Day 20: Heart Transplant

If you're not a mechanic, few things are as distressing as seeing your car with the engine removed. Where once nestled the beating heart of a running vehicle, now you have a gaping hole, wires and cables hanging, residuals dribbling, and goo in all the recesses otherwise obscured. The veins and arteries that carried necessary fluids and gasses in and out of this organ remain in situ, tied off with bits of rope, bungee cords and zip ties.  I've seen too much of this sort of carnage in my years as a vintage sports car racer and amateur engine builder. But never in "Morris," that steady family member who has lived in our garage for the past 30 years.

Illustration: Peter Aschwanden (c)

This past Sunday, this sorry state of affairs took a major turn for the better. The MG was winched up on my trailer and hauled out to Manley Ford's shop in Milford, MI. There we spent the afternoon
easing the rebuilt XPAG motor back into TD 22161. About the time we tightened the motor mount bolts, the day's British overcast and gentle drizzle transformed into a beautiful, sunny afternoon. I hoped this was a good omen. One of my former bosses, speaking of working for the government, liked to quip, "No good deed goes unpunished." This proved true as the afternoon progressed.

The clutch on a standard transmission automobile uses a friction disc to connect the running motor gradually to the wheels. The wheels should then turn, pushing the earth gradually away from the car, moving it forward, hopefully in the direction of California. Engaging this disc  requires your left leg to comfortably push on a pedal and exert an inhuman amount of force on the springs that are part of the clutch pressure plate. This is accomplished through small hydraulic cylinders or, in a more primitive time, by a series of rods, cables, bell cranks, levers and other creative engineering associated with 19^th Century industrial craft. As late as the 1950's, the Brits continued to favor the latter approach. It was angular, required frequent adjustment, insured the involvement of the owner-operator with his machine, and did not leak anything. 

Chaps at Abingdon

assembling an MG TD

This "leaking" is a traditional aspect of English cars and, although somewhat endearing, generally is to be minimized by the fastidious owner. A car known for "marking its territory" is not always welcome in America's better driveways.  The MG is no exception. Rather than having an oil seal to preserve precious lubricant where the crank shaft exits the motor,  the British relied on a hoped for negative pressure environment on the inside. If they were to leave a small opening where a troublesome leaking oil seal might otherwise reside, the higher pressure of the outside atmosphere could theoretically blow air and any escaping oil back into the motor's crankcase as the engine operates. To assist this process, they machined a spiral, obtusely referred to as an Archimedean scroll, into the end of the crankshaft. When new and properly fitted, this seemed to work pretty well. Just in case it didn't, or if the car happened to last long enough to begin wearing out, they designed a space immediately behind the motor in what is called the bell housing and put a little drip hole at it's bottom. To keep bees and mud daubers from clogging this hole, they installed what looks like a big cotter pin. This was to rattle around dislodging anything that might plug the hole and cause residual oil to create unwanted havoc. To allay consumer concerns, the provided Owners' Handbook assures us a small drop of oil about the size of a shilling was "quite acceptable."

This was an ingenious solution that unfortunately did not work very well. Owners were heard to explain that the puddle forming under the car was a good sign and an indication that there was still oil in the motor.  Manley Ford does not like oil in his driveway. He has noticed my visits on past occasions and commented. So, while I was busy earning a living, he installed a modern oil seal made by British MG specialists, Brown & Gammons. I found the inscription on this part, "Proudly Made in England," quaint yet oddly disconcerting.

As with everything else on this project, changes entail consequences. The new seal would not work reliably with the original flywheel. Brown & Gammons make a lightened flywheel just to solve this problem. At this point, a stronger clutch from a Ford Cortina seemed irresistible, and Manley just happened to have one on the shelf. The old carbon throw-out bearing behind the clutch seemed anachronistic, but I could rest assured that Manley Ford's years of racing T-series MGs had led him to manufacture a roller bearing replacement for this antiquated design.

By 5:30 Sunday evening, we had the clutch mechanism adjusted and apparently working. I was hungry and stiff from crawling back and forth under the car. Manley said that we would have to stop as he had to do some work before the day was over.  I climbed into my 15-year old Ford pick-up with 200,000 miles on the odometer. It doesn't burn oil. It doesn't leak oil. It doesn't even have a clutch! I shifted into Drive, tuned the radio to Garrison Keillor, and headed home, assured that all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average.  Just another day in Lake Wobegon.



Illustration: John Haynes