2002 Adventure
By: William Davison Jr.
Summer 2018
Preface
Reading about other people’s adventures sometimes reminds you of your own adventures. My adventure of course was many years ago, and after looking at old photos, talking to my wife about the year I started driving a 1968 BMW, it really rekindles some great memories. Sometimes those memories are good and other times those memories can be the struggles that taught you lessons you will never forget. Reading Ran When Park by Rob Siegel is one of those fun stories you can relate to if you ever set out on something that at the time was a “not so good choice” but did it anyhow just because of the adventure. This short story is about such a time. Having worked on BMWs since I was 15, I learned quickly the complexities of some systems, the ease of which some systems can be troubleshot and repaired and the similarities between all BMWs. Mostly the idea of having the right tool makes all the difference.
The story takes place in the spring of 2000. I just moved home to Reno Nevada from Las Vegas after separating out of the Marine Corps, losing the majority of my stuff in a divorce and went back to live and my mother’s home in Sparks. I was glad to be home and was finding my way through odd jobs, buying and selling on eBay and going to College part-time.
Chapter 1 Home sweet home, but not my home
( read after chapter 3)
Now being at home was nice. My parents got the newspaper, and I had lots of free time to read through ads. I would find the latest garage sell that my sister and I might go rummage through, or see what the local economy would price newer used BMWs and look for the elusive old car for an unbelievable price.
It was rare to see any advertisement for late 60s BMWs and so the day I read that there was two for sell in the same ad I made my phone call to the number listed and set up a time to inspect the to good to be true treasure.
I remember finding the ad in the paper and wondering what condition these two BMWs would be in since the ad stated they both ran and that it was “buy both” deal.
Once at the car repair shop backlot, I spoke with the gentleman who was selling the cars, for about 20 minutes. I crawled under, asked way too many questions as if I knew what I was asking made me sound smarter, looking over the car I can remember asking the total price and again he said 1000 which I thought meant 1000 for one car.
Seeing one of the 2002 bimmers was a total loss as a restoration vehicle (Right front fender impact with a really bad hood), and the other in original condition from 1968 but needed a lot of love. I realized a parts car is a good choice for a 32 year old adventure to help get started into restoration adventure. He stated that for another 50 bucks he would load up both cars and drive them to my shop of choice to begin the dive into the unknown. He said again “1050.00 and the are both yours!” hearing this I made sure as to not let my excitement reach my face… I couldn’t get the money out of my pocket fast enough to pay the man. Did he not realize that these same car across the Sierra mountains in San Fran would have netted him upwards of $2K each in the same condition? Or course I was not going to be the reporter of that good news as I had just found two late 1960s BMW 2002s with the round tail lights and they both ran!
We made the deal and he made sure to note that he would tow over both cars to my mom’s house as neither were licensed or street worthy.
I can remember directing him in as he pulled one of the cars up into my mom’s lawn on the side yard. He was sitting on an upside down bucket. The other one was pulled into the driveway and I can remember thinking I had just pulled off the greatest deal of my lifetime.
Obtaining the keys, the title and the proud ownership to two BMWs that needed some love I dug in on that cold Monday morning on March 27th 2000 to see what my treasures contained.
Opening the trunk on the brown turd I discovered another surprise. A trunk filled with new old stock parts, a few used carburetors, the air filter housings, original interior panels, cool old mirrors, and parts that would take me over the next year to learn and understand why they had made their way into the trunk.
Now of course I had my critics, my sister looked them both over and saw nothing to get excited about, my dad wondered if I even knew how to change the oil in this “older than me” car and my mom was not pleased with having an orange wart of a car on the side yard for everyone to see and another brown turd rust colored clown car sitting under the carport which was reserved for the nicer parents cars. But somehow I must have overlooked it all and just kept smiling to have a bit of BMW history.
Above: I found the receipt for the purchase, the temp tags from the DMV and the receipt for the two keys I had to buy and made up a set incase I lost the original.
Above: Photos from delivery day; The orange wart on the side of the house and the Brown Turd.
Above: Photos at Bob’s Motor works, Sparks, Nevada; Photo credit: Adrienne Johnson
Chapter 2: What I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me….or could it? (read after chapter 4)
What I learned:
Many years before I, had owned an old 1978 BMW 530i (a tank of a car) with a larger inline 6 cylinder engine that was my first car. There may one day be a short story told about that car as it was also an adventure and took me on many adventures.
I had worked on that car, but really just the basics. An oil change, new belts when needed, new brake pads, fuild top offs and other odds and ends but never really dived into it. Now with the goal of getting the vintage 2002 running it was a game changer. What i knew about this car was ‘nothing’. I had bought a car with no idea of how long it had sat, who had driven it, what was maintained on it, how it was driven and more over digging into a car to find the issues meant time and money. I had time but didn’t have any money.
Piece by piece I learned how much I needed. Tools, parts, cleaning supplies, books, manuals and what I really needed to learn. What I needed to learn about myself was patience.
Purchasing a 30 year old 2002 meant taking the time to learn how these cars were made. The simple tools needed to work on the car in no way suggested that the mechanics of the engine were simple.
The electronics for me was the only area of expertise I had, and the wiring and the electronic tidbits was the one thing I clearly could handle. But after digging in there luckily never seemed to be an issue with any of it! That of course was a great thing and would really be a blessing as it forced me to try my knowledge with other items.
The bulbs in the tail lights shined bright, the dashboard would light up like it should when the headlight switch was pulled, the temp gauge would come to sit perfectly when the water temp hit the perfect mark and showed true, even the oil pressure provided the normal bright yellow glow at start up and slowly would fade off as the pressure built up to the normal operating level.
Once running there was an obvious problem, the blue smoke coming out the back muffler. Blue smoke meant oil in the cylinders. Either the top end needed new seals and new valves or the pistons were worn in and the ‘blow by’ was running the old engine into the automotive grave.
Now, to most people this would mean getting the last few dollars out of the old car by taking it to a scrap yard for a few dollars o the steal. This happens all the time to old ccars that have been dumped off on the side of the road never to be driven to a A&W car hop or see the countryside of america.
With me the new proud owner of this blue smoker fireball waiting to happen I knew it was going to be no use trying to stay in the slow lane and keep the smoke from becoming a spy scene on the public roads. The engine was going to be in need of replacement and that meant I needed professional help… in more than one way.
What I broke:
My knuckles cheap tools and some promises to friends and family. Tearing apart an engine never is a clean job. Oil, years of grime, road dirt and old fluids that can no longer be considered fluids all adds up to a nightmare for keeping things clean.It all gets everywhere. At the level and the skill i was taking things apart, it seemed like it all could somehow break my spirit. The stuff would stick and make it impossible to get all those years of grime off.
Inspection of parts is key to a successful restoration but at the time I never considered what I was doing WAS a restoration. As I started to tear down the engine I realized there was a subtle type of meditation, zen like property. A pattern soon was followed of removing, cleaning, inspecting, determining the function of the removed part and then… try to determine the function and if the parts level of criticality. Was this part a major player in getting the Stuka on the road?
Most all mechanics, professional or not, have a special project that has captured way too much time or been issue after issue to overcome. So, they get a nickname, or a term of endearment. Stuka was mine, a German dive bomber… it stuck once I heard it started up with a few puffs of blue smokes, a clatter of the engine parts shacking to the point of almost falling off and the clickety clack of the mechanical gas pump.
Every now and then I would feel the defeat, the pressure of taking up a garage space for a hunk o junk (I should have never purchased). Buying more parts sometimes felt futile, but I stuck with it , researched more, and found hope in the idea that one day I would be one of the few proud owners of a drivable 1968 BMW 2002.
Another boost to the motivation of old car repair came in the form of a phone call to a local BMW repair shop. Cal was the professional BMW technician, and he seemed to have an understanding and insight to my troubles: a broke college student, a drive to work on things, limited tools and just not enough skills to take on the challenge in the cold winter months to make the vintage Stuka road worthy. Bob’s Motor Works in Sparks Nevada was the start of the next big adventure for the rebirth of the Stuka.
Putting as much of the engine back together, taking an inventory of the best parts of the two cars and tossing everything else I thought was important back into the little gray lined trunk . I set out with a buddy to follow me over to Bob’s and to help keep a good distance from other cars getting hit with a smoke cloud of blue gray exhaust. Down McCarran I clunked through Sparks.
Cal would be the man to break down a more professional opinion.
The Stuka was broken… but not for long.
What I fixed:
Now, when I say “What I Fixed” it was more like what I had determined was going to be the fixed price of the amount of money i wanted to put into the repair. A small budget to try and get a second car running and street worthy. At the time I still had a very comfortable, very running, and very nice to drive BMW 1990 325i that I still had to maintain. And as for the Stuka, the news was no major shock. The engine trouble seemed minor to the long list of everything else that had worn out and seen better days.
Cal and Bob picked it up and put it on the lift. They found all the scars, breaks bumps, and swollen joints they could find. A new rebuilt engine seemed like the best choice and all the brake items would never be let out of the garage. The vintage car would be given a makeover.
Inside and out
With a new engine and brakes I feel in love with the drive of the little car. I began to understand the reason for the cult following and why this car changed the BMW name forever here the United States. A solid, well balanced, sporty but yet very economical. Easy to maneuver, small and nimble. Open glass all the way around with no blind spot, which is critical for a small car like this in a city of big trucks that don’t seem to see anything.
A new carpet kit was next on my to do list and the car became a good daily driver. Seats off of ebay gave a newer look (instead of the 1968 seats with no head rest, a set of 1974 BMW 2002Tii seats dropped in with no modification).
I went ahead during the summer and stripped down the paint and got it to Earl Shieb shop in reno for a gun metal gray paint job. Of course I took my stuka to them with all the trim removed certain areas taped over, and all grills and lighting modules removed….I ALMOST got a fair paint job from the place. It looked great and since it didn’t sit out all the time in the wether, it was a air paint job for the four hundred dollar price!
A small radio and some speakers cut into the back panels (Only thing I never should have cut) and I had a great ‘vintage’ 2002.
Looking back I had been tricked into a great car, with a the idea I could have done it myself, and in a way I did. I still drive on the weekends and in the fall season to the tunes of the mechanical gas pump and the hum of a great little engine.
I have had a few offers but always tell the interested party that the car will never be for sale and will be a fixture in the garage, and a friendly wave to all when I am out on the road.
Turns out... I am Crazy! 