No, this is not a script for a TV mystery. It’s an exercise in prying out a secret “glitch” in a vintage Jaguar. I now fully understand that to be a Jaguar mechanic, it would be a tremendous asset to be at least a distant relative of Sherlock Holmes. But I digress—let’s start at the beginning.
About two and a half years ago, I bought a 1961 Mark II from a guy in California. It’s not a show car but I have to say it’s pretty damned nice. I don’t think it’s ever seen a snowflake. The interior is like new and virtually everything but the door hinges have been rebuilt. Most of the mechanical work was done in 1993 and ’94. It had been driven about 7,000 miles since then. If you can believe it, there aren’t even many traces of vital fluids on my garage floor after two and a half years.
So, what’s my problem? From the day I got it, it started OK, ran just fine—except when you stood on the “go” pedal. Then, it would cough and backfire. However, under moderate acceleration it would get up to the century mark and easily maintain it.
My first thought was that it probably had some stale old California gas in it! So I motored over to Fleet Farm in Hudson and got a tankful of real premium gas (no ethanol). That didn’t help. Now, even prior to this point, despite my Polish heritage, I was just smart enough to know that if I was to drive an old Jag, I’d better have a “go to” guy handy. I got in touch with Glenn Nickleski and determined here was a guy that was dumb enough to own a jag and yet smart enough to fix one. Glenn has been a great asset and a good friend.
So, anyway, Glenn suggested I put some kind of elixir in the gas that would possibly “degunk” things. Great idea but it did not solve my problem.
I ended up at Glenn’s and he checked the timing, the carb settings, and a bunch of other things. He did not tear into the works because the engine was hot and in order get the air cleaner completely off the carbs, your body has to flex in places that no longer flex. Glenn was somewhat reluctant to risk major skin grafts from burns just so I could drive a “non-sputtering” Jag home. We agreed to call it a day and tackle this annoying problem in the Spring of 2010.
Spring of 2010 came and Glenn came over with his tools. He pulled the air cleaner assembly off the cold motor and made it look easy. He checked all the carb needle settings and tried it. Nothing, plus the carbs looked real clean. I knew they had been rebuilt. He then checked to see if gas was getting to the carbs. It was. Keep in mind that at this point we didn’t know whether it was fuel or spark.
He went to the distributor and detected some pitting of the points. He went home, got a new set of points, and I installed them. Now, it would not run at all. We’d made progress of a sort. It didn’t seem to have a real sharp spark so I ordered a condenser, rotor, and distributor cap. Still nothing, even after Glenn rechecked the timing etc. I forgot to mention that we replaced a little wire on the back side of the condenser that seemed quite frayed.
Glenn pulled out all the plugs and put a little gas in each cylinder. It still would not start but we did note that all the plugs were perfectly dry even after turning the engine over a lot. Glenn went home scratching his by now even grayer hair. Here were two old engineers that had spent quite a few hours trying to pry a secret out of this old lady and we were stumped.
I only had one more ace in the hole. Glenn and I could not figure this old lady out but maybe, just maybe, I would get a revelation if I enlisted the help of my old friend Jack Daniels. So I poured out a shot and opened my Barrett Catalog to a blown up view of a 5V carb. Within two minutes—even before the Jack Daniels was gone—I said, “Hot damn!” I saw a diaphragm just under the main jet. We knew gas was getting to the float chamber but this was beyond that. I knew the carbs had been rebuilt but that had been sixteen years ago and we all know what happens to old rubber.
I called Glenn. He came over and disassembled the carbs only to find the diaphragm looked perfect. My comment was, “Oh shucks.” but spelled a little different. After more head scratching, Glenn suggested we may have the plug wires installed in the distributor cap in the wrong order. I almost told him that was a stupid idea since my son, the brilliant electrical engineer, had replaced the cap. Fortunately, I remained silent. In defense of my son, it turns out that on the Jag, the number one cylinder is in the rear. The Limeys had once again stuck it to us. We switched the wires and it started. But it still puked and gasped under acceleration. The old girl retained her secret.
Glenn said he was going over to Jeff Flynn’s garage and he would drive it over for a second opinion. He picked up the car and an hour later, the phone rang. It was Glenn. Did I have AAA? Yes! So it made the second half of the trip to Jeff’s on the back of a nice truck, compliments of AAA.
Within minutes of being unloaded at Jeff’s, his head was under the hood and he had spotted what he thought was the problem. You see the gizmos (probably not the correct term) that are at the plug end of the wires contain some little parts that are there to suppress ignition noise in the radio. They tend to corrode and then suppress the engine. Incidentally, the wires looked like new. Glenn put new ends on the wires, test drove it, and came back smiling. The Grand Old Lady had finally given up her secret.
Now when you step your foot on it, it does what a good old Jaguar should. What a sweet thing to drive!
Thanks, Glenn and Jeff.