But having led the horse to water, the rest of the job depends on the horse. I’ve already posted an article about jugs, explaining the need to scrub the cylinders and paint them, and to clean the pistons and rings, even though the parts are brand new. But in the case of the piston with the blocked oil scraper holes, I doubt if the engine would have broken in properly.
Had the pistons not been cleaned, the heat of running and the constant spray of oil from the journals would eventually remove the heavy coat of Cosmoline. A tenth of a gram of aluminum, not grease. But the two-liter Polys engine will spend much of its life above five thousand rpm so the pistons will be matched to a tenth of a gram. A mere rinse in the solvent tank didn’t begin to remove the gummy tan grease, it took a lot of scrubbing with a fiber-bristled brush and running a bore brush through the oil scraper holes before it came clean.įree of the heavy grease and blown dry with compressed air, the gram-scale showed only a few tenths difference across the set of four pistons, close enough for a regular repair. It looked as if one of the pistons had been dipped in the stuff. And there was a lot of it, more than the usual amount. The pistons and other parts are going to the balancing shop tomorrow and it’s important that every trace of the heavy preservative be removed. I was reminded of the incident today as I was scrubbing a new set of forged Mahle pistons destined for Bob Polys’ engine. The fellow was perhaps twenty years old, half my age at that time. Thinking he didn’t understand, I pointed out the need to clean them and was told to mind my own business, along with an ear-full about the hundreds of VW engines he had built and his many years of experience. He was plucking cylinder assemblies right out of the box and slapping them on the engine. But a heavy preservative similar to Cosmoline is still used to protect new sets of Volkswagen cylinders & pistons and it must be removed before the parts can be used.Ībout twenty years ago I saw a fellow rebuilding a Volkswagen engine at a local garage. The need to clean a part before installing it remains valid today although many aluminum parts are wrapped in protective paper instead of being coated with preservative. Like the chrome-based green dye on packages of Lucky Strike cigarettes, aluminum too had gone to war. New, ready-to-use parts were rare things during the war and even those required cleaning since the cast iron was usually coated with protective grease. And we took our business seriously, aside from catching a little air now and then.Īfter bringing home a rebuilt or repaired part, the next step was to dismantle it in order to clean it. Our ‘business’ was to make a safe, successful trip to town and back. We were told what had to be done and left to get on with it. Pepper unless the necessary nickels needed to do so were provided along with our instructions. We couldn’t even buy ourselves an icy Dr.
When running such errands we were always admonished to ‘mind to your business.’ As my grandfather’s agents we were duty-bound to make no side trips and to offer no rides, other than to ladies burdened with packages.
Everyone knew my grandfather, who paid his bills promptly the first of each month. Back then, the economy of every small town ran largely on trust. Naturally, we had to back up and try it again. The pump was so heavy the front wheels of the Model-T came off the ground when I crossed the railroad tracks. Once we carried home an irrigation pump from the machine shop where it had been fitted with a new impeller. I didn’t think it exceptional, it was the natural order of things.Ī typical chore was picking up chicken mash at the feed store or repair parts from the Ford dealer. I was a big kid so the cranking and driving fell to me. That rule saw me driving a tractor when I was eight and piloting the Model-T into town on errands, a feat that made my older cousin David wild with envy for he couldn’t crank the T-model, nor was he tall enough to reach the pedals. If you were big enough to do a thing, you were expected to do it, how old you were wasn’t a consideration. Growing up in a small central California town during World War II had a curious effect on my age.
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