Photograph Courtesy Mercedes-Benz
We’ve all seen them. They’re the Classified Ads of Shame, usually reading something like this: “For sale, project car, 90% complete, just never found the time to get it done. $5K invested, $2K takes it all! My loss is your gain!”
Those Ads of Shame are generally accompanied by photos of the car in some state of incompleteness or dishevelment, along with pictures of stacks of parts, perhaps even some new in boxes. I’ve bought several cars that came with new-in-box clutch kits, and it seems lots of convertible project cars are sold with new, uninstalled tops.
The stages of assembly vary, but a surprising number of project cars are sold only after a good deal of time, money and effort have been invested. The owners have spent months, even years, working on them, yet now that they’ve made it within sight of the finish line, their projects grind to a halt.
Why? I think in many cases, it’s not for lack of cash, time or even desire. No, these projects die from sadness–the sadness of a broken heart.
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Serial frustrations and failures, sometimes over years, sour what was once a vibrant love affair between owner and car into a silent loathing, a seething boil of resentments, a feeling of, “Oh God, what is it now?” You know, like a marriage. The owner pushes the car away, often buying a newer, more attractive project to work on, dumping the previous one. (Am I pushing this marriage metaphor too far?) The original project car gets covered by a tarp in the back corner of the shop. Out of sight, out of mind.
Over my decades of ill-advised car projects, I’ve been tempted to abandon frustrating ones a few times, but I’ve never quite given up on a non-running or non-registerable car and sold it on. I’ve come close, though, most recently with a particular BMW. It defies me in ways large (the right-front suspension falling off) and small (the oil cooler lines that will not seal). More than once I’ve considered selling it off just to get it out of my sight.
Fortunately, since this ain’t my first rodeo, here are eight tips that have helped my projects become unstuck. Maybe they can help you, too.
I don’t know why this works, but it does. My shop, home to a quartet of elderly German cars, always needs cleaning. As my tool collection has steadily grown, I’ve had to expand the number of rollaway toolboxes from one to four, which means I’m perpetually reorganizing things (which may also explain why I never seem to be able to find anything).
Organizing tools is a good way to refire that can-do attitude. And because all my cars are incontinent to some degree, the floors can always use a good mopping with degreaser–or at least a good blasting with a leaf blower.
[18 tips to ensure an organized restoration]
Once the cleaning or reorganizing is done, I usually find I’ve worked up a sweat, beaming with a healthy glow of satisfaction about what I’ve accomplished. This is a good frame of mind for turning to the project car and doing something else productive while the positive cosmic energy lasts.
Whenever a project involves refurbishment of a large system–say, an engine, transmission or differential–I try to buy a second one to redo so I can keep the car running and drivable as long as possible during the rebuild. Then I can swap in the rebuilt piece.
While rebuilding my BMW’s engine, for example, I started with a good core–budget zero to $500 for this particular application. This allowed the car to be driven during the year it took to build the engine.
So many folks blow too much of the car apart all at once, which can put the project into a death spiral.
It sounds simple, but I’ve come to recognize the signs that indicate it’s time for a breather–sometimes for a day, sometimes longer. When lusty, good-natured cursing devolves into angry cursing, take a break.
When a chronic problem defies all solutions, take a break. When something important snaps, take a break.
When I get to the point where I use the wrong tool because I don’t own the correct one, or try to take a dubious shortcut to save time, or pound on something with a fist instead of a hammer, I take a break. I know I’m about to screw up something, hurt myself or both.
Time to stop. Depending on the depth of your anguish, take off a week or more, and try not to even think about the car. To put your automotive frustration into perspective, use this newfound time to take up golf.
The Gullwing above was prepped for a repaint in the mid-’60s before sitting stalled until recently. This blue Bug, likewise, spent time in suspended animation. Photography Credit: David S. Wallens
In my shop, there’s always a to-do list. Oil changes and, sadly but inevitably, cleanup after oil changes. Vacuuming of disgusting, filthy coco mats. Paint correction. Light bulb changes. Plus, at any point in time, at least one of my cars is leaking at least one type of fluid onto the garage floor.
The larger your collection of projects, the easier it is to work on something else when your primary project has caused you to lose all sense of joy and perhaps even the very will to live.
Yes, my BMW has been a two-year odyssey of false starts, delays, wrong parts, weird systems failures, vexatious injection system mysteries, and the ever-pounding tide of near-ruinous cost overruns.
But I can still attain a small victory by installing the oh-so-essential aftermarket oil pressure gauge or making the radio antenna work again. They’re modest victories, perhaps, but momentous nonetheless, like Ukrainians retaking a small village from Russian invaders.
This summer, my BMW piled so many straws on my humped back that I called my friend Patrick, who operates the highly regarded Midnight Motorsports BMW shop, to whinily relay my tale of woe. I also asked him to find a spot for me on his shop schedule to administer, say, $2000 worth of love on my own personal Hindenburg.
He gave me an appointment about six weeks hence, knowing that at some time between now and then, I’d likely find the strength to solve all those problems on my own. But the therapy was good, and if these problems persisted, I’d accept his assistance.
Our latest project car, this midyear Corvette, also sat for years. To get it back on the road, we’ve talked to experts, involved our friends, and celebrated steady progress. Photography Credit: Chris Tropea
Misery loves company, so go to a car show and hang out with other miserable folks just like you. Find a cool build and talk to the owner about it. Ask what the hardest part of the project was or who did the paint. Most car builders will be happy to talk your ear off about the work they’ve done. You might even make a friend, which brings us to the next step.
Think of this as the automotive version of a good old-fashioned community barn raising. Invite car-minded folks to help you get your project going. Try asking for help from a local Facebook enthusiast group. If you involve a few others, the hive mind should move things along pretty well. Your incentive system should include a worthy combination of food and refreshments.
A caveat applies here, though: Don’t be the one who invites friends to do the work for you instead of with you. You have to be involved up to your elbows, too, pal. And don’t expect to invite a pro to help for free, either. That’s just disrespectful.
Sometimes you just have to admit defeat and give up. I briefly did divorce work, putting folks up on the stand and asking them to confirm, under oath, that their marriage was irretrievably broken. Those moments were somber, and I always felt a little sad (mainly because it meant the fees were going to stop flowing in).
But yes, it happens, and with car projects, too. The pile of car in your garage can become too big a burden to bear any longer. Your relationship is irretrievably broken. You’ve fallen, irretrievably, out of love. Sell it.
[5 steps to a seamless transaction | How to sell a car: Part 1]
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