Yahoo Autos Accidentally Dropping Parts into the Transmission and Other Joys of Working on Old Cars
I'm a bit of a shade-tree mechanic. By that I mean that I like to sit under a shade tree and call AAA to tow my car to a mechanic. But sometimes I'm possessed by the spirit of Jay Leno, and the next thing I know, I'm sliding under a vehicle, saying things like, "Timmy, hand me a 10-millimeter deep-drive socket and a pair of needle-nose pliers." And my son will say, "Dad, who's Timmy?" and I'll chuckle and admit that transmission-fluid vapors do funny things to a fella's brain. And he'll say: "I thought you were replacing the heater core. Does that use transmission fluid?" Hey, kid, go play Fortnite or something. I've gotta measure the run-out on this compound flexion impeller.
Sorry. Wandered into shop talk there. Because I like to work on stuff. Yessir, nothing I like better than to pop the hood on the ol' Bronco and stare intently at the whatnot and the whynow. But lately I've been discovering the major challenge in working on old vehicles, even something as relatively new and common as a 25-year-old truck. You know that part that you need? They don't make it anymore.
I've run into this conundrum many times. When I destroyed the driver's-side wheel bearings and everything in their neighborhood, I dispatched the Bronco to a pro. He called the next day to say he couldn't get all the parts he needed, and if he could, it would cost nine million dollars. This is how I found myself in a junkyard, hammering a spindle assembly off an F-150 (close enough!) and mailing it to the mechanic. Somehow, he made it all work.
My next run-in with planned obsolescence came when I made the infinitely foolish decision to change my transmission fluid. See, my Bronco's ZF five-speed transmission (from a 1995 F-350) has been kind of grouchy going into second gear, and fifth brings an ominous thrumming vibration. So the cure, obviously, would be a fluid change. Maybe, just maybe, this will be the first time in automotive history that a fluid change fixes anything. What's the harm?
Oh, now I know the harm. I know it as though I've known it forever. The harm and I wear vials of each other's blood around our necks, reminding us to forsake oil changes, fluid changes, coolant flushes, birdbaths, waterfalls, and fondue stations. I'm not even draining my own bathtub anymore. That's how scarred I am.
I assume that we're all familiar with the ZF5's fill-hole design, but in case you missed that day in Obscure Things that Will Torment You class, it's up on the side of the transmission, which is itself, naturally, under the truck. And even though a Bronco is approximately three furlongs wide, it's kind of tight under there. So you've got to screw a fill hose onto the top of your quart bottle and then kind of snake the hose over to the fill hole while you lift the bottle high enough to empty it into the transmission.
It's a finicky process. Luckily, the fill-hose people know this, so they put a black plastic tip on the end of the hose to help direct the flow. What they didn't do is put any sort of retainer on this small part. Sure enough, when I pulled the hose back from the fill hole, I felt it catch and then the tip was gone. Into the transmission. I stared at it and said, "No you didn't." Yet it did.
What ensued was a multiday game of hide-and-seek that made me question my sanity even more than usual. I ultimately pulled the PTO cover from the side of the transmission, exposing everything. I reached up through the drain hole and in through the side and still could not find this hellish piece of plastic. Eventually my wife asked, "Are you sure it went in the transmission?" as if I could be that stupid. Just to humor her, I went back under with the shop light and looked around again-not just on the floor but up higher. Where I instantly found the tip, sitting on top of a frame rail. I laughed until I cried the reddish tears of someone who's absorbed way too much transmission fluid.
Now all I had to do was button everything up. But in the course of prostate-examining the drain hole, I apparently dragged metal filings into the threads, which then dug into the drain plug as I screwed it on. So I went to the Ford dealership-fine, I'll pay the dealer markup-only to find they didn't have the drain plug. Nor could they even order one. "The only way I can get the plug is to order the whole transmission case," said the parts guy. Oh, that's reasonable. It's like saying, "We can sell you this floor mat, but it's going to be attached to a Toyota Corolla."
There have been other things. When the accelerator went goofy, I learned that 1995 Ford diesels were drive-by-wire. And that the pedal assembly isn't available. Of course it isn't. Neither were the front brake lines. I hope I don't get a flat, because the tires probably use some kind of air you can't get anymore.
A few years ago, I tested a surplus Humvee, and its handler from the military gave me valuable advice on procuring parts-advice that I say now applies to any old car you hope to keep on the road. "If you're going to buy one of these things," he said, "you'd better get two."
From the December 2018 issue
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