Random Ramblings Archive

Curse you, W. N. Woodruff!

Posted November 4, 2010 By dad

Late in the nineteenth century, a Connecticut inventor named W.N. Woodruff invented the Woodruff Key, a way to mate parts to rotating shafts.  Mr. Woodruff came up with the ingenious idea of inserting a semi-circular key into a keyway cut longitudinally into a shaft so that a portion of the key protrudes as a tab from the keyway.  The tab fits into a notch on a part placed over the shaft and prevents the part slipped over the shaft from freely rotating about the shaft.

Woodruff Key

Another benefit of this setup is it eliminates the need for expensive milling of an integrated tab into the shaft which concentrates stress. This configuration also helps to concentrically align the shaft and mated part which is critical to reducing wear and vibration in high speed applications.  According to Wikipedia, the woodruff key is widely used in machine tools, automotive applications, snowblowers (but how widely used could that be?), and marine propellers.

How ingenious was this idea?  Well…Mr. Woodruff’s invention was SO ingenious that in 1888 he was presented with the John Scott Medal by the prestigious Franklin Institute, where over the years many famous scientists have demonstrated groundbreaking new technology.   For example Nikola Tesla demonstrated wireless telegraphy at the Institute in 1893, and in 1934, Philo Taylor Farnsworth gave the world’s first public demonstration of an all-electronic television system.

You may be wondering how I know so much about woodruff keys.  As recently as two weeks ago, I didn’t know *squat* about woodruff keys.  Well, as it turns out, neither does most of the civilized world—especially those who work in automotive parts retail establishments.

If that isn’t bad enough, those enlightened few that *do* know about this part refer to it with different names (none of which are universally recognized either): “crankshaft key”, “harmonic damper key”, “key damper retainer”, “crank key”, “harmonic balancer retainer key”.  And just to further complicate things, these devices (whatever they may be called) come in a dozens of “standard” sizes.  Here’s a website that offers Woodruff keys “in all standard sizes”:

Stanho Corp

In case you didn’t already know, the standard Ford 302 cu.in. small block crankshaft requires a 3/16” x 1 13/32” key (and how I learned what size I needed could be the subject of another long essay). These dimensions may be alternatively expressed decimally as .1875” x 1.406” (not that those dimensions meant anything to anyone at NAPA Auto Parts, Kragen Auto Parts, O’Reilly Auto Parts, etc).    Just for kicks, go back to the Stanho link above and see if you can locate this supposedly “standard” size Woodruff key in their key list…or alternatively, you can just take my word for it that Stanho’s woodruff key list is specifically devoid of the one “standard” size Jack and I needed.  You won’t find it at Stanho or at most of the other places you would think to look for Woodruff keys.

Now keep in mind that Ford manufactured more than one million small block 302 cubic inch engines between 1962 and 2000.  Each one of those engines needs this key to keep the timing gears from spinning on the crankshaft (which would prevent the engine from running).  Every time one of these engines is disassembled, the Woodruff key on the crankshaft should be replaced.  So how difficult could it be to get a standard size (.1875″ x 1.406″) replacement Woodruff key for a stock crankshaft on one of more than one million Ford 302 cu. in. small block engines built between 1962 and 2000?  Well, funny you should ask…

(to be continued…)

PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:  some of the data for this post came from Wikipedia (but please don’t tell Jack or his brothers because their mom and I constantly tell them that “Wikipedia is not an authoritative source”)

A Night with Derek Bell

Posted August 29, 2010 By jack

Last night, my dad took me to a dinner at a local car club he belongs to. The featured speaker of the evening was Derek Bell, the famous British racecar driver. In case you’re not familiar with him, here’s a little background. Derek started racing a Lotus 7 when he was twenty-three, and quickly worked his way up to racing Formula 1 cars for Ferrari. Among his most impressive achievements, he has won Le Mans (the oldest endurance car race) five times, and 24 Hours of Daytona (an American endurance race) three times.

We arrived towards the end of the dinner, because my parents were attending their friend’s fiftieth birthday party, which also marked his fifth year as a cancer survivor. Derek hadn’t spoken yet, so we inhaled our Caesar salads and short ribs (which were excellent) while introducing ourselves to the others at our table. After dinner was cleared, the president of the club introduced Derek, who began by talking about some of his experiences racing. He started by showing us what it was like to race in Le Mans; he narrated as we watched some video taken from a camera attached to his car on a qualifying lap. I cannot begin to describe how exhilarating it was watching a POV shot of him doing 234 m.p.h. on the Mulsanne Straight. Moving on, he spoke about the making of the 1971 movie Le Mans, which he starred in with Steve McQueen.

After he finished with his presentation, he opened up the floor to questions from the audience. Although I don’t remember all of them, they brought up some interesting topics, such as why he was so successful with some of his teammates, especially Jacky Ickx, with whom he won Le Mans three times. He also talked about his son, Justin, who decided he wanted to become a racer. When the questions were finished, Dad approached him after the event and asked if he could sign a few books (of course, he brought four). Mr. Bell thought it was great that Dad and I are rebuilding an old muscle car, and he gave me some advice on driving a Mustang (they handle terribly). He was incredibly nice, and he showed a lot of interest when you were talking… he wasn’t always babbling about himself. I was glad to have an opportunity to meet him.

TLG closed for the weekend

Posted August 12, 2010 By dad

The Three Lions Garage will be closed for the weekend because Jack and Jonathan are on the annual pilgrimage to the Monterey Peninsula.  If you’re plannning to attend the weekend festivities, look for us during the days at Concorso Italiano, the Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion vintage races at Laguna Seca and the Pebble Beach Concours d’ Elegance on Sunday or the many auctions during the evenings.  Hope to see you there.

The Management

no lions this week

Posted July 5, 2010 By dad

since the three lions are all away at camp for a few weeks, there will be no updates until the lions return.

the three lions

respectfully yours,

the Management

Rat Season

Posted June 27, 2010 By jack

Friday night, Dad and I finally got a chance to visit the garage after a three week break. Luckily, everything was where we left it. Our first task was to check the rat traps we set last time. Although we love working in our grungy, commercial-style shop, it can have its draw backs. When Rob dropped in for a visit a few days ago, we spotted two rats climbing down the pipes, and immediately headed off to purchase traps, bait, and poison. Although we didn’t catch any, we did find a dead mouse who had been nibbling one of the poison boxes we strategically placed around the garage.

We attempted to take the motor off of the cherry picker and put it on the engine stand, but we realized that we had no bolts for it. After I took a hasty measurement, Dad went to Kragen Auto Supply to get some bolts using the measurements I gave him. After he returned, we tested the new bolts, and, of course, they were too small. After much trial and error with bolt diameter, length, and thread pitch, we finally figured out what size we would need for the next day.

On Saturday we started early so we could get home for a family dinner. Dad set up the radio to listen to the US/Ghana world cup match while I opened up the toolboxes. Working on the Mustang has been taking up more and more floor space, so moving cars was first on our agenda for the day. Dad and I rolled the Mustang out the garage doors temporarily, and moved the truck (a 1965 Dodge A-100 pickup) onto the lift to get it out of the way.  Today, Charlie will help move the Citroen 2CV under the lift and rearrange the two Messerschmitts and the Isetta while Dad sets up the security system, and I get started on the bins of parts to be inventoried.

Ready to begin, we set up the engine stand with the correct bolts, and positioned the adjustable arms in front of the screw holes in the block. Before we attached the engine, we removed a few engine-mounted accessories while it was still hanging in mid-air from the cherry picker. First off came all exterior hoses, followed by the distributor.  Then, Dad took off the automatic transmission flexplate and I drained the oil pan. Kitty litter proved to be very helpful cleaning up all of the coolant that happened to miss the tub we placed under the engine and spilled onto the shop floor.  We also removed the water pump, carburetor, and intake manifold.  With all of the accessories removed, we bolted the now much lighter engine block to the stand and detached it from the cherry picker. (Although I knew it was created for this purpose, I was still shocked that the engine stand could support the sheer weight of the motor from one just one end.)

The rest of the day was spent disassembling the engine. After the valve covers came off, we removed the pushrods, placing them into holes punched into the bottom of an inverted cardboard box, and strung the rocker arms onto a coat hanger.  This was done so we could keep the pushrods and rockers in order referenced to the cylinder from which they were removed, so we can check for unique wear patterns or problems that could be traced back to a specific problem location in the engine. Last off were the cylinder heads. We took extra care making sure all of the head bolts were removed, after seeing a grisly picture in one of our books of a head cracked in two pieces by its owner who got a little overzealous trying to pry it off after only removing four of the eight head bolts.  Doh!

We should have been warned!

Posted May 24, 2010 By dad

Yesterday I visited the London Motor Museum.  I suspected something was amiss when I noticed I was the only one not on the payroll who had walked through the doors of the “museum”.  I paid my ten (!) pounds to the young man who quickly closed whatever internet window he wasn’t supposed to be watching on the computer at his desk, and was eager to see what interesting displays might await me beyond the double red doors.

As I first walked in, I was standing in front of a pair of silver vintage Porsches: a 356 speedster and 917 RSK.

exhibit number 1…

…and 2 for the prosecution

Not a bad start, but they both seemed a tad ratty.

Luckily, I noticed just beyond them sat one of my favorite Ferraris of the 1970s (and in sharing this opinion I’ll be destroying my credibility with my automotively-informed friends to admit that this model qualifies for such a list), the bertone-designed Dino GT4.

bertone sleekness

I moved in to take a closer look and immediately spotted them.  They weren’t just the wrong wheels. Nope. This was the automotive accessorizing equivalent of painting a mustache on Mona.  This was an egregious failure in the automotive aftermarket.

The Dino GT4 was designed by Carrozzeria Bertone, a Turin-based automotive design powerhouse.  When it was launched, this car offered concept-car sleekness in a production 2+2. Lucky dads around the world purchased this vehicle using the “honey, we can fit the kids in the back” justification.  I always admired how well the wheels (presumably also selected in consultation with Nuccio Bertone himself) fit the car.  They were the perfect wheel for this car.  Here’s how they should look:

beautiful dino shoes

What this particular example was sporting instead, were the equivalent of the white alligator-embossed ‘pleather’ loafers worn by a down-on-his-luck pimp.

insipido

I was amazed that someone went to the effort to cast a design so appalling, and that they had the chutzpah to place a prancing horse crest in the center cap. I can only imagine how humiliated the hapless designer of these wheels was to be fired after the product line achieved a whopping 4 units sold (worldwide!) and the other 2,000 units cast had to be scrapped to make room for more “commercially viable” designs.  How fortunate I am to see such a rare wheel in person.  What would Enzo say if he were alive to see what has been done to the car bearing his son’s name ? What’s italian for “Tres guache”?

pacchiano? insapore? insipido?

Glancing at the two Porsches only 5 yards back, I now realized that they weren’t Porsches at all.  The proportions were all wrong. The aluminium skin looked somewhat…heavy. THEY WERE REPLICAS!  Fiberglass facsimiles.  And not particularly good ones at that.  These were budget kit cars and they looked to have been constructed by laid-off Yugo factory workers. They had more glue smudges at the crooked panel edges than on the outside than my 10-year-old-son’s Kindergarden popsicle stick log cabin project.

Just to confirm my suspicions I walked over and looked through the rear vents of the RSK, where the beautiful 1.5 liter 4-cam engine would normally be mounted.  Where I expected to find Stuttgart’s diminutive mechanical masterpiece, there was mounted instead a rusted out VolksWagen powerplant that probably hadn’t been running since “Mork and Mindy” was in its premiere broadcast season.

Someone’s nicked the 4 cam and replaced it with a hamster wheel

I quickly walked through several adjacent rooms as my spirits sank lower and lower.  This wasn’t a museum–It was a fraud being perpetrated on unsuspecting tourists.  I began to appreciate why I was the only one in the museum for the hour or two I was there.

Disgusted with the whole experience and the many hours I had already squandered on this trip, I walked out.  I may have been ensnared by the coyote trap that is the London Motor Museum, but I have chewed off my trapped limb to make my escape.  I was so profoundly disappointed I would gladly consider chewing off the other limbs to ensure it never happens again.

Now back outside the “museum” in the beautiful Spring London sunshine, I could feel my mood beginning to improve.  I was half way back to the Hayes train station when I suddenly realized what a colossal mistake I was about to make.  I have an obligation to my fellow automotive enthusiasts, those obsessed men and women who would squander a beautiful half-day in one of the world’s most beautiful and interesting cities to look at driving machines.  I must protect the others and I would need evidence for those I wished to protect.  I must subject myself to another painful visit to this offensive establishment.   I must go back and take pictures.

What they meant to call it…

Posted May 23, 2010 By dad

“LONDON MOTOR MUSEUM” must be a typo.  Perhaps they were forced by their meager budget to save costs on signage for which they were being charged by the letter…

The only other possible explanation is that “Dingy Warehouse one half hour outside central London only accessible by infrequently running trains and full of shoddily constructed kit cars and plywood shell facsimiles of movie props” didn’t develop much traction with the marketing team.

Calling it the London Motor Museum is an insult to Motors, Museums and the cosmopolitan capital defamed in its name.

more to follow…

Thanks Ken!

Posted May 19, 2010 By dad

Ken kindly sent us a note to correct my error in the Lurking outside the garage post a few weeks ago.  I incorrectly identified both Camaros as 1969’s.  It turns out the red one was a 1967.  Thanks for the correction Ken — I appreciate the help.

Lurking outside the garage…

Posted May 6, 2010 By dad

Today I saw the most remarkable sight just outside the doors of the Three Lions Garage.  Parked mere yards from the large garage doors were two 1969 Chevy Camaro SS’s (a 1967 and 1969)!   That’s right–two of them!  This was no coincidence.

They just knew.  They must have felt it in their sub-frames.  That just beyond the plain locked doors, unspeakable violence was being committed.  A 1969 Pony–their arch nemesis–was being mercilessly mutilated.  Bit by FoMoCo bit.  Slowly and painfully.  With implements specifically designed to tear the extremities, skin and innards from the savage beast. They wanted to be nearby just to enjoy it. To gloat. To wallow in its pain. To ensure the sounds of its dismemberment were not wasted on the unappreciative.