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At any rate I got on the interstate and pushed the speed up to 70mph. I intended to vary the speed between 65 and 70 the whole way on advice from RAMVA to help the engine wear in right. The drive was basically uneventful, I pulled off at rest areas now and then to check the oil level and how things were holding up in the back. No problems. I did notice however that the engine seemed to have less power than before the rebuild, and I attributed this to the fact that the engine needed to be run a bit so that everything was worn in. Kept on driving. The trouble began at a rest area just inside of the Kentucky state line.
I pulled into the rest area as clouds gathered overhead. The sky was a dull gray color and the air was misty with fog. There were hills all around carpeted with trees, and for a rest area the place looked pretty nice. I pulled into a far packing space, popped the engine lid open and went to use the facilities. Came back, checked the oil. Fine. Checked the fan belt deflection. It had increased a bit -- probably due to the wonderous vibrations. Tightened it up one shim. Glanced over the engine and under it, too, looking for signs of weird funky stuff going on and thankfully did not see anything. Bottom of the engine was still clean and relatively oil free. Shut the lid, hopped back in the car and headed back onto the interstate. Strangely the engine seemed even weaker. I put the car into fourth gear and suddenly there was no acceleration. I let the car slow down a bit, put it into third. Engine revved up and sounded just fine, when I pushed the pedal though it coughed a little bit and accelerated pretty slowly. By this time I had reached the interstate and the bottom of a fairly large hill. I put the car back into fourth with a shrug and floored the pedal. We crawled up the hill at 50mph with absolutely no change in speed, cars roaring past. Crested the hill, the car picked up speed and I was somewhat relieved -- but then the motor missed. And again. And again, and again. It seemed like I was now running on two cylinders the thing ran so rough. An exit sign for Williamsburg, Kentucky passed by: next exit one mile.
"Please, just make it to the exit, I'll fix you up if you just get me to the damned exit..."
I did not want to have to try and fix the problem on the shoulder. It was beginning to rain. It was dangerous to work on the shoulder anyway, with vehicles doing 80+ mph just three feet away. So I kept my foot on the floor and somehow the car maintained about 45-50mph all the way to the exit. I pulled into the first gas station on the right and immediately afterwards the engine quit.
Yay! Stuck in Williamsburg! Who has heard of Williamsburg, Kentucky? That's what I was thinking as I sat at the gas station, removing the carburetor from the engine. I was certain that the problem was a clogged carburetor, this had stopped me a couple of times before. Rather than simply replace the carburetor with the spare, however, I decided to try cleaning it up since I had a safe place to work. I removed the carb and moved over to a sidewalk that was sheltered by an overhang to try and not be so wet. I had my tools so set about tearing the carb down. After I had it all disassembled and all the little pieces were off to the side, I looked down into the bowl. There was some brown rust-looking silt in the bottom of the carb, but hardly any. Not so much as the other times. Well, stuff happens, I thought, and set to work cleaning it up. Lacking any carb cleaner I used Liquid Wrench in all of the orifices. I used a tire air compressor to blow out the passages when I was finished, and I blew the jets out myself. Put it all back together. Put it on the car. Nothing, runs only with my foot on the floor. Maybe I didn't quite clean it, after all I hadn't soaked the carb as I usually did in solvent. But the spare carb produced the same result. Odd.
I checked the internals of the distributor, they were fine. The coil was brand new. I turned the engine by hand and there was compression in all of the cylinders. ARGH! So I walked to the Shell station with a garage that was just up they street, do they work on VWs? No. Who would work on my car? Guy in town, they can give me a tow. For 25 bucks. I thought that seemed a bit steep but there wasn't much choice for me. Rode with the tow driver, his name was "Bud". I kid you not. Turns out he had owned a couple of VWs in his time and currently had a baja project. I mentioned my interests (stock restoration) and consciously brought up the fact that my beetle had a thermostat assembly and I was going to put a vacuum advance distributor on the car as soon as I found one. He immediately decried the thermostat assembly as an engine killer, and began to praise the 009 distributor while I kind of smiled on the outside and cried on the inside...
We got there, I paid the $25 (I was a little worried as I only had $15 left to my name) and I went to talk to someone who could help me. A blond haired man, rather large in girth, got to me first. I was beginning to doubt that I was going to be successful as everything in the lot was an American water pumper. Only foreign car was a mercedes, and it looked like it had been sitting there a while.
"C'n I help you?" he said. Name of "Ray".
"Uh, yeah, my car is having some trouble -- I'm not sure what it is, but it is missing alot." I said, and pointed towards my Volkswagen.
Ray stared at the car for a second or two as if in disbelief. Then he made a very obvious statement.
"That's a Beetle."
"Yeah...can you help me? I tried cleaning out the carburetor, thought it was clogged, but it didn't seem to help. Could be my spare carburetor is clogged up, too."
I was still very much convinced that the problem was somehow with fuel delivery. Exact same symptoms as when the carb had clogged up before. I passed this information on to Ray who nodded and walked inside the garage again. He came back about five minutes later and asked if I had alternate transportation. I explained that I was from Georgia and just passing through on my way to Ohio. Nodded again, walked inside, another person came out with a full beard and a dirty baseball hat. Unfortunately I don't recall his name. He introduced himself and walked over to the car. He looked the engine over, seemed satisfied and went to try to start the car. He failed. He climbed ouf of the vehicle.
"Well, we're pretty busy right now...I don't think we'll be able to get to your car until this afternoon."
My hopes sank with that. Now I would have to find somewhere to stay overnight or get into Cleveland during the early morning. It was good I gave myself two days to travel just in case, but I was still disappointed. I ended up waiting about an hour total, I guess they put me up front for some reason. Ray cleaned out my carb again, using real compressed air. We went and tried it on the car and it didn't work. After they finished a van, the bearded man asked if I could move the car to the garage. I thought so and drove the car very loudly into the work area. The bearded man produced a digital multimeter and immediately hooked it up to the points side of the coil. I cranked the engine for him, and when I got out he was shaking his head.
"Something wrong?"
"It's your coil, I think. Readings are crazy."
"The coil? But...it's brand new! Are you sure?"
He looked at the coil, which was still nice and shiny blue, and pulled the center wire from the distributor, the one that runs to the coil. He asked me to crank the engine again, which I did. I came out and he was shaking his head again.
"The spark is crazy, seems completely random. It's your coil. Do you have a spare?"
By some stroke of luck, it happened that I did have a spare -- the ancient blue coil from when I had bought the car. I removed it because the oil had completely left the insides, and I felt it would run really hot and have bad effects. I know better now, but that was way back when I bought the car. The coil on the car now I replaced after the rebuild just because I had one lying around. Anyway, the dude hooked the coil up and I cranked the engine. It started on the first try and ran real smooth. I was impressed. I thanked the man profusely while making a mental note to remember to check the damned spark next time. Then I became worried -- how much was this going to set me back? I asked.
"Oh, I don't know...about five dollars," he said, and grinned.
To wrap up the story (which has grown longer than I expected) I paid the $5.00 and thanked him again, and said that if I lived there this would be where I would bring things that I couldn't figure out. I ended up staying at a friend's house in Berea, Kentucky, which solved the problem of a place to stay overnight. The rest of the trip passed without incident and I'm happy to say the car ran great.
If there is a sort of moral here, it is not to jump to conclusions. I immediately assumed upon arriving in Williamsburg that people were going to be hostile towards me -- a teenager with long hair, little money, and a Volkswagen Beetle to go with it. I assumed that the garage would not be able to help me simply because there were no VWs there. I thought I'd be telling them how to work on the things. Turns out that they taught me a lesson in basic troubleshooting. This might seem oversimplistic to you, but in all honesty before this occurred I regarded people in a different way than I do now. It changed my outlook on things permanently. Before I stopped in Williamsburg, Kentucky, I assumed that all people were a little bit prejudiced and couldn't look past stereotypical archetypes. I figured I would be overcharged -- like the tow -- just because I was "passing through" and not one of the locals. Thanks to two people at a garage, Ray and the bearded man (I wish I knew his name...), I don't think that anymore. On a personal level, it has made me more open-minded and sociable than before when I tended to avoid people I didn't know. It is strange how something so simple, so seemingly insignifigant, can have such an affect on one's life.
Andrew W. 1/31/99
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