Stranded

9/3/16

I took the 912 to Seal Bach for the monthly PCA Grand Prix Region breakfast.  I was really excited to go in the 912 because I had just spent more money having stuff fixed last week, and the car was running well.  I had taken it into the shop during the week because Dilthon, one of my co-workers and an air-cooled VW guru, listened to my engine and proclaimed that the carburetors needed adjustment.  Instinctively, I knew he was right.  The car was still not running well.

Turns out he was right.  The carbs needed adjusting, but even more importantly, the fuel lines, which appeared to be the original ones put on the car when it was built in 1968, were still in use.  Upon closer inspection of the fuel lines, the shop noted that one of them had been repaired some time ago, a repair that severely diminished the fuel flow from the gas tank to the carburetor, resulting in too little fuel getting to the engine at higher RPM.

I was also excited to go because the type of Porsche featured at the breakfast this month was the 914.  I have always secretly liked 914s, not enough to buy one, but enough to enjoy looking at them.  And I was not disappointed.  There were 23 of them there, in all different configurations, as the 914 is the Porsche to alter any way you want.  There was even one with a water-cooled, turbocharged Subaru engine.  Other than the VIN, the body and the Porsche badging, not much of Porsche remained in it or on it.

The drive down was great.  The 912 had lots of pep and pulled smartly at 4,000 + RPM.  It really was like driving a different car.  The drive back home started out just as great, but the tach was bouncing around crazily.  I thought the tack on the 912 was mechanical, but in fact it is electronic.  As I was heading up the 405, I felt the engine miss briefly.  I shrugged it off.  I convinced myself that it really didn’t happen and kept on going.  Then I noticed it again.  Even though I wanted stay on the freeway all the way home, I knew better.  So I moved over to the right lane and kept driving.  Then I noticed it again, all the while the tack was going nuts.

I pulled off the freeway, went down the off ramp, got on Hawthorne Boulevard, stopped at a light and started to go when the light turned green.  At that point the engine quit.  It just flat out died.  Everyone behind me honked.  I put on my emergency flashers got out of the car, and started pushing it.  The honks stopped at that point, but no one offered to help.  The 912 is a light car, light enough for me to push it while I was turning the steering wheel to angle the car to the side of the street.  As I neared the curb, the camber in the road increased, as did the speed of the 912 as it approached the curb.  I had to fold myself over the door frame and reach between the seats to grab the emergency brake to stop the car.  Despite the fact that my window was partially up and I jammed my stomach on it as I reached for the brake, I was successful and stopped the car without crashing into the curb.

Once I got it parked, I sat there and called AAA, a call I really didn’t want to make because I had never upgraded our AAA subscription to the next level which had a larger towing radius.  I knew I was in international waters, resting well outside the seven mile towing limit, meaning that I would have to pay for any miles towed over seven.  Of course I asked AAA if I could upgrade my membership at that time.  The representative said yes, but it would not be effective for seven days.  Live and learn.  So I asked for a flatbed and waited for it to arrive.

While I waited, I called David, one of my PCA friends who knows a lot more about Porsches than I do.  Of course, I could have called any number of my PCA friends, as they all know more about Porsches than I do, but David has been around Porsches for decades and I had Porsche Club politics to discuss with him anyway, so I thought it would be efficient to call him.  He said the wacky tacky actions were probably related to an electrical issue, and that most likely the car stopped running for the same reason.  I had been thinking it related to the fuel pump or fuel filter.  Either way, he didn’t think it was a serious mechanical issue.  After our call, I jiggled the connections between the coil and the distributor and they all seemed ok.  I tried to start the car again but had no luck.

Feeling somewhat sorry for myself, I looked at my surroundings and sure enough there was a doughnut store on the other side of the street.  So I walked over and bought a couple to eat while I waited for the flatbed to arrive.  The flatbed was going to take quite some time, and I realized that I was going to be very late for my haircut at 1 PM.  This was not good.   I called Pam, who gets her haircut by the same lady and always has the appointment right after me, to see if we could switch slots.  She said we could.  At least one problem was solved.

Eventually the flatbed arrived and the driver put the car on it.  I enjoyed my ride up the ramp, as I was in the car as it was loaded to ensure it stayed straight.  The ride home was pretty uneventful.  I got to ride in the car as it was lowered down the ramp when we parked in front of my house.  I placed the car across from my house and in front of my neighbors house.

I called the City of Beverly Hills to get a better idea of how I could leave the car on the street overnight, something that is illegal on my street.  The city said I could not get an overnight permit, even though my car would not start.  Instead, they said put a note in the front window explaining the situation.  I asked if that would prevent a ticket, and they said it should, but to take a picture of it with the note in it just in case I received a ticket and had to fight it.  I did that, going as far as taking three pictures and emailing them to myself to establish a timeline for my defense.  Pam laughed at me because the first note was handwritten and pretty hard to read.  She was right, and I typed one on the computer.  Thankfully, I did that before I put it in the window, took the pictures and emailed them to myself.

Even though the shop was closed on Saturday, I had called and left a message about the situation.  The owner, who had happened to pick up the message,  called while I was waiting to get my haircut.  He said bring it in on Tuesday, and also said try to test all the connections on Sunday after everything cooled down, just in case.  So the car sat on the street overnight.  I didn’t get a ticket, which was just a little disappointing, as I was ready to fight it.  In the afternoon I went to the car, opened the engine compartment lid and fiddled with all the connections.  This time I noticed one of the wires on the coil  moving a little.  I pushed it back into place, hopped hopefully into the car, turned the key and ….. it started!!!  I was in shock.  It ran like shit for a few minutes and then was fine.  Despite the absolute lack of technical, mechanical skills involved and the absolute simplicity of what I did, I felt pretty good about fixing the car.

I felt so good and even contemplated doing more work on it.  Then I remembered that my garage was partially destructed, that the City has not approved my construction plans, and that I have no place to do any work or store any tools.  This put a damper on my enthusiasm, as I realized that my next mechanical endeavor would not happen for a few more months.