Auto-Biography by Ricki T Thues

 Auto-biography by Ricki T Thues

 

When my father, Bob, was 16 years old he bought a used Ford Model A for $50. That was a lot of money back then and the car needed some differential work. Bob tore apart the differential and discovered that it needed a new banjo housing. He could hardly afford the housing, but bought and installed it anyway.

 

With the car in his parents’ garage, Bob sat in the driver’s seat, fired up the engine, depressed the clutch, shifted into first gear, gunned the engine and popped the clutch. The car spun its wheels and flew backward, crashing through the rear wall of the garage. The wall was destroyed. The rear end of the car was pancaked, wrecking the rumble seat and rear axle. The car was totaled. My father was uninjured, which ultimately was lucky for me.

 

It turns out that the banjo housing was installed upside down, giving the car three reverse gears and one forward gear. The symmetrical design is a storied flaw and a rite of passage for mechanics of the time. My father could not afford another car until after his time in the Marines and after he was married to my mother. He bought a used Ford Country Squire Woody station wagon to raise a family.

 

My first car was a 1963 six-cylinder Mustang. In that first year the car was really a Ford Falcon with a Mustang body. When shopping for the car, my father took me to a nearby Ford dealer where we found a 1965 Shelby GT350. Its blue racing stripes, fastback design and hood scoop were stunning. My father insisted that he drive the car off the lot before I got in the driver’s seat to test-drive the car. He fired up the 289-cubic-inch "HiPo" K-Code V8 engine. It roared to life. Bob drove to the driveway and gunned the car onto the road in a fishtail, rubber-burning burst of power. He drove a block, pulled to the curb, turned off the engine, and turned to me. “No way!” he said emphatically. “This car will kill you.” I ended up buying the Falcon Mustang.

 

In my Junior year of college, I got the idea of buying a cheap car and driving it home instead of paying for airfare. South Bend, Indiana, was the home of the old Studebaker factory. There were a lot of used Studees to be had. I bought a 1950 Studebaker Lark Commander for $50 that was older than I was. It ran well enough. The back seat was the perfect size for a passenger and a case of Stroh's long-neck bottle beer. We made frequent runs to Niles, Michigan, where the drinking age was 18. The car lasted through the South Bend winter, but started to run rough after a particularly cold freeze. I took the car onto the freeway to see how it would perform. At 60 MPH, there was a loud rattling sound and then a report like a shotgun fired. The car continued to drive, rattling me back to campus, where I turned it off in the stadium parking lot, never to run again. Later, my friend diagnosed what happened: “In the freeze,” he said, “your head gasket failed, allowing oil and water to mix. The loss of lubrication caused a rod to break and be thrown through the engine block. Miraculously, the other cylinders kept firing, allowing you to limp back to campus.” I had to fly home that year.

 

Back at home, I drove the Mustang to its destruction. It was always underpowered and ate throw-out bearings, but I drove it through high school and beyond. During a drive up to a friend’s family’s house in Cowen Heights, the Mustang was struggling to climb the narrow, winding road up the hill. I was hugging the mountainside of the road halfway in the wrong lane when a teenager in a muscle car came flying down the hill around a blind corner. I swerved away from the oncoming car but could not avoid the glancing head-on collision. Both cars were totaled, but miraculously no one was hurt.

 

I bought a used Ford F-100 pickup truck with a 302 cubic-inch (5.0L) Windsor V8. It was the best car I ever owned. Powerful, useful, and versatile. The truck bed shell made the truck into a camper. After my wife Paula and I made our first skydives, we continued in the truck to the Grand Canyon for a vacation. We sat in the back of the truck, the camping shell protecting us from a canyon-wide thunder shower. Jagged bolts of lightning and thunderous booms framed one of the seven wonders of the world. Paula turned to me and asked, “Do you remember how it felt to jump out of the airplane?” We fell into conversation, reliving the skydives and ignoring the presence of nature’s magnificence. On the way back home, we stopped at the skydiving center and made our level two skydives.

 

Because we needed a second car, I bought a 1968 VW van. The van served me well until it didn’t. The windshield wiper motor failed, so I had to move the wiper linkage under the dash by hand when it rained. Many problems were solved with the Volkswagen’s Guide for the Complete Idiot. The manual had an exploded view illustration which showed every part of a Volkswagen. Working on the universal joint, I read in the book, “Get ready to loosen the bolt. You are about to skin your knuckles. OK, now take a break and have a beer.” It all came true.

 

One day I was driving the VW van about 30 miles from home when I heard a loud BANG! The engine continued to run normally, so I drove it home. I pulled into my driveway and turned off the van. The engine continued to diesel, sputtering and running. I jumped out of the van, ran around to the back, and opened the engine hood. The gasoline in the inline filter was boiling, and the right-side exhaust manifold was a blazing red. I dropped the hood and ran across the street. The engine stopped in a grinding screech. Luckily, the engine did not blow up. I discovered that the reverse-thread nut that held the fan had come loose and thrown the cooling fan against the firewall. That was the BANG that I had heard. Without the fan, the VW’s air-cooled engine had overheated and seized. The van never ran again.

 

Shopping for the van’s replacement on the Highway 39 row of used car lots in Huntington Beach I stumbled upon a 1962 Morris Minor 1000 panel van with a 948cc A-Series engine and British SU carburetor. The van had wooden surf scene carvings in the window depressions and KC spotlights on the roof above the windshield. The car had a retro beach cruiser vibe. I fell in love with this cool, impractical vehicle. Of course, it had its quirks. I carried a small flat screwdriver in my pocket to adjust the SU carburetor. When the battery died, I could push the car, jump inside, and pop the clutch to start the engine. Ultimately, the bottom of the engine block cracked. I kept it alive for another year by slathering epoxy over the cracks, but the tendency of the A-Series to overheat ultimately killed the car.

 

My questionable idea to replace the Morris Minor was to buy an MGB. I still had to carry a screwdriver, but now had four screws to adjust on the dual SU carburetors. It was sure fun to drive. 

 

Tired of constantly tinkering with an unreliable MGB, I replaced it with a brand new VW Rabbit, and reliable it was. Paula was happy to drive the Rabbit, and the F100 became my car.  The Rabbit was durable and served us well. It was pleasantly unremarkable, but like so many cars, the Indian signs of failure began with the dash control panel and indicator malfunctions. I brought the VW to my amazing VW mechanic, and he said, “Ignore the warnings, and when the indicators tell the truth, get a new car.” Sage advice, which gave me an additional year of use.

 

The VW dealer was happy to give me almost nothing in trade for a new Rabbit convertible, which was my second favorite car of all time. It was a commuter car and a hot rod. I loved the feel of the wind in my hair. Like the MGB, driving is always more exciting when you’re in a convertible with the top down.

 

My brother-in-law borrowed the truck to haul some junk away. On the way to the dump, he swerved to avoid a weaving speeder and crashed into the center divider. The truck was totaled. Greg had to have the truck loaded with junk towed to the junkyard where the junk and the truck were put to rest.

 

To replace the F100, I bought a 6-cylinder Toyota Tacoma truck. What a workhorse. Every week there was a note on the truck asking, “Do you want to sell?” I used the notes for fireplace kindling. Twenty-seven years later, this truck is still in my driveway with 260,000 miles on the odometer. It does everything from camping trips to pulling the utility trailer to hauling sheets of plywood to bringing the trash to the dump. And it still runs like new.

 

Sometimes accidents are unavoidable. Paula was sandwiched in the Rabbit in a rear-end collision. She was fine, but the Rabbit was not. Time for another car.

 

In the Saturn showroom, Paula sat in a car that fit her perfectly. This was a new experience for her, so we filled out an order sheet immediately. The purchase of Paula’s Saturn was an amazing experience. There were no discounts and no bargaining with a salesman. I filled out a checklist of options and submitted it to be built. I tracked the assembly with actual video of my car on the factory assembly line. This car was flawless. The polymer body was virtually scratchless and dent-proof. The car just drove and drove. After 400,000 miles, electrical problems raised their ugly heads, and we donated the car to NPR.

 

I ordered a hybrid Prius, which got 60 MPG. While driving it around Orange County as the iMentor computer consultant, the gas mileage was a real plus. For advertising, I traded consultation with a friend for a full vinyl wrap on the car featuring a giant logo and my phone number. 1-2 leads were generated from the car every couple of weeks. 

 

One day I got a flat on the Prius’ front left tire. The Prius is equipped with a small donut spare, so I put it on. As I drove the 30 miles home on the freeway, I was careful to keep under 50 MPH as stated on the tire. A skid warning appeared immediately on the dash, but steering was just fine. I switched the dash display to the power illustration. The car was running 100% on battery. The battery charge indicator was falling like a brick. By the time I got to the tire store, the battery array charge was almost zero. With a full-sized tire replacing the donut, the batteries began to charge up. The next day, the dash showed the dreaded triangle of despair, and the car would not start. I had it towed to the Toyota dealer. Toyota service called and reported that one of the battery cells had burst and the entire array would have to be replaced: $8,000. As it turns out, running the battery array to zero overstresses some of the cells and causes failure of the whole array. This happened because the car misinterpreted the donut diameter as a skid and turned off the gas engine as a safety precaution. Nowhere did the manual say to put the spare on the rear and move a full-sized tire to the front of the Front Wheel Drive. The batteries were 2,000 miles out of warranty. Toyota would not even take half the responsibility, so I had to pay for the full repair. The next year, the manual was clear about putting the spare in the rear. I call it the Ricki rule.

 

When it was time to replace the Prius, we went to the Enterprise Rental used car lot. There we found the most practical, inexpensive car I have owned. The Ford Focus was a striking fire engine red. Gas mileage averaged 30 MPG, not bad. The 160 horse four cylinder engine with Front Wheel Drive was surprisingly peppy. We put a lot of miles on that car. Unfortunately, there was a factory defect in Ford's DPS6 PowerShift 6-speed dual-clutch transmission. A clutch shudder developed due to input shaft seal leaks, which was repaired under warranty. The shudder would return, and the clutch was replaced. The Transmission Control Module (TCM) failed, causing low power or no-start conditions. During a rare period when the car ran smoothly, I decided it was time to bail.

 

I traded the Focus for a Toyota RAV4 hybrid. 40 MPG sure has been nice as gasoline becomes more and more expensive. The car is sporty on dirt roads, winding mountains, and straight out fast freeway speeds. It hugs the road and is quiet inside. When it rains, the DG roads where I live turn to mush. The RAV keeps its traction and gets me up the hill safely home. This car is a pleasure to drive and perfect for where we live.

 

The Tacoma is 27 years old. It still runs well, but I have to think that I should replace it soon. Some all-electric pickups can serve as a silent generator, which can keep an all-electric house like mine powered for a week. Since power outages are a fact of life in my rural home, this is very appealing. Electricity to charge the truck is cheaper where I live than gasoline. But the electric truck manufacturers have not checked all of my boxes. I want all the interior whistles and bells. Four doors would be a plus. And most importantly, I want a full-sized truck bed to haul 4x8 sheets of plywood with the tailgate closed. The Chevy Silverado EV LT has heated and power seats, a comfortable interior and the Midgate bed expander. The Midgate allows the rear seats to be folded down, extending the truck bed into the cab to accommodate a full sheet of plywood with the tailgate closed. The version of the truck I want currently costs $85,000. That is a lot of money for a car. 

 

I think I will wait until my Methuselah Tacoma dies.