Simplicity is only a mask worn by the ordinary, disguising that which to an untrained, open eye is far from the simple task it appears to be on the surface. My initial mission was simple: remove engine and transmission together as one piece, replace small, simple piece (shift lever ball joint) in the nose-cone of the transmission. Estimated hours: 6. The procedure has been studied and everything is ready to go. However, Betty does not wish it to be that simple. One friend believes she is testing my resiliency to see if I deserve her love. I don't know if I'll go that far. Every simple step to the process has become an adventure and project in and of itself. The book's instructions may simply say: “remove mounting bolts and disconnect clutch cable,” each bolt being a sub-step to the bigger step, which is really just a sub-step to another, and to another. The project is snowballing. What the book can't say is that each of the bolts are either stripped, stuck, or bent, and the wingnut of the clutch-adjuster has no intention of going anywhere, regardless of the attempts of Liquid Wrench or its heavier duty cousin. Snowballing. Now each of these small, ordinary parts have become a project requiring problem solving, thinking, and serious work. Snowballing.
And then as I lay beneath the bus, staring at the uncooperative components I notice that the engine and transmission are covered with oil, meaning that seals are leaking and gaskets have gone bad. “While I have the engine out I should replace those gaskets,” I think. Snowballing. “Well since I'll be taking the engine apart that much, I should just take it further apart and overhaul the thing while I'm at it,” I ponder further. Snowballing. At this point I'm more than 8 hours into a “6 hour job,” and am pondering adding another 40 hours [read 100+ hours].
I decide to move on to another step in the process, putting off the difficult stuff until further, unconscious thinking provides a fresh perspective. Removing the axles I find that bolts are stripped, slowing me down further, and further taxing my brain and meaning further parts will need to be put on the “order list.” But I'm in no hurry, so it's not a big deal. I actually find that I somehow enjoy these pitfalls, laughing at my own schadenfreude. And besides, these delays give me the opportunity to inspect the bus further. It was here I noticed that the CV boots are rotted and cracked, and the one axle that came off shows signs of the CV joint's wear. “I should just replace these while they're out,” I think. “Or just buy new axle assemblies all together...” Snowballing; both the job and budget.
“Let's look at this,” I think while letting the solvent attempt its magic. Where I then notice that the battery tray is rusted to the point of holding the battery in by shear will alone. “Well, I should fix that while the engine is out too.” Snowballing. “I could sand down this rust and paint in here too. And look at this! I could do that too! Snowballing.
At this point, a simple mission has turned into a full “theater level” operation... But that's the fun of working on, and restoring an old car: it's your turn to play general, colonel, captain, lieutenant, sergeant major...you get the picture. The goal isn't only to get my dream car looking good and in tip-top shape, but also to find something about myself. And so far I've discovered a snowball's ambition that has turned Frosty's head into an avalanche that could take out a small alpine village. Here we go!...

First Impressions

I guess I could start this out with a little introduction. My name is Joe Dees, I'm from Northern Kentucky, the Cincinnati area (go Reds!), and I'm 32 years old. I have a degree in history from the University of Kentucky (GO CATS!!!), and a degree in political science from Northern Kentucky University. As you can probably guess, I serve in the United States Army at Ft Sill, OK, wear the 214 FA patch on my sleeve and am assigned to HHC 168 BSB. I'm no mechanic, but I like to use my minimal abilities to work on cars, it's soothing, a stress reliever since the rules are set by physics and I can do whatever I like within those limits. Problems arise, and problems are solved. I did grow up helping my father work on old Volkswagens, but this project is my first solo flight, and I'm already discovering all kinds of new things and have called my dad at a frequency of 1 call per 3.5 hours work for advice, and this work has only been “preparatory” work (as he calls it) for the real project at hand. Oh Boy! I learned to drive on a 1968 beetle, and drove a 1974 bus in high school, so I kinda know how these things operate. Anyways, that's my mechanical background. And with it I have 3 VW service manuals, some good buddies, a patient and tolerant car, and a set of Craftsman tools to aid me on my path.
As I said, I'm not a mechanic, just a “Joe” (inadvertently) trying to be like my father or something. At the age when most mechanics begin to learn the trade I was losing the interest in hanging with my dad in the garage. I got into skateboarding, a pursuit that sent me around the country, to Europe, to the edge of my parents' and professors' tolerance since I was “wasting great intellectual abilities by focusing my attention on a piece of wood with wheels,” but that stick taught me a lot about life, society, humanity, philosophy, and myself. It also taught me responsibility and leadership in a round about fashion since I owned a skateboard company and managed 4 wild and out of control weirdos that comprised my team (the guys I sponsored and toured with). I could talk forever about skateboarding, but I will spare you and leave my back story at that. Perhaps other strange details will be revealed as this blog progresses...
But who cares about me, you're all reading this for HER, my bus, Betty. She's a 42 year old dream. A good German girl whose VIN indicates her production date to be May 15, 1970. Small details like the chrome trim indicate she was a “deluxe” model, and even smaller details, like the bolts holding the rear bumper on being all different sizes say she's seen her share of mechanics; as does the fact that her current engine was not the one who accompanied her on that big boat ride from the motherland. She has her scars, blemishes, problems, etc, but that's part of what attracted me to her in the first place. Like the scrawny, little Christmas tree in the Charlie Brown Christmas Special, everybody just needs a little love to make them shine to their full glory. And lucky for Betty, she has me. And lucky for me, I have my dad on speed dial, some friends who believe in me (yeah, I'm baffled too), a bus that doesn't seem to let me take short cuts, and the staff of the Ft Sill Auto Skills Center to help me. Let me tell you a thing or two about my first trip there and meeting the staff. Mr Brabenec's story about Betty and me had already run in the Cannoneer, so they knew who I was and what I was hoping to do when I walked sheepishly into the shop. I had previously been there for the mandatory safety class (offered Thursdays and Fridays at 5:00PM), but had not talked to any of the staff about my project or anything for that matter. Now I am not shy, and my life experiences, coupled with the Army, have made me unafraid of walking into nearly any situation, but still I knew that I was approaching some experts as a lowly bonehead looking for guidance, so I had a little bit of that Wayne's World “I'm not worthy” trepidation as I said hello and formally introduced myself, but they immediately made me feel welcome in their AO. A gentleman named Carlos gave me a tour, allowed me to choose the area in which Betty would be transformed (which I now refer to as Dr Frankenstein's lab), and told me not to be afraid to ask for any help or necessary equipment. Let me tell you, these guys really know their stuff, and the shop, like our Army, is equipped to handle any mission, job, or project no matter how large or small: a full, ground up restoration (world war) or just changing a light bulb (a police keeping mission to provide security for an election), and even the alien, unconventional project, like removing any bolt on Betty (counter-insurgency ops in Afghanistan). The bays are clean, well lit and even heated. This place is made so that any soldier can save a lot of money, learn valuable skills/life lessons, and work on their own cars. I would encourage all of my peers, leaders, and subordinates, young and old alike to take advantage of this great institution that MWR provides for us. You may even find that you love this stuff and seek out your own Betty with whom to bond and do something constructive and fun in your free time. I know you're not scared, for the 7th Army Value is Personal Courage, so if nothing else, stop by, take the safety course, discuss your project with the helpful staff, and/or lend me a hand, passing me wrenches underneath the bus, finding your Karate Kid Zen wet sanding Betty's rust, or whatever while listening to my zany stories about skateboarding, living in Russia, weirdo ex-girlfriends, or any other topic under the sun.

I will also apologize in advance for any typos, grammatical errors, etc in my blog. My editor is currently an overworked, single mother working full time, going to school full time, while still trying to tackle the 3 novellas I recently dumped on her all at once. So I'm going at this solo too.