Well, I’ve done it again! I’ve just come in from the garage, and my motor is scattered all over the floor; engine case to the left, cylinder heads to the right, carburetors in the corner, and engine tin spread across the work bench. I blame it on The Red Distributor Theory. Let me explain…
Back in the mid-1980’s, my then girlfriend (and now wife), Cathy, gave me Bill Fisher’s excellent 1970 book, How to Hot Rod Volkswagen Engines. I devoured that book, reading it cover-to-cover several times, largely due to my inability to understand it, than my fondness for it. I simply did not have the technical background or experience at that time to comprehend it. Ignorance being bliss, I wore out the pages (it did have cool photos, after all).
Contemplating the book’s deep technical analysis and testing, it became clear to me that the stock engine in our flat black 1971 Super Beetle would be “totally bitchen’” if it had a red distributor. I could not have misunderstood the intention behind that book (form following function; building reliable horsepower; etc.) more, but failing to grasp things has been a hallmark of mine, and has yet to let me down. Or perhaps I’ve failed to grasp when I’ve been let down by failing to grasp things? But I digress.
Picking out the perfect shade of red at the local auto parts store, I drove home, rolled-up my sleeves, and dove right in. My mechanical expertise at the time being limited to changing the oil, I was in for a challenge. Sitting in the driveway, I studied the engine in a Zen-like state of awareness; I was convinced that if I meditated in the presence of the distributor long enough, it would tell me how to remove it from the engine. It didn’t.
Unplugging anything associated with the distributor, accompanied by Cathy asking “are you sure you know what you’re doing?” (A question that continues to this day), I was able to remove it from the engine. On my work bench, I also removed the “round thingy” (which I discovered later was called the condenser); the “plastic thingy” (which I discovered later was called the distributor cap); and the “springy clips” (which I discovered later were called distributor cap clips – at least I got that one half-right).
Carefully masking the shaft and inside of the distributor, I painted several coats of Fire Engine Red paint. It was a sight to behold, sitting on my work bench like a glowing beacon in an otherwise dark, dusty basement. Leaving it for the night to dry, I was proud of my entrance to the custom car scene. “Big Daddy” Ed Roth had nothing on me!
I sprang from bed the next morning, eager to complete my little project. I was feeling so confident that I decided that the red distributor needed something else on the engine to “work with,” so I removed the factory “oil bath” air cleaner, degreased it (not fun), and blessed it as well with several coats of Fire Engine Red paint. While the air cleaner was drying, I began to reassemble the distributor. The force of beginner’s luck was with me, because the end result looked like a distributor (or at least like the picture of a distributor in my owner’s manual, minus the red paint).
Moving back out to the driveway, I carefully installed the air cleaner and distributor, and it looked great! My sense of Feng Shui was spot on, as the red air cleaner and distributor were a great sense of balance, contrasting perfectly with the spray painted flat black car (or so I thought at the time). I was feeling so confident that I called Cathy out for the unveiling, who said “I’m proud of you” with a wry smile and supportive demeanor. “How does it run?” She asked.
Reaching into the car and turning the ignition key, the engine would not start. “Hmmm” I thought to myself, “must need some gas.” Cranking the ignition with my foot to the floor, the car would still not start. Being more optimistic than mechanically intelligent at the time, I continued to crank the car, but to no avail. The distributor had let me down, and I was very disappointed in it. Hours later, having found the “small brown plastic thingy” (which I discovered later was called the rotor) on my workbench, I installed it and the engine fired right up. One often encounters a few bumps along the road traveling from point “A” to point “B”.
What does The Red Distributor Theory have to do with my engine currently scattered all over the garage? It simply means that no matter how often you rationalize your efforts to restrain yourself from messing with “stuff,” you simply cannot leave “good enough” alone. Why else would someone take a perfectly good engine and tear it apart? As sure as death and taxes, The Red Distributor Theory will ensure that “good enough” never exists, and I will continually find myself in sporadic states of mechanical dysfunction.
