Date: Sun, 16 Feb 1997 00:47:50 -0500
From: Charlie Ford <cford@mindspring.com>
Subject: Of Junkyards and Fellowship

Life in LA.............. and the Power of Fellowship (even on a listserv)

When I began this journey in search for the beginning of wind I thought I
had everything taken care of.  I felt that all was in good enough shape for
me to strike out on the road and tour the country with very few, and then
only minuet problems.  Little did I know of the evils of repairs that
lurked before me.  Hiding in the shadows like a thief.

I eased out of Georgia into Alabama, no problems.  I continued through
Arkansas and into Oklahoma, no problem. I left the home a beautiful woman
(already engaged) and headed south.  South into the mid phase of the nation
and the trip.

The first problem as many of you will remember was in Purcell Oklahoma.
The golden fuel pump that hangs muddy underneath the VW bus decided to quit
with no warning. I checked the points, the plugs, the tires and everything
else trying to figure out my problem.  I didnąt even think about the fuel
pump, later finding out that it was the culprit all along.  That little
glitch ended up costing me roughly $220.00 and created a sense of paranoia
in me.  It was kinda like when I was in college, and me and the other heads
would go out and burn one or two and end up with the cops driving closely
on our bumper.  That agony of mystery suffered directly after the agony of
defeat.  I drove in total attention to each sound the engine made, trying
all the while to act straight.

My knowledge of mechanics and electricąs fall abruptly about 6 inches from
my face as most of you have ascertained.  I am also hampered by the fact
that I am 6.4 and have hands like a person wearing mittens. Still I checked
all the things I new to check.  Each time I would shut down I would feel
the engine with my hand for any heat build up.  Each time I cranked I
listened for any small change in tone or hum, a rattle or roll.  The
dreaded paranoia had disrupted my trip, my mind, and it was making life a
living hell. Like Chinese water torture.

Finally I reached Austin, Texas, my destination on that leg of the trip,
many of you will recall that that is where the idle problem reared it ugly
head.  Once again I felt the need to try my hand at troubleshooting.  I
dove in teeth and toenail working with it all week using the Haynes manual,
The Muir idiot book, and the trusty playboy (for the pictures).  Nothing
ventured nothing gained and in the end it was no better than when I had
begun.  I took her to a shop at the end of the week and right before I left
town.

The gentleman that worked on it at the Austin shop called Metaphysical VW
did his best.  He tuned her for higher altitude, toned her down to a purr,
and sent me on my way for a cheap price.  I made it all the way to Taos
with the Mothership running like a dream.  She climbed mountains and
coasted valleys, never making a sound that sounded contrary.  As soon as I
hit Taos she grew negative again.  Many of you once again remember, no
power....no power.

I found yet another shop in Taos, Action Auto.  Len sellers the owner of
the shop went right to work on her.  He changed the oil (the old had gas in
it from running to rich), tuned her up, and sent me on my way for $87.00 +
the $45.00 I had already spent on wires and other stuff electrical in my
and Brianąs effort to revitalize her to her original glory.  After a few
days on I went to Winslow.

No real problems there except for the kind that made my skin crawl at the
way my cousin was being treated by his own kin.  That was enough to make me
want to cuss a blue streak, but as Kit Carson said łI never cuss anymore
than is absolutely necessary˛ so on I went to somehow ease my mind and to
once again find Shangri-La.  The Grand Canyon lay ahead along with new
people to meet, and new sites to see.  I kinda think I should have stayed
up there.  Vegas came all to quickly.

I dropped in altitude from 6500 ft above to 1800 ft in one day.  Once again
the Mothership started coughing a bit right at the bottom of Hoover Dam, so
did my spirits.    We spat our way out of that canyon and into the city of
recycled money and lights that lay in the low desert of Nevada.  I camped
that night in the parking lot of a Home Depot, disturbed by what might be
wrong and that ever constant questioning of why was I doing this to myself,
I should just quit now.  I finally found my way to sleep solaced by the
fact the lodging was safe, comfy, and cheap.  The next morning I found The
Beetle Barn and a fine shop owner that has been working on bugs and busses
for 40 years.  Warren is a gentleman of the first order.  He carries
himself as a man of knowledge, especially of VW knowledge.  I found him  to
be quite the expert in all phases of the łpeopleąs car˛.

He told me quickly what was causing the problems.  He reset my timing and
later in the day diagnosed further to find the Airflow meter problem.  He
looked at it and told me exactly where it was cutting out.  Then he went
inside and told me the price, $402.00 for a new one in Vegas.  I was
already down to $260.00 total and there was no way I could find any work in
Vegas, so off I went with reassurance from him that I could make it to LA
if I kept it out of that zone.

I did, it did, and arrive in LA, or smell A as Kyle, another Volks folk on
the list calls it explaining that łhe used to live here˛.  I understand now
what he means.  I havenąt breathed near as good here as in the mountains
above Taos.  Hell, I havenąt breathed really good since the Grand Canyon.
I am once again in a region that cars abound.  Traffic jams are the thing
to try and avoid rather than animals, and life is at the hustle pace I
left. Smog is the rule of the day.

When I finally got settled at yet another cousinąs here in LA, actually
Santa Ana, a suburb of LA, I started looking for an Airflow Meter.  I
called a few junkyards, all of which said they didnąt have one.  I have
received dozens of suggestions that I bend it to swipe on another track,
and tried but with my mitten hands that tend to be stronger than I think
they are I froze up suffering from the fear of breaking the damn thing.
While here another dilemma occurred, my cousin had a heart attack.  He is
69 years old and though active is still less healthy than some of the
elderly I know.  It looks as if he will be aright as of today anyway.

Last night Jack Stafford a list member, sent me mail that he would be glad
to escort me around to some graveyards to help me find an airflow meter.
He lives in Costa Mesa which is a few miles from Santa Ana and today we
went on a junkyard tour.  We visited the first one, Pick Your Part, that
looked as much like a Walmart as any junkyard I have ever seen.  It
reminded me of a buffet of used auto parts.  All the cars neatly set on
jackstands in neat sectioned organized rows, and all the hoods raised like
shelves just waiting to be rummaged through like sale bins at Walmart
during Christmas. The only thing they didnąt have was air conditioning for
the parts yard.  I expect next time I am here they will have even
accomplished that.

While there, Jack found a fuel regulator and we scoped out some busses due
to be brought out on the aisles tomorrow morning by the junkyard jockeys.
We were not able to find much for the Mothership but we had great fun and
enjoyed total used parts shopping pleasure.  We even almost got to see two
of the customers go at it, like two old ladies fighting over cucumbers in a
grocery market produce section.

After walking through and not finding all we wanted to find, Jack paid for
his goods and we continued our tour by driving about two miles down the
road to another junkyard.  This one much less fancy than the Pick Your
Parts.  This one was more kin to the ones I see back home in south Georgia.
The type where the guys inside had just as soon cuss you out as to haggle
with you over a part.  Actually they were pretty helpful and entertaining
in a manly sort of way although we were not able to take our tools out on
the lot.

We were issued one hard-hat for the two of us to walk out and take a look.
I still havenąt quite figured out how both of us would have been protected
by that one hard-hat.  Maybe they have stuff falling that is only large
enough to hit one persons head.  Jack said he felt un-official.  The first
bus we came to had no engine, but upon further scrutiny I looked under the
bus and there lay the golden chalice I had searched for.  An airflow meter
the same shape color and number as the one that needed replacing.  It was
exciting to see it laying there in the dirt with dust covering her and
shrouding her form the sun.  I pointed it out to Jack, he grabbed it, and
we inspected numbers.  Oh Happy Dayą when Jesus found an airflow meter for
me.  Jack also found a hard-hat and a few things for his bus.  I was
genuinely excited. At least until we reached the shack.

The guy looked at the airflow meter and said that he would take $75.00 for
it.  Hey I only have a couple hundred left and work is on the horizon, so I
started poor mouthing like any good man would do.  I have an Al Bundy
streak that runs deep through me.  Haggling is the American Way and an
ancient art.  It is how our great country achieved parts of itąs greatness
and there is nothing wrong with following the fruitful habits of the Jewish
nation and trying for the rock bottom deal of the day!. I did my best
lonely puppy face and gnawed in with a goal in mind.

Jack chimed in and said he also needed a couple things off the bus.  The
guy said aright $75.00 for all of it.  Jack went back, got his part, and we
split the bill.  I know that my part cost much more than Jacks, but he
insisted.  One day I will give him something, not because I owe him, but
because he is a kind and decent man.  In fact I owe all of you a great deal
of thanks. They hardly even know me except for the list post which are
sometimes nothing to do with VW and yet.  Each time there has been
problems, you guys rallied to the call with an undenying willingness to
help.  I one day will repay the favors and maybe one day I can just offer a
note to one of you that will just make you feel better.

I wish there were words that could describe the nice folks that lurk and
write on this list, but there arenąt.  Every time a problem has occurred I
have had all of you to fall back on for advice.  For years I have been
volunteering and working with special populations, Mentally retarded
adults, the elderly, juveniles and the like, that is my career and has been
for 20 years.  You folks are an example to what community can be.  You are
much more learned than me, but I am getting better even though it is as I
go along.

I am privileged to know all of you.  I am not a very bright man, but I know
goodness when I see it.  Thanks once again for the opportunity to be a part
of this listserv.  I think one day we should have a rally somewhere in
Kansas.  On that day I will buy all of you a beer and hold up a toast to
you.  Then we will drink and have a barbecue.  Iąll do the cooking.

Thanks for helping me make it 4000 miles, and thanks for tolerating my
petty ramblings.  If a book ever does get created from this (after some
editing of course) I will dedicate it to all of you and my Mother (she
might kick my butt if I didnąt).


Charlie Ford




"79" Transporter, dressed for the road
The Mothership

 The"Turning 40 Nostalgic VW Service Tour, and
Search for the Beginning of Wind".

www.armory.com/~y21cvb/charlie/charlie.html

"Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set"