Sorting Out the Shark, Part I
Having replaced the broken rear springs and useless shocks in the 325XiT wagon, I could now dive into the Z3’s cooling system, replacing its sticky thermostat and seeing what else it needed to make it a reliable winter driver. Or, now that I’d brought the Shark (the ’79 Euro 635CSi) home and cleared out garage space for it—through a ridiculous number of machinations—I could begin sorting it out.
Well, which would you do first? I listened to the groundswell: Shark! Shark! Shark!
First on the list were inspection issues. The horn bleated like a lamb, one high-beam bulb was dead, the high-beam switch functioned only on flash, and the handbrake was utterly non-functional. The first of these was quickly dispatched: I simply replaced the bad high-beam bulb, but not before finding that removing the grilles on an E24 requires unbolting the parking/directional assembly from inside the nose—the cause of much ire on bigcoupe.com— and the PO had installed xenon lamps and left the ballast boxes a-bangin’.
The mewing horn was easily replaced with a spare.
The errant high-beam switch was a bit trickier. The switch itself, which is also the part of the directional stalk, clearly felt broken, sometimes hard to click and sometimes having a ton of play. They’re not prohibitively expensive—about $85—but owning eleven cars, I really do try to repair or re-use whatever I can, and keep the UPS deliveries and their consequent drain on the bank account to a minimum.
The front and rear sections of the switch housing are held together with four thin tubes that are flared at both ends. I drilled out one end, pushed out the tubes, and pulled the switch apart. The play seemed to be lessened by slightly bending a piece of metal which functioned as a detent. I put the switch back together using tiny 2-mm screws and bolts instead of the flared tubes. Unfortunately, it made no difference; the high beam still only functioned in momentary flash mode.
Upon closer examination, I found that one of the push-on terminals in the under-dash connector that the switch plugs into had backed out of its housing. It was an interesting lesson learned: Even though there was an apparent mechanical malfunction of the switch, I should’ve verified the underlying electrical integrity before pulling the foolish thing apart.
That left the handbrake. Having purchased many cars over the years with non-functional handbrakes, I follow a simple procedure: I first try tightening the cables at the base of the handbrake lever as far as they’ll go. If that nudges the handbrake into functionality sufficient to pass inspection, I’ll leave it at that for now, and make a note to adjust the handbrake shoes when I next have the rear wheels off, and to pull it all apart if adjustment makes little difference. But if full-tight cable adjustment results in literally zero wheel grab, odds are that there is nothing left of the handbrake-shoe lining.
While I could simply order the shoes and be relatively certain that I wouldn’t be wasting money on parts and postage, if I’m going to put the car up on the mid-rise lift and pull the rear brakes apart to install the shoes, I want to know what else it may need—this is the old “rhythm of repair” dilemma I write about so often. If it’s an old car with rear drums like a 2002, you have to pull the drums off to inspect the smoothness of the drums’ inner surface and check to see if the rear wheel cylinders are leaking.
On a car with rear discs, you have the advantage of being able to inspect the rotors and pads without pulling anything apart. But in both cases, the drums or rotors have to come off to inspect or replace the handbrake shoes. Since the Shark is a far cry from a daily driver, there was nothing to be lost in putting the car up, pulling the calipers off, yanking the rotors, and inspecting everything before ordering anything.
I’d done a bunch of shoes in the past year, including the 325xiT wagon and a couple of 2002s, so I wasn’t at all surprised to find this pair of smoking guns. One shoe had lost half its lining.
And that was the good one. The other shoe was naked to the braking world.
The rotors and pads looked fine, so I ordered handbrake shoes only. Several months back, I’d found that 2002 brake shoes had become a bit pricey—in fairness, the 2002 shoes are bigger; they’re the actual rear brakes, as opposed to these on the Shark, which are handbrake shoes only—so I was pleasantly surprised when I found that these shoes, which are used on many BMWs, were only about $18 a set.
One welcome difference from replacing shoes on the 2002 was the fact that the Shark’s shoes lacked the “Jesus clip”—the thick spring whose removal or installation will often launch it across the room and take out a windshield, if not the power grid to the city. Each side was done in perhaps five minutes.
To answer the question I can hear forming on the lips of those who do not share my Hack sensibilities: No, I did not change those rusty backing plates, or wire-brush them and paint them with POR-15. I am very good at avoiding Shipwright’s Disease, the condition in which you begin with a tune-up, and end, in theory, with a fully detailed engine compartment, but which in practice, never ends.
This car needs attention in many other areas. I will get pleasure out of mechanically sorting it out and driving it, not out of painting something I’ll never look at.
Just to be clear, I’m in awe of those of you who do have this kind of patience and dedication. I just don’t.
With the Shark inspection-ready, of course, we had a blast of freezing rain, and with it, the state-mandated salt assault—so rather than take it out and get it stickered and brined, I started pulling the leaky gas tank. We’ll talk about that next week.—Rob Siegel
Got a question for Rob Siegel, the Hack Mechanic? You can find him in the BMW CCA Forums here!
Rob's book Memoirs of a Hack Mechanic is available through Bentley Publishers, Amazon, and Bavarian Autosport—or you can get a personally inscribed copy through Rob's website: www.robsiegel.com.
