The Atomic Cockroach. 1/7/2005
I was exposed to supercars at a very impressionable age, in my teens to be exact. I had previously, in my youth, had no interest in cars whatsoever, preferring to concentrate my energies on scale models of aircraft and ships. When I reached my mid teens I was forced to seek employment, and my dad helped me out by getting me a job at the workshop where he sent his car for repairs.
I approached this with some trepidation, not exactly having the most mechanical of minds, at the time, and not having a history of fixing things, aside from being meticulous about the way I put together my model kits. I reported for work, and James, the boss, was kind enough to take me in, and introduce me to everyone as the newest ‘gofer’ in the workshop. I looked around, and realised that the shop was divided into 2 sections, one for road cars, and the other for race cars. Race cars! The real deal. Fiberglass and duralumin conconctions of staggeringly high, nose bleeding price tags.
James assigned me to assist two of his mechanics, a big, fat, jovial guy named Lee, and a skinny, mustachioed man named Yam. Lee gave me my first introduction into all things mechanical. Things like the proper use of tools. The care of engines. Proper measuring techniques. Yam thought me a lot about being thorough, and how to find the most efficient way of doing things. And James taught me how to diagnose problems, to listen to machines, to be analytical in the way I approached problems.
After a while of working as a gofer, James decided I was doing well enough to be able to handle specific jobs on my own. He first assigned me to perform basic mechanical services for various road cars, at the time, usually souped up Ford Escorts and hot Minis. After a while, I was tasked with being pit crew for a member of one of the Royal houses who was racing a very, very trick Ford Escort in the local race series. I did well enough as a mechanic to gain the respect of the other, more senior mechanics, and the appreciation of quite a few of the customers.
One day, when I was working on the cylinder head of a racing Ford, I heard this rasping howl that sent shivers down my spine. It was like the baying of wolves having scented blood, with the clatter of a thousand spanners rattling around inside a 55 gallon drum. There was a bass note to the exhaust that made the floor tremble. I looked up, as did everyone else in the shop, and we all laid eyes on the Atomic Cockroach.
In the early 80s, there were very few turbocharged cars, turbos at the time having a reputation for being high maintenance and very expensive. Mitsubishi had their Starion, Audi had the Quattro, and Nissan had the 280z. And none of the them could hold a candle to the yuppie’s wet dream of the 80’s, the Atomic Cockroach, otherwise known as the Porsche Carrera Turbo. Tagged as the engineer’s car, it was a machine designed to intimidate, and a reputation for being evil handling if you were not a skilled driver. The power oversteer characteristics of the Carrera turbo were legendary, the tail heavy rear engined configuration catching more than one driver unawares during spirited driving.
I stood up, and was immediately smitten. Lust. Puppy love. Head over heels. That purposeful nose, that wide wheeled stance, those flaring wheel arches. For me, this was the ultimate incarnation of Dr Ferdinand Porsche’s inital sketches of Hitler’s ‘People’s Car’. That Teutonic chunk of machinery threatened mayhem on the highways, with the sneer of knowing that no other machine came close in sheer brutality. The Italians, represented by Ferrari and Lamborghini, were effete champagne sipping, Cote D’Azur fair weather machines by comparison. The Carrera, when you first laid eyes on it, you knew, just simply knew, deep in your bones, was a machine designed for rampaging down the autobahn at 3 digit speeds, close to the take off speed of a small jet, mowing down Mercedes and Audis and Volkswagens in its path.
This particular car belonged to a hotelier in the city, and had come in because the owner was complaining of erratic idling. James saw this car, and asked me to take care of it. I was surprised, because the other mechanics had heaps more experience than I did with fixing cars. But I jumped at the chance, and prepared myself for the car by taking home the service manual with me and devouring it from cover to cover.
I came into work the next day, and started work on the Atomic Cockroach, stripping the timing gear, and heads, and finding the cause of the problem, a cog on one of the cams that was slightly out due to a stripped bolt. I replaced the bolt, and gave the heads a once over while they were off. I changed the fluids, and hooked the car up to a diagnostic computer. And then took it for a test drive. At 150 m.p.h. I came back, and James then took the car out for another spin. And came back with a wide grin on his face, and pronounced himself satisfied. And asked me to deliver the car back to the owner later that night to the hotel where he worked.
I did so, and the owner asked me to get into the passenger’s seat, and took the car out for a spin into the Golden Triangle in the city. I had, at that point, thought I was a good driver, and fast, but this guy showed me a thing or two. He knew how to keep the turbo spinning on song, with the boost at the exact point of where the engine would make the most power and torque. We rolled up into the driveway of the hotel, and he asked me if I had done the work on the car. I replied in the affirmative, and he nodded and told me I had done a good job, which pleased me to no end. And he fished out $100 from his wallet and gave it to me for a tip.
Now, $100 may not sound like a lot these days. I can get through 10 times that amount these days just having a sashimi dinner. But way back then, it represented slightly over a week’s pay for me. I was pleased as punch, and thanked the owner of the Atomic Cockroach, and made my way home. That night, I bought everyone at home supper, and treated myself to a pair of sunglasses, the original Ray Ban aviator style shades. I went back to work the next day, sporting my new shades, and James asked how it went, and I said that the owner was pleased with the car, and gave me a tip, and James smiled and said that I had earned it. He told me that a happy customer was more likely to return, and true enough the Cockroach came back into the shop for its regular maintenance and what-nots.
And the owner would always request that I looked after his car. It got to the point where he would call from his office, and ask me to come over to the hotel where he worked. I would come to the lobby, and he would come down a few minutes or so later, throw the keys at me, and ask me to bring him to the airport. I would drive out of the city, and towards the airport, and he would give me a list of things he wanted done to the car while he was away, sometimes for up to a week, or more. And I would go pick him up at the airport on his return with the Atomic Cockroach. And he would tell me to feel free to use the car while he was away.
- Posted in : On the road
- Author : thesnark
Comments»
The Atomic Cockroach.
A great fast car story for the weekend….