By naterisch
11/09/2015
No one ever accused me of being a car-detailing fanatic. You know the type: washing the car every week, polishing and waxing until it looks new, spending hours scrubbing every crevice of an alloy wheel designed by BMW or BBS to make the task impossible. I respect these people for their devotion to pristine paint, but that wasn’t me.
By naterisch
11/09/2015
Last week I replaced Old Blue’s strut-tower bushings. They were so bad that they were interfering with steering; one was bound up pretty tight, the other internally broken and causing a bunch of front-end banging. But during the process of disconnecting the right  caliper from the strut in order to swing the strut out to change the bushings, the right front metal brake lines went leaky. 
By naterisch
11/02/2015
So there I was, cruisin’ off to the Secret Car Club get-together on Saturday morning—think of Cars ’n’ Coffee without all the formalities—where I was dutifully entertained as a few Cobras (real and otherwise) rolled by, along with the obligatory Ferraris. There were some wonderful classics, like a brown-on-brown Bugatti and two—two!—Jaguar XK120 roadsters. And that unicorn of supercars, the McLaren P1, was sighted in white.
By naterisch
11/02/2015
Last week, I described the six stages of automotive functionality (my newly enumerated touchstone in measuring progress in an automotive resurrection). To recap, they are:
By naterisch
10/25/2015
Well, I am not normally in favor of a good ol’ cathartic rant, but a few things have really irked me in the past month, and my thoughts keep coming back to them. My apologies in advance, but I need to vent like the wastegate from an over-boosted turbo (yes, that cheesy simile has already made me feel better).

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