Two steps back
A burst of progress ends with Ed in the doo-doo. Literally
When I first put this Wartburg 353W back on the road, I’d repainted the black grille in yellow, removed the hubcaps and kept the bumpers in black, as they were when I bought it. I’d also fitted a deeper front air dam with fog-lights.
After further thought, I’ve decided to change the appearance of the car again. Casting around the shed, I found a full set of chrome hubcaps, aluminium wheel trims, a chrome grille and headlamp trims which, although not perfect, have all cleaned up well.
I’d given away the car’s original, detachable ‘face’ (which holds the headlamps and grille) as it had the bonnet release and radiator shutter cables set up for the passenger side of the car. I fancied moving them to the driver’s side, the way they are on factory right-hand-drive cars (this one’s a semi-official RHD conversion – I’ll tell you the tale some time). I already had a RHD face and radiator shutters, but I was surprised to discover I’d recently inherited (yes,actually inherited) the under-dash bracket required. The solid steel cable for the blind had snapped off flush with the end of its sheath, but I repaired it by adapting the pull-knob that had the old wire clamped in for life. I filed and drilled the end of the pull until it would accept a cable, which was simply bent through the new hole. I’ve yet to fit the bracket – I have a brandspanking-new reconditioned dashboard to go in, so I’ll weld that in place when I take out the old one.
Repair, refinish, replace
Another recent job was to repair and refinish the Wartburg’s steering wheel. This had started to sweat, crack and mummify.
The characteristic smell of vinegar and an ever-spreading stain of sticky drips on the driver’s seat indicated that the wheel itself was cellulose acetate-based. I dried it out, rubbed it down and filled the cracks with some old, supposedly flexible plastic bumper filler paste, then finished it off with a couple of decent coats of black paint.
I’ve done the same thing to the Moskvich. It’s not permanent, but it should last about five years before needing another repair.
Meanwhile, I turned my attention to the motor. The car was fitted with a temporary engine that ran well enough, but had a sinister death rattle. I had a look in the engine museum and pulled apart one which looked to be in fairly good order. This one had come as a spare with my Wartburg Tourist. The omens seemed good – at least, as far as one can tell without pressing the crank assembly apart – so I replaced the front bearing on the crankshaft and found a skimmed cylinder head for it.
The ‘new’ engine went in without a hitch. You can heave them in and out by hand, just about, but I did it the sensible way with an engine hoist which saved a lot of backache the next day.
I seem to recall the gearbox had started jumping out of reverse when under great duress, but as I was on a strict time schedule to get the car ready by June, I decided to strip this down another time. It may simply be a matter of adjusting the linkage, but we’ll see. The car’s detachable face makes gearbox extraction a fairly painless job. You remove the engine and driveshafts, then pull the box up and out through the engine compartment.
Disaster strikes. Twice.
Everything then went unexpectedly wrong when I came to start up the replacement engine – it refused. It was wearing the same carburettor, fuel pump and ignition system as the previous old rattler, but even after going over all of the above, firing was very occasional and spasmodic. There’s nothing else that can be adjusted – or maladjusted – so after a number of frustrating
hours and a flat battery, I drew a blank. It did fire up and run for a few seconds at one point, revealing a big end death-rattle to rival that of the previous engine. This was a bore, as it had initially looked like it would (probably) be in passable condition.
Having promised to recommission a friend’s car for the start of June, I resolved that the Wartburg would have to be be put to one side for the moment (again!).
‘Still, it could be worse,’ I mused as I locked up the barn in the dark… and stepped in a huge and malodorous dog turd that had been deposited by the door while I’d been inside. As I drove home in my socks, I decided that I’ve had it with old cars. I’m going to start collecting stamps instead.
‘There was a big end death-rattle to rival that of the previous engine’