thought. The entire front of the van would have to be pulled apart in order to get to the chain. But, doggedly, Joe took it back apart again. The timing chain was on correctly.

He took the gears off and matched them up with the gears from a different manufacturer in hopes that the gears were mis-boxed and for a different application. No such luck. They matched perfectly. What about the distributor?

Despite the fact that he never touched it, he would try another one just to see.

Once again, no difference. It still ran very badly.

Joe was at his wits end. He went over every thing he had done again and again without so much as a clue to the new problem. He feared he might have gotten back the wrong cylinder heads from the machine shop, but the casting numbers were found to be correct. He checked for exhaust restrictions, emission control problems, secondary ignition problems. In short, Joe was fresh out of ideas.

The van sat, like a dejected child, over in a corner of the shop for a week. The owner was becoming more and more outraged each day. Rightfully so! Joe did not know what to do. In desperation, he decided to visit an old mechanic friend for some advice. As Joe explained the gory details to his friend, he looked into his eyes for some glimmer of hope.

When he got to the part about the valve job, his friends eyes widened and he exclaimed, "That happened to me too!" "Really?" said Joe. "Yep. and I know how to fix it." Joe's heart sang. "What! What! You gotta tell me," he exclaimed.

Instead of talking, the old mechanic slowly walked over to his tool box and reached into the back of one of the bottom drawers, pulling out a thin strip of brass sheetmetal.

"That's shim stock. What's that got to do with it?" The old man told him to cut the metal into thin strips and place one strip between the rocker arm shaft and the cylinder head. "What will that do?" Joe asked. "Just do it and call me back to tell me the problem is fixed." The trick did the trick. The engine ran with full power and the emission levels were now back to normal.

Joe could hardly wait to call. "What did I do? Why did it work?" His old friend explained that he had the same predicament once upon a time. The problem was caused by the machine shop not cutting the valve stems after doing the valve job. "It's a problem with what is called installed valve stem height. Your machine shop is sloppy."

Joe couldn't wait to rip the heads off and take them to a different machine shop to be checked. Sure enough, the valve stems were protruding much too far into the cylinder head. The valves were burned where they had been held open by the lifters. "But what about the normal compression tests? Why were the compression readings good if the valves were held open?" He asked the old man. "Because the oil pressure had not come up when the engine was cranking over. After it started, the oil pressure was enough to pump up the lifters and hold open the valves."

Car Computer Replacement

what tool?