MGB GT – The ExhaustNotes Blog

A Man’s Got To Know His Limitations

By Joe Gresh

The famous line was from a Clint Eastwood movie, I think, but regardless it rings true for me as I ease into my salad years. Or is that my pabulum years? Recently I did a few simple mathematical equations and then ran the results through my life expectancy chart. The results were not encouraging. I would need to live another 124 years, 7 months to complete all the projects I’ve started. That’s if I didn’t gain any additional projects in the ensuing 124 years. Unfortunately, the projects still drift in by ones and twos. It’s time I got to know my limitations.

I was building the driveway retaining wall at The Ranch when the epiphany came. I looked around at the tools spread around the front yard, the stack of lumber and the pallets of concrete and decided that there was just no way to do it all and that I needed to shed a few projects. At least get them off my books. The low hanging fruit was first to go.

The 1974 MGB-GT was a candidate because I haven’t spent much money on it yet and it’s a huge, time consuming proposition. It needs many, many manhours and truthfully I never really wanted a MGB-GT anyway. It was just on the land when we bought the place and I thought it was a cool looking car. I bandied about about selling it but the prospect of wading through all the Internet scammers and tire kickers didn’t appeal to me. My buddy Mike from the Carrizozo Mud Chuckers expressed an interest in the car so I made him a deal he couldn’t refuse: I gave it to him.

Before you get all wound up and start telling me how you would have given me $500 for the car I have this to say: “No, you wouldn’t.” Just like you wouldn’t buy a Janus if it had an American made V-twin engine or an electric car if it went 100 miles further on a charge. Mike has a trailer that fit the MBG perfectly and we loaded it up using two come-alongs in series. With 3 flat tires it took about a half-hour to move the car 20 feet. Inches add up to miles and the blue, MGB is now residing 69 miles away at Mud Chuckers central. Seeing the car roll off the property gave me a real lift. It’s like I bought an extra year of my life.

The next thing to go was the KLR250. When I had the Love Shack in Florida the KLR was the bike I left in the shed. Whenever we were in residence the KLR faithfully dragged me around central Florida. It wasn’t fast but I could hold 70mph on the highway if there wasn’t a headwind. The KLR sat as we moved junk across the country and then sat in the shed here at The Ranch for a few years. You know how that goes. The carb gummed up and it wouldn’t start.

I decided to sell the bike but first I had to fix the front brake, fork seals and replace the front tire. After accomplishing those chores I wandered off to construction projects and the KLR languished. The final straw was when I skipped over the KLR250 to get the ZRX1100 running. I realized that the liquid-cooled 6-speed enduro bike had fallen completely off the to-do list.

Mike came to the rescue again and picked up the KLR250 for a cool 1000 dollars and dragged it back to his place. He has since replaced the stock constant velocity carb with a Mikuni clone off of Amazon and the bike starts and moves under its own power again. The new carb is jetted too rich so there’s a bit more fettling to be done but I won’t be doing it.

Having those two projects out of the way emboldened me to get rid of more junk. The Bomber is on the chopping block. I originally bought the Bomber for its running gear. I planned to put the Bomber’s small block Chevy and ½ ton running gear into Brumby (the Jeep). But the Bomber was so handy for hauling concrete the Jeep swap never took place. CT signed me up for a Lowes card and with the card Lowes will deliver anything to The Ranch for $20. This means no more concrete hauling and no need for the Bomber along with the Bomber’s tags and insurance.

I’ve got a few things to fix on the Bomber but I think I can get $1500 or so for the beast and that will be another project off my books and another year of my life back.

The trend line is clear to see: Stuff not getting used is going away. The 1975 Kawasaki 900 isn’t even safe now that the ZRX1100 is running. It has become too valuable and selling it would enable me to finish a few other projects, like my Honda 50 with a 140cc Lifan motor. Zed mostly sits because the purple Yamaha RD350 has taken over top spot in the vintage street bike category. I can only ride so many motorcycles at once.

You may say I’m getting lazy or maybe just old but I say I’m being realistic. There are still a few old motorcycles I’d like to own and clearing the decks is a time-honored tradition for normal people. Anyone need a Huffy beach cruiser with a 60cc two-stroke motor attached? It’s too fast downhill and too slow uphill. The thing is going to kill me if I don’t get rid of it.

The Wayback Machine: What do you have in your project bank?

By Joe Gresh

There are more ways to measure wealth than money. Sure, traditionalists rely on a strict net worth approach, adding up the figures on electronic statements in a system where the winner is whoever has the highest number. You can count all sorts of things, though. You can count friends, you can count grandchildren, you can count experiences: These are forms of wealth that won’t show up on that balance email from the bank.

When it comes to future projects I am a very wealthy man. I’ve got them lined up out the door and around the corner. And my account keeps growing; with compound interest my Project Bank doubles every seven years. Most of these projects will never see the light of day but they remain secure in my thoughts, if not in my actions.

On of my largest assets is the 4-speed Suburban project. When I bought the ’90 ‘Burb it came with a malfunctioning automatic transmission. I hate automatics and malfunctioning ones even more so. The 700R4 works in Drive and Reverse but not in 1-2-3. The truck runs fine and it will tote a 3000-pound load without complaint but that boring automatic has got to go. It’s a rare Suburban that came with a 4-speed from the factory and even rarer to see a ½-ton version. I’ve only seen one 4-speed ‘Burb and it was ¾-on. This project keeps earning interest and I’ve been training a weather eye on Internet sale sites for a cheap, manual transmission, 4X4 GM truck to steal the guts from. I found a late model, 4X4-IFS 1/2-ton truck with a 5-speed and a nice FI engine that ran well but the transfer case and transmission housing were broken and besides everything was on the wrong side for the old straight axle suburban.

The chalky blue, 1974 MG GT came with Tinfiny Ranch and was listed as an out building on the deed. This car was on the chopping block until I started reading about MG’s with Buick 215 cubic-inch aluminum engine swaps. I really have to stay off the internet. The Buick engine triples the horsepower, doesn’t weigh much more than the iron 4-banger it replaces and sounds cool as hell revved up to 6000 RPM. This is one asset I kind of wish was not in my Project Bank as I’ve never been that interested in cars. Still, it’s there waiting on me.

Tinfiny Ranch itself is a huge source of endless work, but beyond the physical plant The Ranch continues to deposit surprises into my Project Bank. This Merry Tiller project revealed itself as I was hauling away two, multi-panel garage doors. The doors sections were stacked with spacers in the popular rat-paradise fashion and I gave chase to a couple fat rats but they got away from me in the thick brush down by the ravine. The Merry Tiller looks like it will come in handy for the raised-bed vegetable garden (yet another deposit in The Project Bank) I’m planning for the back yard. The engine on the tiller is not stuck and being a Briggs & Stratton I’m sure it will run so I’m leaving it in The Bank for safe keeping.

I will never be bored or lonely. My Project Bank is overflowing with cool things that need time and attention. After I level the back yard I’m going to build a shear wall for the shed, then I need to get back on the Zed. After that I’d like to pop a 6-cylinder + AX15 transmission into Brumby the Jeep. The Suburban needs new paint; I’m going to change it from black to white so it will be cooler inside. Better yet I’ll fix the air-conditioner, it’s all there except for the compressor. I really need a second rain barrel, too, as I’m leaving water on the table with only 2500 gallons of storage.

The projects pile one atop the other and the magnitude of the undertaking gives me a great sense of importance. When I die I want to be buried like a Viking in his ship except my grave will be filled with all the unfinished projects that kept me company while I was alive. You really can take it with you, mainly because no one else wants your junk.

Popup ads: You know what to do.

Resurrections: 1974 MGB-GT Part 3 “Christine”

In between pouring slabs of concrete inside the shed I managed to get started on the MGB rat poo clean up. Several more doses of bleach were splashed around the interior of the car and wearing gloves and a N100 mask I started hauling junk out into New Mexico’s bright, November Sunshine. I’m hoping the Sun’s radiation will partially sterilize the hanta-contaminated bits.

And what a collection of bits! A cylinder head with the valves installed upside down along with a complete rocker assembly is the big score. I haven’t found any valve springs to go with the head but I’m guessing you can still buy those parts.

I wonder if my GT had the head replaced at some point and these are the old pieces or maybe the engine is shot and these were planned replacements? We will have to find out later because the owner died before he could finish the GT project. If you’ve ever read Steven King’s Christine you’ll have a good idea of the eerie vibe that comes from linking together the abandoned logic chain of a dead man’s life.

A real oddity is the front engine plate. These never go bad so why would an extra plate be under 6-inches of rat guano? I also dug out a tiny clutch and pressure plate that I assume fits the GT. I found several pulleys that look like they belong on a water pump and a harmonic balancer.

Two more wheels were inside, giving me 6 total. The extra wheels will come in handy as some of the tires are dry rotted and won’t hold air. I like the pressed metal Rostyle wheels, they look very mid-1970’s and are both strong and simple. Having been stored inside the car the extras are less rotted and should inflate enough to move the car from its sunken grave.

Included in the haul of parts are two carburetor heat shields, an intake manifold and a rocker cover. There’s a piece to the transmission that the shifter connects to and another shifter stick. I’ll have to get under the car to see if the transmission is all there. Then there’s the crankcase breather that bolts onto the side of the engine.

Under the back floor is a well to hold the spare tire. These tire changing chocks and emergency reflectors were nestled next to the spare. I wonder if they are original equipment?

A snazzy 1-into-2 tail pipe with muffler was inside the car also. The car was full of junk but the front seat area is relatively clear, if you don’t mind sitting in rat poo.

Christine’s original owner included three straight, non-rusted wheel trim rings with his Devil’s deal. I’m totally set for wheels now.

The funny part about all this junk is that the engine in Christine looks to be all there. Maybe the thing was rebuilt and the junk is leftovers. I can’t say, but it looks like I have plenty of parts. I have another plastic box of GT stuff still to look through. I saw a Weber carb in there and some other items of interest that we will get to later on in this resurrection.

Check out the earlier installments of the MGB GT resurrection!

Resurrections: 1974 MGB-GT Part 2

This MGB-GT is really a mess. Opening the door of the MGB is like opening a Hollywood style Egyptian tomb: a puff of cursed air escapes as soon as the handle button is pushed then all your relatives start dying under unusual circumstances. It’s ominous inside there, man. Great drifts of rat guano lie still on the floor. Seats, wiring, and vinyl panels: everything is chewed to bits. There’s cardboard and tinfoil, door gaskets hang from their sills and the cabin is littered with parts. It’s a frigging crime scene, man. What have I got myself into?

After clearing the needle bushes that had closed in on the MGB-GT, I poured a batch of 50/50 water and bleach into the Ryobi sprayer and doused the engine bay taking care to hit the voids between the inner fenders and bodywork. The rats have been nesting in there so I’ll have to dismantle the front clip to thoroughly clean it out. But that will come later, if the engine proves to be ok.

Working my way aft I sprayed the front seats, floors, dash, behind the dash, under the seats and the hatchback luggage area. The roof and windshield area was blasted. I even sprayed the exterior of the car with bleach. I’m not sure what is inside that steel ammunition box but it feels sort of heavy. One positive cleaning note is that I don’t have to worry about the bleach hurting anything, as the entire interior must go. Maybe I’ll strap a lawn chair to the floor when I drive the thing.

The extra cylinder head I found under a wheel in the trunk area is both frightening and reassuring. On the one hand it’s always nice to have a spare cylinder head. On the other hand it’s never a good thing to need an extra cylinder head. Hopefully the head in the trunk is the bad one because why else would you have two? I suppose we will find out which one is which soon enough.

Besides the junk inside the car my MGB came with scattered parts. Some parts were in the bushes and some were in boxes. I haven’t inventoried them yet but an un-chewed rear seat is a huge score. I bet the mandarin orange seats really spiced up the interior of the blue MGB. There’s a Weber carburetor in a bucket that may have been destined for the MGB. I’ll get the standard SU’s working before I attempt any carburation trickery. Besides, with 5000-foot elevation changes around here it might be better to run the constant velocity SU’s.

My MGB looks like it had air-conditioning at some point in its storied past. There’s a disconnected condenser in front of the radiator. My new best friends on the MGB owners Facebook page suggested it may be a gigantic oil cooler but I guess not because there is another small cooler (also disconnected) mounted in front of the condenser that looks more oil-ish.

Lending more credence to the air conditioner theory are two empty holes low on the passenger side firewall that may have been put there for liquid and low(er) pressure refrigerant lines. There are unconnected lines near those firewall holes that look a lot like air conditioning stuff. In addition there is an unused V-belt sheave between the fan blade and the alternator/water pump pulley. There is no compressor or smog pump. I see no evaporator or blower inside the cabin but I haven’t really cleared out the junk so it may be knocking around in there. These clues and the crudeness of the condenser installation make me think the MGB-GT had an aftermarket air conditioner before it came under my tutelage. Since my resurrections are done on a tight budget I won’t attempt to get the air conditioner back online. There’s not much of the system left anyway.

As we blog I’m letting the first bleaching soak in. The rat guano will need a second dose of bleach before I start scooping it out. I’ll be buying a Dupont protective suit to wear along with a N100 mask to filter out the smallest particles. Wetness is key to this mouse-capade. You don’t want to stir small bits into the air and if the poop is wet it won’t atomize. Hantavirus is a real thing in New Mexico and while Hanta is much harder to contract, (you have to breathe in contaminated rodent urine/feces and of course not all rodents have it) it’s much more deadly than Covid-19. How does a 36% death rate sound to you? You read that right: 1 out of 3 hanta cases results in death. At 36% there are no whiny, academic, constitutional mask-wearing debates. If you’re cleaning rat poop out west you wear the mask.

Cleaning this MGB-GT is going to be the hardest part of the whole project. Once I can move about the car without the threat of puss-filled-lung death lurking around every corner we will be able to make progress. To that end I’ve ordered a gas powered pressure washer. I know I always say electric is the way to go for infrequently used tools but the electric pressure washer draws so much juice long extension cords don’t work. For jobs far from power outlets I’d have to run a big generator to supply the electric washer and at that point you haven’t really gained anything. Here at ExhaustNotes we look for any excuse to buy new tools. Besides, it was so cheap!

Hopefully Part 3 of the MGB-GT resurrection will see the car fairly cleaned out but there are no guarantees in life so try to enjoy each day as it unfolds.

A new rock group? Joe Gresh and the Resurrections!

Resurrections: 1974 MGB-GT Part 1

Here at Exhaustnotes.us resurrection projects are leaps of faith. They feel good and inevitable, and promising. You know instinctively it’s the right thing to do and that everything will work out ok in the end. The Kawasaki Z1 was like that. I had no doubt that motorcycle would once again tear great, jagged, 8000 RPM holes through the atmosphere. It just had to, you know?

This 1974 MBG-GT is not that kind of resurrection. Nothing about this car feels inevitable, least of all my ambition to see it through to the end. I’m going into this project fully expecting to fail. “Life’s too short,” my buddy Burns said. “Make a hot tub or a planter out of the thing.” That’s sound advice spoken from the heart. The man is trying to save me from myself.

Anyone in the saving-souls business knows that people tend to bushwhack their own meandering path towards destruction. There’s not a lot well meaning friends can do to stop your sanity from hiking off into the woods. It’s a negative human trait offset by our ability to make music and microwave corndogs. And I still don’t know how to play the guitar.

Here’s the thing: I never wanted an easy life. My dreams are not of leisure. I don’t seek comfort. Fun is no fun to me. Put me on a beach towel in Tahiti and I’ll go stark raving mad. Instead, I choose to make a mess of things. I don’t want to hear the MGB-GT run. I have to hear it run. It’s laid fallow for 5 years that I know of and probably 10 more besides. The little British car parked next to the needle bush has mocked me long enough. I’ll have my revenge.

If you’re expecting a short series on the MGB-GT stop reading now. The car has serious rat infestation issues. Most of the interior is chewed up. There must be 50 pounds of rat guano inside the cabin and engine room. I’m going to take this slowly and spend the absolute minimum amount of cash at each stage.

There will be no grinders shooting sparks, no photogenic noir-arc welding and no artificial deadlines to create artificial tension in the story. This job will be stress free and I reserve the right to walk away any time I choose. The MGB will always take a back seat (get it?) to other projects.

The first thing I plan to do is to get rid of this spiny plant. The thing has incredibly sharp 2-inch long needles that will flatten a tire or stick into your leg bone. After that cleaning out the rat-poo engine room so that I can see what I’m up against. Cleaning rat poo in New Mexico is not as simple as hooking up a shop vac and sucking up the stuff.

Here in New Mexico we get several cases of Hantavirus every year. The virus can lay dormant in rat droppings and infect people when disturbed, so no vacuuming. Instead you spray the mounds of poo with a strong solution of bleach to kill the virus (if it can be considered alive). Next you don gloves and an N-100 mask and shovel the wet bleach-glop into a suitable container.

This part of resurrection is no walk in the park. If you manage to stay alive through this step another shot of bleach on the remaining rat droppings should make it fairly safe to use the shop vac. Follow up the final vacuuming with a pressure washer and engine cleaner. And then you can begin. I’ll start by disconnecting all the chewed electrical circuits and…and…well, you’ll see in the next installment of Resurrections: MGB-GT Part 2.

Gresh’s resurrections reside here!

Not Worth Selling: How I Let The Free Market Determine My Transportation Needs

We own a lot of motorcycles and cars. There are two Jeeps, a Toyota truck, a 4×4 Suburban, an MGB GT, three Kawasakis, a golf cart, a Yamaha and a whole bunch of other motorcycles. I can’t afford to insure or repair all these vehicles so many of them sit around and collect dust. You may wonder why I keep all this junk. It’s optically distressing and hints at my unearned, depression-era, scarcity mind-set. But it’s not simple hoarding that litters my view. It goes deeper than that. I don’t want to own all these wrecks. The junk stacks up because of my twisted sense of fair play.

This misfit collection of vehicles didn’t happen accidentally or overnight. They were each bought and mostly used as directed but somewhere along the line their purpose became obsolete and other, more capable or more enjoyable vehicles took their stead. And that’s the spot where the free market fouled everything up.

We don’t really need the Toyota pickup truck. It has a couple hundred thousand miles on it but the thing still runs perfectly fine. It’s our go-to vehicle when we want to get somewhere fast. With a 4-liter V-6 pumping out 200 horsepower the lightweight Tundra will cruise at 90 miles per hour all day long. Its soft, car-like suspension coddles the driver and one passenger. And there’s the rub: The Tundra is a standard cab so two people are all you can realistically fit inside, out of the weather. On those long trips your luggage will be wrapped in garbage bags then tossed in the bed. The Tundra was fine when it was my work truck but it’s no longer optimal.

So why don’t we get rid of it? We tried once but it’s worth next to nothing on the free market. The 14-year-old truck has a few minor dings and a manual transmission. We tried to sell it for 3000 dollars but nobody wanted it. We had a few offers under 2000 dollars but I stomped my feet and said, No! I mean, where am I going to get a truck this good for under 2000 bucks? The Toyota stays because it’s not worth selling.

It’s the same with my Kawasaki ZRX1100 or as I like to call it, The Coat Rack. I let the bike sit for a year when we went to Australia. In that year everything hydraulic froze. The front brakes, the rear brakes and the clutch all need repair. The engine still runs ok but the carbs are clogged up from our crappy, alcohol-laden fuel. With only 23,000 miles the ZRX is overdue for a valve adjustment. It needs a new chain, sprockets, a throttle cable and I can never seem to find time for the bike because I’m having so much fun on the 1975 Z1 that I won’t sell.

So why don’t I dump the ZRX1100? I tried to get 2000 dollars for the bike once but no one wanted it. It’s worth even less now. The basic bike is solid but if you took the ZRX to a shop the cost of repairs would exceed the value of the motorcycle. That winnows the pool of eligible buyers down to people who know how to fix motorcycles. Those handy-types traditionally hold out for a super low selling price because they know how a few unknown problems can kill the budget on a project motorcycle. Besides, you can get a showroom condition ZRX1100 for 3500 bucks. Why bother with all the issues on my bike?

When I look at it in the garage, the perfect bodywork, the glossy green paint, and the totally original everything I say to myself, “That’s a great bike, I love the styling. A week’s work would have it running like a champ again. What would I do with 2000 dollars anyway? I’d rather have the non-running Kawasaki!”

And so it goes. The Suburban was bought for its engine and drivetrain but has proved so much better than the Toyota at hauling heavy loads it has taken the place of the pickup truck that I refuse to sell. If I did unload the Bomber it wouldn’t be worth 1000 dollars on the free market. Why bother?

The MGB GT could be worth a pretty penny if it were restored. I see nice GTs going for over 10,000 dollars but then again it would probably cost 9,999 dollars to restore it. At one time I offered it for 250 dollars but couldn’t get a single taker.

After walking past the little blue sports car for several years I’ve grown to love its classy British/Italian mash-up styling. I’ve spent a couple hundred dollars getting a clear title to the MGB. My buddy Lynn managed to get the hood open and everything looks intact in the engine room. I think I can get it running. Wait, I know I can get it running. You can bet I won’t be selling the MGB; its potential as a prop in my fantasy world far exceeds any real-life street value.

I’ve got a Kawasaki 250 that I only use once a year for Bike Week at Daytona. It’s paid for and in pieces at the moment. The KLR always starts first or second kick after sitting for a year. It’s not bad in the dirt, if a little underpowered. I bought it used with very low miles and the sunk cost has long been absorbed. I’d be lucky to get 700 bucks for it and 700 bucks won’t buy much of anything nowadays. The KLR250 stays at our shack in Florida so that I always have two-wheeled transportation whenever I visit. That feeling of moto-security is worth whatever small amount of money I could get for the bike.

You’re starting to get the picture by now. I don’t really want all this junk; it’s just that The Man and society places so little value on my treasures I keep them out of spite. I’ll go to my grave clutching my outdated ideas on what my things are worth and to whom. Sure, it’s a sick way of approaching life but I can think of much worse things, like accepting Market Value.

Skip Duke

Skip Duke lived in New Mexico and died before I got the chance to meet him. I don’t know the exact date he shuffled off. Judging from the condition of Tinfiny Ranch when we first bought it from his daughter I’m guessing five or more years had elapsed between our purchase of Skip’s run-down mountain property and his death.

I never met Skip Duke but I get a strong sense of the man from the junk he left behind. I found boxes of mixed fasteners and some really nice ¼-inch by 8-inch screws with flat-topped heads. The heads are 5/8-inch wide and made so that the fastener countersinks itself like a giant deck screw. These screws are so nice I want to build something just to use them. Skip left behind two really nice red-painted, bottle jacks; one of them must be a 50-ton model. It’s a bruiser, like a foot tall and weighs 40 pounds. Skip was into radios: he was a Ham operator I’m guessing. Tinfiny had several antenna wires strung over the trees and arroyos. In his broken down shop I found a signal generator, watt meter and some other radio test gear that I couldn’t identify. That’s some old school radio stuff, man.

I never met Skip Duke but I think I would have liked him. Skip Duke had multiple uncompleted projects running in parallel when he died and that’s the same way I work. I get bored with one project and switch over to another, never finishing any of them. The 1975 Kawasaki 900 I call Zed was one of Skip’s unfinished projects. In the scattered debris of Skip’s life I found motorcycle magazines from the 1970’s featuring the new Z1900. The bike got universally rave reviews in the magazines, and rightfully so: the 900cc Z1 Kawasaki was a landmark motorcycle.

From reading old correspondence I found that Skip was having trouble with a Dyna III electronic ignition system he bought for the old Kawasaki. A melted wiring harness on Zed and no sign of the electronic ignition leads me to believe Skip sent the rotor and pick up coils back for a refund or tossed them in the bushes. One day I’m going to look for it with a metal detector. I found the original points plate in a box of MG car parts and after I cleaned them up the bike ran fine. I remember when electronic ignitions were novel, high tech stuff. I didn’t like them back then either.

Abandoned for years, Skip Duke’s house was overrun by rats when we looked at it with Ronnie, our real estate agent. A converted garage, the house had one bedroom, a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom. Maybe 500 square feet under roof. On the right side of the house was a small garage where Skip kept his tools and his motorcycles. I found a working 4-inch Makita belt sander in there. The bottom garage door panel was broken and the door hung off its track. You could walk inside. Ronnie looked around and said, “There used to be more motorcycles in here.” Next to the garage Zed was sitting outside in the weather, leading me to believe thieves had made off with Skip’s better motorcycles. As if there ever was a motorcycle better than a Z1.

We gutted Skip’s house. Every night after work I would put down 5 of those green rat poison blocks. Every morning they would be gone. Eventually the pace slowed until one day I found the poison untouched. The rats ate a total of 3 gallon-size buckets of poison but I won the war. I spent a pleasant two weeks hauling out dead rats and disinfecting the entire place with a solution of 50/50 bleach and water. My lungs burned and my vision blurred but at last the place was clean and rodent free inside.

We replaced the siding, drywall and insulation, and rewired most of the the electrical system. Skip’s little garage area is now my wife CT’s walk in closet. The concrete ramp leading to the garage has been leveled off and is a 5’ X 14’ office and storage room. We re-plumbed the bathroom and redid the kitchen eliminating any appliance that hinted at being a stove. We named the little house in the arroyo “The Carriage House” hoping to boost the little shack’s confidence. New paint and tile made The Carriage House look fresh inside. Skip’s old fiberglass shower stall was hard to remove and we were running out of time so it still serves, the last remnant of a bygone owner.

Skip Duke was not satisfied with the little Carriage House and had bigger plans in the works. Further up the property there was a graded area where Skip was going to build a structure. Two large, wooden sawhorses held 8-foot x 20-foot sheets of a composite material consisting of 6” white Styrofoam sandwiched between two layers of glued-on, exterior grade, 1/2’’ oriented strand board. There was enough paneling to build a 20 X 40 insulated building. Unfortunately, death has a way of messing up the best of plans. The 20’ X 40’ structure never got built. White plastic sheeting covered the composite panels but the relentless New Mexico sun crystallized the plastic. The sheet lay in tatters and it would crumble when you tried to pick it up. Without protection the panels fell victim to the elements.

Oriented strand board is fairly weather resistant but you can’t let it remain wet for long. Stacked horizontally on the sawhorses, the panels couldn’t shed water and the pooled moisture between the panels rotted the OSB. I’m sure if Skip Duke knew he was going to die he would have stacked them vertically allowing water to run out from between the panels. I managed to salvage enough panel material to build the walls for another of Skip’s unfinished projects: the pump house.

The original pump house was a 55-gallon metal drum over the wellhead. Inside the living room was a 40-gallon pressure tank to smooth out the cycling of the well pump. I can’t figure why anyone would want a gigantic pressure tank in their living room but Skip was not a man who trifled with cosmetics. The amount of paneling I could salvage determined the size of the well house so I poured a 6’ X 10” slab with a central drain and built a small shed over the well. I moved the 40-gallon pressure tank to the new well house and installed a water softener next to the pressure tank. With 6” thick Styrofoam walls the pump house is so well insulated a 150-watt chicken coop heater keeps the pipes nice and toasty in winter. Too bad so much composite paneling was ruined; it would have made for a super energy efficient house.

When Skip Duke died he left behind a 24-foot motorhome without an engine, an 18-foot Hobie Cat sailboat on a trailer, a 1974 MGB-GT hardtop 4-seater, a 4-person Jacuzzi with seized air and water pump motors, two large dog houses and a backyard chicken coop with camouflage netting over the top. Skip was a man who was into everything cool. I got rid of the junk except for the MG. Those hardtops with their Italian, Pininfarina-designed hatchbacks are rare. I might get it running one day.

Life is funny. I have an Internet buddy also named Skip Duke. He is very much alive and a Kawasaki Z1 guru. The living Skip Duke’s Kawasaki advice has saved me untold woe in the long restoration process of dead Skip Duke’s motorcycle. I bet the two Skips would get along famously (either that or they’d kill each other).

I never knew Skip Duke. We’ve remodeled and reused his vast pile of junk in ways he could not have foreseen. I wish he had left details of his future plans, like notes stuck to each project describing what he saw as success. I hope he’s looking down (or up as the case may be; Skip might have been a real jerk) and smiling as he sees his old Kawasaki motorcycle (now my old Kawasaki motorcycle) roaring down the highway full of life and power. I hope whatever becomes of that soulful part of a man after death is aware of the happy life CT and I have built atop the 5-acre spread he must have loved dearly. And I hope he finds joy in all that we have done.

Follow the complete Z1 resurrection here!

For more on Tinfiny Ranch and the Tinfiny Summit, check out the YouTube videos here!