The End of the Aluminum Falcon

An era has ended. The Aluminum Falcon has left the premises.

If you're not familiar with the Aluminum Falcon, that was my beloved 1994 Volvo 850 Turbo. I bought it for cash so that I would no longer have to drive my wife's former dream car, a wheezy '94 Camaro that was bright red and pointy and . . . well, that was about the end of its good qualities. It had a 3.4L V6 (it was made too early in the model year to get the excellent 3800 3.8L V6 that was introduced to Camaros in 1994) along with a terrible automatic transmission, crappy brakes, doors approximately the length and weight of rowboats, and a huge exterior combined with a cramped interior. Wait, I forgot, it had Z28 wheels, t-tops and a spoiler. Now how much would you pay? I hated it. The only thing worse than that car was trying to transport three kids in that car. We bought a minivan and my wife claimed it, so I was stuck with the Camaro until we'd paid off all our debt except the mortgage and saved up some cash.

The Aluminum Falcon was good in all the ways the Camaro was bad:

• I loved the engine, a turbocharged inline 5-cylinder. I'm sure it wasn't perfect, but it had power ready for me when and where I wanted it.
• The suspension was a lovely balance of comfort and feedback.
• Steering was quick if a little heavy and the turning radius was tight.
• Great brakes. I loved the brakes.
• Four doors, comfortable seating for five, and a useful trunk.
• No unnecessary boy-racer doodads on the outside except a set of alloy five-spoke wheels the previous owner had installed. Even those were low-key.

But all good things come to an end. It was an older car, no matter how recent 1994 feels to me.  It had a lot of miles; I put a lot of them on. Volvos have a reputation for being 300-400k cars, but this one was creeping up toward 230,000 if my math was right. And it had its little quirks:

• The odometer was frozen at 180,000 miles or so. This is a Volvo known issue, and there's a fix, but it involves taking apart the dash. I don't do that lightly, because as near as I can tell, dashboards are not designed to come apart and go back together again.
• There was a fuel leak because of a cracked line on top of the fuel tank. Again, a known issue--replacing the electric fuel pump in these things is a snap thanks to an access hatch in the trunk, but it often results in cracking a fitting that causes a very minor fuel leak. Again, there's a fix, but you just about have to drop the tank, and on a daily driver . . . . I never got around to it.
• One of those fancy rims was bent. I couldn't find one of the same style, so I always thought I'd eventually find a full set of Volvo wheels, but I never pulled the trigger because, well, the thing was still running, right? Daily driver.
• The outside hood release was a zip tie sticking out through the grill, because I broke the factory piece Volvo uses.
• The right front headlight was badly cracked (but still working.) I actually went so far as to purchase new glass for that part . . . but never installed it. Packing tape was getting the job done, so . . . 
• The glove box doesn't open. This is because it lost the ability to latch closed and would pop open at random times, even with the car sitting parked. I tried to fix it a few times, gave up, and did some kind of permanent fix. I honestly don't remember exactly what I did, but now it doesn't open no matter what you do. Problem solved. Problem staying solved.

Farewell, My Bitchin' Camaro

I went out and started up the Camaro this afternoon just to make sure, and it purred like a kitteh and held 185 degrees rock-steady. Sweet. Between the new muffler, new belts, hoses, water pump, coolant flush and fill, fuel pump, tire repairs, console repair, new struts in the back hatch and a lot of detailing, it was starting to look good even to me. Then I called up "John," our prospective buyer, and told him I'd just started her up and she was running great.

"That's good!" he replied. "I got my friend with me to drive it and I'm actually on my way over there to see you." And he was. He pulled up a few minutes later with the asking price in crisp bank bills. We signed the title over to him, gave him the box and remote control for the stereo (We don't be pimpin' enough to use no remote control for no car stereo, but you never know.) He was excited to get the car; I was excited to get it out of the driveway, and the money comes at a good time, too.

When he left, I thought about the simplicity of our little capitalist free-market transaction. He wanted the car more than he wanted the money--presumably, he thought it was worth more than I was asking, and he felt like he was getting the best of the deal. I wanted the money much more than the car (I've already noticed that the bills take up a lot less room than the car, and I don't have to wonder which neighborhood punk is going to key them tonight.) and would have sold for a little less than he gave me. Nobody had to subsidize the transaction. Nobody had to force us, either. Each side wanted to make a deal, so the deal was made. There are people out there who would say I took advantage of him because I sold him a car for asking price when I would have accepted less, but he was shown every known problem the car had and he still wanted it. I gather he's got a lot more garage space than I do, and I expect to see the car around town in much better shape soon.

There are also people who will say I got taken because he would have paid more. Maybe he would have, but I wanted the car gone ASAP more than I wanted a few extra dollars, so I made some repairs and left the price the same. I didn't get cheated, because I knew what I was doing and chose what was most important to me. If he fixes it up and makes a fantastic ride out of it . . . good for him! The bottom line is that a buyer and a seller found each other, decided that each wanted what the other had, and made a deal to get it in such a way that everyone walked away with a big smile on his face. That's how a free market works, and I can't figure out why it's so controversial.

And with that . . . . goodbye, Bitchin' Camaro. You will be missed . . . because you finally went away.

The Camaro, She Torments Me

My wife got a call yesterday from someone who wants to look at the Camaro and possibly buy it. This is glad news.

What she didn't know was that the day before, I'd run the engine just to keep things charged and lubricated and whatnot, and steam had issued forth. As near as I can tell, the water pump shaft seal let go and coolant is coming out of the weep hole (I can't wait to see what the Google searches look like for the next week now that I have "weep hole" typed here. Twice.) My Bride is picking up a water pump in Springfield today and then we'll see.

I HOPE it's the water pump, because that actually seems pretty straightforward on this model. Last time I was losing coolant, it was a freeze plug, and that one cost me some bucks at a Chevy dealership. If this is the water pump, it's a shade-tree solution.