Category: Air Cooled 911s (Page 4 of 5)

4/2/16 Part 2

…. As I walked to the garage, I realized something was very wrong.  The Targa was on fire!  I freaked out, essentially not believing what I was seeing.  I knew enough not to put water on the fire, so I ran inside and called 911.  One day I would like to hear a tape of that call, as I am sure I sounded pretty stressed.  While I was waiting, I ran inside and got Pam’s keys and put her car back on the street.  When that was done, I looked back up the driveway.  The flames and smoke were clearly visible from the street.  At that point, I knew the car was gone, and I began to fear the garage would go too.  So after waiting at least 2 minutes from my first 911 call, I called again.

About a minute later the fire engines could be seen up the block.

They parked and quickly set up operations.  My neighbors all came out to see what was causing the commotion.  I have never experienced anything like it.  On one hand I was exstatic that the firemen were saving my garage, that no other structures were envolved (like my house) and no one was hurt.  On the other hand I felt an incredible sense of loss.

Soon Pam came walking up the street with Jake, our golden retriever.  She could not believe the commotion on the street, and could not believe what had happened.  I had a hard time believing it, too.  One minute I had a great project car, the next I had a project too far.

Once the fire was out, the reality of the situation began to sink in.  I was pretty devastated.  Of course I blamed myself and began second guessing just about everything.  I called Mark and expressed my feelings, and he reminded me that new cars and completely restored cars burn.  To drive his point home, he sent me a video taken two days earlier of a 911 Turbo bursting into flames at the New York Auto Show.  Of course, there were many people with fire extinguishers on hand to put that one out.

A little later I called my friend John, who was with his wife Kristin in Mammoth for the weekend.  I actually face timed him and was busy showing him pictures of the car, the garage, the mess.  Of course the phone was pointed at the computer screen so he could see the carnage (no pun intended).  After he expressed the appropriate level of concern and amazement, he told me to turn the phone around and take a look at him and his surroundings.  I did.  Oops.  There I was going on about the car not even realizing he was waiting for an x-ray at the Mammoth Hospital after suffering a shoulder injury while skiing.  I was so consumed by the car fire, I had not even looked at him before showing him the pictures.  Then I felt even worse.

That night Pam and I had plans to have a BBQ with several friends who are avid Porsche owners and collectors.  Pam, who was not pleased with anything about this, quipped, “Do we have to go?  I don’t want to go to another Porsche BBQ today!”  That did not make me feel any better, either.

4/2/16 Part 1

The day started out pleasantly enough.  I went to the market, as I always do early Saturday morning because no one else is there at that time.  I saw one or two regular shoppers and was checked out by my favorite checker, Jeanette, who actually shares the day and month of my birthday.  After unpacking, I went to Pilates for a workout and then went home and ate.  At that point, I spoke with Mark and he suggested I drive the 1977 Targa to his house.  I did.

The ride there was pretty uneventful.  I put putted my way into the valley, being routinely passed by every Prius in the city.  At Mark’s, we just looked over the car.  He showed me some aspects of the car, focusing on how to lay the trunk carpet back in the right order.  After some time there, I drove back to the city.

Going home I was passed by the rest of the Prii in the city, or at least that is how it felt.  I was just taking it easy, enjoying the day.  I stopped in front of my house and called Pam to see if she would move her car.  She didn’t answer so I got out of the car and went inside.  As her car was in the driveway, I got her keys and put her car on the street.  I then walked up the driveway and opened the gate and the garage door.  Then I put the 1977 Targa into the garage.  I went back to the street and put Pam’s car back in the driveway, and then I went inside.  While inside, I realized I still had my sunglasses on, and I couldn’t remember where I left my regular glasses.  I thought I might have left them in the 1977 Targa, so I walked back out to the garage…….

3/28/16 – 4/1/16

Cleaning this car is not for the faint of heart.  Sometimes the Springsteen song comes to mind:  One Step Up and Two Steps Back.  This will be the story of my life for some time.  The picture shows the schmutz  that has been accumulating in the frunk.  Frunk is Porschespeak for the front truck, though some are convinced it was first coined by Elon Musk and Tesla.  I am hopeful that the empty shells were left by a human, but……  I did not get into the frunk last weekend, but I did this week.  There will be many more sessions in the frunk before it is clean, though it is a lot better than when I started.

I did make progress, though, on registering the car this week.  Because I want to get the car registered in CA and I do not want to drive it too far until it is registered, I arranged for an on-site VIN verification, something I would need if I did not bring the car to AAA or the DMV to get it registered.  Of course Mark informed me of this, as I had no idea such a service existed.  Like anything else, it makes sense once you know about it.  I filled out the application for title change and went to the local AAA office, knowing I still needed a smog check before I could get license plates.  With the VIN verification and the title and the application for title change, I was able to get a 30 day temporary license.  That means I can drive around without feeling that I am on the verge of getting fined and doing a lot of explaining, but I need to tackle the smog check soon.  I expect the car to pass, as it has all the requisite equipment, but sh*t happens all the time.

3/25/16 – 3/27/16

So it turns out that Friday was a good Friday after all.  Feeling better after getting the car to start I came home Friday afternoon and began to clean the garage in earnest.  If I was a pregnant woman, my behavior would be described as nesting.  I am not sure there is an equivalent word for a guy getting a garage ready for a car.  Anyway, I moved junk and swept up dust and other stuff and eventually cleared more room for the car.  Dirt and cobwebs were everywhere, and I was an allergic mess.  Normally I would have hired someone to do this for me, but I have turned over a new leaf on this project  I did the dirty work myself.

The next order of business was to start the car.  Using the same process that Mark had drilled into me, I started the car and let it idle in my backyard for a while.  It felt good just to listen to the motor.

On Saturday, I finally worked up the courage to back the car out of the garage and down the narrow driveway to the front yard.  Once there, I broke the drought rules and washed it.  Oh My!  Washing a car with peeling paint, old rubber and partially coated wheels results in the kind of runoff to which the EPA would object.  Soon the outside of the car was pretty clean.  It still looked bad, but it was clean.

So I decided to take it for a drive around the neighborhood.  For the most part the drive went well.  And as  I backed out into the street, I kept repeating a line from the song Hot Rod Lincoln:  …but I ain’t scared.  The brakes are good, the tires fair.

The drive was a little problematic.  I think the clutch engages way too high, and I am convinced there is a problem getting into second gear, unless the gear box is always supposed to grind when you change gears.  Mark thinks that I just need to learn how to shift an old sports car, which includes rev matching up shifts.  I think the problem is more than that.  We are at an impasse until I drive the car more and get over the problem or Mark drives it and acquiesces.  It will be less expensive if my credibility continues to suffer and Mark is right.

I feel strange driving around with an unregistered car, especially in Beverly Hills where the police look critically at every car that does not fit in the neighborhood, and the 1977 Targa most assuredly does not fit now.

On Saturday I begin to clean the interior in earnest.  I wanted to use my new steam cleaner, but I could not find distilled water.  I found purified at the market, but not distilled.  One of the reasons I feel I will be successful with this project is that Mark is a good mentor.  He also is a purist.  I would have used the purified water, but he wouldn’t let me.  So I had to put off using the steam power until Sunday.

On Sunday I found the distilled water.  It’s surprising how difficult it was to find.  Anyway, I fired up the steam cleaner and went to work.  When I was done, I could sit in the car and not sneeze.  Progress.  Kimberly, my younger daughter, was at the house, and I asked her if she wanted to sit in the car.  She took one look, and even though it was really clean compared to earlier in the week, said, “Not until it’s sterilized!”

The last item on the agenda for Sunday was to go to Mark’s and get a few things for the car.  Despite Kimberly’s dissing of my car, I let her drive my Cayman to Mark’s.  She really likes putting it in manual mode and shifting with the paddles.  I was somewhat encouraged when she said learning about gear selection would be good practice for when she tackled the manual gearbox in the 1977 Targa.

3/24/16

OK, I lied.  The song lyric is wrong.  The Waiting IS NOT The Hardest Part.  At least not for me.  For me possession is the hardest part.  I had a troubled nights sleep.  I woke up early and read more posts on line and watched YouTube videos.  My car was stuck in the driveway.  My dilemma for the day was whether to leave it there or push it all the way into the garage.  Pam solved that one by saying she wouldn’t help me at 6:10 am, the time I was leaving to go to work.  She was already a little irritated by the car, and my obsessive commentary about it.  Mark was irritated with me, as I had called him after I got home from the movie last night, and he could see no practical purpose for the call, as I was not in the car.  He was right.  Pam was right.  So off to work I went.

At that time I assumed that the car would not start because I had killed the battery.  I spoke with Mark for a moment or two, and he asked me if I had a battery charger.  I said no.  He asked me if I had a trickle charger.  I said no.  He asked me if I had a jump starter.  I said no.  He said buy them.  I did.  He called me later and asked if I would have them tomorrow.  I said no.  He asked why didn’t I use Amazon Prime.  I said I did, but the items were from third parties and did not qualify for Amazon Prime.  So I would have to wait.

He went on to ask me exactly what I did while trying to start the car.  I said I turned the key.  He asked me if I pushed on the accelerator.  I said yes because nothing was happening.  He went on to say I probably flooded the engine and asked me if I knew what that meant.  I told him I did, but I am not sure he believed me.  He asked me if I ever had an old sports car.  I said no.  As an aside, this was I question I would hear quite often over the next few days.  Anyway, he than told me how to start my car.  It seems this is a multi-step process.  First,  turn the key part way so the fuel pump begins to push fuel towards the motor, which is located in the back of the car.  Second, pull up on the throttle control that is on the floor to the right of the drivers seat.  Of course, he reminded me to do this GENTLY.   Third, push the clutch ALL THE WAY DOWN to the floor.  It seems the car has a lock out mechanism which prevents starting if the clutch is not fully depressed.  Fourth, turn the key all the way to the right to engage the starter.  Never, let me repeat, never, he said touch the accelerator.  He said try it when I get home.

I went home and decided to try the process out.  Funnily enough the car started immediately.  I guess the battery was not dead.  I cannot describe just how stupid I felt.

Pam was home so I asked her to hold the gates open so I could try to put the car into the garage.  When I first described the car I was getting, I said it was called a narrow body 911.  When I look at it and compare it to my 2015 Cayman, it is clear just how narrow the car is.  Even so, I asked Pam to stand near the driveway gates to let me know if I could pass thru them without any issues.  She did, and it did.  I parked the car in the garage, feeling like way better than my action warranted.

3/21/16 – 3/23/16

On Monday, we found out that the car would not arrive on Tuesday.  Instead, it would be here Friday, which is Good Friday this year, making it really a good Friday.  As an aside, people who know me have witnessed my need to rank things.  It started years ago with Cinnamon Rolls and Bolognese Sauce.  Anyway, I rank Fridays.  All Fridays are good, some are just a little better than others.  For example, a payday Friday is better than a non-payday Friday.  Getting my car on Good Friday, would be a spectacular Friday.  It was not to be, though.

Our garage is a disaster zone.  Our garage door is falling apart.  Until I bought the 1977 Targa, we had no reason to even go into it.  Now we do.  For the past week or so Pam has been getting quotes for replacing the garage door.  As usual, Mark has a good idea and suggests we get one with the motor on the side instead of overhead.  Thankfully, this gives me something to focus on while I wait for the carto be delivered.

On Wednesday, as I was at lunch, I missed a call from a number I didn’t recognize and there was no voice mail associated with it.  I usually ignore such calls, but this time I called back.  Turns out it was the company delivering the car.  They said that my car would be delivered between 1 and 3 pm.  I looked at my watch.  It was just about noon, and I had not received my food yet.  It would be touch and go for 1 pm, but I figured they would not be at my house that early, so I said I would be waiting.

I ate in a blur, went to the office to get my stuff and drove home.  I made it at 12:58 pm.  The driver delivering my car was not waiting for me.  So I sat around doing some emails and other odds and ends like moving stuff around in the garage; all the while getting really impatient.  Soon it was 2 pm, then 2:30 pm.  Eventually, it was 3 pm, and no car.  I called the transportation company and got a voice mail.  At around 3:30 pm my phone rang and it was the driver delivering my car.  He told me he was in Paramount and has a delivery to make and that he would be at my place in 2 hours.  It’s a good thing I agreed to be there from 1 to 3 pm.  If I hadn’t and pushed it back, he may have come at midnight.

At 5:30 pm my phone rang, and the driver told me he was outside.  I live on a busy street, especially between 5 and 6 pm.  As I go outside, I see this pretty wide truck with a towing trailer on my street.  Cars have to pass by one at a time to get by it.  I take some perverse pleasure in being the cause of some irritation.  I stop looking at the cars pass by and see my car being driven down the ramp towards the street.

Mark and I spoke about the delivery, and he said I needed to get some gas, as it probably was pretty empty.  The gas station is not far, but it is rush hour and I have to travel on busy streets to get there.  I look at the car, and wonder for the first, but not the last, time, if this car can be driven and can I actually drive it.  Starting it was a challenge, but I get it done.  The clutch is not being cooperative.

I make it to the gas station, and then I realize that I have no idea which side of the car the gas cap is on, and furthermore, I have no idea how to open the lid covering the fill spout.  I don’t even bother looking for an owners manual.  My Cayman is a Porsche and the gas cap is on the passenger side of the car.  So I assume that it is on the same side in the 911.  I was wrong.  Good thing I brought my phone with me, as I called Mark in a panic.  He tells me where the gas cap is and then explains how to get the lid to pop open, all the while reminding me to do it GENTLY.  I do so and then try to get the gas nozzle to reach across the car.  That ends in failure, so I work at restarting the car so I can reposition it to another set of pumps.  As I do so, Murphy strikes, and eight cars descend on all the adjacent pumps, leaving me blocked in and even more helpless.

Eventually I get the car moved and the gas in the car and head home.  I stop the car in the driveway and it just will not restart.  So I decide to leave it there for the night.  As I am doing this my friend John comes over to pick us up for movie night.  He likes Porsches, and used to own a great one years ago, but he takes one look ant the 1977 Targa and just starts to chuckle.  John is a very politically correct, considerate man, so he eventually says, “Well you have a lot of work to do.”  He is not kidding.

3/14/16 – 3/20/16

As the song lyric goes, The Waiting is the Hardest Part.  And that is a fact.  Too much time between the purchase and receipt of an item opens up too many opportunities for second guessing.

Mark coordinated the shipping details.  The car left on a train coming to Los Angeles.  Once here, it will be put on a flatbed and delivered to my house.  I expect the car to arrive sometime next week.  Meanwhile, I torture myself by reading about the litany of issues with the 2.7L engine.  Mark continues to remind me not to believe everything I read on line.  Intellectually, I agree with him.  But that doesn’t stop me from reading more such posts.  Of course, I also talk to a Porsche mechanic, who coincidently has a story about a guy who just purchased a 1977 911.  Turns out, he needed an engine…..

Mark also is being very good about setting my expectations for this car.  I have never bought anything like this.  The closest I have come is buying a Certified Pre-Owned BMW or Porsche.  While these cars are used, they come with WARRANTIES and only one previous owner.  The 1977 Porsche is not a low mileage car.  In fact, it has over 100,000 miles on it.  So Mark reminds me of what I am getting, a raw, air-cooled Porsche that is nothing like my Cayman.  I appreciate what he is doing.  I am not sure if his motivation is make me feel better or to eliminate as much post purchase bitching as possible.

We talk about tools, some of which I have bought, and the improvements I need to make to my garage, which are numerous.  We also talk about the differences between needs and wants.  I may want to be restored to a 100 point concours specimen, but I do not need it.  I may want a total engine rebuild, but I, hopefully, do not need it.  And so on and so on.

On Saturday I have breakfast with several friends who are also Porsche owners.  There was one guy who showed up and didn’t know any of us.  It was fun to meet him and talk about his cars. He came in a magnificent air-cooled Turbo.  That was a nice car to ogle, but what really endeared him to me was that he had a 1977 911 he used a daily driver, something I had never considered, but something that really boosted my morale.

The week ended with the hopes of the car arriving next Tuesday.

3/6/16 – 3/12/16

Interesting week.  It started out with a trip with Mark to the Literature and Toy Show Swap Meet in Anaheim.  It was really too early for me to go, but Mark needed some parts, and I thought it would be a good introduction to the world I was about to enter.  Obviously, I had no idea what I was looking at.  Well, maybe I was a little more knowledgeable than that, but not by much.  Mark kept talking about getting a set of cookie cutters.  I wondered why anyone would sell cookie cutters at a car parts swap meet, but I didn’t say anything.  A few minutes later I learned that cookie cutters are simple, less expensive wheels that came on Porsche 911s beginning in 1973, as an alternative to the more expensive Fuchs wheels.  It turned out that there was a set for sale, but they were sold a few minutes earlier.  We walked around some more, and Mark bought some other parts.  I bought an old Parts and Technical Reference Catalog for 911s.  I know I need it, but every time I open it, more of the spine breaks.  I hope this is not an omen. 

I started thinking about risk of loss this week.  Not the loss of money because I overpaid for the car or because it will cost me more to fix than I could ever sell it for, but the literal risk of loss of the car while it is in New York and while it is being shipped to me and while it is in my garage in California.  Just as I was thinking about this, Mark called and, out of the blue, said I needed to be thinking about insurance.  This opened a pretty large can of worms.    

The 1977 Porsche Targa is a collector car and needs specialty insurance.  The kind to get is Agreed or Guaranteed Value, which pays the agreed, non-depreciated, value in case of a loss.  The first thing I needed for the insurance policy was the VIN number.  I got it and, being the curious sort, I looked on line for how to decode it.  It turns out that the VIN on the car precedes the current format; hence, it was a lot shorter.  I looked up the VIN coding and could easily determine that my car is a 1977 Targa S and that it is car 1,522 our of 2,747 Targa S’s made in 1977.

Armed with the VIN, I called my main insurance carrier to see if they offered insurance on collector cars.  They did, through American Collector.  I called them and discussed their policy options and my needs.  The good news was that the liability limits they offered matched the liability limits on my current auto policy, which meant that I had no gaps in coverage before my umbrella policy kicked in.  The bad news was that they had issues with covering the car before it was in California.  In fact, they did not want to cover it at all as it made its way out here.  After some negotiating, they agreed to cover the car in transit but at a 20% deductible.  This was unacceptable to me so I called Hagerty, which is the biggest player in this market.  The good news was that Hagerty would cover the car as it made its way here.  The bad news was that they did not offer a policy that matched my liability limits, and it left me with a sizeable gap in my coverage on my umbrella policy.  This was even more unacceptable.

So what did I do?  I wish I could say I took the American Collector insurance policy because I would have been cheaper and easier, but I didn’t.  I opted for the Hagerty policy.  Then I called my normal insurance carrier and changed my liability limits on my auto, homeowners and umbrella policies so that they would match the limits on the Hagerty policy.  It cost more this way, but the other good news is that I have an unlimited number of tows included with the Hagerty policy.  I hope I do not have to use them. 

2/28/16

After a night with a slight amount of buyer’s remorse, I mentally committed to the project.  Mark, my mentor,  and I exchanged several emails with respect to the car I purchased, as well as several of the ones he was in the process of restoring.  I have to admit, the car is not much to look at.  It is a Peru Red 1977 911S Targa.  The paint, from what I can tell in the couple of pictures sent by Mark, is shot.  The body looks pretty good, though many cosmetic items need to be fixed.  The car is currently in New York.  It has over 100K miles on it, but the engine runs and is not leaking oil, a very good sign.  The car has a five speed manual transmission, the 915 per Porsche numbering scheme.  It is a serial matching car that has been in the proverbial barn for the past several years. Prior to that its history is unknown.

Mark queried me on my mechanical prowess this week.  I successfully answered his questions with one word – NONE!  I am capable of looking at mechanical things and diagnosing issues, but I have not done much in the way of fixing things.  That is about to change, and I am both excited and anxious about it.  I will also need to get the garage ready for the 911, starting with the driveway gate, which does not open sufficiently to allow a car to pass through it because the neighbors shrubs are impeding the gate from opening all the way.