Chapter 34: I Almost Became a Trespasser
Chapter 34: I Almost Became a Trespasser
AMC—the American Motors Corporation—Rambler.
The reason the name sounded unfamiliar to many people was simple.
The company no longer existed.
Strictly speaking, it had been absorbed by Chrysler, but even that had happened nearly forty years ago.
Forty years earlier, when AMC was still actively doing business, the Big Three of the American automobile industry were Ford, GM, and Chrysler.
Surrounded by those enormous corporate dinosaurs, the smaller AMC adopted a survival strategy of doing the opposite of the major manufacturers.
When the Big Three were concentrating on large, flashy cars, AMC instead gambled on small, economical vehicles.
(Translator’s Note: The Big Three — The traditional collective name for General Motors, Ford, and Chrysler, the three companies that dominated the American automobile industry for much of the twentieth century.)
That was how the Rambler American was born.
(Translator’s Note: Rambler American — An economical compact car produced by AMC from 1958 to 1969. It was marketed as a smaller and more fuel-efficient alternative during a period when major American manufacturers concentrated heavily on large cars.)
At first, the market ignored it because of its small and unimpressive appearance, but before long, it became enormously popular.
The reason was none other than its Airliner Reclining Seats, which could be folded completely flat.
Drive-in theater dates were all the rage in the United States at the time, so young couples gradually began buying Ramblers with seats that reclined all the way down.
Realizing what was happening, the manufacturer openly advertised it as “the car with twin beds” and took full advantage of the opportunity, eventually achieving the remarkable feat of placing third in compact-car sales.
However, from a restorer’s perspective, the Rambler’s true charm lay elsewhere.
Its almost absurd level of parts compatibility.
Since AMC was a smaller manufacturer, it used huge numbers of OEM components from larger companies to keep costs down.
To give an idea of the extent of it, the transmission might come from Chrysler, the ignition components from Ford, and the fuel-system parts from GM.
Among all of those, what I was targeting was the engine.
If the Rambler’s stock 4.2-liter crankshaft was installed in a Jeep 4.0-liter block, the increased displacement inside the cylinders would produce an unheard-of 4.6-liter inline-six engine.
(Translator’s Note: Jeep 4.0-liter inline-six — An AMC-designed six-cylinder engine introduced for the 1987 model year and used in vehicles including the Jeep Cherokee. It became known for durability, strong low-speed torque, and suitability for stroker builds.)
It was a modification known as a Frankenstein build or, more commonly, a stroker build, and it could produce up to 320 horsepower without forced induction.
(Translator’s Note: Stroker build — An engine modification using a crankshaft with a longer piston stroke, increasing displacement and usually improving torque. Combining an AMC 4.2-liter crankshaft with a Jeep 4.0-liter block is a well-known Jeep inline-six stroker configuration.)
(Translator’s Note: Frankenstein build — Informal mechanical slang for an engine assembled from components belonging to different engines or models. The name refers to the creature assembled from disparate body parts in Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel Frankenstein.)
Of course, our opponent Cyrus’s Charger was a five-hundred-horsepower monster.
But the Rambler is light.
The Dodge Charger weighed approximately 4,200 pounds, or around 1,900 kilograms.
The Rambler, by contrast, weighed only about 2,500 pounds, or roughly 1,100 kilograms.
That was a difference of seventeen hundred pounds, or about 770 kilograms.
In other words, the Charger would effectively be racing while carrying ten additional adult men.
If I’m still worried, there is also the option of adding a turbo and making it a turbo-stroker setup….
That would produce terrifying power, but the required costs would increase exponentially.
The objective of this build was to make it easy, fast, and inexpensive, so that was not the direction we wanted.
Besides….
I’m confident we can win with only 320 horsepower.
It was simple arithmetic once the power-to-weight ratio was calculated.
We would also be reducing even more weight….
“Hello, Steven?”
“Hey, Jason. What’s up?”
The next day, I called Steven to give him the parts list I had spent the entire day preparing.
Come to think of it, this was the first time I had ever called him first.
“I finished the parts list. I’m going to read everything out in one go, so write it down properly. I’m not repeating it.”
“What!? W-wait a second!”
Crash, bang—
A series of noisy sounds came through the phone.
A few seconds later—
“Okay! I’m ready.”
“I’ll start with the engine components. Wiseco forged pistons with a 9.3-to-1 compression ratio, Eagle reinforced H-beam connecting rods, a Clifford six-two-one header….”
(Translator’s Note: Compression Ratio — The ratio between the cylinder’s volume when the piston is at its lowest point and its volume when the piston is at its highest. Increasing the ratio can improve power and efficiency but also raises temperature, mechanical stress, and the risk of abnormal combustion.)
Even though I had chosen the simplest possible build, the list of required components was far longer than I had imagined.
Unlike restoration, which reused as many original parts as possible, tuning was an entirely different field that required extensive reinforcement throughout the vehicle.
For a drag car in particular, merely increasing power was not enough. Properly setting up the suspension and chassis so that the power could be transferred to the ground was extremely important.
“Wow…. You prepared this entire thing in one day? Even experienced drag racers usually spend days making a parts list when they build a completely unfamiliar car….”
Steven exclaimed in admiration through the receiver.
“Anyway, looking over the list, it seems like you chose everything perfectly. Ah… but there are two major components here that I can’t get through my suppliers.”
“You mean the Jeep engine head and the GM three-speed automatic transmission, right?”
Both had been discontinued decades ago, so I had naturally expected that.
“I thought so, but I added them just in case. I guess I’ll have to go on a junkyard tour.”
I released a long sigh.
Of course, I could obtain them immediately through the Coin Market.
However, if I presented Steven with those two components in practically brand-new condition, he would immediately realize something was strange.
“Hmm…. No. You don’t need to go on an entire tour. I’ll send you an address, so try looking there. I’ll prepare the rest of the parts in the meantime.”
“Really? All right. Then contact me again when everything is ready.”
“Okay! Oh, right. When you get there, don’t say I sent you. He might charge you more for no reason. Talk to you later.”
Click.
His final warning was somewhat strange, but thanks to him, I would not have to search through junkyards beneath the scorching Arizona desert sun.
Joe’s Scrap & Parts…. That’s certainly a straightforward name.
After checking the address he had sent, I immediately started my beloved Chevy truck.
Vrooom—
The engine started smoothly, making all the work I had done worthwhile.
I had thought the ZIP code looked familiar.
The yard was close enough to reach within fifteen minutes from my warehouse.
Junkyards would probably be among the places I visited most frequently while working in restoration.
Having a regular place this close would be convenient in many ways.
But why did he tell me not to say he referred me?
He said I might be charged more.
Normally, mentioning a referral was supposed to get you better treatment, not worse.
“Well, I’ll find out when I get there.”
After driving along an unpaved dirt road for several minutes with a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation, I spotted a thin sheet-metal sign hanging above a bent chain-link fence.
{Joe’s Scrap & Parts}
It was a simple name without any of the embellishment commonly seen around here.
A longer sentence had been written crookedly by hand on a wooden board hanging below it.
“Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again.”
It was probably a warning mixed halfway with humor rather than something completely serious, but it was enough to understand the owner’s character.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
First, I loudly called out while knocking against the wire gate, which looked as though it might not even function properly.
Creeeak—
The only answer was a melancholy metallic groan.
Usually, in situations like this, the proper thing to do was avoid wandering into the yard and head straight for the office.
The gate was open, and the building that appeared to be the office was nearby, so I carefully stepped inside.
Along the short path to the office, countless cars lay scattered across the dry desert.
The landscape resembled the wreckage of a battlefield from a movie.
However, among them, I spotted several vehicles that would look like true gems only to someone who knew what they were seeing.
Isn’t that a Chevelle SS? There’s a Road Runner too, though half of it is missing….
The fact that I salivated while looking at old, worn-out cars no one else would even glance at meant I had truly entered the world of vehicle restoration.
Knock, knock—
“Is anyone here? I came to look for some parts.”
The office was a converted twenty-foot shipping container.
I knocked hard several times, but no answer came.
“Is this place actually open…?”
I walked around to the side of the office and looked through a small window.
Only the monitor on top of a cluttered desk was blinking. There was no sign of a person.
“The phone isn’t working either. Should I come back another time?”
I could not keep standing beneath the hot sun and blowing sand indefinitely, so I was about to give up and leave when—
Clack—
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The sound of a shotgun being pumped came from behind me, followed by a rough voice that scraped against my ears like metal dragged across steel.
A shotgun being racked?
The man was clearly holding a gun.
However, I was not particularly nervous.
“…I came to purchase automobile parts. My name is Jason.”
I slowly but naturally turned around and introduced myself.
There was no hesitation or trembling in either my voice or movements.
Standing behind me was a man in his fifties with a jaw covered in rough facial hair.
He had a bear-like build and wore a red plaid shirt. His brown eyes carried considerable force.
“What, a customer? Tsk. Didn’t you see what was written outside?”
The man lowered the muzzle of the shotgun toward the ground and spoke in a somewhat softened tone.
A Mossberg 500 shotgun…. Apparently, the warning sign wasn’t entirely a joke.
The shotgun in his hands was a common model used for home defense or driving away wild animals because it was inexpensive and easy to operate.
I remained motionless until he set the shotgun completely aside and leaned it against the wall.
“So, what parts are you looking for? Cough, cough! Damn this endless sand-laden wind….”
The man introduced himself as Joe, then removed a hip flask from his back pocket and took a swig.
He habitually offered it to me as well while asking his question.
The slight grimace he made while swallowing made it clear that the liquid was not water, so I gently shook my head before answering.
“I’m fine. I have to drive. I’m looking for a 1995 Jeep engine block and cylinder head, both cast iron. I also need a TH400 three-speed transmission.”
(Translator’s Note: TH400 — General Motors’ Turbo-Hydramatic 400, a durable three-speed automatic transmission introduced for the 1964 model year. It became widely used in large cars, trucks, performance vehicles, and drag-racing builds.)
“Hmph. Building an off-road truck?”
“No. I’m planning to swap them into a Rambler.”
“Ah…. So you’re a drag junkie. You don’t look like one. I already have a transmission removed. Follow me for the engine.”
Joe seemed to roughly understand the purpose merely from hearing that I intended to put it in a Rambler.
He gestured for me to follow and trudged deeper into the yard.
Even while walking, he did not forget to take occasional sips from his flask.
After weaving through the maze of stacked vehicles, we finally reached an old Jeep.
Its exterior was in terrible condition, as though it had rolled over several times, but fortunately, the engine compartment appeared intact.
“You’re lucky. Jeep 4.0-liter cast-iron engines are durable, so tuners buy them up fast. You know how to pull an engine, right? Don’t expect me to help.”
“Would it be all right if I brought my truck over and used my hoist?”
There were ways to remove an engine without a hoist, but that would require taking it out from underneath together with the transmission, wasting considerable time and labor.
“Hmm…. Fine. But don’t even think about quietly taking any extra parts. I know every component on every car here, down to the last bolt.”
Between greeting me with a shotgun and saying that, it seemed he had suffered considerably from thieves.
Then again, there was no way he could personally monitor such a vast yard at all times….
“Don’t worry. You can inspect everything afterward.”
“Tsk. Then come to the office when you’re done.”
Joe stared at my face for a moment before abruptly turning and walking away.
Good thing I brought tools and a hoist just in case.
A place where customers removed the parts they wanted themselves and then paid for them was known as a pull-and-pay yard.
It was a fairly common business model among junkyards on the outskirts of Arizona.
Many yards prohibited customers from bringing outside vehicles or using hoists, but Joe had allowed both, so I had nothing to complain about.
Then let’s start taking it apart.
Come to think of it, I had installed plenty of engines, but this was my first time removing one.
It was merely the reverse of an installation, so there should not be anything difficult about it.
I crawled under the vehicle and first loosened the torque-converter bolts connecting the engine to the transmission. Then I returned to the engine compartment and removed the engine-mount bolts one by one.
The work felt as familiar and comfortable as anything I had always done.
Click, click, click—
The faint sound of a metal ratchet turning echoed through the hot, silent junkyard.