"The trouble with buying a car like the Saab," I said to Georgina, "is that if something breaks you have to expect that it will cost more to fix than, say, a Holden. That's a fact of life when you buy a prestige car that originally sold for around fifty grand. It might cost only $10,000 now, but the parts'll be priced for the dollars that it once was. But on the other hand, it's also a well-built car and so the chances of something going wrong are lessened. Look, you might not have to spend a cent on it - apart from normal maintenance - over the next few years."
Unless you let Julian play with it, that is....
Georgina's newly-acquired 1989 900 Turbo 16-valve was running sweetly, not a single discernible problem present. Everything worked - and there're lot of gadgets on this car that have the potential to not function - and all under the bonnet looked standard and well maintained.
The perfect car, in fact, to do some testing of the still-in-development AutoSpeed air/fuel ratio meter, yes?
But where to stick in the extra oxy sensor? First of all I spied a threaded plug in the exhaust manifold, located in front of the turbo. Some grunts and heaving later, it was unscrewed - but no, the threaded hole that was exposed was too small to take the oxygen sensor being used by our air/fuel ratio meter. Hmm, well, what about pulling out the standard oxy sensor and replacing it (temporarily) with the meter's sensor? Deprived of their feedback input in this way, most EFI cars will still run fine - generally on the rich side when they'd normally be in closed loop, and with the high-load mixtures remaining standard. A perfect range of air/fuel ratios, in fact, to test an AFR meter.
But the Saab's factory oxy sensor is buried under the cast iron elbow that exits the turbine. I tried getting a variety of spanners on it, but it really needed an odd-shaped half-ring (a Saab special tool?) to get a good purchase on its hexagon. And a strong grip was definitely needed - the sensor was in damn tight. In fact it was so tight that it looked easier to take off the cast elbow than try to get it out in situ. The 10mm nuts that held the casting to the turbo were tight but not impossible, and those holding the flanged exhaust were almost loose. Aaahhh - this was gonna be easy....
As I unscrewed the nuts I admired the sensor that became more and more exposed with every turn of the tools. A Bosch 3-wire, it uses an injector-style plug for the heater wires and a hefty spade terminal for the signal connection. Both connectors are located on the end of a metre of cabling, taking these vulnerable bits of plastic well away from the hot turbo. Like I said, well engineered....
I figured that initially it would be best to get someone else to hold the casting while I applied a large spanner, the latter free to now move with the temporary new location of the elbow. And who better to hold it than Georgina? Out she came, looking in misery at her new, loved, enjoyed and admired car - now already immobile and in pieces. I manoeuvred the elbow into a new position, at the same time unfortunately pushing it through the vacant space between the engine and inner guard. The casting and its screwed-in oxygen sensor fell the 150mm or so to the concrete under the car, landing on the ground with a faint 'clang'. Totally unaware that this fall had just killed the sensor stone dead forever, I retrieved the casting and then attempted to unscrew it. It was still too tight, so I snipped the cable-ties holding the wires in place and carried it to a bench vice.
And Gawd was that sensor tight! Without a purpose-built tool there was no way that it was going to come loose - not this time anyway. Better not to round off the flats; better to retreat gracefully - reinstalling the elbow and instead getting a new nut welded to the exhaust to allow the AFR testing.... So I retraced my steps, placing the elbow back onto the turbo and reconnecting the exhaust. Oh yes, and did I say that I had to remove the battery to get access to the casting in the first place? Apart from the normal power and earth battery post cable clamps, the battery and its heat shield were held in place only with a couple of wing nuts and a simple bracket - no drama at all to whip it all in and out of place.
Everything returned to its original residence, I started the engine and did a cursory check for exhaust leaks around the elbow. No metal gaskets or sealant are used - the flanges are machined flat and that's that - so I didn't expect any leaks and there weren't any. So, chalk down the removal and replacement of the cast elbow and battery to experience: a few hours of achieving not very much - but that happens...
A little later in the afternoon Georgina wanted to visit a local shopping centre to photocopy some job references - tomorrow we would be using the Saab to drive a return trip of 160 kilometres in search of employment. It's a fair way - but the Saab was already proving a very effective - albeit slightly thirsty - long-distance cruiser. But that was tomorrow; right now we were just off to the shops.
"You drive," I said. " I don't think that I've been driven in this car yet - I want to see what it's like from the passenger seat."
With a beaming smile she got into the driver's seat and turned the floor-mounted key. This was her car - not only did it have the required power steering and air, but it was a Saab Turbo! "It's a performance classic," she'd said yesterday of its unique shape and deceptively quick in-gear performance. "I just luurve this car!" she'd even SMS'd me earlier in the day...
We drove off down the road, the sunroof open and cool air wafting in. I listened to the rise and fall of the turbo whistle, just audible as a sound reflection off the roadside furniture, and thought the peaceful, gentle musings of someone who so rarely is a passenger.
"The Check Engine light's on," she said in an ominously dark voice that was a dash of cold water through my reverie.
"Oh yes? Ha, ha, I must have forgotten to plug the oxy sensor back in," I said with forced nonchalance. "Just pull over and pop the bonnet and I'll fix that..."
I sprinted to the front of the car and manipulated the weird but effective bonnet system. But there were those well-engineered oxygen sensor plugs, all in place and connected together. The engine was still running and so I wriggled the connections - but her tight-lipped shake of the head showed that all still wasn't well.
"Hmm - maybe the WD40 that I used slightly contaminated the sensor," I said. "But", I hastily added in an attempt to quell the glare, "a few minutes on the freeway should fix that. Let's go there now."
"All right," she said in an icy tone. "But do you want to drive? I have a headache that's getting worse."
Stopped at the next set of lights, smoke could be seen blowing past the side glass. Black smoke from the Saab's exhaust... Mixtures that rich don't come from an oxy sensor with a light overspray of WD40; mixtures that rich come from a completely defective sensor...
Five kilometres at 110 km/h proved the point; the sensor was stuffed.
"And how much will that be?" she demanded. "You said that this sensor was so good; that this sensor used a special arrangement of wiring; that this sensor was one of those Bosch ones. How much?!"
"I don't know," was all I could lamely reply. "Maybe a hundred dollars, maybe three hundred..."
The withering look said it all. But there was worse to come.
"And what does that mean? " Georgina asked, pointing the to the standard Saab/Alpine head unit which read out the ominous word: 'Code.'
"Oh that's because I disconnected the battery; that means that we need to find the original radio code to make it work again...."
Simultaneously we both thought of the empty glovebox, totally devoid of owner's manuals, radio manuals, any manuals at all in fact. And certainly no radio security codes...
I was not popular for quite some time after...
Footnote: the genuine replacement oxygen sensor cost $246. But then it was discovered that the broken sensor had literally welded itself into place - it would have to be drilled out and then the iron casting re-tapped. And how many people had the right tap? It took three days to find one....
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