Captainkirk's Duster project

Chapter 2

Trouble in Motor City

Once I’'d made the decision to yank the K frame, my life got a little easier. It'’s agonizing over the decisions that make up the hard part. So I dove in to the deep end and started dismantling things.
It felt good to jack up the front end and yank off the wheels that hadn'’t squealed on tarmac in twenty-something years. The front discs were surface-rusty but still in very good condition. This was a good thing, because I had every intention of using them over. I must admit I had some challenges when it came to extracting the torsion bars. I was a little unclear on the concept of how they actually bolted in, never having seen the business end of one before. And then, once I got the clips loose, I had to figure out a way to back them out of their respective hexagonal receivers without nicking or damaging them. Common sense told me to order the removal tool sold in the Year One catalog I had. Impatience told me the hell with that; I want these freakin’ things out NOW! In the end I compromised by jerry-rigging up a tool. I used a strip of ¼” thick rubber sheeting wrapped around the torsion bar and clamped a Vise Grips around it. Do I recommend this method? Nahh. Plan ahead. Buy the tool. But fortunately for me, the bars, while being a bit stubborn, weren'’t rusted in and popped loose after a few good smacks on the Vise Grips with a ball-peen hammer. No damage done, no money spent. Now that’s my kind of bargain. And the best part was, they were lying out on the concrete the very same night I started on them, no waiting for tools to arrive. Pretty good, for having been in there for 35 years, no?
I had to break down and buy a pickle fork to separate the steering parts, but that was no big deal. I went to the Auto Zone down the road and was back wailing away within fifteen minutes. All in all, I had this thing gutted within a week or so and was ready to start in on the rust and corrosion.
I did have a few minutes of real fear when I put that big, honkin'’ socket on the K-frame bolts with a ½” breaker bar and pulled…..to no avail. I hosed the threads on the four Big Mamoo bolts down with AeroKroil and scurried off to scrounge up a nice long piece of pipe from the basement. By the time I got back and put my cheater bar to use, it was almost anti-climactic; the AeroKroil had done it’s job, and they eased out with just a hint of a sigh of protest, like a hot knife through butter. My nightmares of snapped off bolts vanished like a leaf in a windstorm. Whew!
Then came the little stuff; all the “bits and pieces” attached here and there and everywhere, that were, quite frankly, in my way. Such as the clutch bell crank pivot, the front brake lines, priority valve, fuel line clamps, master cylinder, heater core, etc. It’s gut and slash, boys. Remove it if it ain'’t welded on. It all went quicker than I expected, as did the actual sanding. Aside from making my finger tips sore as hell for the next three days, the sanding was easy, and done in a few days, as opposed to the chemical stripping or sandblasting that I’'d considered previously. The primer/rust converter went on nicely as well. And before I knew it, I was looking at a primed/converted engine bay. Since I’d decided to wait until later for the primer/sealer and paint coats, and over the winter to do the front suspension/K-frame parts, I decided to turn my attention to the hunk of cast iron hanging mute on the stand. I was growing impatient.
Tony had now had the engine for a few weeks. Thankfully, the bores and pistons miked out fine, standard, which was a relief. Buying new forged slugs would'’ve set me back a month or two. In the end, it really wouldn'’t have mattered anyway, because a head-spinning turn of events was going to set me back, anyway.
The turn of which I speak involved the crank, and the original motor from The Duke. Remember that one? The early, oil-burning stove of a 340 that I’'d yanked on my Christmas break way-back-when? I’'d mentioned that the crank had sat with the rod journals unprotected over the winter. Well, Tony called and gave me the bad news; The crank was fine, but would have to be ground .010 under, due to the rust pitting. No big deal, but it was gonna set me back money-wise, and I was really pretty pissed at myself for allowing this to happen; it was, after all, my fault. I told him to do what he had to do. I'’d come up with the extra scratch somewhere.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, a thought struck me. Or, rather, kicked me in the ***. There on the floor of my garage sat the original motor from The Duke, sad, forlorn, neglected, and untouched since Jimmy Carter was in the White House, vintage unknown. I knew it wasn'’t a ’72 due to the Hi Perf manifolds and the Carter AVS perched on top. So, what WAS it? I got out a can of spray degreaser and started searching for numbers, with the Secret Ring Decoder chart provided in the front of my Year One catalog.
There on the side of the block was a date. I couldn'’t quite make it out. I rubbed some more…. Still not clear. I grabbed a flashlight and angled the beam so the light would shadow the numbers…...could it be? No…..YES! They stood out clearly now, shaded in the light; 10-’69!
Holy Smokes! Jackpot! That means this block should have a forged crank, ten-and-a-half-to-one’s, and “X”-heads with 2.02 intakes! But, what kind of condition would they be in after all these years? I might just have 400 pounds of scrap iron sitting there on the floor, for all I knew.
My heart was pounding now; it was late in the evening and I had to work the next day. But I just couldn'’t wait. Not now. I turned up the volume on the radio and started spinning wrenches.
I worked late into the evening. I made short work of the rocker shafts and push rods, and began spinning out the head bolts. Then came the massive cast-iron square-bore intake. Uh oh…-trouble here! Nestled underneath the manifold was one hell of a mousie nest, bathroom included. Little bastards…. This could be messy. I cleaned up all the nest and mousie turds and carried on. I started on the right head first. It needed no coaxing to come off, and I could see the telltale blue signature of a FelPro gasket sandwiched underneath it. It popped right off with a simple tug, and I got my first peek inside the engine.
Eeeeewwww! Gross! The cylinders with the pistons down had a thick layer of surface rust on them, resembling somewhat, the likeness of the inside of a boiler …from the Titanic, no less, dredged up from the bottom of the Atlantic, and thick enough that I’d never be able to rotate the crank. Well, I'’d cross that bridge when I came to it. I got started on the left head.
The left head took some doing. In fact, it was immediately obvious that the right head had been off once and the left head; never. Or at least, not for a long, long time. No tell-tale FelPro blue here; this one was… cheaper. My rubber mallet had no effect on it. A chunk of 2 x 4, likewise. Finally, I screwed a couple of intake bolts back in, and using these as a leverage point, and the 2 X 4 as a lever with the block as a fulcrum, the head gave way. But not without protest. The head gasket, which must have been cemented in place, literally tore itself asunder coming apart. The front left cylinder had entertained visitors. How mice were able to get inside a cylinder with heads on may still be a topic of discussion a thousand years from now, but they did.
Now that the heads were off, I flipped them over to examine them. They were, in fact 2.02 “X” heads. I’'d seen ones in better shape, mind you. But they were genuine X heads, and that fact alone was encouraging.
I admit, that at this time, I briefly considered using these in place of my “J” heads …and then the voice of reason whispered in my ear that: 1) My J heads were already ported and polished, 2) they were cc’'d to lower the compression ratio with those monster TRW pistons to a more…… reasonable… 11:1, 3) they were physically in much better shape than the X’s, with new guides and all and would be cheaper to rebuild, and last but not least, cc'’ing yet another set of heads out for those piston domes would render them useless for any other flat top pistons I might choose down the line. A quick phone call to Tony in the morning netted yet another surprise; he told me the 1.88’'s in the J heads would yield more torque down low (as in “street use”) and the 2.02’'s wouldn'’t help breathing much until you were way upstairs. That clinched it. I'’d stick with the J'’s with their 1.88’'s and save the X heads for a rainy day.
But enough of this working on the floor stuff. I pulled the tranny and bell housing, then the clutch pack and flywheel. I bolted the rotator assembly from my now-empty-and-no-longer-a-virgin engine stand onto the back of the motor, and with the help of my son, hoisted it up and into the stand receiver. This was more like it! I placed a drip pan under the motor and swiveled it upside-down to let any remaining oil drain overnight.
I hardly slept that night, and work the next day seemed like torture; I could hardly concentrate, wanting to run home and rip into that motor like a monkey on a cupcake. I talked to Tony on the phone about the heads; that made me feel better. Then I asked him, that IF I found a forged crank in this thing, and IF it was any good, could I use it with this motor build? He said, absolutely, but I'’d have to re-balance the entire rotating assembly. Cha-ching! Well, again, I'’d cross that bridge… IF I came to it.
That night, after dinner, I trucked on out to the garage and turned on the radio. It was an unusually warm spring night; T-shirt weather, no less; and I ripped into that motor like a drug-sniffing canine working a Colombian “Jeffe”. The pan was off in about, …oh, three seconds, give or take. Then the windage tray. The timing cover and gears followed suit. I stared at the counterweights, unsure of what I was seeing. They were certainly rough. Bits of casting flash were everywhere; on one of the rough parts behind a rod journal was a sharp stalagmite of iron that would probably take a finger off if you picked it up wrong. This could hardly be forged steel. I’'d seen a forged crank once, and it was a thing of beauty to behold; all polished and smooth. The cast crank out of the Minx Motor looked better than this! Oh well, no stopping now. I was determined to get this motor stripped tonight.
It took a bit of doin'’ to get the crank out without moving the pistons and rods to TDC, but somehow I managed. A kind of magical thing happened that night; electricity was in the air. I cracked open a Special Export, and then the radio did a funny thing; each night at 10:00 pm on this particular station they run a program called 'Ten at Ten'; 10 songs from a particular featured year. That year that night just happened to be 1976…...the very year I’'d torn into the L’i'l Red Minx’'s motor. The first song just happened to be The Boss, belting out “Thunder Road”, and suddenly I was thirty years younger, working on the Minx back in Dad’s garage in Mudville; and my fingers began to fly unconsciously on their own as the oil smell and the music triggered memories long since forgotten and suddenly I was just there, man! Peter Frampton, Boz Scaggs, comin'’ at me one right after another and I was so into it, so alive, my soul singing those Songs Of Thunder once again……. Coincidence? I don’t think so.
The disemboweled motor lay scattered in bits and pieces about me, with the exception of the pistons. Lord, it was after twelve o’clock! I sheepishly turned down the radio, which had without fanfare (or me even noticing) returned me to the present, hoping I hadn'’t wakened the neighbors, and headed inside to clean up. It was, after all, a work day tomorrow. But not before turning the engine right-side-up again and filling the cylinders with copious amounts of AeroKroil. Do your work, I silently coaxed it. Do what you do, and save this block for another motor, another build, another day. I popped another Export, and as I turned at the door and looked at the Duster under the tarp, my finger poised on the light switch ready to engulf the garage in darkness once again, I thought I heard a gentle whisper….” Well, hello……, again”. But it might'’ve been the breeze. Yeah, it might have been.
The Kroil might’'ve helped some, but this piston stuff was no walk in the park. I wanted to be careful, as the pistons were in all probability nice 10 ½: 1’s and might still be salvageable. Several of them came out with little protest, some rather grudgingly, and then there were these two, ……well, let'’s just say that after attacking the rust on the cylinder bores with coarse sandpaper, they still had to be literally pounded out of the bores with a five pound sledge hammer and a stout length of 2 X 2, wailing on it until the ends of the wood were splintered and mushroomed out. And even then it was not certain who would win. But give in, they did, at last; and as the pistons popped out of their bores one by one. I marveled at the number of pieces the rings were in, some as many as six. I wondered if this was the cause of the oil burning problem, or the chunks of valve seals I’'d found in the pan, or both? No matter. Once the pistons were out, I was even more amazed to find little or no “step” at the top of the cylinder. I certainly needed no ridge reamer for any of the pistons, broken rings or not. No way these cylinders had 100,000 miles on them. No way. So, somewhere in The Duke’'s past, it had received a heart transplant; a ’'69 340 with a Carter AVS, Hi Perf cast exhaust manifolds and all that went with it. If cars could only talk. What a tale The Duke might have to share with me! But, dead men tell no tales, it'’s said, and The Duke was long gone, nothing but this sun-bleached skeleton of a once-deadly gunfighter lying in state, silent as the grave, in my garage.