DIRTY STUFF

SHANE, full as a tick on lunatic soup, lost the Hemi Pacer on a fast, sweeping bend when he tried to miss a running fox. Murphy’s Law said he had to sideswipe the only tree on that side of the road, which he did with much noise and breaking of glass. His insurance wiped him and he had no money to fix it, so the wrecker took the remains away and Shane went back to riding a skateboard.

Sam was searching for an engine. The mill in his VC Valiant was a tad tired, and he didn’t want to get involved in major engine bay surgery, so he figured a good 265 sixpot Hemi would be the way to go. Had the word put out on the wreckers’ hotline, then the call came that a yard had Shane’s dead Hemi Pacer. Zipped along for a look, paid real munny for what looked like a good engine, and took away the complete crossmember assembly as well. Figured it would save him much stuffing about with engine mounts, as his original 225 in the VC was a slant-six, and this new Hemi was straight upright.

Sam got all that stuff into his shed and began ripping in. Dropped the old crossmember, slid the new one under and suddenly ran into a major problem: the Pacer assembly was too wide. “No worries,” he thought, “I’ll just get stuck in with my angle grinder and cut out a couple of chunks to make it fit.” Did that, bolted on wheels, then got the bloke next door to help tow the engineless VC to a welder, with the now three-piece crossmember wobbling in the wind. Got that sorted, worked late to fit the Hemi engine, and, as he was just about stuffed, decided to fire it up in the morning.

For Sam, it was not a good morning. After a couple of minutes cranking, the fuse lit and then the shed was full of smoke. And it didn’t get much better, even after 15 minutes of fast-idle running. So he had a big think about the situation and realised the Pacer must have been upside down for a while, with the 265 running flat strap on no oil. Pulled the mongrel out again and ripped it to bits. Rings and bearings were stuffed, but the rest wasn’t too bad. Had the bores and crank measured and the specs were okay, so it would be just a hone and rings and stuff, and then the Hemi would rise to rev again.

The engine reco mob supplied all the pieces, plus a full valve job on the head with new springs. Sam started to rebuild the engine, being careful with piston ring gaps and bolt torques. He even had a look inside the oil pump. Happy with all that, he wheeled over his engine crane and dropped the big six-pack into its hole. Determined to finish, by 3am he hit the key, and the Hemi was alive.

So the next morning was easy – he cleaned up the VC, threw in tools and rags and went for a long drive. But he didn’t get far, for there was a strange engine noise after it had run long enough for the oil to heat. Sam stopped, got out and lifted the lid to rev the engine a few times, and the noise was loud – unmistakable big-end knocks. “Those engine reco blokes have sold me the wrong-size conrod shells,” Sam thought. “I’m going to have a chat with them.” Which he did, and the old bloke running the shop had a listen.

“You didn’t get your conrods resized, did you?” he asked.

“No.”

“There’s your problem. Big ends have stretched so they’re not round anymore. Better get those rods back to us.”

Out came the Hemi again, apart in 50 pieces on the floor. The old guy was right about those tunnels, and they were machined on their closing faces and ground round again. More hours used up in the patient assembly, but this time it was right, so Sam was real happy.

Went for a run, and no noises now, but with the extra grunt from the Chrysler 265, the VC was way undergeared – revving hard, going slow. But Sam had an aftermarket workshop manual, which said the rear axle gears in the V8 Valiants were a hell of a lot higher. He figured he had best get one of those assemblies. Wreckers’ hotline came good for not a lot of munny and the ’box went in easy, but that’s all he did, except to fill it with oil.

Went real well for a while – ideal for highway cruising, even better for fuel economy. It was a great street machine, and still all Mopar. But after a thousand clicks of tar road running, Sam heard another strange noise. He was nervous about strange noises now. And in the middle of a 200km trip, his real good V8 diff began to sing. “No point at looking at this on the road. Wait until we get home,” he thought.

Once he did, Sam didn’t have to jack up the car, as oil was still dripping off the rear axle, and there was zilch inside. The pinion seal that he should have changed had let go, and his beaut high-ratio gears were stuffed.

SAM CLEANED UP THE VC, THREW IN TOOLS AND RAGS AND WENT FOR A LONG DRIVE. BUT HE DIDN’T GET FAR, FOR THERE WAS A STRANGE ENGINE NOISE AFTER IT HAD RUN LONG ENOUGH FOR THE OIL TO HEAT