Trippy Walk Signal With SPC Firefly Lights

3959

This is, of course, one of my new favorite things. Credit the Brown Eyed Girl with the inspiration.

 

What happens here is you take one of those little 30-ct mulit-function silver-cord firefly lights that Sierra Pacific Crafts makes, and if you're lucky you have one of these lenses from a vintage crossing signal, and you just set the lights up behind it and let it go. The frosted glass in the translucent parts do the job they were intended to and the result is a very gentle trippiness.

There's a story behind that piece of glass. Back when Bill Trafton owned the VW shop at 157th and Stark, his shop was a gallimaufy of the sort you'd expect a mechanic of his calibre who's been in business for multiple decades to have. And he, for no clear reason but much gratitude from me, laid this upon me. The Brown Eyed Girl had the lights and realized that putting the two together was a natural thing. 

Trafton VW still exists, but really just as a name. A few years back, Bill retired at long last and a European auto repair operation called Steve's Imports (their main office is down on SE 92nd between the Springwater Trail crossing and the light at Flavel. When they bought Trafton's they brought a slick, shiny operation in and moved all the old-school groove out.

Now, don't get me wrong ... I'll bet they do superlative work, and probably with prices to match. Bill Trafton was the kind who'd have a VW boneyard in the back and give you a copy of Muir's Idiot's Guide or maybe even spot you the price on an expensive repair. 

He had that old-school VW spirit, and was a one-of-a-kind guy. The new operators are professionals and good at what they do ... but nowhere near as charming. 

So it goes.

Olivia the VW, June 2021

3955

This is the year this girl turns 50. 

I drive a 50 year old car. The styling, though, is timeless. 

I call this Olivia on Sandy Boulevard (Parkrose Interlude 2021). 

She's washed, lubed, the oil's been changed (just in time, I'd say) and the valves have been adjusted. It's hard to fine good VW mechanics and ours is damned good ... and a bit off-the-beam. But classic VW mechanics are like mad scientists, in the good way. 

When it finally cools the hell down, I've the idea to road trip with her down through Silverton because that's where I learned to love VWs. Many pixs should ensue from that ... but that's anon. 

Anonish.

The Prodigal VW

3605

Today, Olivia returned to us.

Seven months ago, more or less, this was the scene in front of Chez ZehnKatzen:

The beloved Olivia, bricked engine and all, being loaded on a flatbed for the transit to repair.

This is about 7 months ago, when Olivia was being transported over to FixUm Haus on North Lombard, about 13 miles away (Portland feels like a small town until one has to get across it). Danny from Team Towing did the work and, as I said on the blog, if there's a more squarely professional driver on this earth I've not met them yet. 

Coming home from FixUm Haus was bliss in a very real way. Lombard turned to Portland Highway to Killingsworth to Sandy Blvd, then south on 122nd to the home ground. As pleasant as all that was, the part of the drive on 122nd was absolutely the best.

But, alas! I had left the exported tool bag (with my car stereo's face place) home. No matter. I sang Al Stewart songs. "Lord Grenville", "Time Passages" and "On the Border".

That last one twice. It's amongst my favorites.

My singing voice ain't half bad. Maybe I should have done that for a living.

And so it goes ... vroom vroom. Fahrvergnuegen, and all that.

The Olivia Report: Olivia The VW Goes To The VW Hospital

3587After two months of stress, worrying, deprivation and hope, we've finally gotten the ball rolling.

Olivia, Our lil' yellow VeeDubya, went to the hospital today to have her heart torn down and rebuilt.

Somewhere around the 8-9AM hour, our old friend from Team Towing, Danny, and if there's a more squarely-professional buckle-down-and-get-it-done tow driver on this planet, we've not yet met them, brought out the flatbed and we got the process in motion.

Even without power it's nice to see her moving down the street, you know that?

One tow bill later, we've gotten her from Outer East Portlandia to the hospital in Saint Johns ... a place called Fix-Um Haus. We've spoken with Rich, the proprietor, at length about the prospect of fixing the engine and what impresses me the most about him as that as he's talking about fixing the motor he's reeling off a detailed plan in his head. He's like the sculptor who knows what stone to chip away to reveal the figure he sees hidden in the stone. He's like the artist who knows where every line is supposed to go on the drawing he's about to do before the ink goes down.

So far he seems to us like a rockstar old-school hardcore VW mechanic, which is what we need so much right now.

As you can see, Fix-Um Haus has a lot of people depending on it. There was the sweetest blue '74 Type I Cabriolet there ... it's a very nice shop. Everything inside the bays is tight and tidy. It looks like we found a true winner here.

So we commend our beloved VW and (soon) a good deal of money (part of it crowdfunded) into the hands of a pro who we're expecting will Get The Job Done.

Stay tuned and we'll update. 

[VW] The Very Last Day Of A Very Good VW Beetle

3331.

And so, back in May, two days after my natal day, after the decision to go with the total loss, decision from the insurance company, we went to retrieve things and pay our final respects to Old Red.

We all find out things we didn't know about ourselves at milestones like this. This car, which was my daily driver, served me very well for more than a decade. It was something of an heirloom. My late father raised me to be a Volkswagen lover, it was one of the few gifts he gave me that I still have to this day.

During die Zeit zwischen den Kaefern, I also learned that the mere sight of a classic VW made me smile (nothing is as good as driving and having one, but when you're in the desert, my friends, any glass of water will do). There is a spot that I will always, now, specifically remember, it's the spot where I had that accident. And, across from that corner and only one lot north is a house. This house has several residents who are coming and going to disparate places: there are four cars there, and they're always changing places. And one of them is a yellow '74 (or later) VW Beetle. With a roof rack. Totally adorable. And I would take this route just to see it.

By the way, you know how you tell a post 1974 from a pre-1974 VW Type I? Look for the windshield. If it's bowing out, it's '74 or later; flat windscreens are a feature of '73 and earlier.

File that away.

The other thing I realized is, though I'm a very materialistic person (in the way that things are just things and I tend not to give teleological imperatives to things like cars and computers and such), in things like this, I'm the same sentimental, spirit-imbuing sap that just about everyone I've ever known is. As I approached Old Red one last time, I gave her regrets. I said I of all the ways I figured our relationship would end, this definitely was not what I wanted. I sat in the drivers seat one last time. Looked all around; the German flag sticker that I affixed upside down; the instrument binnacle, remembering all the times during cold, damp weather the moisture would collect behind the glass; the red-velvet upholstery; the gas tank I had to fill by opening the bonnet. All that. All that meant something, and maybe it's the culture I was steeped in or the innate human need to have inanimate objects care about us back, but it was my experience, and for a few moments, it was for real.

When I walked away, I also did not look back. No damned reason other than sentimentality.

Now, I'm one with a very pretty yellow '72 VW and I'm so far very happy. We lucked in finding someone who needed to sell at the time we needed to buy, and the owners who had it before him took near-immaculate condition, at least as much one can reasonably expect. No complaints so far. She's the daily driver. She has a new radio. She has her quirks, of course, but I think that's why us classic VW drivers drive them. We love cars with character.  And, of course, nothing cuts a figure like a classic VW Beetle. It makes adults smile and makes kids hit each other on the bicep.

She's a different car, but I swear I feel the spirit of the old one riding along with me.

Old Red was a very good car for a very long time. I have a feeling Yellow will be a very car for at least as long as Red was.

And so it goes.

[VW] The Yellow Beetle Gets A Sound System At Outrageous Audio

3330.

This is one of those things that is a very Portland thing to do.

Outrageous Audio is a little car audio shop out in the Rockwood area, at 192nd and SE Stark. It's in this charming, shabby little shopping plaza called (incongruently) Germantown Square. If there was anything German about it, it got on the MAX and left the are long ago, my friends.

But there isn't anything shabby about Outrageous. Blane, the owner and public face of the store, has been selling car audio and electronics out of that place more more than 20 years. His late-night commercials are unforgettable. He's one of the last great local commercial pitchmen, and examples of his craft can be found at the bottom of the "Our Story" page at Outrageous's website.

He takes his approach straight from the Tom Peterson school. But as big as the man's voice and reputation are, the store is an unexpectedly small place. Lots of stuff in there, though ... chances are if Blane doesn't have it, you don't need it.

What we needed was a good, basic, radio and CD player. Nothing fancy. They had something that fit the bill, and a pretty good price to match, too. Not to mention Mike, a diligent installer with caring hands who had the job done in under an hour.

Here, Mike's surveying the territory. He developed a quick action plan.

Trouble with having a '72 VW is these hippie chicks that keep hangin' round, man. Fortunately, this babe's cool.

... and that's what the place looks like. Anyone want an authentic Portland retail experience, and wants a sound system installed, there's your place right there. 

I mean, everyone knows that a car isn't a car unless you have a device that'll allow you to play your tunes and listen, while stuck in traffic because of a traffic jame, to the traffic report of the traffic jam you're stuck in because of the accident the traffic report was advising you to avoid, lest you be stuck in a traffic jam.

There was no traffic jams, but there were good tunes. A CD with pop music from the late 60s and early 70s. Which, of course, was flawless.

[art, design] Forward Into The Past With John Muir's "Idiot's Guide"

3329.

Before there were "Idiot's Guide"s and "For Dummies" books, there was "The Idiot's Guide."

The Idiot's Guide. Classic VW owners know and love this well.

Back in the 60's, see, the VW was more truly lived up to its name "the People's Car", becoming a badge to the hippie culture as much as owning a Subaru strongly suggests one lives in Portland. Being an automobile, of course, the array of end-user maintenance options are more or less like they are today ... take it to a mechanic, take it to the dealer.

You could also fix it yourself, if you knew how. Not so much today; the engine in the modern car is more like a computer center; sometimes you feel if you so much as look at it, you void the warranty. But back then, the shade-tree mechanic was a valid functionality, and if you knew enough about your beast, you too could fix your own prime mover. And nowhere was this more true or accessible than with the classic VWs of the 60s and 70s, before the brand went uptown and yupscale.

The 'hippie' ethic deserves a close, hard look. One side of it was the casual, come-as-you-are-lifestyle, which may or may not have something to teach the individual assayer; the other side was a quick-witted, nimble DIY intelligence that coped with maintenance and repair with a cool, fierce aplomb that MacGyver would value. The properly-enlightened hippie only looked like a generally feckless will'o'the wisp; inside, he or she hid a savvy systems thinker that would slog courageously through lows that would leave most of the rest of us curled up in a foetal ball, crying softly over the wreck of our life.

This brings us to John Muir, who is a legend amongst classic VW lovers. And thence hangs our tale.

The legend of John Muir, 60s counter culture auto mechanic, runs something along these lines; a distant relative of the namesake American naturalist, he worked in the American defense industry during the Fail Safe/Dr. Strangelove days of the Cold War, until he'd had enough of it and decided to drop out. In the late 1960s, he moved to Taos, New Mexico and became a VW mechanic. I don't know if he intended to become the best there ever was, but his legacy certainly suggests that.

In 1969, Muir, Tosh Gregg, and artist Peter Aschwanden collaborated to create a timeless and valuable bit of 60s magic and a book for the ages. Fully titled How To Keep Your Volkswagen Alive: A Manual Of Step by Step Procedures For The Compleat Idiot, and known by lovers of the book and the car as simply The Idiot's Guide, the book is indeed a timeless gem. Right, the reader will find the cover of the copy I own. It is as compleat a manual of how-to-maintain it as the idiot it is intended for, but an idiot, it will not treat you as. As you are not an idiot. It will not treat you. It won't make fun of you, is what I'm saying.

It's so steeped in the 60s self-reliant hippie-esque counterculture, it's surprising it doesn't come tie-dyed and with scratch'n'sniff patchouli. The impression is that of a crunchy friend guiding you through a difficult subject with love. At the top of the section "ENGINE OVERHAUL",  for example, I find this tale of wisdom:

"Back in the Red Dog Saloon era, there was a garage in Carson City run by a sympathetic super mechanic named Muldoon. When you were pushed into Muldoon's, he looked and listened to your sick engine, asked how far you needed to go and how much bread you had, then he nodded and showed you where you could work on your engine out back. When you ran into problems, he left his profitable highway trade to give you a hand. You made it to where you needed to go, but God help you if you tried to go fifty miles further. We tell you about Muldoon because he has the type of genius an indigent VW owner needs when it comes to emergency time - the ability to balance the available bread and labor agains the immediate mileage requirement. 

In an emergency, the Volkswagen reacts well to any scrambling on your part to keep it going, but you really have to keep your promises to it. Muldoon's last words as you drove away where, "Don't forget to get that fixed right when you get there." You're on the road from New York to L.A., seventy-five bucks is all you got, you're near Santa Fe running on three cylinders with an engine that's overheating badly - like that. Don't give up and thumb, but do a compression check. 95 pounds in three cylinders, but No. 3 tests zero? Sounds like a burned valve, so find a place and go to work. Pull the engine, take off the tin, remove the heads and carry them to the machine shop (do both heads even if you go hungry the rest of the trip). Have the valves ground and a new valve put in. Reassemble and install the engine and you can probably make it to L.A. I figure a little over a penny a mile for the Bug and a cent and a helf for the Bus for gas and oil."

Adjusting the costs in the narrative for inflation to the current day is an exercise left to the reader, and I wish you well. But do you see what the above did there? Not only is it a capsule of a time, but it's casual-yet-witty prose both evoke that time, provide you with a single memorable character, and deliver a bit of technical know-how, illustrating what I meant when I said that the core of a hippie is a systems-oriented DIY problem-solver.

It's hard not to kind of fall in love with this book, whether or not you actually have or hope to have a classic VW, it's fun to read, and enlightens as it takes you under its kindly wing.

That's not to say it's all laid back tale-reeling. Muir was trained as an engineer, and the procedures, while warmly worded, are actually quite precise and methodical. Reading this book will teach you many of the fundamentals of how works a VW, but it focuses on two essential functions that every mechanic must fulfill: diagnosis and cure. The book is organized into sections simply titled by manifest symptom (RED LIGHT ON! (Generator or alternator), GREEN LIGHT ON! (Oil Red light), VOLKSWAGEN DOESN'T STOP (Brakes), and SLIPS AND JERKS (Clutch) are just a few), and each procedure identifies itself to you in language that is accessible to the tyro.

What really pops in this book is art, though. Peter Aschwanden illustrated technical details with whimsy and seems straight out of the Underground Comix school; he's what R. Crumb would have been if he did illos for auto manuals. The art (excerpted here and there in this article) are gorgeous, witty things, clearly drawn. I've used this book to diagnose electrical problems in the late Red Beetle, and I'm, if anything, mechancially declined. There's clarity and humor there, and the satisfaction that is naturally derived from seeing the work of an artist who was in solid command of his medium and his tools, and who loved his work and his subject. If Muir and Tosh got the 60s DIY ideal of owning a VW, Aschwanden (credited at one point in the book with his nom-de-guerre, Amanda B. Reckonedwith) similarly got the gestalt idea of the serious whimsy which comes with the ownership of the classic VW (which wasn't actually a classic in the full sense, yet).

You can still come by this book; sadly, both Aschwanden and Muir are no longer with us (Muir died of a brain tumor in 1977 at age 58, Aschwanden made it to 2005, and died aged 63. Even John Muir Publications is a thing of the past, his works still being published but The Idiot's Guide now belonging to Avalon Travel Publishers and The Velvet Monkeywrench, his socio-political manifesto and proposal, being published by Oceantree Books.

My particular copy is the 1981 edition, and was given to my by the legendary east Portland VW mechanic, Bill Trafton. If you knew Trafton and his generosity and his gift with VWs, you'd know that he was the equal of Muldoon, and why I consider the book such a treasure.

Even in a 35-year-old copy, it's as current as it needs to be.

It's a love letter to the best car every made, a book that everyone who loves a classic VW should have - even if you don't plan on touching the insides. It'll make you an enlightened owner, and is just damned good fun to read.

[liff] Tales of the DMV, Which Changed its Name to DMV Some Time Back

3328.

The DMV. A verity of adult life. If you want to legally drive, you'll find yourself there.

The mere name is a verity. Over on the site DMV.org, a privately-run clearing house of links to DMV information for all 50 states of the Union, I randomly clicked several states and as often as not, the name DMV ... Department of Motor Vehicles ... was the name of the agency in each state which handled titling and registering of cars and trucks as well as licensing of drivers. Almost every one had either DMV, some combination of another letter (BMV, in New Mexico, for Bureau of Motor Vehicles) or MVD (which is also what the Russians call their Ministry for Internal Affairs, a coinage one must accept as coincidental).

That last sentence points up a certain conception of the DMV as a thing that must be endured. A friend, long ago, remarked that Hell is an immense DMV waiting room, and your number will never be called. We all have bad memories of a DMV encounter. This year not only have I had to renew my ODL, but also process a new title and registration for the new Little Yellow Beetle that we now have. And I approached the event with more than a little apprehension.

The Oregon DMV has undergone such changes, though. I went in apprehensive and left delighted. The keynote seems to be on efficiency, speed, and friendly service. I got my ODL renewed in record time, and the title transfer application and registration were of almost sublime efficiency. Would it that all less important services were delivered with such aplomb.

Today we spent maybe 30 minutes in that building. It was a Tuesday morning, though, and that's kind of a slack time for them. It probably drags a little during high demand, but I'll be they're pretty good at handling that too. The sincerely-smiling, genuinely-helpful people there are probably a match for any problem you threw at them.

And, noting that I'm registering a 1972 VW Beetle, the clerk asked, with an impish glint in the eye, "You picked a name out for her yet?"

We haven't. But we're working on it.

The real inspiration for this ruminance, though, was the name. DMV. I'd noticed that the mere abbreviation seems to be a near-universal cultural token ... even Marge's sisters in The Simpsons work as clerks at the DMV. And I, as well as you, my dear reader, probably think we know what those three letters in Oregon stand for: Department of Motor Vehicles. 

Well, no. As it turns out, it's not Dept of Motor Vehicles; it's not really a Department; it's a Division (there are two major levels of Oregon state government agency. The top level is Department, and Departments are comprised of Divisions). The official name of the DMV in Oregon, is the Driver and Motor Vehicle Division, and its under ODOT, the Oregon Dept of Transportation, which is proper and logical.

Anyone devising the branding here can appreciate the cleverness. DMV changed its name, but still gets to call itself DMV. The iconic connection is maintained, the social concept token intact and involate. You need license and reg, you still go to the DMV.  I still can't determine when the official name-change occurred, though; all the time when I was growing up, the Dept of Motor Vehicles coinage seemed correct, my memory reports to me, even when it wasn't a state Department.

And there's yet another interesting thing that I turned up. The DMV hasn't been a Department since 1969, long before I started driving. It was only a Department from 1956 to 1969, before that, it was under the wing of the Oregon Secretary of State, and after that, a part of ODOT.

But to me, it'll always be the DMV, no matter what the initialism actually stands for. The DMV ... a fact of life, and one that works pretty well.

And so it goes.

[liff] The '72 VW Beetle Has Landed

3326.

So far, 2016 has held many unexpected things in store, and when I say unexpected, I mean unexpected.

On 20 April, for example? I was involved in an auto accident. My quick reflexes prevented me from catapulting through the window. I was unharmed, physically at least (auto accidents have this way of messing with your head).

My beloved 1972 red VW Beetle was, as it turned out, a total loss. But difficulties sometimes have this wily way of working out for you. This one did. The amount from the insurance company has enabled us a replacement ... and here she is:

Isn't she adorable? She's another 1972 VW, Type I, 1600 cc's and all. But instead of a dusky red-orange which we couldn't really tell the color bias of, she's a pure, unmistakable and rather adorable yellow.

... and that's her starboard side. The roof line of a classic VW Beetle is visual poetry to me. I'm pretty sure the Beetle is the best car ever made.

Moreover, this one is actually in better shape than the old one! So it's like the lottery, in a way. There are some flaws (fuel gauge sending unit, tires, needs a brake job), but that's to be expected for a car that's 44 years old. There are some 44 year-old people I know that could be doing as good.

But she fills a definintively-Beetle-shaped hole in a heart that was broken massively when the old red one was similarly broken. Sometimes, things work out though. This is one of those 'when one door closes another opens' sorts of things, and I'm grateful.

I love the VW Beetle to death, and I'm looking for many satsifying miles on the road with her.

Hertzlich willkommen, little Beetle.

Volkswagen does it ... again.

And so it goes (putt putt putt ...)

[out122ndway] A New Beginning For Trafton's VW

2901.The end, and a new beginning, for a great Portland east side institution.

If you're a VW aficionado, you'll be feeling a pang of … well, your reactions will be as different as the individual. I know how I felt when I realized the change.

But, still, it's all good. You'll see.

At 15570 SE Stark Street, in far-outer-east Portlandia, is an auto shop. It has been known in the past as Trafton and Maier Foreign Service, and Trafton's Foreign Auto. It specializes in Volksies. Just VW's nothing but VW's and only VW's.

And, from time to time, my VW. Which is a 1972, orangey-red, Type I. Or Beetle if you prefer. Or Bug … if you must.

The proprietor of said shop has been one Bill Trafton, a man with VW running in his veins. I'm convinced that the moment he was born, he ran out of the delivery room, found the first wrench he could lay his hands on, and started tightening a bolt on the first VW he could find. Yes, Bill Trafton was that good.

As a matter of fact, he was probably born a little premature because he just couldn't wait to get started.

I was privileged to hand over my hard earned money to Bill and his crew to keep this sweetpea on the road:

And she still sails the open streets of Portland to this day. Classy ride, right?

As you go into the east 150s, and you hove within sight of Mordor Gresham,  you come upon this unlikely looking construction:

Tell you something, if you can't figure it out after seeing that front-end over the door, you won't ever. This is the capital of VW, the Taj Mahal of the boxer engine, the center of cool. This is Trafton's Foreign Auto Service.

The inside was even more fascinating than the outside. Hence.

That's a very large scale model of Herbie hanging off the window there. There is a suggestion of clutter of historic proportions on that bookcase on the left. Brother and/or sister, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Hark.

You get the idea, don't you? If it was a knickknack, and it was Veedub, it had a place somewhere in Trafton's shop. Sadly, I didn't capture every corner, but I did get some. The entire place had VW paraphernalia, VW standup cutouts, old ads, a glorious and gorgeous gallimaufry of stuff.

That's my Beetle in the distance, on the lift getting something done. If you ever doubt, you can tell my Beetle by the German flag in front of the front door there. So proud to get that sticker.

Then, I applied it … upside down.

Wunderbar!

The interior was a-clutter, but at the center of it was the coolest hands ever to lay ministrations on an air-cooled boxer engine. And it was all informed by the wit, wisdom, and knowledge of Bill Trafton, who you couldn't help but love.


He was an interesting sort, Bill was. He was folksy, always had a story or two, was willing to talk your ear off at the time and, I say this in the best way, he was very, very Christian. Refer again to the facade picture up toward the top of this post. You notice how several panels in each window seem to form a cross? This was not just decor for decor's sake. One thing you noticed when you went in there was that there was a lot of Christian literature scattered about. There was even a cardboard box full of Bibles at the end of the counter. Bill would let you have one for the asking.

But for all that, he didn't try to sell you on accepting Jesus. He sold you on his auto expertise. In this world where every zealously religious person seems desperate to convince you to accept Jesus (as though they're the first one who ever told you about him) Bill let the example of his business practice do the talking for him. He did honest work, he charged a fair price, if it was something that required a couple of minutes of his time he sent you down the road with a smile and a wave (sometimes he didn't even charge you for it). If you wanted to talk religion, he was perfectly happy to do that. But if you didn't, he didn't.

He even once took us out to lunch while we were waiting for the crew to finish the work on the Beetle and we had to hang about because we had nowhere else to go. That is the only time that any mechanic had ever done anything like that at all for me.

Giuseppe's Pizza, by the way, near 181st and Stark in Gresham. Highly recommended. That was some righteous pizza.

The only door you can't walk through
without stopping to look at every single thing

The last thing that Bill's shop did for us was to replace the left rear wheel bearing. He brought that in for under $300. Latterly, the windshield wipers had apparently given up the ghost. Time to see Bill again, and so last Monday we hied ourself out to 155th and Stark to do so.

Almost immediately we found some things had changed. The old sign, with the Pennzoil logo on, had been replaced with a simplified sign simply reading TRAFTON'S VW in these cute retro plastic letters. The half-chassis Type II (or VW Bus, if you like, or Transporter, if you have to, or Microbus, if you must) with a painted Here Comes the Son legend on was still there. But one important thing had gone away. On the west side of the building, there was this large iron cross (remember I told y'all about his faith?), not massive, made of square iron tube about 3 inches through and standing about 6 feet tall.

It was completely gone.

I'd taken this opportunity to look into the back lot of the property which is easily viewable from where you pull in to park your rig. It's the boneyard that every good mechanic has … half wrecks that they scavenge parts from old 'dubs and such. It had been … well. simplified. Fewer wrecks, and a big shipping container that wasn't there before.

I approached the front door behind The Wife™ and entered with trepidation. What I found inside left me absolutely gobsmacked. Every bit of the gorgeous clutter, the (I think) three decades of VW cruft, was absolutely gone. The old fridge, vanished; Herbie had left for parts unknown (or as parts unknown?) and there wasn't a scrap of Christian evangelism to be found. A pleasantly neat and tidy, rather freshly-painted, workspace was there.

Now, I don't want to leave the impression that I was unpleased at what I was seeing. By the same logic, I don't think that a pin-neat mechanic's shop is necessarily (operative word there) better – or worse – than a cluttered one. As much banal work comes from a clean desk as brilliance comes from a cluttered one, and vice versa. But when something is a certain way, and that thing changes fundamentally, your pins kind of get knocked out of you. And something that was sure, certain and safe has all assumptions revoked. Everything is back in play again.

In some situations, that's excitement and fun. When it comes to your trusted mechanic, it results in anxiety. It has gone from being a very known quantity to an extremely undefined one. But we had to venture forward you see; the 'dub's wipers were broke down, and rain was on the way, so once more unto the breach, and all that.

The first part of negotiating the new territory was the person managing the place, a very pleasant fellow named Daniel. He took us in hand and listened to The Wife™ outline the problem, and filled in the service order. She has always been a better judge of people than I, and the conversation was going rather well (and The Wife™ loves to talk). The conversation went rather well, and Daniel did something that always impresses me in places where guy stuff tends to transact; he talked to her.

I've been in similar situations when she tried to transact the business but the concessionaire insisted to address me until I pointedly reminded them that my spouse was in fact the one who was talking. We have not returned to such places.

So here we were starting off on a good foot. And whoever's playing that sad violin can stop it now. Thenkyew.

The repair cycle gave us much to be reassured of. It went, largely, as it would if Bill were still in the shop, which tells me one important thing: the new owners of Trafton's VW clearly understand the good will and reputation attached to the name they've inherited (and, tellingly, continue to use even though they presumably could have changed the place's name). They also care about retaining regular customers. I suppose also part of it is that at least one member of the old Team Trafton remained, a VW genius by the name of Marcos. It also helped that Daniel is as VW crazy as the rest of us; his terms of endearment involved letting on that he, too drove a '72 Beetle … and that he envied me the crisp responsiveness of my stick shift, which is one of the best things about driving that car.

The real test of it was the potential replacing of the wiper motor. Acquiring the new part could have pushed the repair bill into the low $200s, however, once Marcos got his magic hands on the thing and found that it needed just a little adjusting, it went down to the low $140s. And now, I have a working windshield wiper with 2 actual speeds!

That, and a new old auto shop to take the Beetle to.

The surprise was, as Daniel told us, Bill had actually been retired for the last two years but was taking his time to find the right people to sell the business to. Apparently, he's chosen well.

We can confidently recommend Trafton's VW to anyone at this point, even since the change of ownership. Sadly, if you go there, you won't see the VW Museum anymore, it having gone, presumably, with Bill, and you've missed meeting Bill himself, who is one of the truly memorable characters I have known.

He did leave me with something, though. Our lodger walked out with one of Bill's numerous Bibles which he was happy to give. As I became one of the sometimes-regulars around Bill's shop (he could clearly see I enjoyed hanging about while the 'dub was worked on) he decided I needed a copy of the Idiot's Guide. Now, I don't mean one of those modern Idiot's Guides to this, that, and the uddah thing. I mean the initially self-published wonder by the VW God, John Muir, How To Keep Your Volkswagen Alive: A Manual of Step-by-Step Procedures for the Compleat Idiot. The edition I was bestowed with was published sometime back in the 80s but my 'dub is a '72 so we're good there.

Even if you don't ever intend on working on the 'dub yourself, you need this book and need to read through it so at least you're a literate classic 'dub owner, because that's the only sort of 'dub owner there should be, and Muir's late-60s sensibility and the late, great Peter Aschwanden's astoundingly sweet illustrations will cause you to linger for a very long time anyhow, and you just might get smart enough to work on your own 'dub, which would get you out of some scrapes and make you self-sufficient, which is excellent per se. 

All of which is a long way of saying Our friend left with a Bible from Bill Trafton and, in a way, so did I. 

And we shall miss Bill. Take him as a man, all in all, for we shall not see his like again. I just wish I'd of had the chance to say g'bye.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 is a very famous verse, you've all heard it: To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven. 

I bet Bill Trafton would have given us an amen on that. 

[vw] Sam and the Art of VW Maintenance: Running the Freeways and Highways

2552.

There is a certain spark to driving a 72 VW Beetle from here to Salem.

Having been born in Silverton and growing up in Salem and points proximate, there is the taste of memory, a little bitter with irony. As in, crossing Silverton Road at Lancaster Drive in Salem, and realizing that, some years ago, I did the same thing only my late father was at the wheel, and remarking to The Wife™ for perhaps the twelfth time "On Silverton Road in a VW! Doesn't that bring back the memories!"

Bill Trafton's work stood us in its stead. The four-banger boxer engine, powering away, drove us without complaint and without a hassle from Home Base to Mom and Pop's in Salem, and back again on the freeway.

Freeway driving was approached with no small bit of apprehension. But, as I learned to finesse the little rebuilt engine in the way it was wanting, it became second-nature.

Being a child who grew up during the 80s, 65 miles-per-hour is plenty fast enough anywho.

And, being a 1972-tech engine running on 2010 fuel (including biodiesel whether we want it or not), the fuel economy will be perhaps never what I want. But it closes on 20 mpg on the freeway, and I guess that's okay for now - on an engine that will be dependable for a little while.

Must remember to check the oil level. This is to be a weekly thing, now.

Technorati Tags: Sam and the Art of VW Maintenance, VW 1600, VW Beetle

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[VW] How Long Would You Wait To Recover YOUR Stolen VW Type 2?

2548.

Would you wait 36 years?

Submitted for your approval: Stolen in 1974 in Spokane, Washington; Recovered, 2010, Rancho Cucamonga, California.

For those less purist: the type 2 VW is what the rest of you all's call a VW Bus, VW Van or Microbus.

And so it goes.

Technorati Tags: Vee Dub, Volkswagen, Type 2, Microbus, strange

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[VW] Sam and the Art of VW Maintenance: Ye Olde Generator Brushes

2543.

I, for one did not know that generator (Type 1's before 1973 or 74 or 75 or summat, didn't have alternators, they had generators) brushes wore out.

Perhaps that's because in the past, whenever any car I had had an alternator problem, it was just replace the alternator time. This is one of the simpler fixes - depending on car, of course - that the unskilled DIY mechanic can accomplish. On the 70s VW Dasher, the alternator was held to the engine block by a pin hinge and was spaced off by an arm down which a nut-n-bolt slid. swivel out the alternator far enough to get proper tension on the belt, tighten down ...   you're g-squared.

What the brushes do is quite important. The part that spins round in your gen/alt, the rotor, creates electric power because it's a collection of loops of wire whirling around in a stationary set of magnets (the stator). Because of The Way Things Work Around Here™, when you physically pass a wire past a magnet, the wire's cutting the lines of magnetic force cause a current to flow. Get enough of them whirring past a magnet fast enough and you have enough current to power a car, charge the battery, and run your trusty AM radio or what have you.

If you've got all this electric potential going on in the rotor you've got to get it out of there somehow. Therefore, from another point on the stator you run a short rattail of thick copper wire to a piece of metal that rides a set of contacts on the axle of the rotor, where you tap that current off. And that's where your brush is.

Now, it stands to reason that enough years of friction there will cause it to rub away (though this won't necessarily occur to you if you haven't ever taken a generator apart, even if you do know a thing or two about electricity and how it's produced). What you do know, however, is that after all that expen$ive work getting a new engine into the car, all of a sudden, you have a generator light that won't go out.

Glad we got us that new Schwab battery back when the old engine blew. It got me started and around town for a few days. And the generator light, to be fair didn't suddenly go out: it would pop on at idles, the go out when I revved, until one evening when it wouldn't go out any more no matter how much revving I was doing.

Back to Mechanic Bill's house. He nailed it pretty quick. Generator brushes shot, no more left to them. It was a $70 repair, but what Bill's crew fixes tends to stay fixed, and the generator light hasn't given me a problem since.

Now, we will have the horn (which won't) and the four-way flashers (which don't), and Bill pointed out to me and The Wife™ what parts to go looking for. Like a true old-school VW mechanic, he'll do the work and bill you fairly, but if you're out of bread and might be able to fix it yourself, he'll point the way.

Oh! Which reminds me! I mentioned to him that I was a fan of Muir's famous Idiot's Guide and he said he had an old copy he could let me keep, and he did, and I do. The meat and potatoes of the book are unchanged enough that the copy I now have - a 1982 edition - will serve me in good stead until I get a more modern printing (which has nifty background information). But that's a pretty sweet thing to do for a customer, give them such a valuable book and advice on top of the repair, which made it really worth the $70 - turning it from money from a tight budget spent into money invested in having a 72 VW Beetle that'll keep running and be dependable for a good long time (it is to be hoped!).

Here (http://www.reluctantmechanic.com/step-by-step/change_generator_brushes.php) is a very good description of what the tyro should go through in replacing the generator brushes, with apropos photos. Be enlightened!

Technorati Tags: VW, VW Beetle, Sam and the Art of VW Maintenance, Bill Trafton, Trafton's Foreign Service, VW 1600, VW Generator

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[VW] Sam And The Art Of VW Maintenance: Fine Literature

2542.

I reintroduced myself to VW repair books over the weekend.

But I didn't stop at Chilton or Clymers. Oh, no, not there.

There's a book that some may have heard of. It has a great title. It's called How To Keep Your Volkswagen Alive: A Manual Of Step-by-Step Procedures for The Compleat Idiot. The author is John Muir ... not the famous Scottish-American naturalist, but a fellow in who worked for Lockheed back in the 60s, dropped out, moved to Taos, New Mexico, and began a hippie-fied life as a long-haired VW mechanic.

It must be added that, at this point, I happen to like hippies. They're nice people.

Muir's book is written in a conversational, straight-plain talking style, filled with verbiage that comes right out of the 60s counter culture: there are references to Eastern mysticism (especially warmly humorous in the section where the author tells you how to go about buying a Volksie (which is what Muir pretty much calls VWs throughout the book)), and when money is mentioned, it's usually expressed with the word bread.

But it's clear that Muir was sloppy in love with VWs, as all us lucky vintage VW owners are, and cared about his ride (and yours). And you can use mechanics if you want, but this book is aimed toward making you savvy and literate enough with your Vee Wee that you can, if you had to, fix it yourself. It's imbued with the sense of making you aware of the system that moves you, so you can give to it ... so it can keep giving back to you.

The illustrations, by the late Peter Aschwanden, come straight from the 60s underground comix vibe. They look as though R. Crumb could have drawn them if he'd dug car parts and evoke a sense of time and place with the merest glance. Being so drawn, of course, they pick out just what you want to know in a friendly yet precise way. It all looks a lot less scary via Peter's illustrations, and while I'm nowhere near competent enough to rebuild a VW air-cooled, much less change the oil just yet, it all makes a bit more sense and I'm a lot less scared of that engine.

It really was a simpler time.

Sadly, John Muir is no longer with us either - he died young, of a brain tumor, at age 59 in 1977. But I'm glad he left us what he did.

I'll be looking to put this one on my shelf.

You can find it at the library or Amazon.com. You know how to do teh Google.

Technorati Tags: VW, How to Keep Your Volkswagen Alive, John Muir

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[VW] Sam And The Art Of VW Maintenance: Seeing Mechanic Bill

2541.

Stopped by Trafton's yesterday. It'd been 600 miles since the engine was replaced on the 72 VW Beetle, and it was time to get the valves adjusted and the oil changed apres-engine installation.

This service is a free after-installation service that Bill Trafton's shop provides. And it makes sense. You can't just install a rebuilt engine and say "see ya later, alligator" ... you have to take another look and make sure it's a happy engine. Bill's shop does this.

One of his employees did the work, and I got to watch a bit of it. Primarily the thing I wanted to see was the changing of the oil. This is something that just about anybody can do on most cars, or can be shown or taught, but on the old VW air-cooled engines, it's a whole 'nother thing. Type 1 engines, you see, didn't have an oil filter. The oil is strained through a metal screen in the bottom of the sump before being sent back up to the crankcase for another go-round.

This screen is held in place by a plate which is held in by seven bolts - one in the middle, six on the circumference. The literature I read says you do it thus: unbolt the big bolt in the center, which allows the oil to drain. Once drained, release the plate by taking off the outer bolts, remove the oil screen and the gaskets, clean the oil screen in solvent if necessary, reinstall the oil screen (with new gaskets), and reinstall the plate. Fill with SAE30.

It's a little more complex than replacing an oil filter, but not really that much more.

We were there for about 1 hour and tootled along out of there.

When it comes to VWs on the east side, Bill Trafton's my man.

Technorati Tags: VW, VW Type I, Beetle, VW Bug, Trafton's Foreign Auto

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