Showing posts with label Part Two. Louis Shalako. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Part Two. Louis Shalako. Show all posts

Thursday, July 4, 2024

Classics: Buying an MGB, Part Two. Louis Shalako.

Image stolen from the internet.





Louis Shalako



Buying an MGB, part two.

Okay, ladies and gentlemen. In a previous post, I have mentioned two MGBs in the Sarnia area. A red 1966, a southern car, in fairly nice condition, $12,000.00, (and a 12-V positive ground, and a generator, assuming it has not been converted, also, the three main-bearing engine), and a black '78 not nearly so nice and a price of $9,998.00 or so. That car has the rubber bumpers and it is jacked up from the factory 1.0" to meet North American headlight and bumper regulations of the day. It also has the gold coloured pin-stripes, which are not all that desirable from my own unique point of view...

(You will note the ’66 has two wiper blades and the ’78 three; due to required square inches of ‘sweep’, of 100 squares). It also has the 67-bhp engine. The dreaded pollution control engine, although it would have five main bearings, assuming the original motor or an appropriate replacement unit. Back in the day, I could buy a good motor and gearbox for two, three, four hundred dollars. You could literally drop that in and it would run fine, it was the car that had rusted out, or been totalled in an accident. A real enthusiast collects, and some guys just had more stuff laying around than they could ever use, and some of them were undoubtedly married as well. 

(Always a factor. - ed)

Ah, but there is this one 1971, (already sold), split rear bumper for $8,500.00 and it has a ridiculously low mileage. The car looks fairly clean. The only real problem is that it is in Mississauga. How in the hell do I get to Mississauga, safety check and register the vehicle, get insurance, and somehow get the thing 200 kilometres down the road to my own home town. There would be some logistics, and therefore, costs, involved in that transaction.

So, here we are, scrolling through ads on Kijiji and one or two other websites…just doing the research, ladies and gentlemen.

I just saw an '84 Vette, $5,400.00 or so. That one's in pretty rough shape, with uncompleted body work, needs paint, the interior is very rough. Its condition tells its own story...one wonders what we would find underneath, also, you had better have a budget and some idea of what you are getting into. As for a '71 MGB with less than 17,000 miles, ah...not making any accusations here, but you can simply unscrew the speedo cable out of the back of the gauge and make it look lower mileage than it really is. I could tell with a good inspection underneath, especially if it truly has never been winter-driven. I would have to read the ad again. This engine would have 94-bhp. Ideally, you get in and drive it for the summer and no major repairs required...

Well, we can always dream.

There are some cheap and simple performance modifications for the MGB, and vintage technical bulletins from the factory on the subject are available.

From the blog of Ian Cooper.

When I bought a 1971 MGB roadster in about 1978, I was an eighteen year old kid. Lots of guys liked sports cars back then. There were a lot more of them, and even as fourteen and fifteen year-old kids, naturally we dreamed of the day we would turn 16 and get our beginner’s license.

The cleaner, the better in my opinion. Yet you can see the panel, the sill under the door is problematical. There should be a little round tube below the door, the original jacking point. It's missing. This vehicle, does not have side marker lamps...those are aftermarket alloy rims, 14" four-bolt pattern. Panel lines are notoriously difficult to align on some of the British cars. The door has sagged a bit, and yet this one seems kind of exceptional. Things to look for: I see bumperettes on the front, yet they are not visible on the back end...

Over the course of the seven or eight years I drove the car, I blew the engine, burned out a clutch, scored brake rotors when the brake pads wore down to the metal and I was a hundred and forty miles from home. I had all sorts of adventures in that car.

The car was modified to some degree by the time I was done with it.

The original motor had an air pump for pollution control. On someone’s suggestion, a guy with an M.G.B. G.T., I removed the air pump, changed the pulley belt for it and then used five-eighths national coarse pipe plugs to fill the holes in the head.

Purists hate to see you do that sort of thing. I'm not saying they all smoked pipes, wore chirper caps and had leather elbow patches on their tweed coats, it was just a different philosophy. I was also flat broke most of the time...the circumstances were also different.

I even liked working on cars, and maybe they did not...right? My old man got all As in auto shop in high school, my girlfriend's old man was a mechanical engineer. You ask them guys a question, trust me, you're going to get an answer.

I wanted to race. It was my big dream in life. I read Road & Track, Rob Walker’s F-1 coverage and all the road tests—we read tests of cars we could never hope to own, but guys of a certain age drool over a red Countach.

By the time I was done, the car had an aluminum hood. Once you’ve taken the motor out once or twice, you quickly realize that the sealed and bonded ends of the oil cooler hoses are a pain in the butt because the hoses go through flared or rubber-ringed holes in the radiator cross-piece. You had to take it out sometimes. In the M.G. it's easily removable with a few bolts. The solution to this was to cut the metal part of the pipes, and then substitute Aeroquip hoses. The oil pressure in that car was good, fifty to seventy pounds per square inch depending on engine speed. Not knowing all that much about such things, I used double hose clamps. I used a fairly big clamp which meant that it had a fairly big screw to tighten it. I could use a fairly big screwdriver to tighten it properly. Some guys told me that oil pressure was wrong. They were seeing thirty to fifty psi on their gauges. I didn't care if it was right or wrong. What I wanted to see was consistency. As long as it behaved the same way, all of the time, that was good enough for me. Oh, and if the pressure seems down a little, you might want to check the oil level...

The two dials down low, (#9, #10),  are heater and air controls. #11, a map light. This is probably a '68 or so. So, you've got a brake test light, headlight switch, fuel gauge, tachometer, oil pressure, speedo and coolant temperature in the top row. #6, charging, #7 high beams. This one might have had the horn on the centre of the steering wheel, later models, on a stalk on the control column, later models an airbag front and centre. (Research shows the MGB never had an airbag. - ed) I always thought these steering wheels were dangerous, if not downright ugly. I have no idea what #5 is, (the turn signal indicators? - ed.) the molded vinyl dash is definitely familiar. Do the research.

Another modification happened by accident. I was in Delhi, working at the News-Record, and the car had charging problems. The alternator was shot. I needed it for work, M.G. parts were expensive. More than anything, it took time to get them. A guy at the Canadian Tire store in Delhi suggested changing it for a Chrysler alternator. I thought he was nuts until he took me out in the parking lot and showed me how he had done it to his red Triumph Spitfire. It took a piece of flat-bar, a couple of holes, used the same belt, and now produced seventy amps where the little M.G. unit would do thirty-five.

On that car I put Hooker tube headers. I had a Supersprint free-flow exhaust. When you look at the ads in magazines, (online nowadays), they make claims. Guaranteed increase in horsepower, anything from ten to thirty-five percent. It’s probably best to assume lower numbers. You’ll talk about it and your friends will try and shoot you down. It’s best not to make extravagant claims. The combination sounded good and the engine probably did rev higher and produce more power. The engine blew one day at over a hundred miles an hour, and that’s how I ended up with an engine from a 1969 M.G.B. that I pulled out of a back yard on Pine Street and we towed home on the end of a rope.

What I did next, before sticking that old motor in my car, was to pay a little machine shop, just down and off Vidal Street to rebuild the block properly. Then I did a little porting and polishing on the cylinder head.

Air cleaners removed, the 1 1/2" S.U. carbs...there's something a bit funny about the angle on these carbs.

I had never done it before and I’ve never done it since. I didn’t go too insane. Going mad in there will create thin spots. Coolant flows through the heads and uneven thicknesses in port walls leads to uneven cooling and heating cycles. The M.G. head is cast iron, which is somewhat more forgiving in an overheat situation. Overheating is often the death of cast aluminum heads. This will result in hairline fractures and eventual failure. I just tried to match up the profiles where the exhaust ports met the manifold. I smoothed it up, not to a mirror-like shine, but matte. I used little stone grinding stones similar to what you stick in a Dremel-type tool. I did a similar process on the intakes, which were round—the exhaust ports were little rectangular holes inside the larger round tube of the header. I just made them rounder and flared in terms of the casting…I basically just cleaned up the intakes, of which there are two, and continued using the stock manifold, which also got a quick polish inside using a wire wheel on a cheap 3/8 power drill...this is an overhead valve, solid pushrod engine. The MGB has an electric fuel pump. I suppose I could talk all day.

***

When doing the cylinder head, we milled her down about 0.030”, something rational like that. That was three passes of ten thou each. A typical clean-up cut would be ten thousandths back in the day. If you were absolutely certain the head had never been done before, you could try it. If you are not certain, the basic cut is your best bet, otherwise there is the possibility of the valves hitting the top of the pistons.

I took the heavy and boxy old M.G. air cleaners off and made my own. There are small, flat but cylindrical filter elements. Back then, they were for a Pinto or a Maverick or something. I took two round plates of one-sixteenth hard aluminum. The outer plate needs a couple of holes for the bolts, and the inner plate had the hole to match the carb plus the same two holes for bolts. I had to use shorter bolts, that is true.

The other thing with the M.G. or any small car is weight. On a roadster, the roof comes right off along with a little folding frame-work—the stays. You can leave that at home. The bumpers were easy to remove. That saved some weight. The air pump weighed a few pounds. You might have to go to a smaller diameter V-belt. You can switch out the thermostat housing/bracket combination to an older type, if you're obsessive about such things and I was. When the rug was shot, I took it out. A rotten old rug weighed something. I switched from two six-volt batteries to one twelve-volt. I got rid of the original three-blade wipers and used a two-blade system from the ’69. I paid a guy down in Chatham, Ontario to do that work for me. If he thought I was nuts, so be it—I blanked off the one hole, and we might have moved one hole, and we used the sort of crank cable assembly from the '69.

The triple wiper system was in response to improved safety regulations of the era, something to do with having ‘a minimum of 100 square inches of swept area’ or whatever it was back then.

The M.G. was a fun car for a young guy. You could look up under the dashboard and find the four bolts. You could remove the windshield. I took the front fenders off. I propped her up on an angle of forty-five degrees once to do some work to the chassis, which had some rot when I first got hold of it.

I took the engine and transmission out, changed the clutch plate and then put it back in the car again. I stood the engine on its nose on a couple of baulks of timber...I did not have a pilot shaft, I eye-balled the alignment. It worked fine. I was alone, just me, a set of chain-falls, a few tools, some lights, and then there was the car.

I ran mine on unleaded fuel without major problems. Interestingly, with no engine computer, no internal sensors for every little function, running a higher octane fuel also increases power. In the modern vehicle, the machine senses the octane...somehow, and compensates accordingly. The cars were relatively good on fuel, and the systems were so simple, you could just advance the spark a bit, or retard it a bit, and in fact there's a little micro-adjustment on the side of the distributor for just this eventuality. Way back when the vehicle was designed, fuel varied considerably, from place to place in terms of grade or even simple cleanliness. With the cars exported all over the world, fuel standards were very different in different markets.

This is a bit of what I call 'intuitive reverse engineering'. Question. How do I know the modern engine computer can sense the 'octane' of the fuel? Well, I don't. Not really. And even if I did know it, I sure as hell couldn't properly explain it. But if the modern engine computer can't sense the octane of the fuel, what fucking difference does it make, as to exactly what grade of fuel you decide to throw in there. The only difference with the old technology, is that the engine computer is essentially the driver, and the mechanic, the dreamer, if you will. Not just some silicon chip that don't really give a damn either way.

And now we all know how I really feel.

Throw in a little bit of aggression, and that was a pretty quick little car for its time, its place, and its budget.


END


Note. By removing ten percent of the weight of a car, you get ten percent more power for free. It will accelerate ten percent faster, go ten percent faster, and use ten percent less fuel. Not only that, but the tires have to pull ten percent less vehicle through a turn, as well as stop it under braking. Ten percent is a huge improvement in automotive terms. Also, by extension, the springs are now ten percent harder (relatively speaking) and the shocks ten percent more capable of damping out major wheel movements. Braking distance will be reduced by ten percent. This is not an extravagant claim but the result of simple physics. With more modern tech, we can substitute run-flat tires and dispense with the full-size spare in the trunk. We can leave the jack and handle at home. In the event of a puncture, we can slow down and drive it home, in extreme circumstances, we can use the cell phone and call the auto club for a free tow, and bring it on home on a flatbed. It is a sports car. Maybe, just maybe, it takes a certain kind of sporting personality to drive one of these things.

Ah, in the previous post, I advised readers to join a club, an association, subscribe to the newsletters, get out and meet some of the people. I have just signed up at this here website, and I don't even have a car.

The M.G. Experience.


END


Additional Note: two of the cars (on Kijiji) under discussion have sold, literally as I wrote this story. It's a good question as to whether they got their price, but they're gone now and I appear to have missed out...

No bargain at $3,950.00.


You're not going to save any money by buying this one and 'fixing it up'.

What does it take to convert from positive to negative ground?

Jay Leno’s Garage: Moss Motors MGB. (Video)

Kurt Tanner Motorcars. (Video)

Writer Ian W. Cooper is on Amazon.

Classics: Buying an MGB. Louis Shalako.

Poor old Louis is also on Amazon.

See his works on ArtPal.


Thank you for reading, ladies and gentlemen.


Cut the metal tubes on the oil cooler pipes just at the flange, subsitute Aeroquip & clamps...the fenders bolt on. The real problems are underneath, for example the sills, and the roof, the interior...everything. I think you can learn a lot, for example the hose from the fuel filter on the right side actually bends around and goes back to the carburetor, you can see the removable radiator frame, oil cooler, two horns, the coil, the later model oil filter, (upside down), and on the upper left, the charcoal EVAP system, etc. There's a grille just ahead of the windshirld, the chromy bit just behind the hood. There's a black airbox, top, centre, with a squirrel-cage fan, and ducting through a heater core...a little flapper-door that sends warm air to the windshield, the feet, or both. There's a lever way up under the dash to open that door. The hot water is controlled by a valve, connected via cable to a control on the dashboard and there's another control for fan speed. There are large, sort of rectangular rubber plugs, in the far upper corners on the firewall, pull them out and you can get at the wiper assembly.



 


Sunday, April 30, 2017

Tactics of Delay, Part Two. Louis Shalako.


Louis Shalako

...continued from part one here.





They came in, stopped at the regulation two metres from the desk and saluted. The captain moved around the side of the desk to take a chair behind the stolid figures encamped there.

“Sit down, please.”

Heart beating strongly in her chest, Graham took a seat in front of the desk with Lieutenant Aaron on her right.

They were looking at a genuine three-star general, the rugged old face with its pocked skin, jutting chin and broken nose recognizable anywhere. Two colonels, a brigadier and a couple of civilians flanked him on each side.

General Curtis Renaldo spoke.

“First of all, congratulations. Captain Graham, you’re now brevetted to Lieutenant-Colonel. Temporarily, for the duration. Aaron, congratulations as well. You’ll be pleased to know that you are now a Captain. That’s a proper promotion, with no going back.” If that didn’t shove a ramrod up your ass, nothing would. “Assuming you don’t screw up. Your assignment is a tough one. Read and review everything provided. Your transport leaves in about fourteen hours. We’re fairly well-stocked here. Let us know in good time if there’s anything special you need. Space is limited. We’re sending along a company of experienced troops. That takes up about half of the available space.”

“Sir.”

“Yes, Graham?”

“What is our mission?”

She and Aaron were already scanning the headings at least, on the files that had just been input into their com units.

Looking up from his own display, the general was nodding.

“Yes. Your mission is to maintain a political and military presence on the planet Deneb-Seven. You’ll have limited forces at your disposal. The worst part is that the Unfriendlies are reinforcing. That’s straight from Intelligence.”

Aaron nudged Graham with his elbow, holding his screen down low but in front where Dona could get a quick look.

“Their obvious goal is to secure the planet for their clients. Assuming the clients can actually pay the bill. Otherwise they own it by default, relying on the fact that possession is nine-tenths of the law in any eventual peace settlement. We’d like to prevent that. Without a clear victory, such claims are always disputed. The fact that resistance was made carries some weight in negotiations. The Mittwanis, as well as the colonists, have signed agreements in place for their defense and we must honour those commitments or our reputation suffers.”

It would also be helpful if they won.

Graham was listening and skimming data.

Holy. They had been given some of the highest security clearances she’d ever seen, including one or two she’d never heard of.

“Sir?”

“As a student of history, Colonel Graham, you will perhaps understand the significance when I tell you that we have intelligence of an ultra nature.”

Graham’s mouth opened and closed as Captain Aaron, still marveling, listened intently although perhaps not catching the allusion.

“That’s right. We’ve cracked their codes. At least some of it.” The general leaned back, folding his hands across an ample but probably rock-hard belly. “It might very well be a trick. And even if it isn’t, logic dictates that we must be rather selective in how we use that sort of information.”

She stared into those hard, tired eyes.

“Unfortunately, you will be on the ground. There will be minimal guidance, or even contact with Fleet or Command. We’re just too far away. Our forces—especially ships, are limited. Ultimately, the decisions must be yours. Read those notes carefully, please.”

“Yes, sir.” It was right out of the book, but it was also true.

If true, intel from coded enemy transmissions might be priceless.

“There are certain resources on Deneb. The Unfriendlies have dispatched a brigade group, upwards of six thousand troops. Straight from Shiloh. All fucking farm-kids, green as grass. With the political and economic situation on the home world, they’re probably glad for the foreign exchange. Judging by the order of battle, these are mostly garrison troops. There is a regiment of Guards. Considering your own forces, they’re the ones most likely to present you with problems.”

Guards units were very much shock troops, better trained, better equipped and heavily indoctrinated with Unfriendly ideology. Run-of-the-mill troops were expected to hold the ground others had taken for them. Discipline was harsh and unimaginative, the penalties severe.

With such raw material, perhaps that was inevitable. On Shiloh, leadership was hereditary, scions of old families supplying the military schools with an endless stream of those seeking fame, fortune and glory for their houses.

It also made it very difficult for a more natural talent to rise. That wasn’t exactly her problem here today, was it—

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. If you have any questions, contact Captain Bannister here.”

The captain raised his hand and piped up.

“My number is on the top of your brief. If there’s anything, anything you need to know, any particular piece of equipment that you want, any person that you want, I will do what it takes to get it to you if possible.”

“Are there any questions?”

As senior officer, Graham glanced at Aaron. She wasn’t in shock, exactly. She’d already sort of known.

But she really couldn’t think of anything.

“No, sir—not yet, anyways. We’ll need a few minutes on that one.”

The general laughed and the others nodded along. She couldn’t help but smile herself. 

Captain Aaron wasn’t intimidated by all the senior officers, and that was usually a pretty good sign. The enemy would be just as tough—and a lot more dangerous.

“Very well. Fair enough. Good luck to you—and look after yourselves.”

They were dismissed.

***

They’d been allocated a barren office cubicle for the few short hours they had before departure.

There were desks and notepads, databank units and secure phones, half-decent chairs, even a coffee-maker.

“Wow.” The newly-minted Captain Paul Aaron was a bit overwhelmed.

There was the question of time, a bad case of information overload, plus the fact that they had some tough choices to make.

“Yes. Let’s be smart here. All of those other candidates—they were in there for something. And plenty more are lining up at fifteen-minute intervals. There’s a pretty small pool of available personnel here on base. We’d better start grabbing some names.”

“Shit. Yes, Colonel.”

“Okay. We have a reconnaissance company. Captain Herzon commanding. We’ll get in touch with him first. Get him down here. Tell him that’s an order, and I want to speak to his adjutant as well.”

Aaron found the proper file.

“Yes, sir, ah, ma’am.” Aaron might have been in shock too. “They have combat experience, and they are relatively up to strength. The file says they’re still waiting for replacements, some specialists. Also including a couple of sergeants. Maybe we can help them with that. Take a look at this guy here, Colonel.”

Her display blipped and a name and a face came up.

Graham skimmed the extensive file quickly, then grinned ruefully.

“Okay. Let’s see if he wants to go—if he will have us.” This was no joke. “The other thing is that we’ll be breaking up into smaller formations. The more experience, the better. The more training, the better.”

Gunnery sergeants often had a long resume and this one was no exception. They could pick and choose where others might be a bit more desperate for employment. Uninterested or even unfit for command, for whatever reason, these guys led from the front and by example.

In a mercenary organization, any kind of service was strictly voluntary. People weren’t drafted so much as asked, and one could always refuse. Very few questions would be asked. 

However, once signed on, they were committed and it was best for all concerned to remember that.

Ultimately, it all came down to blood and treasure. You had signed a contract, and you lived or died by it.

My blood, your treasure…

There was always the next of kin, or in the odd case, some unknowing charity somewhere.

She’d thought of that one herself.

“Okay. So what about materiel?”

“Make the call. Calls. Talk to the people. I’m just looking at that now.”

***

With only limited space on the transport, their shopping list would have to be short. The recon company had their own weapons and vehicles, but there was room for a few more. 

Without knowing the exact composition of the enemy force or how they might be equipped, it was purely a guessing game. They decided on a simple mix of light and heavy weapons, all mobile. There would be a limited number of reloads for the big stuff, but plenty of ammunition for personal weapons.

Comparing it to the list of materiel on Deneb, it looked like a rational set-up. The troops would have no problems in operating the equipment. The troops on the ground had some urgent needs and they’d squeeze in whatever additional materiel they could. Considering the small numbers, two or three tonnes of real luxury goods might do a lot for morale—

Unfriendly Guards units could be either infantry or armoured, air or space-borne assault, alpine, marine troops and the like. This one was armoured, but nothing could be confirmed until they saw the whites of their eyes—the usual story with military intel.

There were friendly troops on the ground. With full information on their status, they could fill in some gaps and enhance their capabilities with some carefully-chosen weapons systems. 

The planet basically fed itself, although it was as dependent as any other on imported luxuries. The troops were essentially no different. The cooks would use local suppliers for mess, while the troops would have hard rations when away from base. Some of the standard-issue rations were better appreciated than others—the spaghetti was one thing, the so-called beef stew quite another.

Anything claiming to be fish was usually an abomination and everyone knew it. One taste was usually enough.

There were only so many options, and there were other vital stores that had to go aboard ship.

The ship had an emergency overload capacity of plus ten percent, and they were using up some of that but not all. The load included about a half a tonne of freshly-printed money. 

Paper and plastic, coins and a long string of pre-deposit codes. This was a big enough headache in itself.

Wars ran on money, and that was just the truth.

In the end, they had simply run out of time. They still barely knew each other.


(End of excerpt.)


Okay, so I mentioned that I’m having trouble finding the motivation. Also, fuck traditional publishing.

They can go to hell.

The image is a free download and you can get it here.

Here are a few Louis Shalako books and stories on Smashwords.


Thank you for reading.



> Louis