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!...