A Supra Tale
The realization struck me like a
sudden jolt: My BMW 325is was gone and other than my old gsxr I had to rely
upon a twelve year old Jetta with no reverse.
I don’t know if you have ever driven a car with no reverse but it offers
many challenging situations; finding the “right” spot becomes critical as
pushing a 3000 lb car any distance is not conducive to anyone’s
well-being. The truth is the lack of
reverse stems from me popping the clutch one time too many with its old tech
2.0 four cylinder and five speed. The clutch mechanism simply stopped working
because the lever inside the trans had cracked. I rectified this problem only
to cause another when I accidently allowed a rod to pop out of the transmission
which aligned the shift rods. Ignorant of this fact I reinstalled the
transmission and then found out afterwards that reverse was no longer an
option: that was a bad day!
I knew I wanted the coolest,
sportiest ride I could get with my meager wages from Autozone. I had just graduated with my MBA and had
hopes of crossing the chasm to the hallowed ivory tower of Corporate. At first I located an ’87 Merkur XR4Ti nearby
that an enthusiast had owned. He had put an intercooler, had some headwork done
and installed a hotter cam on the 2.3 turbo four those cars came with. Unable to agree to a price I continued to
look and stumbled upon an ’84 Supra for sale on Ebay located in Ohio; nearly
800 miles away from me. My uncle had
owned one of these cars and I had always liked them though thought they sat up
too high on their tiny 14” stock wheels.
This car had a rare set of three piece Epsilon 15” x 8.5 aluminum wheels
and a motor and trans out of an ’85. I
got the car for a low $2000 and as soon as I could I drove 800 miles on a
Sunday morning nearly entering Pennsylvania. I awoke the next day in my hotel
and discovered the temperature was a bone numbing 0 degrees with snow
everywhere. I was going to tow the car
back with a dolly hitched to the back of my father’s Pontiac Torrent. I met with the seller and disconnected the
driveshaft of the car and got it hooked up to the dolly and set off back to
Mississippi. The car was gorgeous and
with an amazingly straight body and started right up. I felt a sense of victory
with my new prize as I started back on the 800 mile trek. The trip was long and I felt like I was
hallucinating near the end as I drove down the two lane highway from Jackson,
Tn into North Mississippi. The road rolled up and down and was immersed in a
smothering fog which exasperated my anxiety and exhaustion; but I persevered
and made it back to Oxford in one piece at around 12:30 that night. I woke up
in the morning and after an eight-mile run I took the car off the dolly and
admired its lines.
Over the next month I took the
entire intake manifold apart when the injectors began to leak. I replaced them
all and detailed the manifold with silver brake caliper paint and detailed the
cam covers with crinkle black paint. The
Mk.2 Supra has a 2.8 dohc straight six that is smooth with great power and possesses
a fabulous sound. A high performance
inline six has a magical sound quality that I had experienced in several BMWs I
had owned over the years. I took the wheels apart and painted the centers a
semi-gloss black and installed new Yokohama high performance summer tires. After installing a Momo wheel, Sony stereo
and numerous other items I drove it a while until one day at Autozone it failed
me in the parking lot. I only had to be there for a one hour meeting and the
car refused to start. I pushed the car into a different spot in the parking lot
and remained there for the next 8 hours trying to figure out what was wrong. I
decided it was the fuel pump so started to remove the gas tank which I had just
filled! In the Mk2 supra the gas tank has to be removed in order to replace the
fuel pump which I found out as gallons of fresh gasoline poured out all over me
saturating my clothing and forming a lake of gas in the Autozone parking lot.
It was dark now and nearly 9 pm and my good friend Tommy came out of the store to
smoke; I warned him that he had better move down or I was going to be consumed
in a giant fireball in the Autozone lot. I began envisioning it; it would be a
memorable death I thought. As the night progressed I succeeded in removing the
tank and getting it home. I had to return the next day.
Upon day two of this challenge I worked
at the store attempting to assuage the ceaseless throng of manic, desperate
customers. I occasionally glanced out of the window at my poor supra
immobilized in the parking lot with a sense of emasculation and defeat. After
work I went out and installed the tank with the fresh pump and went to start
the car; nothing! It would make sounds
like it wanted to start and then would stop!
It wasn’t the fuel pump after all. “Now what?” I thought as a sinking
feeling came over me and time was marching on. I changed the fuel filter which
was quite challenging on this car as it’s located directly under the engine on
the driver’s side, no good. I swapped out the air flow meter, coil and igniter
with spares I had all to no avail. The very last thing I thought to check was
the throttle position sensor; everyone told me that could not be the problem
but I was adamant. As my friends Brandon and Joey closed the store after 10pm
they came out to check on my progress. “This is it” I told them, “I’m not
leaving here till this car drives home”. Indeed to me this challenge was the
seminal event of my life; it was the world attempting to deprive me of my magic
machine and the life I envisioned for myself of endless drives down undulating
roads leading to Nirvana, Art, Truth and beauty. Hell, I could probably write
an Ode to the car with what it meant to me. When behind the wheel, all was
right with the world, nothing could harm me, the magic was alive; I imagined
driving down the Corniche leading into Nice listening to Dalida. As they pulled
away and the bright neon lights of the store shut off the parking lot became so
peaceful, it was just me, the car and a sky filled with stars above. Gathering
my thoughts I swapped out the TPS and
tried again: the car started right up!
It was after eleven now and though I was exhausted a surge of pride shot
through me like a surge of electricity; suddenly I was victorious, the world
had failed to relegate me to the mediocrity that I fear. As I drove through the
square all the college kids were hanging out in the streets after a night of
partying. I drove through with a triumphant aura and made it back home in glory!
As the next months progressed I finally
got my interview with Autozone and made it into the vaunted halls of their
shiny corporate edifice located directly overlooking the Mississippi in
downtown Memphis. This was the culmination of my life so far: all the cars I
had owned, worked on, obsessed over, my MBA, my frantic devotion to exceeding
all of the expectations Autozone had for me. I had been a man on a mission,
focused, obsessed, ready. I would wake at 5am and go for my five mile run just
so I could be at work at 7. I would accept the insane schedules with me having
to work from 5 to 10 pm on a Friday night. And show up the next morning at 7. I
even accepted the slave wages they compensated me with and viewed it as some
form of an internship. The future was all that mattered. I interviewed for the
position of ecommerce specialist on a Friday the 13th and three
weeks later learned that they were going to take a pass. The news hit me like a
tidal wave as all my dreams had been hitched to this wagon: my career with
Autozone and their empire of 4,600 stores, my new life on Mud Island in downtown
Memphis, The red M3 I wanted, hanging out with my two sons and playing Ms.
Pacman at the Pizzeria, All this was gone now. I drove back to the store and
quit on the spot. That dream was dead.
I had decided to rebuild the entire
front end of the Supra as I had noticed the struts were going; particularly on
the driver’s side. I disassembled the suspension and began ordering parts:
struts, balljoints, tie rod ends, rebuilt steering rack, energy suspension sway
bar bushings. I also bought an OBX R stainless steel header that I had been
searching for on the internet for over six months. I took my boys to see the motorcycle
races and the fabulous museum at Barber Motorsports Park in Birmingham and then
returned to my work. I got it all reassembled and to the alignment shop when I
was told one of the balljoints popped out! I was stunned and shocked. Turns out
that my control arms must have gotten worn out and I subsequently tried three
different brands of balljoints and none of them fit. Finally I found a set of
NOS Toyota control arms with the balljoints and bushings from a seller on Ebay
who literally saved my life. Meanwhile, I had decided to install the header
thinking that it would be a straightforward job; wrong!!
I removed the stock manifold with
no difficulty and ventured to put the header in place from below the car; it
would not get into place; no matter how I maneuvered it nothing would work. It
was July and the Mississippi heat was sweltering as I labored on with my task.
My boys were in Chicago, the dream of a corporate career for me now dead; all
that remained for me was the car. This was it. I finally decided that the power
steering bracket was obstructing the header and removed it. I had to grind away
at a section of it with my trusty cut off wheel. After numerous attempts I
finally got it just right and was able to install the header. The sound was
fantastic, like an old jag e-type or even a Ferrari I thought. All was right
with the world.
I finally put the entire front end
back together and then was able to enjoy the fruits of my labor: solid,
sensitive steering feel, Great cornering with absolute control, the sonorous
wail of the exhaust and the new found power of the silky smooth straight six.
Now I had just one more problem. My life was in complete chaos and time was
running out. I had accomplished my goals
for the car in my continuing “Car Ministry” as my father deems it. I took a car
that had old, cracked tires, leaking injectors and the effects of a sedentary
existence and turned it into a machine capable of driving anywhere. In fact,
after all the work I performed I drove it several thousand miles; enjoying
every minute of it. Though I love the car; it is the process, the experience I
value more. Nothing comes closer to my heart than the gathering of parts, the
fastidious pursuit of mechanical perfection, leaving my individual stamp on the
car; to make it the way it should be. I have owned many cars in my life so far
from a black ’49 Ford two door sedan with a flathead V8, a ’72 Pantera
resplendent in orange and black and a supercharged M3; but somehow this car has
encapsulated my fascination of cars, it is my best work thus. I went to see a
production of Tennessee William’s iconic Play “Streetcar Named Desire” the
other day and have always been affected strongly by Blanche Dubois and her
frantic cry that she wants “Magic, yes, yes, Magic”. I have always felt the
same way and I search for it every single day whether it is in a vehicle, building
or in the eyes of a beautiful woman.
