Engine Repair (and Other Nightmares)

Part One of Two
By Dave and Jaja

The other day I went to check the valve clearance on Driver's 2003 series Volvo engine. I loosened the three bolts that hold the valve cover in place, removed the decompression lever, then I very carefully lifted the cover off. There are sleeve-spacers on the bolts, between the underside of the cover and the top of the valves, and if you bump the cover while removing it, the sleeves can slide off the bolts and fall into the valve ports. The ports are about three finger-lengths deep. If the spacers fall in you have to aim the flashlight beam just right, then fish the sleeves out with a long piece of stiff wire.

To make a long story short, I tested each valve with a feeler gauge, made the necessary corrections, then I reversed the disassembly procedure. The engine still works.

Experience has shown me that when dealing with engines it helps to be a cynic: Expect the worst at all times. In other words, always be aware of what could go wrong. I know this is a "negative" way to approach do-it-yourself engine repairs, but I have learned over the years that even if you are patient and meticulously careful, a "routine" half-hour job can end up taking half the day. Discovering unanticipated mechanical problems (or simply making mistakes) can send you plummeting to intolerable levels of frustration and disbelief.

Whenever I lapse, and have a "positive" outlook, ("Look at me! I'm fixing the engine myself, and I'm saving hundreds of dollars on a repair bill! What a cinch!"), I quickly check myself, and reign in my enthusiasm. Focus, focus, focus.

A Flashback: My distrust for engines begins at age 17, while working in a Seattle boatyard. I usually get the crummy projects like grinding fiberglass, scraping bottom paint, cleaning the shop, and being forced to crawl into inaccessible lazaret lockers to hold a wrench. Occasionally, I get to do something "intelligent", but on these projects I usually manage to screw up. After a few weeks of "paying my dues", and making only minor mistakes, the foreman decides he can trust me to do something intelligent again.

He calls me into his office. In his hand is a piece of metal that looks like it belongs on an engine. He asks, "Do you have any engine experience?"

I don't. But I know that if I never get to work on a engine I won't get any. "Sure," I say. "I've got lots of experience."

He tosses the piece to me. "Know what that is?"

"Sure. It's an engine part."

He seems mollified. "There is a 33-foot Tartan sloop tied at the end of the service dock. An elbow fitting on the exhaust system has rusted out. Remove it. Install this new one. Shouldn't take you but five minutes."

I borrow some tools and set off.

There are four nuts holding the old exhaust piece onto the engine block. The first three are easy to remove, but I can't quite get the socket wrench on the fourth one. I don't want to waste time going back to the shop to get a longer extension. The foreman says it's a "five minute job", which probably means it's an easy task, but I take him literally and decide to work as fast as possible to prove my worth as a mechanic.

Instead of fetching the extension, I observe that by loosening the belt adjustment on the alternator I can push the alternator aside, thereby giving my socket wrench the necessary reach. It works! I'm so proud. "This is a cinch!," I say aloud. As I loosen the last nut all the way, I calculate how much extra money I will make each week when I am promoted to chief mechanic. The nut comes free. I pull the socket away triumphantly. To my surprise, however, the nut falls out of the socket, bounces once, then, like magic, it disappears into the alternator casing. I spin the alternator and hear the nut flicking around inside it. I have to get that nut out, or else the alternator will be ruined the second the engine starts up. But it won't come out. My heartbeat increases a notch, and I wish I had never been born.

This is my first lesson in the "negative approach" to engine repair.