By Al Cook
Journey's
End
I can confidently say I will never build/re-build a car again. Don’t
get me wrong, the idea of creating and fabricating has tremendous appeal
to me. However, the greatest appeal of hot rodding to me is DRIVING. Gurus
of hot-rodding, better versed than I, say there are Builders and there
are Drivers. I consider myself the latter but with enough mechanical abilities
to be a builder, with a small ‘b’. Now one of my coaches in
this project, Don McCartney is a true Builder. I am not sure how much
he likes to Drive ‘em but he sure seems to enjoy Building ‘em!
If you have been keeping track of the progress of the Killer Koupe, first of all, thanks. Secondly, you know that I missed my Waterdown deadline (May 24) but have nonetheless persevered with finishing it before the end of our all-too-short rodding season. The thought of my rodding buddies enjoying themselves at some cruise night or show and shine added extra motivation for me. Frankly, I was pee o’d to think they were having fun without me. Every sunny, warm weekend I was slugging away in the hot and humid confines of the car club while my buddies were sitting back in a lawn chair, throwing back a few cold ones at some show, somewhere, some time. Was I ever going to finish this thing? It looked gloomy.
What should I do now? I know I am not very good at interpreting electrical schematics and was lamenting this fact with my good friend and hot rod retailer, Bob Kurtz. On more than one occasion in the past (more than I care to admit), Bob has helped me out in a crunch.
With that small comment Bob said he would help me. “I just need to get started”, I told Bob.
So one night in June, Bob accompanied me to the car club and I witnessed an electrical wizard at work. He has a knack for explaining auto electrics in terms an electrical-simpleton like me can understand. This wire goes here for that reason and that wire goes there for that reason. Okay, I get it now! By the end of the night, we had all of the wires run in the right direction and all I had to do was make the connections and finish wiring the dash. No sweat! But, more on this later.
The brake pedal was hung, the master cylinder installed and all the brake lines tightened (editor’s note: sort of sounds a part of “Twas the night before Christmas” if you ended it with “not a coupling was galled”) . My first attempt at filling the master cylinder created more than one small puddle under the car. Where could all this brake fluid be coming from? That was easy to figure out; virtually every connection needed more tightening. Back under the car I go with my line wrench in hand.
Okay, back to the wiring. Remember I am an electrical-simpleton. What was it Bob was saying again about this wire and that wire? Am I suffering from early on set Alzheimer’s? What the heck, I thought, what’s the worst that can happen if I just go ahead and make some connections? After all, the wiring kit I bought has GM matched colored wires and is labeled every 8 inches. So, here I go, make the connections and hope for the best.
It was a Sunday afternoon and I had just about reached my limit. Henry Murray stuck his head inside the Koupe and asked how it was going. I don’t know what I said or what I looked like but it was enough for Henry to delay going home. There is a point in your life of rod building that you need help and this was my point. Within an hour, all the lights were working and we were tempted to kick the engine over just to hear if it will rumble. Henry to the rescue!
With a little gas down the carb, the ignition key was turned a within a few seconds a throaty, open exhaust crackle roared out of the headers. There is nothing that gets a man’s testosterone flowing like this sound! Ooooo baby! I am on the home stretch!
With the help of Greg Robertson, we
loaded the Killer Koupe on the club’s trailer and headed to Paul
Spier’s shop. Paul is a top-notch mechanic and certified car nut.
He often has some killer cars in his shop for major and minor work.
He is a gifted man with a wrench. I can’t say enough good things
about him.
Paul was to install my exhaust system, avec Flowmasters, chase down
the bloody, bleeding brake lines and tune the 454 for performance. I
left the car with him with the thought of finally spending a weekend
at home with my family.
I am not sure if I had been running
on adrenaline for the last 3 months or not but as soon as there was
downtime in my hectic life, I got sick. Sick is an understatement for
a man. I guess we are wimps but thank God there are women in this world
to care for us. My wife catered to my needs while my body fought this
wicked virus. It lasted two weeks.
Paul had the car less than a week when he called to let me know it was
done and he delivered it to the car club. Imagine that, done before
you expect and with delivery too! Even though I was under the weather,
I just had to go and see it. It was worth it. It looks like I may be
able to drive it this season after all!
My goal at that point was to make it to the Canats in Windsor. I had driven the coupe a few miles testing it out but was it ready for the 3-hour trip to Windsor? It seems reliable enough. I drove it home in the rain without incident from Henry’s shop where we had it on a lift to check every nut and bolt. I am going for it! The worst that can happen is that I will have to tow it home if it breaks down on the 401 somewhere.
We agreed to meet on Friday morning
at 10:00 am, July 25th. There will be 7 or so rods driving to Windsor
together so if something happens, others will be there to either empathize
or pitch in to help get you mobile again. Off we go, me following Jeff
Norwell’s hemi powered Model A. Traveling with me is daughter
number 3, Lizzy. She is happily reading her horse novel as we head up
Highway 403 at the top of the Hamilton mountain. “Is it raining?”,
she asks. “Why is there water on the windshield?”. Oh crap,
what is that? I slowly pull over to the side of the highway. Jeff watches
me in his rear view mirror and also pulls over.
A quick diagnosis reveals a loose intake bolt that is allowing some
engine coolant to escape. Out with my trusty 9/16” open-end wrench,
tighten it down and off we go! No more leaks.
The rest of the trip to Windsor was uneventful, other than me watching
the gauges like a hungry hawk and trying to listen for unusual noises
(editor’s note 2: sound familiar guys and gals?). But then again,
all noises are unusual when you are not used to them.
As
I was proudly pulling in to a parking spot at the Canats park, a stranger
approached me and mentioned that my altenator seemed loose. Since I
hadn’t installed the hood yet (I mounted the rad too high) it
was easy to see that the altenator housing was split in two. That’s
weird, I have never seen that before. Obviously there is a misalignment
between the alternator bracket and the engine. Better look after that
quickly.
Tom Henderson acted as our chauffer to track down a new altenator in
Windsor. Crappy Tire to the rescue (editor’s note 3: there goes
a potential sponsor). Unfortunately, they wouldn’t give me credit
for the old altenator since it was cracked. I lose $54 on that deal.
I consider the Koupe to be an evolutionary
process. Eventually it will look like the rendition Jeff Norwell created
for me but for now I am going to enjoy it as it is. As time and money
allows, I will get it repainted, re-upholstered and re-tired with wide
whites and steelies. It won’t be this year and probably not next
but eventually it will. It’s a blast to drive and my kids love
the rumble seat.
Officially, it will always be known as Kookie’s Killer Koupe but
unofficially, due to the numb-headedness at the MTO, it will be known
as the RMBLKOOP. Apparently, my original request of the personalized
plate “KLLRKOOP” was deemed offensive by some bureacrat
at MTO. An appeal letter to the MTO generated no response what-so-ever.
What do they do all day? I have heard government bureacrats will not
look out their windows in the morning. You know why? Because if they
did, they would have nothing to do in the afternoon!
As I mentioned earlier, I can’t bear the thought of building/rebuilding another car. But then again, there is an old lady in the neighborhood who has left her 1967 Camaro in her driveway to deteriorate…
Kookie Killer logo by Jeff Norwell