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By Root 290 0

lead you imperceptibly to an expensive decision, the mechanics behind the counter at any old-school speed shop seem to adopt a more ambivalent stance, in which the desire to sell is counterpoised with haughty professionalism. If you want chromed “bolt on” baubles that claim to give you power, go to a chain auto parts store to indulge your shallow fantasies. Then put the sticker on your rear window. If, on the other hand, you want to go deep and have your crank journals nitrided, you’ve come to the right place. Just tear down your motor and bring us the crank. This Olympian stance can have a powerful effect on the customer. It hints at the existence of an exclusive club that he might aspire to be a member of (those who have held a bare crankshaft in their hands). So perhaps the disdain one encounters in speed shops is a higher form of salesmanship, the kind that announces a hierarchy of human beings. But you can’t buy entry to this world, you have to earn it. There is no sticker.

Chas was a good man, and he didn’t want to be responsible for starting me down this path. Though he tried to warn me against the speed mentality, his whole life was a repudiation of such sobriety. The sheer perversity of making a VW go fast attracts a different human type than the type who is attracted to cars that are supposed to go fast. Chas clearly had a kink in his soul, and suddenly the world was a less lonely place for me.

After briefly flirting with the “hand grenade” option, which might have made 150 horsepower but would be lucky to last 20,000 miles before blowing up, and cost more to build than I had, we agreed to build a “mild” motor, one that could be expected to last 100,000 miles but still lighted up Chas’s eyes. He promised it would be “a screamer.” I spent to the tune of about 80 horsepower. First, the purchasable stuff: a crank with a 69 mm stroke, forged pistons to fit an 87 mm bore, a temperamental but voluptuous double-barrel Italian carburetor capable of full-throated arias, free-flow exhaust, a German centrifugal advance distributor, a remote oil cooler and full-flow filter, a lightened flywheel, and a heavy clutch. Just as important: some careful assembly work by Chas. The total parts bill came to $800, and Chas’s labor bill was another $800. I got the money from my grandfather.

Chas agreed to let me “help” him build the motor, that is, to stand around and get in the way, mostly, while he taught me things. Under his supervision I match-ported the intake manifolds to the intake ports on the cylinder heads. My first task was to file down the metal gasket that joins the two parts with a half-round file, to match the intake ports exactly. I then used the custom-fit gasket as a template for the intake manifolds: after painting machinist’s blue dye on the manifold flange, I used the tip of an X-acto knife to trace the outline of the gasket on the flange (the blue dye makes the scored line more visible). I then removed metal on the manifolds, using a pneumatic die grinder that spins at 25,000 rpm, and blended the new shape farther up into the manifold. The point is to match the shapes of the two passageways where they meet, eliminating discontinuities that could introduce turbulence and compromise flow. We wanted this motor to breathe.

Grinding the intake manifold

Forensic Wrenching

Match-porting is one small part of what is called “blue printing” an engine: by careful measuring and hand fitting, the motor can be brought to a higher level of precision than is achieved when you take for granted the fit of aftermarket parts—for example, these intake manifolds—where there is no consistent engineering intention among the various manufacturers. Someone building a high-performance motor combines parts from different makers, so he has to be something of an engineer himself, often modifying parts; there is nobody else in charge of making it all work together properly. (And in fact it is common for “high performance” engines to perform wretchedly, worse than stock.)

Blue printing is an extremely time-consuming process, and it