Holy crap, it's been a while since I've made any updates! Here's a novella as to what i've been up to with my junk;
It did in fact make it to the iPd 2007 garage sale, and seemed to get some pretty good responses.
Judging by my expression, I was pleased with myself.
Left Bellingham Friday after work, loaded to the gills with my junk, as well as the luggage that my girlfriend and her little sister thought would be "more appropriate" to stash in the back of my contraption. Little did they know that their clothes would smell like the dragstrip for weeks.
We caravanned down to Port Townsend, where I dropped them off and picked up my Dad, for the trek down 101. About halfway down 101, I had one of the first moments in a while where I truly sucked up the leather in the seat. Just kind of cruising along about 5 over the speed limit, we hit a nice patch of running water from a little waterfall halfway through a right hander, and
the rear steps way out to about 30* or so.
Back off a little (not too much, so it doesn't grab in that nasty manner that it does), countersteer countersteer countersteer and oh boy
we're out of the turn, at full opposite lock, and there's oncoming traffic
, and the tail end's hanging out there in the wrong lane. Crap.
I drop the throttle altogether now and start piloting it towards the ditch, figuring it's better to moosh up my car than someone else's. As I was expecting, It grabs and chucks the rear towards the ditch, but luckily I was already starting to countersteer right, and I manage to gather it up a few inches before ditching the rear. About 30 seconds of letting our hearts slow down, and my Dad chuckles and says something like "bet that one puckered you up, eh? Nice save..." 95% luck, 5% practice. 'twas hairy.
So we arrived in Portland at around 12PM, checked in to the hotel, which my Dad somehow managed to score us a damn 2-room suite
for like $80, and my Dad's just about ready to hit the hay, when my phone pipes up with a call from 945ti. Apparently there's a shindig at R-sport International, and it's still going on. I've about had my fill of my loud, uncomfortable contraption that I occasionally will refer to as a car, so 945ti rolls over in the cushmobile and gives us a lift over, where we get to see the skunkworks that is R-Sport international. Suffice to say that I can't even begin to describe the goodies therein.
Fast forward to about 3AM, whereupon we return to the hotel and crash for the night. I'm up pretty early, so I grab some breakfast, swap wheels & tires to the fun ones that like to chew themselves up on long freeway drives, and head over to iPd. Had tons of fun, met tons of cool people, etc.
After iPd, Phil (North Shore Brick), John (The Aspirator, riding shotgun in Phil's ride) my Dad and I head back north to ZE VASHINGTON. The summary of the trip from Portland to Olympia is thus:
1) Phil drives fast
2) Parts fly off of a 240 at triple digit speeds.
3) Zip ties do not an air dam make.
4) There are far less cops in that stretch of highway than I was expecting.
We pull in to a gas station somewhere slightly north of Olympia to fill up, and I pop the hood to check fluids and give an overall once-over. *sniff sniff* Hmm, that smells like gas. *sniff sniff* OH CRAP THAT TOTALLY SMELLS LIKE LOTS OF GAS *sniff sniff* OH HELL YEAH I POPPED AN INJECTOR O-RING! Turns out my JDM custom fuel rail mounts didn't place the rail deep enough over the injectors, or something
. We threw a rag on to soak up the fuel that was rapidly leaking from the o-ringless injector, and pushed it over away from the pumps. It's right about now that it starts to rain. Good thing Phil thought to bring an umbrella for him and my dad to stand under and "supervise" while John and I fix my contraption.
Back on the road, and we make it without event up to Edmonds, where we grab a bite to eat, drop my dad off at the ferry, and Phil, John and I continue the trek north. In related news, apparently you can hear me merge onto I-5 from the Edmonds ferry.
The trip finished uneventfully, save for some thorough festivals of speed between Edmonds and Bellingham. Summary: shifts are killing me.
After I got home from iPd, I replaced the fuel feed with a braided stainless confabulation, and made new slotted brackets for the fuel rail. I also put on an 850 throttle body, and spent a number of weeks fighting exhaust nuts, and some other little junk like a clutch switch and what-not. I've only really put about 500 miles on it since, as I spend most of my day at work, and by the time I get home, I'm too tired to really screw around with it. I spend weekends puttering around and playing around with learning how to tune ignition.
So a few weeks ago, I went to put in a new battery, and HEY my battery tray is all gone, and some of the fender too! So I moved it to the back.
That's a 500 amp ANL fuse and a 375 amp continuous (1200 intermittent) switch from Fisheries. Boat junk FTW. The little one goes over to the amp for the sub that's in the spare tire well, as well as the inverter. I'm gonna fab up a pushrod to the switch out the back for track days. You can just barely make out the bracket I made to hold the box in the spare well down at the bottom. The threaded rods go through the bottom of the box into the bracket, so the battery is pretty solidly retained. The top crossbar is some steel covered in plastikote, because I seriously don't like having conductive junk near the battery, despite NHRA's archaic rules.
I also had John from Craving Boost
make some EDIS wires with 16V plug boots. They look great and fire off my .025 gap just dandy. I'm gonna open up the gaps to something crazy mad like .050 and let you guys know how they work out.
Here's the requisite crappy flash photo of the engine as it sits tonight: