This week I’ve been working on recovering the sail panels and headliner on the Camaro. I had purchased fabric and glue weeks ago, but just made a realization. I bought the wrong color.
I’ve already cut the fabric, and I’ve already placed it on my sail panels. So there’s $50 down the drain.
The interior of this car is technically called “Medium Dark Grey.” Finding it however is not an easy task. The material I bought is called “Dark Grey/Charcoal” and per the image on Amazon and the review that stated it matched perfectly to a camaro with “Medium Dark Grey” interior, I was sold.
Images can be deceptive however. It’s actually a lot darker than this image shows.
Here is an image of one of my sail panels covered. I told myself it would lighten up.
Here’s the original headliner. Notice the dark grey area in the middle. That’s what I’m going for. To me, they looked very similar.
So where do I go from here? A part of me says to just stick with it. The perfectionist and person who wants to make this as accurate as possible says no.
So I’ve just ordered more fabric. Listed as “Light Grey” but with a online swatch that looks identical to what it should be.
I don’t look forward to taking the fabric off of those sail panels, but it must be done. I was really looking forward to enjoying the car this summer. That goal keeps becoming further and further away it seems.
I replaced the Rubicon stickers that adorned the hood of my Jeep. The originals were in sad shape when I bought it. My uncle, a man who makes vinyl signs and even stickers police cars took a rubbing of the original stickers but never made me new ones.
So sad
At some point, I got a steal on some new ones that are a different design than what I had. They emulate what the new “JL” wrangler has. I have the previous model, designated “JK”.
As a man who used to professionally detail vehicles, sticker removal is part of the job. I was in for a surprise though. I can only assume that the adhesives used have changed in the last 20 years. I first used a sticker squeegee, but it didn’t work at all. So I moved to a razor blade in combination with Goo Gone. I was able to get the sticker removed, but that adhesive did not want to leave the paint. Nevertheless, I persisted.
Far from perfect, but It’ll do
I was so exhausted from the removal that I rushed the installation. While not visible in this image, there are many bubbles in the stickers.
It definitely makes a difference however. I now have 100k maintenance to do, and I need to change the hinges on the doors as they are corroding.
This Jeep has been good to me, with not many issues. I’m appreciative of that.
In the continuing saga of the speedometer reading incorrectly on the IROC I received some answers today.
I took the differential cover off. Thankfully the ring gear had the teeth numbers etched into it, 13:42. What does that mean? That means there are 13 teeth on the pinion gear, 42 on the ring gear. If you divide the teeth on the ring gear by the teeth on the pinion gear, you get the ratio. In this case, it equals 3.23 which is a widely used ratio.
From that, I now know what gears my transmission needs in order to display the speed traveled correctly thanks to this post on the 3rd gen forums. I went ahead and ordered a 38 tooth (blue) driven, and 15 tooth (gray) drive gears from eBay. These gears are commonly known by their colors.
I was a little apprehensive about taking the cover off, as it’s something I’ve never had to do before on a vehicle. I had a plan however. I purchased a different cover that has a fill and drain plug, the OEM one does not. The Dana 44 axles on my Jeep have them.
This differential cover is sold all over under different name brands, but all of them are made by the same place, LPW Racing Products. I purchased it directly from them through, you guessed it an auction on eBay. Besides having fill & drain plugs, it also has a girdle to help strengthen the already “weak” 10 bolt rear end this car has.
I also received the gauge clusters I had purchased from eBay, and was able to successfully remove the needle on the speedometer from one of them. I then used that needle and shaft from the donor cluster to rebuild my original.
I still need to purchase bulbs for my cluster. Not knowing how long they have been in there, but knowing how hard it is to remove the cluster – I want to replace them all. 1 of them is missing/broken.
In other news, I have removed the headliner with the help of my daughter. It definitely went better with the help of someone than had I attempted to do it alone.
Those dark areas show the original color
Last night, I took all of the old material and foam off. The backer is quite fragile, some small spots came off with the material or while I was taking the foam off with a combination of a vacuum and sponge.
That light area in the upper left quadrant came off
By the end of the weekend, I hope to have the car back together. When I receive the gears for the transmission I plan on having a shop change them. I might then have to remove the cluster again if it requires more calibration.
I’m talking about the IROC. Part of diagnosing why the speedometer was reading incorrectly is knowing exactly what the gear ratio of the rear end is, and how many teeth the 2 gears in the transmission that drive the speedometer have.
Today, I did the easiest method for finding that with results that were not expected. Per the VIN and the RPO codes on the car, it should have a 2.77 gear ratio in the rear end, with a limited slip posi-traction differential.
For those of you that I just lost, that ratio means the driveshaft should turn 2.77 times for every time the rear wheels turn once. Limited slip is a form of posi-traction, which enables both wheels to spin at the same time. For this car, the other option was an open differential, where only 1 wheel actually provides the power.
I jacked the car off the ground, placed my camera under the driveshaft and rotated 1 wheel towards the front of the car.
As Described
The results? The driveshaft spun about 3.5 times. What? It should have only spun 2.77 times!
I knew “something” had happened while my dad and stepmother went on a trip, but didn’t know if it was the transmission or the rear end. I posted on Facebook about it where my stepmom and her brother, my uncle argued about the subject. I tend to trust him more about mechanical things like this, he did paint it after all.
Names removed for privacy sake
My next steps are to remove the differential cover to inspect and verify the gear ratio. I also need to check the transmission gears. There is one located on the tail shaft, and one that is driven from that gear to turn the speedometer cable.
Unfortunately, I believe this is a Borg Warner 9 bolt rear end, made in Australia. I have done a lot of searching tonight and have only found used sets of the 2.77 ring and pinion gears for sale. Replacing these two parts is not a cheap venture, so it will be put on the back burner for now. I’m merely posting this for documentation and as my dad would infamously say to make a “historical document.”
My headliner material should be arriving on Friday, and I have been in the progress of removing the trim and parts to take the existing original headliner out. I hope to be successful in doing this, as it’s something I have no experience in. I will videotape and obviously post here about it.
Here’s a setback I wasn’t expecting. I broke the needle on the speedometer of the Camaro. I’ve noticed that it’s been reading up to 10mph too high, sometimes as low as 3. I was trying to adjust it by using some advice that I sourced from the internet, and boom.
What good is an instrument if you can’t read its output?
The gauge cluster on this car is a relic of the past, sharing the same kind and style of components that vehicles 30+ years older than it have. Vehicles of today use digital instrumentation (even if you have physical gauges). Odometers are readouts on a screen, this one is a dial that shows up to 5 digits of miles.
I spent all last night researching and trying to find answers to the problem I’m facing. You would think there are replacement parts and people who are well versed in instrumentation woes who have said something on the internet right? Wrong. I’m coming up pretty empty on this one.
Camaros of this generation came with three, count em, 3 different speedometers. They came in 85, 115 and 145 MPH varieties. With this one having the 145 one, which is hard to find. From what I have found so far, each one had a different “spring” in it, which I can only assume helped it be accurate. Thankfully I have all of my parts.
Primarily disassembled
Further complicating things, is the fact that many moons ago, there was an issue with the transmission. This makes me question whether the gears that drive the speedometer cable are the correct ones. My stepmother told me that my father chose to have a re-manufactured one installed at a dealership. My father never told me.
I just procured a 85 MPH speedometer on eBay, and am bidding on an entire instrument cluster. My next steps are to determine all of the gear identities so I’m not assuming things that may not be true. I need to find out what speedometer gears are in the transmission, and the actual gear ratio on the rear end, as well as the tire diameter.
With that information, I can make informed decisions on where to go from here. I will also continue to prepare to replace the headliner and recover the sail panels, possibly doing a transmission service as well. I figure it’ll be better to accomplish these tasks since the car is down right now.
I sure didn’t expect to have such a detour, but I might as well make the best of it that I can.
This “new normal” has really been getting to me lately. My mind went through a period of depression as it normally does when it comes to change, but I am finding my escapes from it now. Those being my vehicles and my home. I have a laundry list of things I want to accomplish and that gives my soul energy.
Friday I was working as normal, then lunch time came around. So I ate something, watched a little TV and decided to take the rest of the day off. But what do I do? The day started out raining and gloomy but the clouds parted and it became beautiful outside. I know, take that Camaro out for a cruise!
Driving on I-69
So I did. I stopped to see several people who are important to me and this car. Namely my stepmother, my girlfriends parents and my car bro, Ira. He has a 87 IROC.
This is the first real drive I’ve ever taken the car out on, and I’ve got to say it was wildly different than the last time. The vibrations from braking are now gone. Due to my modifications to the proportioning valve, braking is balanced and effective.
While on the highway I did notice something that bugged me however. I was going the speed limit according to the speedometer, but was being passed like crazy. It seems the speedometer is off by about 10mph. This car has a mechanical speedometer. It involves a counterweight attached to the meter, and I think it is out of sync. It will take some tricky work to get this where it should be – but that’s one thing I have to get resolved as soon as possible! It’s going to drive me insane.
Yours truly, photo courtesy of my girlfriend’s dad
While at Ira’s he noticed something I hadn’t. The door moldings were gone on my car. I can only assume my uncle removed them when he painted the car. When I get the orange peel removed and the paint is where I finally want it, I will have to get these installed. I’ll probably have a body shop do it, to match the paint color and ensure proper installation.
While on the way back, I picked up my girlfriend on the side of the road and said “I normally don’t do this sort of thing, but your beautiful. Want to take a ride with me?” I think she loved it, and I did too.
With that cruise, a lot of the pressure I felt to get the car to a certain point before I did any driving suddenly removed itself. I still need to get the new struts installed but I’m going to take every opportunity I have to get out and drive at this point. I’ve had this car long enough to not enjoy it.
I’ve been in a real funk lately. My mental status has been very low. Everything seems to be like Mount Everest at this point. It’s been beating me up, seriously.
So today, I decided to do something that generally cheers me up I worked on the Camaro. I had a laundry list of things to get done and most generally speaking, I accomplished them!
Over the winter, I spent over $1000 on parts to put on the car, with plans to do all of the work over the winter. Boy was I wrong. The inner bear who just wants to hibernate comes out in me in the winter.
I can proudly state the rear end work on the car is done at this point however. Now I just have to do the front, which includes the brakes, struts and strut mounts. Plus any rubber bushings or hoses that need to be replaced.
When I replaced the rear shocks, I had to pull the rear carpet section out of where it was to access the shock mounts. Placing it back was quite the struggle. I had to remove the back seat and remove a couple of screws on the plastic interior pieces in order to put the carpet back.
I then made a discovery that has really boggled my mind. The front seat belt holders were broken, and so I ordered some re-manufactured ones from Hawks. I was quite surprised to discover that the fabric used on the drivers side was maroon instead of grey. The passengers side is grey. I also found it interesting that the drivers side is longer than the passengers side by about 2 inches. I think the car was made on a Monday or Friday. Someone wasn’t paying attention. That’s for sure.
Old on Left, New in Middle, Seat Belt on Right
It’s been a while since I’ve made any real progress on the car. I haven’t posted anything new to YouTube, but I have shot some video. I just need to edit it. It feels good for a change.
I finished it off by installing the spare seat a Camaro buddy let me borrow since mine is still in Oklahoma, and due to stay at home orders/pandemic I haven’t went to get it. I will as soon as I can.
Then it was just a matter of putting the rear wheels back on and I now it’s finally a driveable car again. I’m still figuring out how to get a license plate, as our BMV offices have been giving some conflicting information on accessibility.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had this view
Tomorrow I’m going to clean up a few things in the rear of the car, get the old stereo out of it, and be done for a while. I want to actually enjoy this car this year – while I can.
I’m currently trying to make a schedule and figure out when I will do all of the front end work that I know will make the car about 100 times more fun to drive.
Another one bites the dust. Another piece of my childhood, my memories and my life, gone. I drove by today, and the lot is flat. No remnants of the building remain.
Such has become so frequent locally that it’s normal. It kills my heart and breaks my soul.
1301 South Walnut Street
I lived in this home for a period of time. It had been converted into four apartments. I lived in the two that are facing this google street view image.
I was shoved into this new living situation because “Kathy says you can’t live here anymore” according to my father. Kathy is my stepmother. I don’t know how or why he allowed that to happen. I certainly wouldn’t if faced with a similar situation.
My mother had just moved back from her years long sojourn with her husband at the time, on a drug and alcohol fueled run from the law. They ended up in Lubbock, TX as they ran out of gas to make it to their original destination, Oregon. My mom had spent time there working at a nursery, while they lived in a camping trailer. She had come back alone, trying to get away from him.
So here I was, essentially thrown at my mother like the garbage. It was odd, it was scary and it was traumatic. It was only a 1 bedroom apartment, my bedroom was the living room. I had no place to keep things, even clothes. Such was my life for that period of time.
It was during this period that I got into some of the most serious trouble I had ever gotten into in my life. It was the summer between 5th and 6th grade. I, like my father had matured physically earlier than my peers. I was six feet tall by then. I met some of the neighborhood kids and started to form bonds, as the move meant going to a new school (that also doesn’t exist anymore). It was a nice summer bonding with those guys, we got into a lot of mischief.
There was a new gas station one block away, called Bigfoot at the time but now a Circle K. Back then, they used to store all of their cases of soda right outside the front door. We hatched a plot to take it all, and take it all we did. With two lookouts, we would run across the front making sure to keep our heads down to not be seen by the employees. We would then drop off our load at the back of the gas station, in an alley. It was a circular pattern that we repeated until we had met our goal. We then split up the spoils and took our booty home.
I, through the connections I had made found out about these things we called “bullets.” No, they were not the item a piece of ammunition fires out of a firearm, but something used on cable TV systems to block premium TV channels. This was before the wave of “digital” everything in our lives. These “bullets” would give you the channel if you placed it on the back of your TV however. So, we banded together to harvest as many of these as possible – to sell on our neighborhood’s black market.
There was a trick to harvesting these “bullets” however, as they were installed on the distribution blocks that fed cable TV access to each home, roughly fifteen feet in the air. Most of the electric poles in the vicinity had steps embedded in them however, making access easier. Those steps didn’t start until about six feet, causing some issues. We would often use trash cans and other items we could find to help us reach our goal. We obviously couldn’t do this during the day, so it would always be late at night when we did this. We didn’t want an unsuspecting person to start looking out their windows when we disconnected their cable service to remove these items, just to connect it back a minute or so later.
Officially called a “Positive Trap Filter”
They were a very popular item, which we would sell for $20 a piece. They worked for Cinemax, Showtime and Encore but would not work for HBO. For HBO, the cable company installed a device that blocked the network and would have to do something in their office to enable the service.
It was during this time that I also became addicted to the act of being a “peeping tom.” There was a piece of my sexuality that was becoming awakened. My stepfather constantly had porn videos playing, or old fashioned pornographic magazines around. It wasn’t all about the sexual end of the spectrum for me however. It was about doing something I knew was wrong and the rush of adrenaline it gave me.
Those were the good times. That was when life was good and my innocence was being chipped away slowly. Then my stepfather came back, looking for my mother. I was actually spending the night at my best friends house when we heard a very loud clatter. It was him, he had driven back from Texas, pulling that camper he and my mom had lived in the entire time.
Soon enough, he had moved in with my mother and we moved into the apartment downstairs. It was “larger” according to the adults, but again I had a couch to sleep on and not much else. My clothes were kept in a cardboard box in the bedroom. The bathroom was so small that only 1 person could stand in it at a time.
The kitchen was straight out of the 1950’s, with metal cabinets and countertop. The stove looked like a 1959 Cadillac, with curves galore.
I had heard a tale from neighbors about that apartment. A trucker and his wife had lived there previously. He came back from a run to discover her in the act of cheating on him with another man. The neighbors said that he shot her in the head in the bathroom. There was a bullet sized hole that was covered by a piece of foam backed plastic and a couple of blood spatters high on the wall. I believe that story to be true.
Eventually tales of violence and sexual conquests would come back to the apartment, and they would leave their mark on me forever.
That summer, I had made a girlfriend of sorts. She lived by my best friend and we would talk here and there. Eventually we started talking on the phone a lot. We then began going to each others houses. There was one large difference between us however, she was 17 and I wasn’t 12 yet. Physically, I had the stature of a 17 year old, but wasn’t matured emotionally yet.
One night she came over, my stepdad filled her thoughts of being his secretary of his “company” that he ran (he always worked for himself, but was by no means rich), gave her alcohol and started massaging her. Before I knew it, they were in the bedroom, having sex. I couldn’t believe what was happening, right there basically in front of me. I was crushed on multiple emotional angles. I didn’t even know how to process it. When they finished, she came and offered to perform oral sex on me, but I wasn’t even sure what that was and I didn’t even want her near me. My stepdad paid for her to take a cab home, I never heard from her or saw her again. She and I had been playing “footsie” before everything transpired.
When school began, I was suddenly forced to realize how much of a different area I was in. There was originally two 6th grade classes, but one of the teachers quit. After multiple substitutes, we were finally provided with a teacher who was supposed to be there the rest of the year. I don’t know if she finished the year or not, because I was expelled from the school in October.
Before I get to how, I must explain why. Being the tallest kid in school, I became a target of anger from all of the other boys in my class, except for one who was oddly enough the smallest in the 6th grade class. He was one of the kids I befriended over the summer. I was chased, beaten and terrorized in and outside of school.
One day, while walking home from school the entire population of 6th grade boys followed me, in an attempt to beat me up. This was when I refused to be a victim any longer. My mother surprisingly showed up in an attempt to pick me up from school and witnessed this, along with the single friend I had made. As these boys were throwing rocks and other items at my back, I turned around and threw one of them into the path of a car. He almost got hit.
That however didn’t stop the attacks. A few days later, a group of them came with BB guns and knives, shooting up the apartment and bursting holes into every window. I grabbed the keys to my mom’s Dodge St. Regis and ran them down (no I didn’t run them over). I did however, run over their bicycles – all of them.
Those kids still weren’t deterred. My stepdad had bought me a cheap Daisy BB handgun. I carried it with me anywhere and everywhere I went after that. Anytime I saw one of those kids, I would shoot at them. I had hit a few of them, it’s aim wasn’t exactly precise.
Eventually, I decided to take that BB handgun to school with the intention of shooting everyone I could. The stresses from the horrible life I was living in addition to the constant attacks I was facing from the school (both students and administration) were more than I could bear.
So I loaded it up with all of the BB’s it could handle, and brought an extra tube of BB’s with me. I showed that friend I had made right before we made it to school. I was going to leave it in my backpack but chickened out and hid it in a bush instead. Someone saw this and reported it to the principal. Within an hour they had called the police and placed me under direct supervision.
The police talked to me about how that BB handgun looked like a real one, and how they would shoot someone with real ammunition if they saw someone with it. I was expelled from the school (Templeton Elementary School) but I was advanced to the 7th grade with only having 2 months of my 6th grade education. Much like the majority of educators in my life, they were just passing the buck.
When I got back home, my stepfather surprised me with a beating with a switch that I’ll never forget. I was then driven to Terre Haute to stay in Charter Hospital under lock down for the 2nd time in my life. This experience was much darker than the previous time. I was there for 3 weeks.
I don’t know if there were other complaints made about me to the police or what, but I was eventually put on probation for a term of 6 months. I distinctly remember my father taking me to the homes of each of the boys who’s bikes I had destroyed. He paid their parents for my destructive defense.
So, goodbye 1301 South Walnut. You brought a lot of misery to my life. While I certainly didn’t have a good time while being a resident of your neighborhood, you did leave memories and impressions on my life that I will carry with me to my dying day.
Postscript: That single friend I had made while in that school turned out to be the biggest bully of them all. His mother died when we were in middle school, and he was put into the foster care system. I eventually lost contact with him. It wasn’t until the age of Myspace and Yahoo! Profiles that we reconnected. It was great for the 11 year old me, who always appreciated how he stood by me when it felt like the world was against me. He eventually moved back to Bloomington, but lived a life on the edge. Sleeping on friends couches or making girlfriends just for a place to stay. I offered him my garage for anything, and did whatever I could for him. I even enlisted my dad’s AAA service when his car broke down. He constantly pressured me to let him stay at my home for free, but my wife at the time wouldn’t allow it. I eventually got divorced, and when I began dating again, he started harassing me about it. I had to block him on social media and cut him out of my life on the request of the police. He has a lengthy rap sheet, with multiple convictions but seems to always slide between the cracks of the justice system. Funny to call it that, as his first name is Justice. As of late, he began harassing people making comments on The Bloomingtonian’s Facebook page. The website is operated by an award winning photojournalist who is trying to keep local journalism alive. I’m happy he’s no longer in my life, but sad that he can’t let go of his own sadness enough to not bully and intimidate others.
Yesterday, I randomly discovered something that touched me deeply. I’m not much for vlogging, even though my own YouTube channel is essentially that. That’s where the great algorithms google has created said “hey, you might like this video.”
This is the exact video that was recommended to me
At first, my naughty side was engaged. Then I realized this was just a small piece of a much larger and deeper engagement. This woman was reading the secrets every teenage boy wanted to know when we were young, she was reading her diaries!
So I circled the wagons, and started at the very first video and kept the videos playing. It was around midnight when I stopped last night, not realizing the time. There were only two more videos of the series left, my heart full of those emotions I felt as a middle school / freshman boy.
By her own words, she came from a stereotypical middle class family, had what can be only described as a “normal” upbringing, yet only wanted the love and affection from a boy (or girl) that would make her feel complete. This moved me, down to the core of my being.
At the same age, I never felt liked, wanted or needed by anyone in my age group who was of love or sexual interest. Middle school was the time of my life in school, but much like Rodney Dangerfield I didn’t get no respect! I didn’t know what made girls like boys, but I wanted to be one of those boys they liked.
My 7th Grade picture, middle. They infamously spelled my name wrong.
Back then, I really wore my heart on my sleeve. (Who am I kidding, I still do.) My two go to’s with the opposite sex were cheesy lines and deeply written heartfelt notes of affection towards the ones that made my heart go pitter patter. I still speak with and know several of those girls, and those lines have stayed as memories of way back when.
One was to a girl who I instantly felt comfortable with, we will call her M. I would always ask her if she wanted to “take a magic carpet ride with me?” while passing her. Another girl, we will call her A, I used to essentially harass by asking her if she knew “what the other white meat was.” This was a play on the pork industry’s marketing at the time. Another girl, her first name is the name of one of the boats Christopher Columbus had, so I would ask her were they went? She’s now a professor at the same university I work at. When I took her course (you know I had to), I would bring this up, and even wrote it on my final exam “for bonus points.”
The notes, or letters or whatever you want to call them, I’m not sure if I’ll ever know how they were received by their intended recipients. I don’t even know if they got them. I would pour my heart and soul out to these girls, but never received a response in kind. Never.
But still, NOBODY WANTED ME. It seemed as if all of the girls I wanted actually wanted someone else, or a guy of more social significance had “laid claim to her” as if she were a piece of property. I didn’t understand, I still don’t.
I had my guy friends, people I had known quite literally since I was born, but it wasn’t the same. I wanted someone to fill my heart with joy. Bring smiles to my face just because they exist, all of that romantic stuff kids of this age think of.
I went through a lot of struggle during this time of life. My mother ran off with my stepfather as he was wanted by the police, leaving me alone in a trailer. Eventually I was living there with no electricity, no heat, no water – nothing. I was surviving through the money my dad faithfully paid for me to have lunch. When he discovered this, a new change began. He and I started living with my grandmother, 30 miles away (because my stepmom wouldn’t allow me to live in her house).
A girlfriend would have helped my soul, significantly. I will digress on me now.
Her YouTube series just highlights the struggles that most if not all of us must sadly endure. Those cringeworthy years where we want something – but don’t know how to get it. Don’t know how to understand the signs that someone is interested or not interested in you. They are times that leave an indelible mark on all of our souls.
You could say those times were fruitful for me, as I’ve always been what I call a “social chameleon.” Being able to fit into all sorts of social circles, it has enabled my continued connections to many of that time.
After a 11 year marriage, I ended up reconnecting with many from that time as a method of healing my wounded soul. I wanted to see how life had treated all of those that I genuinely cared about. I eventually started spending more and more time with one of them. At the age of 35, I was still unsure if she was giving me signs of interest, if she liked me, etc. It was like middle school all over again.
On the advice of a trusted friend, after we went to the drive-in (her kids, she and I) I planted a kiss on her as I was walking her to her door. I didn’t want to be in a state of confusion of where I stood in her life. I had to make a move. I was also legitimately worried that I had just ruined this excellent friendship she and I had been forming.
My girlfriend, also 7th grade at the same school. Middle image. We never spoke. WHY???
The constant pessimist, I assumed I would never hear from her again. I was wrong. In a couple of weeks, we will be celebrating 4 years as a couple. It’s been a wild adventure with her, but I think my life would have been much less interesting without her in it.
Had I realized I could look back on my writings 20 years later, and see the inner most thoughts of a younger version of myself, I would have started writing way back then. I hope you are reading this Gretasaur, and I hope you are smiling.
I sent Gretasaur an email and facebook message, just to say thank you. I deeply appreciate those gifts she provided the world, and I want her to be aware of that.
Progress on the IROC has been hard lately. I’ve been trying to bleed the rear brakes and remove the brake fluid that is highly questionable in age. I purchased a cheap vacuum bleeding system from Amazon, but it was of no help at all. I don’t really have a helper at the moment, so the solutions I have been looking at have been restricted to solo options. Then I discovered gravity bleeding.
That fluid should be almost clear
I had the bleeder valve open for almost four hours today. I’m going to open it again tomorrow for the entire day. Hopefully it will be clear then.
I’ve decided to put off replacing the brake lines now, and will put that project off until next fall. I will then paint the calipers and wheel well areas.
Sadly, I’m still working on the rear and have the entire front to do!
On another note however, I finally got my spare tire situation figured out. The 3rd Generation Camaro / Firebird has a very interesting option for the spare tire called a Stowaway Spare, and mine has it.
I had the tire, but it wasn’t installed – and the parts required to mount it were missing. eBay came to the rescue on that, where I got those parts and the tire inflator.
Spare Tire Mount PartsGM Stowaway Spare Tire Inflator
Not too long before my father passed away, he was messing with the original one in the car. He was trying to figure out how to refill it. This is basically a CO2 canister used to fill the tire up, as it comes deflated but mounted to an aluminum wheel. I have asked my stepmom to look for it, it was in much worse shape than this one but it was original to the car, an important thing to me.
These canisters aren’t cheap to replace or find. This one cost me $100 – but with the shape it was in I couldn’t resist. I then went to work and got it all mounted. I had great difficulty mounting the canister to the wheel (how it is supposed to be). Mounting the spare in the compartment was a piece of cake though.
Snug as a Bug
Now I’m questioning where these two foam pieces go. They were in the spare tire compartment. I’ve done a lot of searching and haven’t been able to find any specs of information on the internet regarding those foam pieces.
