This has been one helluva week. I spent a good twelve hours last week helping Moose get his Galant VR4 rally car ready to run Prescott. Everything was looking good, until the trip up the hill.
Mike Foster and I left Phoenix in [464] without issue, but before we reached Cordes Junction on I-17, something popped and there was smoke everywhere. We pulled over to the shoulder and, despite things smelling a little like Synchroshift transmission fluid, figured it was just the oil dipstick popping out, since it had, shooting oil all over the engine bay.
Seeing that the engine still idled smoothly and quietly, and the temp gauge was reading normal, Mike and I decided to press on up the hill. We didn’t go five miles towards Prescott before Mike said he thought the transmission sounded funny. We rolled up the windows and, sure enough, there was serious driveline noise going on. We pulled off at the next stop and saw a trail of Synchroshift behind the car.
Michael Rodarte showed up on his way to the rally, so when the flatbed finally arrived to haul [464] into town, I asked him to take Foster with him on ahead. With the Galant loaded onto the flatbed, I hoped inside the cab, feeling somewhat smug about adding another picture to my collection of Galants on flatbeds. We went about a mile.
The flatbed died. Danny, the driver, gave it a second, then re-started it. We went another mile. The truck died again. Not that I didn’t take a picture of the first time we broke down, but with the tow company service vehicle behind the flatbed with the hood up, I thought this one was better.
Seemed like the engine wasn’t getting fuel. It would start and idle, but it would sputter and die under any kind of load (as with dragging 3500lbs of Galant on your back up a hill). Toby, who drove out to change what was thought to be a clogged fuel filter, jumped in the flatbed and Danny followed behind, as we got back on the road and crested the hill, where the truck died again, this time coasting into a small grocery store in Mayer.
It finally ended up that I grabbed my gear and road the last 30 miles to Prescott with a fourth guy, while Danny and the others continued to try getting the flatbed running. By sunset, I got a text from Danny on my Blackberry.
But wait! It gets better!
No sooner do I get dropped off in front of the hotel, Moose is calling that the rally car has died less than two blocks from the ceremonial start of the rally. Ah, jeez. I call Foster, who tells me Rodarte is on his way back to the rally car, while he’s coming to get me in Hakkan’s Dodge.
The three of us make it to Paulden’s “Depot 89″ where service is to be set up, only to get a call from Moose that the rally car has died again just outside of Jerome and they need us to go get them. Well, there’s only two seats in the van and I’ve had my fill of broke-ass GVR4s for the day, so Mike and Michael head out. I enjoy a bit of piece and quiet in service, watching the sunset.
About 45 minutes later, I get a text message from Foster. “We just got a flat tire in the van while towing the broken rally car!” Thanks to some quick thinking and generosity by the Rodarte clan (who lives in Prescott), the service van was back on the road and they were en route to the hotel.
I got back to the hotel after Hakkan and Morat left after what was a very easy service stop in an Eagle Talon. Mike, Michael and I decided to go into town for a real meal before working on the rally car. We ate at the Firehouse Grill, where the food was delicious and the service was exceptional.
When we got back to the hotel, Moose already had the alternator ready to come out, so we got to work. Mike “Fix-o the Clown” Foster broke the handle on the oil dipstick, so Moose took it with him to find some crazy glue.
Turns out the alternator crapped out on the rally car, so Michael “Do it right the first time” Rodarte swapped in the new one, while Foster and I tended to other things like fluids, tires, and a seat belt.
Moose came back with the repaired dipstick, I used it to check the oil. I told everyone it was low and that we needed to top it off before we checked out for the night. Michael traced the charging issue to a short on the harness and then rigged up a rally repair to see if we couldn’t “get by” for one day of racing.
Michael was addressed the rat’s nest of bailing wire and recycled Christmas ornaments that was the wire harness on the rally car at this point (Moose credits this to as-yet un-named Russians who re-wired the car some years ago). Mike, on the other hand, went to check the oil after adding a quart and *SNAP* off came the dipstick handle in his hand. From this point on, we started calling him “Fix-o the Clown.” We were slap-happy and exhausted.
By the time 2:30AM rolled around, we were the only ones left in the service park behind the hotel. Everyone else had gone to bed. Even the guys who had to cut off half the header on an Impreza who were asking for a welder earlier in the evening.
We replaced the alternator and battery and the alternator was charging the battery. We added oil, replaced a thermostat housing gasket that crapped out on us, fixed a heater hose, fixed a heater hose again, and double checked everything. This Galant would rally in the morning.
Three and a half hours’ rough sleep on a hotel room floor later, Moose’s cell phone goes off, blasting the dark hotel room with “The Gummy Bear Song.“ Dear. God.
So we get out to the car, we start it up, it’s charging, we change tires on the front, and double check that it’s still charging. Moose and Tony come down, suited up for racing, only to discover the alternator has died again.
We all went spectating instead.
