Well, fellow Imperialists, We did it!
The IML had a great turnout of about 15 lovely cars. There was lots
of foot traffic and interest. We had represented years from the
early 50s through the 70's (hey, don't press for details, I'm just a
61 guy). The weather was perfect and the Imperial tent was ideally
situated to catch the breeze, so it was both shady and cool there.
Young Son (Ethan, 11) and I took Pinkie (the Parts Car NOT) in for a
full once over & State inspection mid week, filled it with a full
travel kit (1 gallon each of all fluids, fire extinguisher, towels
paper and terry, muffler patch, some coathangers, FSM, and a good
tool set) and set out Thursday afternoon. We had a trunk lid in the
trunk (yes it goes IN the trunk if turned sideways) to trade with
Kerry P, some other bits to swap, some 1961 ads and literature, plus
a cooler of drinks and several boxes of cookies.
It's almost 300 miles from home to Carlisle, twice as far as we'd
ever taken her before -so we expected a little adventure, and we got
it! Any of you who have ever travelled central PA know that there
are small towns, identified mostly by the signs (not actual sightings
of human habitation), very occasional truckstops, lots of hills, and
nothing else but trees, unless you count the perpetual highway
construction projects around Scranton (going on twenty five years
now, with no visible improvement and few changes!).
Anyway, about 8 PM, almost 4 hours into the ride (at a pleasing if
not entirely legal rate of progress) and just past said Scranton
pylons and lane chicanes, the brakes failed. Completely. I thought
maybe a cylinder had let go or that the master had gone under, as
they seemed to get a little capacity if pumped. What to do? 5000+
pounds of Imperial with no brakes. Nowhere in sight to do work (it's
REALLY dark in Central PA). Well, what would you do? We just slowed
down and motored the last 50 miles or so at 45 mph. Hey, traffic was
real light and the low speed left us lots of front room. Our motel
was known to be just off the exit ramp, so if we could reach and stop
there, we could fill up the master in the morning, right?
We did make it to the motel (an overpriced favorite of Class 8
truckers, called the Appalachian Motor Inn). Using the lower gears
and lots of advance planning to slow down as needed, with a final
punch to reverse and a stomp to the parking brake for the two
unavoidably required full stops (exit ramp and parking lot). Whew!
Young son, ever faithful, sat quietly as requested throughout, so Dad
could REALLLY concentrate on this task.
In the AM, we checked the master cylinder. Yep, down to the sludge,
and fluid OVER the rubber air boot, too. Hmmm... We topped it off
and I got in to check the pedal for sponginess from air. The first
press felt good. Great! Minimal air. But as I held it, it suddenly
went down with a hiss audible under the car (door was open). Sure
enough. A puddle of fluid there revealed the line to the rear had
ruptured. Well, we DIDN'T bring brakelines with us (note to future:
a little solvent cleaner, 5-minute epoxy, SS foil and tie-off wire,
we could have patched this one - and DON'T forget the flashlight).
Back to the room to call for help. Lucky us! Just two miles down
the motel road (Harrisburg Pike, US route 11) was Eddies Auto Repair
and they could do emergency surgery. SO...
With the left turn signal on and my left foot tapping the otherwise
useless brake pedal to simulate emergency flashers, one hand on the
wheel and the other playing a tune on the tranny pushbuttons, we
SLOWWWWLLLLLLLYYYY motored down the shoulder to Eddie's for a fix. I
only had to punch the reverse button once, where the shoulder was
crossed by the exit ramp for the Penn Turnpike, and a big truck (even
larger than the Imperial) insisted on his rights. OK, It stalled the
car, but it kept it straight.
We spent about 2 1/2 hours at Eddie's, with a gas-station quick-mart
breakfast from across the street, watching mind-sucking daytime TV
(Eddie doesn't like a gallery when he works, so I didn't try detail
suggestions or assistance beyond the front counter explanations). By
noon, we had wheels on the ground again, with new line from splitter
to rear axle, all bled and stopping true. We are duly warned that
there's rust on those other lines, too. Less than $250 on our
Plastic (brakes that work: priceless!) and we're off to the
fairgrounds!
Arriving for lunch we got the last slot of the lineup of
Eagle-crested Chrysler's Finests. We met old new friends never known
but by email. We toured the whole show. We found we had lost a
hubcap center eagle on the way, but replaced it with a reasonably
clean, matching hubcap for $20. We got a 'road sign' reading
"IMPERIAL DRIVE" for the barn road at home. We got two good photo
books for $30 total (Imperial Photo Archive 55-63 and 64-68). We
ate the usual fair food. About 6 that night, young son, ever patient
stated a strong desire to go to the drags so we motored on over,
leaving most of our Imperial pals basking in the cooler evening air.
That night we traded trunklids with Kerry P. in the motel lot. No
one could have confused that handoff for a drug deal!
Saturday was more fun. We arrived a few hours earlier than Friday.
We met a couple more new friends, including a walk-in (and fellow
Licensed Engineer) who owns a beautiful Coronado Cream 1961
Convertible and lives just 10 miles from Carlisle! He'll be in the
lineup WITH car next year! I proudly bought an IML T-shirt and Young
Son found a vendor with a custom car model worthy of his allowance
(and retreated to the back seat of Pinkie to plan his project). I
found a vendor who will make us a whole set of new stainless brake
lines in exchange for sending him the originals as patterns (61
Imperials being not yet in his repertoire!). Toured the PT Cruiser
field with Young Son, picking up ideas for GoodWife's Cranberry
Flamed Chariot. Signed her up for that owners' club.
We had to leave early, about 4 PM, to get young son home for scout
camp departure on Sunday morn. Bye to those that could be found and
off we went. At the filling station, top off the tank (we got 15 +
mpg - not too bad for 75-80 mph in hilly country - though it did
include that stretch of 45 mph, too). We also added a quart of ATF
and a bit of 10W-40. Did that ATF go out with the R-punch stops, I
wonder???
About an hour down the road it got exciting again (what is it about
the Scranton area? Is it my personal Bermuda Triangle?). We were
just cresting one of those looong PA hills and I reached to adjust
the compartment airflow. Suddenly, the power just silently fades
away. I didn't lift right away, because the downgrade kept us
rolling with only a mild loss-of-push sensation. Very weird. Gauges
read OK, but (push, push on the throttle) no response. Shift to
neutral. Turn key off, then on again. KAPOW! I thought the
driveshaft had come free and whacked the floorboards, and I was sure
I saw the hood jump! Key off and glide to shoulder to check for
survivors. Quick visual under rockers showed no obvious parts
hanging off. Electrical power still present (lights work). Brakes
work. Hmmmm... Let's turn it back on, must've just been a backfire.
She fires up on the key as always, but.... RUMPA RUMPA RUMPA. Did we
forget to bring mufflers? It sounds like the MOPARS at the drags the
night before! Another look under , from the rear, tells the story.
The left muffler has had its entire rear plate blown wide open, and
the right muffler has been inflated from a flat oval to a round in
its middle (the ends held). That was SOME backfire! More like a
pipe bomb!
Well in retrospect, I see how I did it. When I reached for the air
controls, I must have bumped the ingition (note for future, replace
hgih-leverage rigid key ring with limp chain). That accidentally
switched off the engine at speed, then left the key in the 'ON'
position (so gauges still read normal at first). The torque
convertor back-drove the engine while I, in my confusion, fed it gas
that went through unburned. When the live stuff came through after
the restart, there was already an explosive mixture in the mufflers
(or maybe just the left one). That was the bang we heard.
Young son likes the new sound, thinks it's more 'powerful'. Well.
Maybe. At least at road speeds it isn't too annoying to the old man,
just a little embarrassing. With the compartment fan on high to keep
any nasty gasses out, we set off again, stopping only as needed for
soda recycling and a refuel. Home by 9 PM with only about 6 pounds
of new leading-edge protein scraps to clean from the grille (Ah, that
special pleasure of Summer motoring).
We'd do it all again in a minute! A wonderful time had by all and
(more or less) none the worse for wear. Now, who sells mufflers for
this old girl....?
from safe at home, for now,
j (&e) 'imperial adventurers' corey
--
John A. Corey
CFIC, Inc.
302 Tenth St.
Troy, NY 12180 USA
518-272-3565
fax 272-3582
jcorey@xxxxxxxxxxx
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