This post is a little late, but I thought I owed it to the conclusion of a great road trip with Garry and my first introduction to one sweet Jaguar E-type.... (Garry has probably filled you in already, but here's the rest of my diary)....
Day 3: After being confined to the he small moving space for two straight days now, it/ she started complaining a little today....Coming off our highest point in the Rockies (above 10500 ft), Garry had to slow down and stop and go due to traffic. He said the engine was not firing on one or more cylinders and down on power.
I couldn't really feel anything from the passenger side that suggested any misfiring. The engine seemed to run roundly, but Garry pulled over to be safe and see what was the matter and for about twenty minutes, we checked things out. After I found we had a spark at all spark plugs, I figured we were dealing with a fuel issue, but the timing of the trouble led me to think that maybe the high altitude caused some sort of fuel starvation.
I couldn't find the barometric compensator box on the damn thing, so I thought maybe there might have been some sort of vapor lock or such occurring in the fuel delivery. After playing with the slightly worn and sticking throttle linkage and making sure there was fuel in the gas feed line and filter, the car suddenly started up and ran fine again for most of the day.
I didn't like the look of two short lengths of slightly mushy fuel hoses going to each carburetor (I'm not a big fan of carbs as I'm lucky to own two beautiful oldies with very different, but reliable early fuel injection systems), but it looked like the car had gotten past it's ills and was going to perform as flawlessly as it had until now. A few hours later, I was driving, when the problem reoccurred.
Since I was becoming more certain we were dealing with a problem due to some fuel restriction or maybe limited movement of the carburetor's throttle due to a sticking linkage and since the engine still ran very smoothly, coolly, with good oil pressure and no other worrisome signs, I kept "limping" along between 60 and 75 mph, passing the same trucks on the downhills that caught back up with us on the up hills.
The more I got to drive the small moving space, the more I seemed to understand her. We seemed to become friends and I felt that she was trying to tell me what was ailing her. It seemed like she would make the best effort to keep moving along, thereby giving me time to think about what she was telling me and what questions to ask her the next time she felt a little weak and needed to pause.
The next time we stopped, I decided to narrow down which of her cylinders might be affected and started pulling off spark plug wires one by one to observe the change in idle speed. It turned out that the front 3 cylinders all were not firing despite having spark and since an Otto motor (as the Germans call them) only needs compression and fuel besides spark, my search narrowed to the forward carburetor which feeds the front three cylinders.
The next time she ran out of breath, I decided to look closer at the carburetors, wiggled the suspect fuel line and some other parts a bit and all of a sudden she would run fine again. But not for long. "Tell me more...." I needed to know. The problem seemed to happen when we were running at lower speeds and stop and go traffic rather than at high speeds when the fuel demands were the highest?.... Nevertheless, I decided to pull the plug out of the bottom of the forward carburetor's float bowl. Fuel came pouring out and then the engine started to run on only three cylinders. I used my thumb to plug the hole and she would run on all six again. Ok. That made sense, but no further clues why she stopped when the float plug was in?.... She ran, then she didn't.
I checked a few things. Pulled the float plug out again. This time: Bone dry. Turned the fuel pump on, fuel came gushing out. Plug back in. Ran a few hundred yards. Another stop. Take out the plug. No fuel. Fuel pump on. Still no fuel. Whoa! Why?.... Played around (Garry moved the ignition wires, she ran.) Hmmm. I'm not convinced, but we made it to Vegas for our final rest before heading to L.A.
Day 4. The small moving space, now considered a good friend, didn't want to leave Las Vegas. We were at the Circus Circus hotel and in the parking lot, dressed in my last clean shirt for the final leg home, I decided to get serious. If I didn't finally find out what was the matter, it looked like we would have a very long day ahead of us, even though we only had a few hundred miles left. I wanted to know what it was that allowed gas to get into the forward carburetor, but apparently, not to the cylinders?
We removed the air cleaner housing and as Garry started the engine I could watch the fuel in the rear carburetor atomize and the mist clearly rush upwards into the intake manifold. But not on the forward carb. Wow! Somewhere between the gas line, the fuel fitting on the carb and the float, the fuel was not getting by. I thought of what parts lay in it's path, not really having ever been interested to see much of the insides of any carburetors. Maybe the carburetor float was stuck?
Luckily, the access to the float bowl was quite good and I took out the six screws that held it and cautiously pried the float bowl off. I was worried about damaging the gasket which we had no replacement for and nothing to use for gasket cement other than maybe equal parts each, of the mashed potatoes and a brownie from the all-you-can-eat buffet the night before.
Luckily the small moving space had been well cared for and the gasket was another part that was in good enough condition to survive the dis-assembly. Now I grew anxious as I felt ever closer to coaxing my friend into reveal the last secret of what was ailing her. I wiggled the float a few times, expecting fuel to trickle out of the needle valve. Nothing. What?! Less than an inch apart and the fuel is disappearing? Ok, it has to be the needle valve then. A little bit of luck again. I can get to the needle valve seat with a 14mm wrench since none of the SAE sizes seemed to fit. I unscrew it by hand and I'm convinced the fuel will come running out now... And it does! We've got it!
As I'm examining the valve a small chunk of Black debris falls into my hand long enough for me to suspect that it might have come from the inside of the overly tightened weak rubber fuel hose that I had played with soon after we had our first symptoms. We're done. I told Garry, I'd be very surprised if we had anymore trouble from here on in. Within less than an hour of morning mechanicing, we were on our way, as proud of our new friend as Garry and I had been, all these past days, as she carried us quite effortlessly and in great style, through some pretty intense heat at an average cruising speed well above 70 mph. None of this was her fault. She simply choked a little on a small piece of debris and wasn't quite able to tell us about it....
