Last night I finally got Emma running again.
To recap - I first bought Emma (1972 MGB) in 1978. Sold her to BIL when
going overseas in 1983. He drove her, "tricked her out", and then blocked
her for nearly 10 years. Last year he had financial problems, so I bought
her back, trailered her across the US in the Road Trip From Hell (TM), and
started working on her.
Well, after replacing her rear springs, tearing apart and cleaning her
carbs, ungluing the float chambers, cleaning the fuel tank, replacing the
fuel filter, cleaning the fuel pump, replacing the fuel pump points,
blowing out the fuel line 5 times, and such, I was ready to oil her up and
go. I had drained out the oil and wanted to pressure inject fresh oil to
lubricate the bearings before starting her up.
My machinist had made me a "pressure injector". This was a 2' length of 2"
sched-40 PVC pipe, with a compression fitting on the bottom and an air
fitting and a plug on the top. The idea was to fit the compression fitting
to the oil-pressure line, and then blow a quart or two oil into the engine
using 50 psi air. This would force the oil up into the upper galleries and
hopefully relube things that hadn't been moved in 10 years.
I hooked this contraption up, filled it with oil, put in the plug, and
hooked up my air compressor. I hit the lever, the thing filled with air,
and suddenly all hell broke loose. The plug shot out of the device at
Mach-2, catching me in the lower lip and giving me a body piercing that a
trendy NYC teen would be envious of. This was immediately followed by the
ejection of about a half-quart of 20W-50, which ended up drenching me from
crown to toes. Fortunately, I was wearing sefety glasses and the car
fender was covered, so I didn't lose eyesight and the oil didn't cause
toooooo much of a mess.
Well, my wife and I decided that the hole in my lip was small enough so
that it probably didn't require stiching right then, so I sprayed it with
Bactien and went back outside. I managed to inject hte oil by using a
C-clamp to hold the plug in place, reducing the air pressure to 35 psi, and
hiding below the level of the fender.
Once that was done, I topped it up, and sat down. It was with an odd
feeling that I sat there. The last time I had been in that seat was in
1983. I turned the key, and pushed it over to start.
*ruma ruma ruma ruma COUGH ruma ruma COUGH COUGH ruma ruma THRUMP COUGH
THRUMP ruma ruma RRRRRRRMMMMMMMUMAUMAUMAUMAUMA* SHE'S RUNNING!
Oh My GOD, she's running again!
Okay, she's not running well yet. There is a tapping, probably something
under the valve cover. She seems to be running lean... so, I need to
check the rocker arms, and do a tune up.
BUT ALL that doesn't matter. She's RUNNING. She's RUNNING. My dearest
MG, my Emma, lost and gone from me for over 15 years is back in my hands,
and she's running!
Yippie!
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A .sig is static My life is dynamic. I can't think of a single
quote or witty saying that expresses the mercurial nature of the changes in
my life. The only constants in my life are stress, my loving wife, and
the weekly hairball my cat leaves on the carpet.
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