This Week in Mikuvan

Nope, it’s not Miku colored yet. Quit asking.

It’s hard to believe that I only went on the Great Van Escapade a week and some ago. Between then and now, I’ve done many hours of disassembly, testing, and debugging. I think I’ve finally rooted out the problem, but am waiting on some more advice and recommendations before proceeding. Why am I even buggering with fixing the ICE engine, with all its attendant pre-OBD-but-post-CARB Mitsubishi-only oddities, when I’m just going to unbolt it all and drop in an electric power system? Not quite sure, but some of it has to do with curiosity in figuring out exactly how much of a complexity nightmare ICE vehicles are, and others because I have 20 more days of temp plates left. Getting in some driving feel would be immensely helpful too.

Mikuvan lives in the enclosed underground parking garage under my apartment block, next to a Honda CR-V, a Volkswagen Golf, a Prius, and (among other cars) a 1963 Mercury Comet. Good, I’m not the only project car sitting in a pile of its own parts. Looking down the row of parked cars is amusing – all you see is hoods and headlights…and then there’s this.

At least it’s not on-street or outside. But the downsides of this arrangement include the total lack of AC outlet power nearby, poor lighting, and a lack of Wifi or cell reception. The nearest outlet is 75 feet away, necessitating some extension cord creativity. I have a 500W halogen work light to relieve the lighting issue, but it is still only one source. The latter issue means I often neglected to bring cameras or camera-enabled things with me into wrenching sessions. Hence, even though there were plenty of cool photo ops, this post will sadly be mostly text.

Hey, so is my air filter supposed to be furry?

The story of digging in around in the drivers seat engine bay is centered around consulting with people who know a thing or two about what cars are, then vaguely following their suggestions but ultimately falling back to the Official Strategy Guide / Shop Manual to figure out through its well-drawn but extremely narrow view diagrams where the parts in questions actually were.

It’s often said that you need 3.5 things to get an engine to work. Spark, fuel, compression, and when-does-the-spark-fire (i.e. timing the spark, the 0.5 part). I basically began by checking the ones that were easy: spark and compression. To check the timing properly would have involved exposing the timing pulleys, which, as far as I could tell necessitated removing the radiator and cooling fan shroud, then also removing the distributor cap which was more accessible. I did not feel like attempting this in the dark with limited tools. In Pennsylvania, we already verified compression, so I started by checking the spark plug lines.

I bought 2 of these in-line plug checker lights from Harbor Freight (not sure why I just didn’t go ahead and get 4). The firing order of the engine is 1 – 3 – 4 – 2, so I started by putting the lights on 1 and 3 to verify the order, then 3 and 4, and so on. Basically to make sure that 1) there was spark even if it may not be the correct timing, and that 2) the  cables weren’t switched around or something.

The sparking order checked out fine, so I began reading up on fuel injector testing and cleaning. My suspicion at this point moved to the injectors, since they were really the only element left. I highly doubted it was a timing issue in that somehow the timing belt (which is in great condition as far as I can see – it must have been replaced fairly recently) skipped 1 tooth or the distributor cap rotated enough such that I got completely inconclusive cranking – even a late spark would give me some kind of ‘puff’ and an early spark would cause premature detonation and horrible noises.

But I couldn’t help but think that all 4 injectors failing or clogging at once was extremely unlikely. In my experiences with watching friends tell stories of problem cars and from a few trouble vehicles my family has owned, engines don’t just suddenly stop working unless either something

  1. catastophically failed on the mechanical side, which I would certainly know by now, or
  2. a single electrical point of failure such as a sensor is preventing the ECU from running the engine properly

My money was moving towards some stupid sensor failure. For instance, if the crankshaft position sensor, used for fuel injection timing and electronic spark timing (the ECU fires the ignition coil when it feels like) is out, then the ECU won’t know when to do either of those things. If the throttle position sensor, which is potentiometer based, was broken or worn, it could be reporting a completely nonsensical value, though this seemed less likely since you’re never supposed to step on the throttle while starting, unless you know exactly why you have to. There’s other sensors involved too, like the mass air flow sensor which the ECU uses to determine how much fuel is metered into the cylinder.

With all of these things having to work in synchrony, I’m amazed cars function at all.

Here’s the scene of the crime, lit up by the aforementioned 500 watt halogen light. It kept the area reasonably warm, as the rest of the garage is unheated and basically settles to its own temperature by thermal inertia alone (surely it will get unbearably hot during the summer).  At this point, to access the fuel injectors and high pressure fuel rail, I have the passenger seat slung up, the driver seat removed, and the underframe of the driver seat also detached but just shuffled out of the way a bit since it has the parking brake lever, fuel door lever, seat belt anchor, and a host of other stuff on it I don’t feel like dropping into the engine.

Here’s the whole mess from the other side. The shop manual has been my reading material of choice for the past week. It’s extremely informative, but at the same time I can tell it was written by mechanics for other mechanics. I assume that the unlabeled detail shots require some background in wrenching to understand where to insert the thingimadoodle and how many degrees to turn the whatchamadoosit. There’s other info missing such as sensor pinouts right after it tells me what voltage this or that sensor should read…

…While the engine is running. How about a little help for the other case here, guys?

Before taking even more things apart to get to the injectors, I decided to see if it could tell me what was wrong.

Okay, now I’m seeing something familiar. My van debugs like a Kelly controller or Hobbyking controller!

It predates OBD (“OBD-1”), so it has multiple means of debugging available. You could buy the $500+ “multi-use tool” which is like a form of proto-OBD scanner, or you can debug with a voltmeter. Not a digital one – an analog one. It puts out little pulses of voltage so you can see the needle move (digital meters do too much time-averaging to see this effect). If I added an LED to the circuit, I literally could have watched it blink. It probably would have said “FREQUENT RESET” or something, knowing the average Kelly controller.

So an analog voltmeter it is. It took me a while of digging in MITERS to even find one of our crufty analog voltmeters, and I ended up having to make hardwire leads for it anyway.

But it worked! The key has to be turned to ON (not start) for a few seconds for the ECU to start putting out pulses. The result is:

Normal State!

Oh, come on.

My guess is that since the vehicle has not been started since my new battery was connected, the ECU doesn’t know what’s good or bad. The engine must run, no matter how crappily, for a while before the ECU can recognize something is out of range or nonresponsive. My mission now was to try and get the thing started no matter what. If the injectors were clogged, then I’d have to unclog them.

One thing I was told to try was to drop carb/throttle body cleaner (i.e. vicious, surely carcinogenic,  and highly volatile solvent cleaner) directly into the fuel rail, mixed in with the gasoline, to try and dissolve anything which might be causing injector blockage on the spot. Basically you cycle the injectors bathed in disgusting solvents and let it sit for a while, then try again. Rinse and repeat. I bought a little can of Seafoam on recommendation from friends, which appears to the most disgusting of the disgusting solvents since it claims to clean everything. Seems legit, right?

The procedure was to disconnect the high pressure fuel line from the rail, get most of the fuel in there out, and replace the rest with Disgusting Solvent #81289. I wicked fuel using a few shop towels, which were promptly lit on fire for my own amusement (this process does not have photos associated), and mixed in Seafoam about 50/50 into the rail. Next, I gave the engine about 10 seconds of crank to get the new mixed drink into the injectors. During this time, the engine sputtered a few times.

Promising.

An hour later, I came back to give the engine another spin. 10 more seconds of excited cranking and sputtering later, it took off.

It was shaking like crazy and white smoke was everywhere (allegedly a sign of the cleaner doing its thing), and the revs were unsteady for the first few seconds of run. It seemed to settle into an idle, though I was both too excited and scared shitless to check the tachometer for functionality. Something was happening.

I was under the impression based on checking the dipstick in Pennsylvania that the engine was very low on oil. It was also running with zero coolant. Fearing causing damage due to lack of lubrication, I shut the engine off after about 20(ish) seconds of running.

it did something

Unfortunately, that was the only run I got out of it that night. I regrouped thoughts for a bit to formulate the plan of attack if it started and ran more than once. On the next shot, there was some more sputtering, but no consistent behavior. I gave the air intake a dose of starting fluid to no avail. By the next few tries, the battery was wearing down too low to crank effectively. I’d have to bring in my charger and top it off before trying again, so I cleaned up for the night.

That was when I noticed that the air flow sensor wasn’t connected at all.  Remember the air filter shot? I opened the air cleaner box to remove and replace it with a fresh one, but neglected to reconnect the airflow sensor.  So, the engine running must have been pure luck – or the cleaner/solvent making for such a volatile mixture that any small amount was sufficient for it to keep turning over. The air flow sensor is a “hot grid” type sensor (looks like this) used for air mass calculations. If “disconnected” also means “off scale low”, it means the ECU would think that there was no airflow. No airflow means no air mass to calculate fuel injection quantity with. And no fuel means no combustion except if you’re basically mainlining Seafoam. My exhaust system is probably really clean right now.

Yesterday evening, I tried re-adding some cleaner to the fuel rail (in lesser quantity) to try and confirm this theory. I got the engine to sputter some times, but no starting and running was observed.  I also noticed that the ECU code had finally changed to:

Air flow sensor.

It was definitely connected. I even abraded the pins a little and recrimped the socket to increase contact pressure just to make sure it had connectivity. I couldn’t tell if the element was damaged (it looked good, even clean) or the entire sensor had just stopped working or what. I cleaned the grid element with some rubbing alcohol and let it dry under the halogen lamp for a while. No obvious changes were noted, nor were any starts effected. Maybe “disconnected” is a totally different signal from “porked”.

A new-used MAF sensor costs about $120 on eBay, so I went ahead and ordered one. Even if it’s not the problem, I now have a debugging chain to follow instead of shooting in the dark.  The airflow sensor being problematic would corroborate my theory that some critical sensor failing is causing the ECU to not control air, fuel, or spark properly. We’ll see how this goes.

With these new developments, I decided to do some staging and preparation. First, I wanted to get the disgusting sludge oil leftovers out of the engine and put in something fresh. On the same Harbor Freight trip earlier in the week, I anticipated needing to do this eventually so I got an oil filter strap wrench and a waste oil container, the kind with the integrated drip pan. I ordered a new oil filter off eBay (the best auto parts store!) last week already.

The oil drain plug and filter were clearly designed to be accessed from an auto lift. I didn’t have this, so luckily the thing has a massive front nose cavity…

The plug and filter aren’t visible in this picture, but they’re right behind the front suspension arms. The radiator to the left is the A/C condenser – it’s the first thing to hit if you drive over a tall curb or something.

I also noticed while I was under there that the transmission oil pan is basically the first thing to hit the ground if I go over an enthusiastic speed bump. I’m not sure how they expected this to navigate the rough streets of the U.S. while loaded with seven U.S. sized adults. Maybe everything was smaller back in 1989…

It was black. ALL BLACK.

Around 5 quarts of entirely black oil poured out of the crankcase. Like, this stuff was basically the color of the filter. So it did have oil after all! “Oil”, anyway. I think we must have read the dipstick wrong in PA, since we swore it had very low oil.

Always a good thing to find in the drip pan – little metal particles. And chunks of sludge.

I let both filter and drain plug ports drip for over an hour (while waiting for the battery to charge) before refilling it with some new 5W-30 from the gas station. I didn’t bust money on premium oil since I figure it wasn’t going to stay in the car for too long anyway.

Oh, also, the oil filter had basically no torque on it. I didn’t even need the strap wrench – just the torque of my hand trying to engage the strap loosened it. No wonder there is a thin sheen of oil all over the underside – it must have just been leaking forever. I made sure to crank it down when I installed the new filter.

The game right now is to wait for the new airflow sensor and see what happens from there. I’ve pledged to give an honest debugging effort to this thing even if I’m not keeping the engine for long, and I’m willing to spend some money on it.  I’ll make sure to take more pictures of everything in the future.

This is also the first post in the new Mikuvan build thread. Oh boy, I’m in deep now…

Operation MIKUVAN; Or, Why I Bought 3000 Pounds of Steel off Craigslist and Went to Pennsylvania to Pick It Up

Hello everyone. I just bought a van.

 

Okay, strictly speaking, it’s currently a “van shaped object”, since it doesn’t run. So, more accurately, I just bought another potentially never-ending project.

Before I reveal the details of what transpired this past weekend, I’d like to plug one of my MITERS compatriot’s robotic shindig coming up this weekend, Hexacon 2013 at MIT. Organized and hosted by Nancy of Orange Narwhals fame, this event will feature everything that has 6 legs (plus or minus a few) and is robotic (or can pretend to be so). If you’re in the Cambridge or MIT area, come on by. It’s being hosted about 50 feet from my desk nest midden in the International Design Center space.

Hexa-van?

Anyways, before everyone asks the obvious question of “How the hell did you pick this one, of all possible cars on the planet?”, let me explain the backstory a little. Raise your hand if you’ve ever seen these things on the internet:

If you haven’t before, you’re welcome.

Basically what is going on here is a Japanese pokemon “vanning” show. While U.S. van culture appeared to have died out by the time the 1980s rolled around, the movement picked up speed in Japan in the 90s. The digimon vans above are all 90s model Toyota Hiaces, a vehicle not sold in the U.S. for using the driver as a crumple zone. I’m not in tune with the Japanese internet (only some parts of it, and not the automotive bits) enough to know whether or not this still happens, or like most things about Japan that get crossposted to the North American imageboard market, actually stopped 10 years ago and we’re just watching badly dubbed reruns. Whatever the case, even if these kinds of Flamboyantly Gay Decepticon mods have died out, “VIP style” and other less ostentatious mods are still common.

Many of these get pretty ridiculous and they’re often adorned with the images of singers, characters, or the odd politician or two.

Popular features tend to include fake Testarossa style side strakes, side hatches, extended front and rear lips, cowlings and visors, an enormous rear plume, and those weird antenna things sticking out the front that look like curb feelers for rooftops. I’m not even sure you could move 5 feet in that in Boston without being stuck in a pothole.

I was introduced to these things some time in high school while reading then still-embryonic car blogs, and as I tend to do to extraordinary mechanical things, immediately fell in love with them. Sadly, if you are looking for more, I can no longer help you. All of the gallery links I bookmarked in high school have disappeared from the Internet. Short of speaking Japanese yourself, searching for “バニング” on Google Images (it being the katakana syllabic representation of “vanning”) will probably lead to the most returns.

Anyways, the plan for my van is not to completely dress it out. It comes from before the era when CAD programs supported things like fillets and lofts and G3 continuity surfaces. I think it has to retain the somewhat Brutalist, built-on-the-fly aesthetic, maybe like of like melonscooter. As of right now, all of the electrical accessories work but the engine doesn’t start. It cranks, and seems to try really hard, but something is just not going puff. I’m not historically a “car guy”; the only car I’ve driven in the time before nearly-new rentals and shared-used cars was pretty tame and reliable, so I hope to use this to pick up a few skills and learn some new things (some of the gory debugging details are forthcoming). I would like to get it running, even if rudimentary and completely emissions-destroying.

The ultimate plan for it is going full electric.

Yep. I’m doing it. There’s no turning back now.

I’ve always thought that it would be fun to have an electric car, even if they are less practical than a fuel vehicle at the moment. I like EVs. For a long time now, I’ve been sort of halfheartedly wanting to do a conversion, but the price of parts has always been the killer to that ambition. Even for the most basic conversion with lead batteries and DC motors, you probably won’t get away with under $7-8,000 (if you bought all the parts), not including the vehicle, and it will be extremely stripped down. AC and lithium systems will easily cost 5 figures (if you bought all the parts).

Emphasis on if you bought all the parts. I’m lucky to be surrounded by some ne’er-do-well friends who bought out the remains of failed electric car companies or worked at battery companies designing lithium ion battery modules (and abandoned ship before they went full Titanic and now run nuclear reactors). Stationed in the next lab cluster down the hall is an electric vehicle club bored of full size cars and now totally into bicycles and motorcycles, with their attendant spare and unused parts. Downstairs is an auto shop with a 2-post auto lift (and 19″ giga-lathe among other toys). But most importantly, I now have a real parking spot in the basement garage of the apartment complex I currently reside in (and which I pay a fee for it in the rent anyway, so why not?). The alignment of circumstances means #yolo the time is right.

Operation MIKUVAN

This story starts a few weeks ago through a combination of peer pressure and realizing that the stars of electric hoonage were lining up. If you’ve ever had friends offer you narcotics or alcohol, it’s like that except 150kW induction motors, inverters and LiFePO4 battery modules. Don’t make my mistakes, kids.

My derpy Japanese van fandom took a back seat (…) to other interests in the intervening years between high school and now, but I always thought about it from time to time. Living in the extremely dense Cambridge-Boston area means I never need a car (and if I do, all sorts of rental car agencies abound). Hence, any car I buy would have to be worth driving to justify the expense of parking, insurance, fuel, etc. Did I say fuel? My grad student income at the time was also (of course) insufficient to take on any kind of project like this. These days, being a shop instructor pays better – not the most glorious job, of course, given the mixed income priorities of our current economy, but I like the environment and interacting with the students.

So recently, every once in a while, I’d breeze the local Craigslists to see if there were any easy catches nearby. I always passed them up since I couldn’t ever justify throwing down a thousand plus dollars. The last cab-over style vans imported into the U.S. were sold in 1989 and 1990, so anything I could get from the Northeast would probably be more rust than van. I also checked southern cars around Atlanta, ones I could potentially get and then immediately stuff in my mom’s garage in Atlanta. The most common models of these in the U.S. are the Toyota “Van” and the Mitsubishi “Van” and the Nissan “Van” (in that order). Such naming creativity. The Toyotas dominate by sheer numbers, and there is even a fan club dedicated to them.

Three weeks ago, I came upon this listing in the Harrisburg area Craigslist.

Hmm. I’m not even sure what that is, but it looks a little dinged up. The ad specifically said it wasn’t running. It was $1,000, but I figured I could leverage that fact to talk the seller down a bit. This was clearly where all the Equals Zero Designs revenue was gonna go (OH GOD EVERYONE, BUY MORE RAGEBRIDGES PLEASE)

A few back and forths with the seller about what the state the vehicle actually was in, and I became more confident that it could be a worthwhile effort.  A history report on the vehicle checked out clean, and further pictures from the seller showed that the body and interior were in good condition, save for some rust spots on the outer body panels typical of a 20+ year old northern car. I trusted the seller when he said there was basically no frame rust, and that it has just stopped running about a month ago. At the time, it sounded like an easy fix.

Fast forward until Saturday morning, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

Team Mikuvan comprised myself, Dane (of Transistor-Man), Adam (of Flux Wonderland), and Cynthia (of Cynaesthetics). The plan was simple: Rent a local U-haul truck and trailer, and drop the thing at the nearest auto parts outlet and try to get it running in the parking lot, then (very carefully) driving it back to Boston. I would mention the best laid plans of mice and men, but these plans, best laid they were not.

This was actually my first time driving a trailer, especially a trailer I couldn’t see. I had to get used to getting into the next lane over to make a turn, and my simulated trucker skills were tested to the max on occasions.

On location and checking out the goods. I basically declare it “Item As Described”. Indeed, there were two rust holes in the bodywork – near the front wheelwell where it intersects with the boarding step by the front door, which seems like water could just have puddled in that area. Other than that, very minor patches on the body, and virtually none on the frame and underbody. For the price, I’m not going to be extremely picky.

Here’s what it looks like from the front.

Dat 5mph bumper.

And a rear quarter shot. The blacked out OEM paint in the front makes the greenhouse look bigger than it is, and it really imparts an 80s LEGO set spaceship kind of appearance. I approve.

Here’s a look inside. These types of vans have the engine compartment directly over the front axle, in a camel hump. The passenger essentially sits over the engine, and the driver over the battery and coolant bucket. To do most mechanical work, you have to drop the engine or get it on a lift. I kind of see why these things never took off. Plus, the later models tended to catch fire because the Japanese had to design bigger engines into them than was thermally prudent in order to keep up with American demands.

The engine did turn over, but did not fire. It burped once or twice to no avail, which was at least a good sign that it wasn’t seized or something. There was basically no coolant, and very little oil.

Scoping out the rest of the interior and checking out the electrical dongles. The seller let us temporarily install one of his batteries in the bay to make sure the lights, sounds, and spinning hubcaps all worked.

With the deal completed, it was time to attach it to the trailer. Because the engine wouldn’t generate horsepower, we resorted to manpower. I sat in the cab and steered (and pulled the e-brake).

We backed it up about 50 feet from the trailer and gave me a running start…

I was legitimately afraid of becoming a Youtube sensation, but it all worked out in the end. I stopped early the first time, since I forgot that this thing doesn’t have front wheels, it just has middle wheels.

Glory. After the physical loading, the seller and I went to a local tag office to transfer the title and for me to pick up a temporary plate (seeing as how at this point we were still sure that we could get it running in a few hours)

If I thought driving a trailer was fun, then driving a trailer with 3000 more pounds on it was even more fun.

We landed in south Harrisburg near a strip of road where there were a dozen garages and car parts places within 2 miles. During this trip, I learned that there were really only 2 ways to drive a trailer – either you are slow and gently moving, turn signals flashing all the time such that people are eyeing you and staying away…. or FUCK YOU, I’M BIGGER. Both seem to be legitimate.

I’m proud to say I only hopped one curb. Here’s the initial stating and plotting of the attack plan. We were going to just follow the “Engine won’t start” debugging chain in the shop manual I bought on eBay the week before.

Starting the intial teardown of the cab. We wanted to expose as much of the engine as possible, just in case the Thingiemadoobob needed to be removed to access the Widgetizing Sensor.

 

Trying to locate and figure out where various pipes, hoses, and wires go.

Mike, another friend skilled in automotive misadventures, lent me a timing light for the weekend, and we also had a compression checker. The first thing to check was spark and compression, just to verify the fact that yes, in fact the engine is still engine-like. Despite having the timing light, I don’t think we used it correctly, and ended up checking the sparks manually (taking one out at a time), which may not actually have told us anything about how it worked in-place. All 4 cylinders of the engine were verified good for compression.

I bought a new starting battery from Advance Auto Parts. The battery tray was full of random bits of styrofoam for some reason. Another interesting thing to note is that the coolant tank was missing. The seller claimed it worked fine and that he just needed to periodically top off from the radiator.

…Okay?!

I also bought all new spark plugs. This is a picture of an old one – it’s pretty gross. The seller mentioned the engine did burn oil, and it looks like it has been doing so for a long time.

The afternoon is slowly turning into evening. We’ve moved onto checking the fuel system now – fuel pump, fuel filter, the injector rail, and finally the injectors themselves.

The trailer itself acted as a makeshift auto lift. The van is hollow enough underneath that we could sit up and work instead of lying on our backs. The first order of business was checking the fuel pump for functionality. We jumped 12 volts directly to it and heard it run (and felt it pressurize the fuel line), then verified that the plug going back to the rest of the vehicle was also giving it 12 volts when trying to start.

Two’s company. One person held the alligator clips and the other checked the fuel line pressure.

We did find a pen in the engine, but sadly it was not the cause of the problems.

The rest of the day before it got dark was spent failing to get at the injectors (it would have required significant disassembly of the throttle body, as far as I could tell), and using carb cleaner directly in the rail to try and clean the input side out. We didn’t try replacing the fuel filter or bypassing it. After it got too dark to work, we called it a day and checked into a local hotel.

Here I am quintuple-parking in the lot. I had Dane box me in using the rental car to ensure that nobody else does – I’ve seen someone else get boxed in by other cars, so that’s why I thought of it. It’s now Sunday morning.

With the U-Haul already late a day, we made the decision to get back to Boston before sundown. I rented local, so for the one-way trip back, we had to swap trailers. This involved some amusing e-brake offloading from the trailer, then subsequently reloading onto a new one. The U-Haul guys were grumpy at first that we were demanding a one-way rental at the end of the month on a walk-in reservation, but they came back out with towing chains and ratchet straps shortly thereafter and helped with loading up.

The same “Come At Me, Bro” run-up technique was used to load the van for the return trip.

All loaded up and ready. We broke convoy since there were two of us who were van bums and two with real jobs they needed to get back in town soon for. The drive back was like any, except slower and with a lot more staring at lane changes.

And tolls. My god, the tolls. I’m fairly certain they were counting axles on the van, too. The Tappan Zee bridge (my usual northeast gateway) suddenly became $25, from $5 for a single car.

Adam rode in the van all the way back.

No, not really, though we did want to troll drive-through fast food places by placing 2 orders from the same vehicle train.

The unloading procedure was only slightly shady. Basically, the entrance to the garage is on a long down-sloped road. The trailer was parked upstream, and I rolled down, whipped a quick turn to point into the garage, then was pushed over the curb cut and coasted most of the way to the spot. A final shove exploited the van’s 25-ish foot turn circle and I nosed into my spot.

Now, getting this thing back out is going to be incredibly adventurous.

My time in the next few days will be spent preparing for the Second Great Go-Kart Race, the finale of 2.00gokart. I want to get in a good debugging day on this thing in the coming week, at least to pinpoint what’s wrong. I really do want to get it running, but because of the overlying goal of going full electrons, I’m not going to spend a great deal of effort trying to get the gas engine going again. If the fix requires an engine drop, it’s staying dropped and going on eBay or Craigslist, and I am going all-in.

The current state of the engine:

  • Fuel pump: Functional
  • Fuel filter: Unknown, but feels fine
  • Fuel injectors: Unknown
  • Spark: All 4 plugs verified independently, not in-place
  • Compression: Yes
  • Timing: Unverified
  • Vacuum: Why the hell do cars have vacuum systems?
  • Crank sensor: Unverified
  • Fuel pressure sensor: Unverified

Most of the people I’ve talked to who know a thing or two seem to point to the injectors, but I’m really wondering if all 4 of them can clog or break at once. It seems like a small, single point of failure which is not mechanical is stopping the engine from working.

I’ve considered patching together a quick slow drive system that bolts into the rear bumper or underframe which will at least help with garage extraction and act as a push-assist. Nothing major, just big wheelchair motors or a spare ETEK motor or two and welded steel. The trip from garage to auto lift is basically 1 mile, but on city streets. I suspect much night-hoofing will be done and orange glowy triangles and emergency blinkers will be involved. I don’t anticipate starting the conversion until summer at the earliest, and am basically anticipating it being a multi-year project much like LOLrioKart, except much bigger and more complicated! Shenanigans shall commence.

So, why is  it called MIKUVAN?

No particular reason.

Just one of my usual random project nicknames.

I’ll probably end up naming it Derpyvan or something. However, this is definitely one form of decoration I would unironically drive.