When things in the shop go grizzly
There are some vehicles that find their way into our bay and seem to camp out there. Sometimes we draw a dirty hand on our own, and sometimes it's dealt to us.
People who don't work on commission can't appreciate these situations. I worked on a Lincoln Continental about 20 years ago that started out simple. I dealt myself a dirty hand on this one. All it needed was a No. 4 injector, which is an easy part to change on that 3.8L platform (it's right in front and in your face), except that one of the T30 Torx screws that secured the fuel rail had a stripped head and had gone out of its way to become a permanent part of the intake via oxidized threads. I probably should have tried a new pair of vise grips along with some gentle heat, but instead, I foolishly opted to use my high-speed abrasive cutter to make a slot across that domed head for my large Snap-On flathead screwdriver. It was a bad call.
Well, during my flathead screwdriver extraction attempt, one-half of that domed bolt head popped off and sailed away to parts unknown. Hindsight was useless, and now I was in it — so I had to win it.
I went ahead and broke the other half of the domed head off with a small chisel, removed the second Torx head fastener that was holding the front part of the rail, carefully extracted the o-ringed injectors from their ports with a little gentle prying, and positioned the front fuel rail out of the way long enough to oil the o-rings, drill out the broken retainer bolt, repair the threads, replace the new injector and re-seat the other two that are fed by that rail.
Already a seasoned technician, I was cautious enough to carefully keep the injector holes covered during these maneuvers. I had skillfully navigated a bump in the proverbial road, and the Continental didn't need anything else — or so I thought.
When I started the Lincoln, the engine was knocking in a big way, and I knew instantly what had happened. That first half of a Torx head bolt that I thought had found its way to the concrete had instead made its way into an injector hole, past an intake valve, and had imbedded itself in the top of a piston.
I kicked myself pretty hard in the seat of the pants for such an outstanding performance, and I'm sure that nobody who's reading these words has ever made a mistake like that one, right? Oh, well...
The customer was called, the front cylinder head came off, and there was the offending piece of bolt, which I had to dig out of the top of the piston. But it didn't do any other damage, so the head went back on in short order with new gaskets; the cooling system was filled and bled, and so on.
This had been a long haul and a lot of free work for a simple injector replacement, and I was glad it was ready to go. Then, as I was sliding behind the wheel to back the car out of my service bay, my knee hit the plastic hood release handle and broke it. For some reason, the handle wasn't returning to its at-rest position under the center of the steering column when you let go of it, and I didn't happen to notice that when I had pulled it to open the hood. One had to be purchased from the Lincoln Mercury dealer. It was like the Continental was taking one last shot at me before I could get its bear claws out of my backside.
Situations like this will try the patience of any man, and I've seen a few of these butt-biting bears over the years. I call these jobs "bears" because that's what they call a money-losing market run on Wall Street. Let's face it: Some jobs seem predisposed to take a bite out of our bottom line (and our butt), and there's nothing we can do about it.
Recently, it seemed like every job we did tried to eat us alive. The bears were out in force.
This tired set of wheels came into our shop for some front-end work. We put an engine in this little Blazer a few years ago, and they liked the work we did, so here it was again. It would be a simple repair: all four tie rod ends and an alignment. What could be simpler, this side of an oil change or a flat repair?
The tie rod ends were replaced in short order, and the alignment was done. Then we got ready for a test drive — and the fun began. The silly Blazer chose not to start, which was just peachy, because the owner told me later that she had never had experienced that problem before. But before we discuss the Blazer's no-start and its aftermath, first let's talk about Bear No. 2, the '87 F150.
This was one of those low-mileage pickups that everybody dreams about — a cream puff that had been parked under some now-deceased farmer's barn for a few years, and it cleaned up well. It had good paint and body, and a fresh interior, but there was rust in the gas tank, an oxidized cooling system, etc. The truck was a two-tanker, and the fuel filter had been replaced about five times regardless of which tank was sourced, so we took a half-step in solving the fuel supply problem by ordering a new replacement front gas tank from the local chain parts store.
While the truck was in the shop, the owner asked if we'd replace the thermostat, and so I passed that job off to a student with the necessary skills to make that repair. That's when the truck decided to throw us one of those bear curves: Both of the thermostat housing bolts twisted off. To deal with that revolting development, we could either pull the timing cover or the intake (it would be good for the guys either way); we opted to yank the intake. It turned out in the end that the gauge temperature sending unit was bad, by the way — it didn't even need a thermostat!
But while all that was going on, we were attacked by another bear. Bear No. 3 was an '89 Bronco. Another instructor's son had bought it for $700. His other car was a 2005 Lexus, but he wanted this ride for a hunting truck, and it seemed to run OK, except for a ragged idle. All the instructor wanted done was brakes and an oil change, and so that's what the Bronco got initially (it had to have all the lug nuts and two lug studs replaced, because they were about three different sizes and the two studs had long been broken). She and her son were happy with the job at that point, but before another week had passed, the ragged idle had to be addressed because it was getting worse. Initially, the instructor said her son didn't want a lot of time or money invested on the old bomb, so we ignored what seemed like minor oil leaks, cleaned the throttle body to help with the idle problem (it seemed to work), and sewed the job up.
A couple days later, she told me it was leaking a lot of engine oil — and by the time she drove up to the service bay, the oil light was beginning to flicker and the oil wasn't touching the dipstick. This was pretty scary. Furthermore, the idle problem had returned. She wanted that addressed, too.
With it back on the lift, we found that oil was leaking from every place oil can leak on the bottom end. It simply wasn't that bad when we changed the oil, but who knows how hard this young fellow drove it the first time he took it four-wheeling? One way or another, a quick investigation revealed that the pan gasket had literally been pushed out of place, and splash oil was trying to paint the road when the Bronco was in the wind. That crankcase was obviously building quite a bit of pressure.
Granted, the positive crankcase ventilation (PCV) system was something we probably should have checked the first time around, but you can sell a zillion dollars' worth of maintenance-related repairs on an old one like this, and we had missed it. The guys I had working on it tried to get the oil pan off by jacking the engine up, but it wouldn't jack high enough, so they pulled the transmission (and the exhaust) to work the pan out that way.
While the transmission was out, we yanked the flywheel and replaced the rear main seal. For good measure, we yanked the balancer and replaced the timing cover seal as well.
As for the idle problem, we found that the throttle position sensor was putting out a raggedly inconsistent signal. The idle air control valve was inoperative, to boot. We popped those two parts in place, re-cleaned the throttle body, and made sure the ignition timing was right and the spark plugs looked good. It ran perfectly.
In the end, the whole bottom end was resealed, the PCV system was repaired to flow properly again, the transmission fluid was changed, the idle was smooth and even, and the bill was a large one. The Bronco was road-ready, or so we thought. They picked it up, but before it got 10 miles out of town, the throttle cable had detached itself from its anchor, and the throttle became unresponsive.
That throttle cable issue was something of a sleeper. You see, in the early stages of the job, the guys had removed an ugly wad of electrical tape that had been holding the cable housing in its bracket out by the throttle body. They didn't think to re-tape it, because the cable seemed to stay in place. But when we found that it was a problem, we replaced the throttle cable with a new one instead of using tape or wire ties.
That bear had finally left the bay, and boy did it feel good.
It turned out that the Blazer had insufficient fuel pressure, and that's why it failed to start when we got ready to start it to back off of the front-end lift.
That central sequential fuel injection (CSFI) system needs at least 60 psi to fire up (60 to 66 is the spec). This one was only reading 57 psi when the starter was spinning, and after about 10 seconds of starter operation, the pressure would drop to 49 psi. The fuel filter was clean, so the Blazer would need a fuel pump. We got that replaced and the engine started right up. Problem was, we noticed that one of the pressurized engine oil lines that led to the remote-mounted oil filter was leaking. Those two hoses are crimped like A/C refrigerant lines, and one of them was dribbling oil at its crimp.
The customer was unaware of this when I called to get authorization, so we figured we'd fix it right by replacing the hose assembly. That turned into an ordeal because everything was crammed in so tightly on the Blazer that Archie couldn't find anything that would even fit on the bolt head that secured those lines on the engine end, let alone turn the bolt. It was super-tight, and I had a life-sized picture of a nice round-off. To make a long story short, that oil hose assembly fought us like a demon before we finally beat it.
As an afterthought, the owner asked about why the transmission indicator didn't match the gearshift positions. Archie tried to disconnect the transmission range (TR) sensor so he could adjust it, but found that the larger connector was stuck in the TR sensor connector shell so completely that the shell came off with the connector. After we replaced the TR sensor with a new one, we found that the transmission wouldn't go in Park.
The shift cable was stretched or broken internally, and I wasn't dumb enough to release the vehicle without replacing that cable. Having a vehicle leave a parking place on its own when you think it's in Park can ruin your whole day — that shift cable problem could be deadly. Why the cable waited until we were almost finished with the Blazer remains a mystery, but it had always gone in Park just fine up until we were getting ready to back it out of the shop.
One of the lessons I continually repeat to the guys and gals I train is that any time we get so sick of working on a vehicle that we just "want to be done with it," we typically foul things up and cost ourselves even more labor. We also give ourselves a black eye in the area of customer confidence. Fixing cars takes grit that absolutely can't be built working on simulators and trainer vehicles. The students who got hammered by this set of butt-biting bear jobs felt like they had been through a nasty couple of weeks, but they hung in there until the jobs were done right and with integrity. That's what real mechanics do.
About the Author
Richard McCuistian
