Buying an older Ferrari - the final chapter When last we left our intrepid pair, they were still scouring the market with money burning a hole in their pockets (well, not really). They had looked at s/n 8679 and decided to give it a pass, since the water jacket on the engine was somewhat suspect and they were worried about the heads having electrolyzed onto the block. Not to mention that they wanted *way* too much money for a car with no history or tools. Back to the Market Letter. Several ads came along and were discarded - no history, no tools, "my son bought it six months ago and decided he didn't want it, so I'm trying to sell it; trust me, my mechanic says it runs like new, no, I have no idea who owned it before." Sigh. After a little while, I get a call from one of the players in the s/n 8679 non-deal. He tells me "Chris, I've got what might be the car for you. It's in Texas, it's still owned by the guy who picked it up from the factory, it's been in storage for about three years. It's in great shape, pretty low mileage. I've seen the car and if I had the extra cash, I'd buy it. He's been asking way too much for a while, but he's come down to asking something reasonable." Yeah yeah. You're a car salesman and I don't trust you farther than I can spit, but this is better than anything else I've heard lately. He's going to get me a phone number after making sure that the car is really for sale. A day goes by, he leaves me a message that the car is in storage in Houston, gives a name and number. OK, by sheer luck I have a good buddy, Stan, who lives in Houston and is a car guy. And even better, is on the net. He's a Porsche fanatic, but he knows what's what. So I send him some mail, tell him about the car and where it is and he says "Oh no, not that weasel!". Well, it turns out that the mechanic, let's call him Junior, does Ferraris *and* Porsches, and my friend has had some dealings with him in the past that were uh, less than exemplary. Something about holes in a 911 engine case that were patched with JB Weld ... Oh great. But I don't have a whole lot of choice here, that's where the car is, and it certainly sounds like what we've been looking for. So I give Junior a call and talk to him about the car. He gives me the basic rundown: serial number 9161, metallic powder blue with a black interior, tools and books, 33K miles, original owner. Power steering and air conditioning. Car has seen some paint, the lacquer shows some checking but otherwise is exceedingly original, down to the factory paint sticker inside the trunk lid. Has the original Blaupunkt radio, all the chrome bits and flag badges. Alloy wheels. Full belly pan is there and intact. Leather is in decent shape, though it could probably use some Lexol and dye. Door lights work. Windows work. Clock doesn't. Headliner "perfect". Bumpers and overriders intact. He's been maintaining it for the past five or six years. He hasn't done much to the car lately because the owner hasn't been using it and he doesn't want to push preventative maintenance on him for no reason, but the work he describes sounds like it was done right. He promises to send me some photos. He doesn't tell me the name of the owner, but tells me that he's about 70. The owner bought the car in 1966, the car went to New York to Chinetti's agency, the owner picked it up and drove it home to Texas, where it has been ever since. Owner has photos of the car being off loaded from a KLM plane. Asking $38K, he figures $35K would probably take it. In the meantime, Stan has been poking around his contacts in Houston, mostly trying to figure out the history of the car and who the owner is. One of his racing partners used to be a big Ferrari guy, and he will call around and try to get the skinny on this car; there just aren't that many 330GTs around Houston, so it can't be too hard. This turns up the story that the owner had Junior do some work and apparently wasn't real satisfied (we never did track down any further details on this), so he's selling. Has been trying to sell for a year. The rumor is that the real number is $28K. Another friend of Stan's had looked seriously at the car but passed when he found a 308 that he liked better for the same kind of money (no accounting for taste). That friend reports that the car is in very good original condition, which of course means that it would need paint, interior, engine detail to be "concours". Then again, we don't want that. He promises to try to find the owner's contact info. Suggests offering around $28K, and if Junior gives the run-around, go straight to the owner. Stan promises to ask around to find a mechanic for a second opinion on the car. This turns up the phrase "there are lots of crooks, lots of fakes, and lots of FIAT mechanics masquerading as Ferrari virtuosos" and that I should call Sam and tell him that John so and so told him he'd fix me up for an inspection. OK, I call Sam. I tell him the tale, and he goes on about how they're really swamped, have several customers with 348s in the Challenge Series and can barely keep up with the between-race work. Probably can't look at the car for three weeks. He asked if I had the serial number or knew the owner. I tell him the serial number and start describing the car - and he starts finishing my sentences. Gives me the owner's name (Jerry). It turns out that Sam worked on the car from 1968 or so until '80, when Sam closed his shop. He told me a bit of history about the car that I hadn't heard: The car was apparently being built for some member of the Spanish royal family. Jerry has good connections with the person in Rome who is responsible for the Catholic Church's real estate holdings (!) and was visiting. He said "You know, I think I'd like a Ferrari" and his contact said that the limo would pick him up in the morning to take him to Maranello. They went, he was being shown around by Dr. Manicardi, then the sales director, and saw this car. "That's sure a beautiful car", he said. "Well, it's being finished for ...". Some conversation apparently followed, Dr. Manicardi's shoulders dropped, and he said "your car will be ready for you next week". Now, it turns out that Jerry knew that KLM was about to institute direct flights from Rome to New York, and he knew someone at KLM. So he arranged for the car to be shipped direct - it was the first piece of freight off the first KLM flight. Apparently it was shipped free of charge, for the publicity. The car didn't run quite right when he got it to Houston. The dealer pulled the cam covers and discovered that one of the valve guides was the wrong size, had slipped and caused a dropped valve. So the factory built him a new engine with the proper serial number and sent it over, free. That engine was then installed in the car. The engine has a crack in the oil pan where it was lowered with an engine mount missing and hit the cross member. It's been repainted at least once. He remembers having the brake cylinders resleeved by White Post Restorations. He worked hard to keep the front end lubricated so there should be little wear there (it's a kingpin-style suspension, so this is critical). "It's a very desirable car because it's the original owner and complete. Jerry and I never cut corners on the car." So I asked about price - he said "I really don't have any idea. When I see a gun I like, I buy it." All in all, I finished the conversation feeling pretty positive about the car. After a little while I called him back and asked when he *could* get the car in for a look-see, he says about three weeks. I tell him I'll try to get the car to him then. Some time goes by; Stan manages to connect with Junior and goes over to look at the car. They go for a drive, and he gives things a pretty thorough once over. So far, everything seems to match the stories that are being told. The car would like to have paint, but it's livable. The interior leather is worn but supple; the front seats could use redying and some of the foam is cracking and shedding. Tool kit seems to have what it should. Tires are old Michelin XZXs that don't show signs of dry rot. Suspension seems to be pretty good, except for one of the front sway bar bushings which is essentially dead - all the rubber is gone and it's metal on metal. The air conditioning blows cold and the clock works! Oh, and there's a huge power steering fluid leak. Well, the leak may not be huge, but it's hard to tell because it's been there pretty long; the underside of the car is covered with red. He can't really tell if there are other leaks, but the stuff on top is red. Took a test drive, started right up, didn't smoke, went like stink, the rear end didn't chatter ... all good. Junior and I play phone tag for a little while. I leave him a message saying Stan had told me what he'd found, he leaves me a message asking what we want to do next. I leave him a message saying I'll try to get to him soon. I have a feeling he won't like me asking to get someone else to look at the car, and I want to do it in person rather than via an answering machine. Sure enough, when I reach him and broach the subject, he's not terribly happy. It's not so much that he doesn't want me to get someone else to see the car - "do you have to send it over to that shop where Sam works?" He then proceeds to tell me a tale about a car he was trying to sell to a dealer in SoCal; they sent it over to Sam's to get an appraisal. They found a bunch of things wrong with it, the dealer offered a lowball price, and Junior didn't sell the car. A week or so later he was looking at the receipts that were with the car, and found that all those items had recently been repaired - if they were broken again, they were under warranty. Or they had just never been repaired. Sigh. "OK, Junior, tell me who else to send the car to?" "Well, that's the problem, isn't it - there's them and there's me and that's pretty much it. I guess you can send the car over there." "They'd been recommended to me because Sam knows the early cars..." "Yah, but Sam won't look at it - he's parts manager or something. They'll probably stick some new kid who's pushing a broom to look at it, because they don't have time to put their top mechanic on and inspection. Listen, are you sure you couldn't come down here? I'd be willing to go over the car with you from end to end, you'd know all there is." "Well, let me find out about tickets and see if I can get off work; I'll call you back." So I do. I can't really get off work, and even though I feel pretty positive about the car now, I don't want to spend plan fare quite yet. I also call John, who looked at s/n 8679 for us, and asked him what to do. He said he had a friend down there who would look at the car, but he was really a Porsche guy. But there's this guy who he knows, what's his name, he knows the older cars really well, this is who he calls when he has a question. Turns out it's Sam. So he says he'll call Sam and ask him, as a personal favor, to check the car out himself. I call and leave messages all around, trying to set up the inspection. That was Friday; the inspection was to happen Monday. Call Houston on Monday, Sam says that Junior hasn't showed up. Call Junior, he's not there, leave a message. A few rounds later, the car gets delivered and inspected on Tuesday. They find a bunch of things wrong - worn bushings, old hoses, odd compression, rocker screws worn, carbs need overhaul. Front suspension needs rebuild, needs repaint and rechrome. This seemed a bit over the top and started worrying me. I also had to wonder how he knew that the rocker screws were worn without taking off the valve covers? Just what sort of an inspection had this been? OK, I talk to Junior about this, and we make plans to fly down to Houston. The theory is that we'll get there Saturday night (for a cheaper fare), spend Sunday getting acclimatized to the heat and humidity, and go see the car on Monday. If we like what we see, we buy, and start working on the car to get it ready for the trip home. Our return ticket is for Wednesday afternoon; we hope that this is enough time to make the decision whether we can drive it home or give it to Passport to carry it. I pack work clothes, some extra tools for the road, and we head out. We arrive, find the hotel, and go over to visit with Stan. We can't get at the car until Monday, so the consensus is that the best thing to do with Sunday is visit Johnson Space Center and try to adapt to the humidity. JSC is good fun (Disney did a good job) and the humidity is, well, awful. I'm starting to remember why I left the Midwest. But a great Thai meal helps. Monday dawns, and we head over to Junior's place. Sure enough, he's there, the car is there. We chat, take a look around, open the hood, survey the drips. Check out the trunk. Tool roll and jack are there; many of the wrenches are missing. Other than that, it all seems to be there, and what a lovely sight it is. Check out the lights, he starts it up, and there is that glorious sound; it settles down into a nice steady idle. After what seems an eternity, he asks if we'd like to take it for a drive. I thought he'd never ask. He gives me a brief checkout on the controls and a suggestion on what road to use, and we climb in. The first thing you notice is the smell - the combination of leather, wood oil, exhaust and fuel - that seems to be common to old Ferraris. Pat says "ah, it smells right. Good." The driver's seat is pretty far back; the original owner had the factory remount it a couple of inches back from standard. With the seat all the way forward in the rails, it's just comfortable for me (and I'm 6'2"). Pat can't begin to reach the pedals. The controls - well, to use a well worn cliche, the all just fall to hand. The clutch is the stiffest I've ever used. Steering wheel (wood rim, polished spokes, Cavallino rampant in the center) is standard "Italian position", tipped back from vertical, meant to be gripped at the bottom. The gearshift (not gated) has a strong return spring to center, and the effort is not light. The power steering, on the other hand, belies the fact that I'm turning a 3500 pound car. I back out of the garage very carefully (hmm, she's starting to smoke a bit) and we find our way down the road. It doesn't take long to get comfortable with this. Not far from the shop is a long, straight four-lane freeway. We drive down this at a moderate pace, working up through the gears, shifting between 3000 and 4000, trying to get some heat into the oil. Stop for gas, notice that the limited slip is chattering a bit. Finally, the oil temp needle moves off the peg! Go down the road a bit farther and start exploring: 4500, 5000, 5500, 6000 ... glorious. Wait until there's no traffic behind, slow down to idle in fourth and step on it. No hesitation, just smooth pickup. Yes indeedy, this car seems to be as advertised. Find our way back to the shop. We talk price for a while. I feel uncomfortable offering $28K, so I start at $29K. Junior says that we can't even start talking below $34K. Sigh. That's almost out of our desired budget, especially considering travel money, needed service and shipping/driving the car home. We back off and discuss for a while. The truth is that the car is worth every penny of it, and we probably will not find another in such good shape, with books, tools and history... so we go back in and reach a compromise at $33K plus a split of the needed work. That's all fine, with one hitch. The owner, Jerry Brougher is on a one-day trip to Boston, and hasn't been reachable by phone. Now, I understood that Junior was acting as agent for Brougher, but he apparently needs to get final approval before the sale is final. I hear the clock ticking. OK, we put the car on the lift and go over what needs to be done and start ordering parts. The plan is to adjust the valves and carbs (valve cover gaskets), replace the sway bar bushings that are completely gone, replace some fuel lines (yellow hose), fix the power steering pump leak (hmm, can't tell yet, probably just a seal), flush and fill all fluids (oil and fuel filters). Junior will do the work, I'll play apprentice and learn by doing. The only unknown is just how many valve adjusters will need replacing: the SOHC engines have roller followers driving an arm that actuates the valves. Adjustment is at the end of the valve stem, by a threaded rod with a hardened chrome ball at the stem end. This design dates from the earliest days of the Colombo engines, when the valve springs were "mousetrap" style, and had fairly low seat pressures. The adjuster was not changed when the conversion to double coil springs was made in the late 50s. As a result, the ball end tends to wear through the hard chrome and eventually crack, which ultimately leads to valve stem damage. So every time you adjust the valves, you pull all the adjusters and replace some of them. Unless we wanted to order 24 adjusters, we couldn't tell how many to order until we got in there; Junior doesn't keep them in stock. Sigh. OK, he places the order. We leave, have another huge dinner (seems that the heat and humidity has stimulated our appetites) and collapse. I spend a restless night worrying about how this deal could still go wrong. Tuesday. We dawdle over breakfast, show up at Junior's late morning. Brougher is expected in town around 1:30. We hang out, trying not to be in the way and not be too obviously nervous. However, there are only so many times you can read the same old FAF and Automotion catalogs. There's a 250GT engine apart in the next room, waiting for some parts to come back from the machine shop, and I stare at that for a while. Sigh. Brougher finally shows up at 5:30. It's too late to call my bank to do the transfer, doesn't matter, he has a file of papers and an extra set of keys on the original fob, unused. He says, sure, go ahead and start working on it, these folks want to get home! But first he shows us what he's brought and tells us a couple of stories about the car. First he pulls out a leather folder. It's just a simple stationery set, except that it has a cavallino rampante embossed in gold on it. "Dr. Manicardi said I was paying $1000 for the car - the rest was for this folder." In it is the original owner's manual, the warranty, the dealer list, the instructions for the Blaupunkt radio - everything. Next he pulls out a photo - of him, and the car, and Mac, and a KLM jet plane. OK, so that wasn't just a story. Then he tells a slightly different version of the story involving the Catholic Church: it's largely the same except no mention of the Spanish royal family, Brougher's assistant (Mac) is the one with a good connection in the Church, and Brougher went to Rome looking to get a discount on the car. The end is much the same, Brougher paid his deposit, got a 5% discount and picked up the car later. "But you know, I always wondered a little about why Mac knew this guy in Rome, and why he negotiated a discount for a stranger. Years later, I found out that Mac wasn't just working for me - he was really working for the CIA. And the fellow at the Church was a married man, but, well, he'd been indiscreet. And the CIA had photographs. So when Mac said 'Jump', he didn't even bother to ask 'How high?'". The other story he told was of chasing a Miura on the Autostrada. (This actually seems rather unlikely, since the first Miura was delivered in March of 1967, and by then 9161 was already back in Houston - but it could have been a different Lamborghini, or one of the two 330GTCs that Brougher owned...) "I saw him off in the distance, I was doing a good 130 or so, and thought I'd try to catch him. As I got closer, I noticed that he was putting out some puffs of exhaust and not going very smoothly; I figured it was vapor lock, because it was a hot day. I had switched on the aux fuel pump earlier. Anyway, I just put my foot down, and flew by him at 150. Boy did he look upset." Brougher goes away, Junior and Pat and I run up to Hi-Lo, the local Pep Boys equivalent, and get some Gunk and head over to the car wash. Two cans later, we can see the suspension and the front of the engine again. We take the file of papers with us that evening. Receipts from about 1968 on. Lots of documentation about the dropped valve and rebuilt engine. Details of when the car was repainted, and when someone backed into it shortly thereafter (and the hassle of getting him to settle up). It's amazing - you can't tell that the car was crunched. The body work is amazing. Letters about starting an FCA chapter in Houston. Oh yeah, the original order, bill of sale, receipt and bank draft copy. It would appear that Brougher went through a cycle: every two years or so he'd decide to drive the car again, drop $1K to $2K on a big repair to get it road worthy again, drive it for 400-500 miles, and let the neglect settle in again. We saw three examples of this. I guess that's why he's selling it. Nothing major, just this and that and the other minor thing would need replacing. Wednesday. Junior starts on the engine. Now I begin to understand why a complete tune-up is 20 to 30 hours: it takes two hours just to get down to the valves. I pull off the belly pan and the old fuel hoses. He yanks the power steering pump and alternator. I start making up new fuel lines with the old fittings and ferrules - if you ever do this, get new ferrules! Somewhere in here, probably while we were both grunting trying to find the secret of getting old ferrules on new hose, Junior utters the line that sums up the entire effort, a line that I have used many times since: "If it was easy, everybody would be doing it." Texas wisdom, indeed. The power steering pump is leaking from the shaft seal; it's visibly worn. Fine, seals are easy, Junior measures and orders one at a local supplier. Should be there tomorrow. We pull the driver's seat. The seat rail modification is semi-permanent: new steel track has been welded and pop-riveted onto the floor, and a new piece is at the back of the rail. It can be undone, but not immediately. Pat heads off to buy some foam for a "shim", and starts on the leather. Lexol is great stuff. (We later realize that some of the Italian phrasing on the order is a request to have the driver's seat moved back 4cm - this work that looks like hack and slash is a factory mod!) I install the fuel lines; Junior pulls the water pump to install a new seal. I hit all the chassis nipples with a grease gun. Our plane back to San Francisco leaves without us - we are now officially committed. Thursday. Junior starts setting the valves; I provide the motive power to push the car and turn the engine over. During breaks, I change the engine and diff oil, and top up the tranny. Pat and I flush and bleed the brakes, but we decide to leave the clutch alone for now - Junior suggests we don't want to chance blowing the slave cylinder seal just before the trip. Pat continues to work on the leather and chrome (Nev'r-Dull, cotton wadding impregnated with white spirits, is also great stuff). She also gets pressed into the role of go-fer, making countless trips to the Hi-Lo for this or that. Brougher comes by with a few goodies that he found in his garage - extra bits and pieces, jack hole plugs, oil filters and a tin of touch up paint that date from the purchase of the car. He sits down and points out some of the controls (the owner's manual doesn't actually cover the Series II dash layout). He warns that I probably shouldn't try to use the AC when going less than 60mph or it'll just overheat the engine and frost up the condenser. Fill with oil and coolant and crank to check out the valves. Everything seems fine. In watching, he seems to have set them a little tight; I ask and he says that's to keep them quiet and take up any dish there may be in the valve stem ends. We get one cam cover on and call it a night. (Somewhere in here, Junior looked up at me and said "Don't you ever get tired?" I think we had been working him longer days than he was used to.) The power steering pump seal has not arrived. "Tomorrow, I promise!" Friday. Put the other cam cover on, start putting things back together. The seal arrives, Pat fetches it, Junior installs it. It's a modern rubber-coated seal, rather than bare metal, so it's a little oversized. No problem, grind away a little of the rubber. While re-installing the plugs, I notice that they're "stock" Champion N6Y, but the ones that got pulled/replaced during the checkout at Sam's were N9Y (much hotter). "Hmm, following that old book again", Junior says. "N6Ys were fine if you were over in Europe driving on the Autostrada at more than 100 mph all the time, but they tend to soot up in US traffic. Keep the N9Ys, they look OK and only had a few hundred miles on them, you could put them back in when you get home." Spend a while getting the timing and carbs right. There's some smoke at warm idle. Then we notice that the p/s pump shaft seal is leaking - right from the point where the grinder had been. Sigh. We won't be able to get another, since it was not in stock and tomorrow is Saturday and the supplier is closed. Besides, it's now 5pm and they're probably closed now. What to do? "Hmm, I'm pretty sure that this pump was the same as used on GM cars. Go up to the HiLo and see if they've got a rebuild kit that has this seal in it. Meanwhile I'll charge the AC." Well, not really. They have a rebuild kit for a GM pump, but the picture isn't quite the same, and the seal doesn't seem the same (too big). But I buy it anyway. There's another kit for another pump, but they're out of stock. Sure enough, it's the wrong kit. Now what? #1 RTV, of course. We pull the pump again, extract the seal, goop it up, install. Decide that the prudent course is to let it harden overnight before driving on it. Return the rebuild kit. Saturday. Start the car up, no leak. Hooray! We go for a quick spin around the block, pack the car, and get ready to settle up. Except that I can't find my checkbook! Search the bags, search the rental car, damn I'm sure I packed it. Junior doesn't take plastic. Shit! So we find an ATM and withdraw our cash limits. Not enough, even with the extra cash I'd brought along. The only bank that we can find that's open on Saturday morning won't do a cash advance on my MasterCard, and says there's no way to do a transfer or override my daily limits. Stupid banking rules. So we go back to the shop. We're a couple hundred short on a $1200 bill. I offer to leave him the spare set of keys, he just tells us to get out of there and send a check when we get home. Boy do I feel stupid. We head out. I'm looking forward to being on the freeway, but first we have to return the rental car. We had looked it up and found that there was an agency a few miles down the road; this beat driving all the way back to the airport (about forty miles). I get my first taste of what a disaster a Ferrari can be in traffic. It's Saturday, we're near the Galleria, and traffic is crawling. It's 90 degrees and 90 per cent humidity. The car is hot, I'm hot, turning on the AC blows cool but makes the car want to stall. Opening the window is a mild relief. We can't find the rental place; after missing the address three times and making several U turns, the car stalls. Starting the car has never been easy; there seems to be a flaw in the charging system somewhere, and I've been driving around not getting the revs up to the point where the ammeter registers positively. I get her started, realize that this must be vapor lock switch on the electric pump. Much better. But I'm drenched in sweat. Pull into a parking lot, tell Pat to find the rental place and come get me. After a while she comes back, on foot. The place was in a hotel, set back from the road, with no sign! Duh. We get in the car, get her started, and find our way to the freeway. Once on the "open road" things are much better. The battery gets fully charged, water and oil temps stabilize about 185. We try the AC again - it works great. In fact, it's easy to get it to blow frost. This is a novelty, since neither of us has owned a car with AC before. The compressor rumbles a bit when the clutch is engaged, there's some whine from the diff above 65mph, and some judder from the front end just at 80. I don't really trust the tires much beyond that anyway. There's a slight bit of coolant leak at the neck, and the fuel gauge needle is pretty wiggly. Oil stays nice and clear. Pat is able to drive the car for only a few hours at a time - with a shim of about four inches of foam behind her back. Unfortunately, this places the end of the squab in the middle of her thighs, causing her feet to fall asleep. Driving in traffic is nigh on impossible, given the inadequate seating position and VERY stiff clutch. We make Ft. Hancock that night, 530 miles in 9 hours. About 16.5 mpg and a quart of oil. Overall, the impression is "wow". I'm used to driving small British sports cars of the 60s; arguably too small for me, and still built for the esthetic that says a sports car shouldn't have anything on it that doesn't make it go faster. I've owned a Mercedes before, and that was luxurious, but soft - a living room couch on wheels. This car is a decent size for me - my legs are fully extended and I can see out the windshield without crouching - and it's luxurious and fully featured, but I can still hear the engine and feel the road. Sunday. The word for today is HOT. Tolerably cool until El Paso, amazingly hot through Tucson. (Turns out it was their first 100+ day of the year.) The AC couldn't keep up during the worst of the afternoon, but we were glad to have it. Wish the windows were tinted even a little bit; the huge greenhouse and the black interior aren't helping. That and I'm getting outside air at my feet. Temps pushed up past 190, fuel pump has started drooling a bit at shutdown. We spent 16 hours on the road today, made it to Yuma, AZ, almost 700 miles. We're beat, but that was environmental more than the car - a smooth comfortable ride. Making about 18mpg today, two quarts of oil. Monday. A day of contrasts. We leave Yuma early to cross the desert while it's cool - don't even switch on the AC. Sand dunes - I don't think I've ever seen them on an inland desert. Shortly thereafter, Alpine hills/mountains - Pat says that the only thing missing to make it seem like we're in Switzerland is cows in the pastures. Heavy winds during the climb, temperatures are almost too low - probably need a warmer thermostat. Drag our way through San Diego and hit midday traffic in Los Angeles. Breathe a big sigh as we turn off onto Highway 1 and head north. Make a short day, stop in Morro Bay. Power steering isn't great for the twisties, almost too light - until you start pushing hard, at which point the steering is great but the tires really aren't up to it. In fact, the handling is as good as my autocross car (modulo the rotten tires) - despite the fact that it weighs 75% more! Only 11 hours today, 540 miles, about 15 mpg and two quarts. Tuesday. Morning inspection shows that the radiator is seeping and the power steering reservoir is quite low. Sure enough, there's fluid under and around. Sigh. But it's a gorgeous day to see San Simeon and head up the coast to Pacific Grove. A driving day - third and fourth gear through the twisties all day, concentrating on the road and trying to see the ocean. Down into the 14s for mpg today. Wednesday. An easy drive home to Palo Alto. Overall, 1967 miles, 16.3mpg, 6 quarts of oil. That's maybe a little high, but we were expecting 500 miles/quart, so I'm not too worried - there are certainly still some leaks! Since then, we've done lots of more-or-less minor repairs. Pulled the radiator (boy is that a job!) to get the leaks resoldered, and realized that someone had installed the wrong cap, causing it to overpressurize. Fixing that fixed the leaks (we had a nasty little episode where she overheated and blew her coolant just as we drove in to get an estimate for insurance purposes.) While the radiator was out, I replaced the front crank shaft seal, which was the major remaining oil leak. And had the alternator rebuilt, which solved all the charging system problems. I fixed some misconnected wiring that prevented the interior lights from working. There were several other electrical oddities as well. After about a month of searching, I determined that yes, the power steering pump was a ZF copy of a GM part (or vice versa) and found a rebuild kit. That solved the shaft seal leak, and we've chased down a couple other leaks in the p/s plumbing so it now doesn't leak at all. Much phoning and faxing located an extra set of seat rails. We decided not to undo the original work from the factory, so we pulled off the modified bits from the seat and put on stock ones; all the original fitting holes were still there. So now Pat can drive the car comfortably. Other than that, we've gone over the interior several times with Lexol and Hide Food. I pulled the rear shocks and stiffened them a bit. I put Redline MTL into the tranny to ease the shifting a bit. We spent a while figuring out all the things that were worn/wrong with the heating and vent system, replacing vent hose and several valve diaphragms that were severely swollen - now there's heat, it's controllable, and there is no longer outside air coming into the driver's footwell. One of these days we'll pull the clock and gas tank sender and repaint the wheels. We've played with various spark plugs, and had a great week in Monterey at the FCA convention and Monterey Historic Races. Soon it will be time to set the valves again! All in all, she's been very reliable, with nothing more than the sorts of troubles I'd expect when resurrecting any car from a long slumber. There was a (short) period where she was the only car running. We take her out at least once a week, driving up one of my favorite twisty mountain roads to breakfast, and back via the freeway to get some speed. We regularly take her out for show-off rides for people who have always wanted to ride or drive a Ferrari. Damn good fun. And I spend a good bit of time just standing around and admiring her.