Updated on 6/26/98

WHATTA BARGAIN !

This true story is about a man, not a really smart man, and the boat bargain of a lifetime.

My wife conceded that we should sell our boat. It was beautiful, big, and nearly immaculate, but very expensive to maintain. At my insistence, this boat would be replaced with an older, simpler, less expensive boat. We would return lots of money to our ailing savings accounts. We would virtually eliminate the high risks of costly mechanical failure so common with our current boat. Peace and harmony would return to our household.
This decision made Corey, my four-year-old son, very happy. This meant that he might be able to attend college without having to get a full-time job at age five.

I came across an old Chaparral Tri-Hull with a Mercury outboard motor. It was on a used car/boat lot. The owner of the lot, I'll refer to him as "Mr. M," came out to tell me about the boat. It was a 1979 model for certain, and the boat was 17 feet long...maybe 18. Oh, yeah, and it ran good when Mr. M bought it two weeks ago. But there was no battery and Mr. M didn't have time to mess with hooking it up. He recommended that I take it into a shop to have it all checked out before buying, but it was a good motor. Corey and I stomped around in the boat giving it a thorough inspection. It needed everything. It had no interior, not even one seat, and the floor would need to be replaced. Corey said he liked it. I agreed. It was an excellent project boat and a fair deal at Mr. M's asking price. We hem-hawed and haggled. In the end, I took the boat home at a significantly reduced price, on his good word that the motor ran. At the price I paid it was a good deal even if I had to do some serious motor work. Mr. M would be getting the title from the bank and sending it to me within two days.

I towed the "deal of a lifetime" home and started doing some basic checks. My wife saw the boat, and heard the story including the unbelievable sale price. She didn't have the same level of enthusiasm that I had. Corey and I were still pretty excited about our great deal.

My Wife helped me measure the boat length. Yep, it was exactly 16 feet long. It is customary for used boat dealers to add a foot or so to a boat when advertising it. It's so easy to get little details like the length confused, especially with so many boats to handle(Mr. M had two on his lot).

I removed the spark plugs so I could connect a pressure gauge and check the motor compression. "Hmmm," I thought, "rust on the lower two spark plugs," not good. I connected a battery to the wiring harness. I took the key out of the glove box (what was left of the glove box) and discovered that the key didn't actually fit into the ignition. I noticed damage to the ignition keyhole which was probably the result of someone "making it fit" with a hammer. I was still in a pretty good mood about the purchase, but was beginning to doubt my intelligence.

I began dismantling the control/ignition assembly so I could hot-wire the motor and spin it over. Corey asked to get in the boat and help. He stood over my shoulder and began a running commentary of my activity. The commentary included a generous portion of questions about my activity.

"Why are you taking out those things? , No, they're not things, I think they're screws."
Balanced on one knee, with my right hand blindly shoved up into the boat's side panel, I struggled to hold the nuts on the backside of the panel while I turned the screws, 1/4 turn at a time with my left hand. I fumbled. I dropped the screwdriver.
"You dropped that thing Daddy, what is that thing."
I picked up the screwdriver, turned it once or twice then dropped the nut and washer.
"You dropped that screw! You want it Daddy? You're doing a good job Daddy. I want some juice. My friend Elaina came over...why you put that there Daddy? Are we going out in the water? Why does that come apart? This is taking so long, it's hard, isn't it? , I don't know how this works."
I then slowly pulled apart the two halves of the assembly.
"You did it Daddy!! Can I get some juice now?"
I got the halves almost completely apart, then "PING!" a part flew out of the spring assembly. "THUNK" it landed somewhere in the large pile of pine needles at the aft end of the boat.
"What was that noise Daddy? What'd you do that for?"

Amazing as it seems, I found the part. I didn't even know what I was looking for! The part was a 1/4" long piece of 1/4" round bar, the neutral shift position detent. I never did successfully hot-wire the ignition. I did, however, confirm that no amount of battery power could have spun the motor over to do a compression check. I know this because I put a socket wrench onto the flywheel bolt (in the crankshaft end) and used a two foot long cheater bar...the motor would not budge. I strained and pulled so hard that I thought I might break the flywheel bolt or my eyes might pop out, and land in the pile of pine needles.

At 2:17 a.m. I woke up, sweating and concerned about the boat motor. "What if it is totally seized up with rust?" I think. "What if it needs a new crankshaft, and bearings, and block?" I decided that this was NOT a good deal. The next day I called Mr. M and told him that the motor was likely no good and I intended to return the boat and get my money back. He agreed to this, and was actually very nice about it. He seemed genuinely puzzled that the motor could be seized after running "just two weeks ago." I hung up the phone. The phone rang, it was Mr. M on the other end. "I don't want that boat back," he said. "How much would you be willing to pay assuming the motor is messed up?" He reduced the price drastically. I kept the boat. Now the fun really got started.

The boat restoration began with the motor. I read the serial number on the transom assembly, then I probed the boating enthusiasts that read the boating message board for the correct year model of the motor. It turned out to be a 1974 model (you may recall that Mr. M was certain that it was a 1979 model). As you have deducted, Mr. M had not yet given me the title. I ordered the manual for the motor and started dismantling it (the motor) with eager anticipation.

As I struggled to remove rusted fasteners I could almost hear the roar of the finely tuned 115 horsepower Mercury. "After I get through with this baby, it's going to run as if I had gone back in time and bought it brand new," I thought. "Snap," the head broke off one of the bolts. "No big deal," I thought to myself, "so I have to drill out a bolt or two, this is going to be a great motor!" "Snap, Snap, Snap"...etc. Nearly all of the 1,125 (approximately) bolts attaching the cooling jacket cover broke off while I tried to unscrew them. "Still no problem," I said to myself, " a little corrosion is normal for a motor this old." "Crack!", A small section of the cooling jacket cover broke when I tried to pry it off. To the best of my knowledge, the cover should be made of some type of aluminum alloy, the one on this motor seems to have been made from peanut brittle. "Crrrrack!" A huge crack shot across the bottom half of the cover. I was a little frustrated. I took out the hammer and a big screwdriver and forcefully removed the cover, in several pieces. "Okay", I thought, "I'll have to buy a new cover, big deal, this is still gonna be a great motor." My enthusiasm sagged despite my encouraging self-talk.

A cupful of sand poured out of the crankcase when I removed one of the side plates. Sand should not be inside any part of the motor, certainly not the crankcase! I saw rust, lots of rust, on the crankshaft and three of the connecting rods. My enthusiasm sagged further, but I forged ahead, stubborn, foolhardy. "I did not make a mistake buying this," my supportive self-talk continued. "It'll run great someday. I bought this so cheap that I can afford to buy lots of new parts. I'll make it work." I decided to have a beer, stare at the crankcase, and ponder how so much sand could ever have gotten into a crankcase.

Two weeks had passed since bringing home the boat. I had been on the phone several times with Mr. M. He still hadn't given me the title. "That's okay," I thought, "he'll get the title to me, or I'll get an abandoned boat title. It is my boat, really, it is, and I'm sure it is not stolen."

I removed the power head from the rest of the motor so I could completely disassemble it. "Snap," more bolts broke as I removed pieces of the motor. I was to the point where I'm supposed to carefully lift the crankshaft assembly out of the engine block, with connecting rods and pistons attached. I began carefully, but it wouldn't come out. It seems that at least one of the pistons was stuck in its cylinder. I tapped lightly on the crankshaft ends. Still no movement. I "tapped" with a bigger hammer, being careful not to get too aggressive. Too much impact could bend the (very expensive) crankshaft. Still no movement. Then I wailed on it with an eight pound sledge hammer. I no longer cared if I bent the stinking crankshaft! I wasn't concerned if, occasionally, the hammer struck a glancing blow to the engine block! I was really determined to get the thing apart! Still no movement. No more encouraging self-talk. Stubbornness is what motivated me at that point, not hope, not excitement.

For several days I tried more penetrating oils, heating, and beating on it. I hooked up a pair of hydraulic jacks, a crossbeam, and a cable to pull the crankshaft out. The beam broke. The piston didn't budge. The crankshaft assembly was hopelessly stuck inside the engine block. I was out of ideas and energy. I could no longer imagine the powerful roar of the motor. I could no longer even see this motor on my boat. "Maybe this was a mistake", I thought.

A few more days passed, still no title.

I made a decision to begin looking for another motor, this one was too far gone to salvage. "That's okay," I thought to myself, "this will still be a great boat."

I turned my attention away from the motor problems and began work on replacing the floor. The floor was made from a 1/2" thick piece of plywood coated on top with a layer of fiberglass. The layer of fiberglass was still intact but the plywood had rotted. I cut away the floor with my circular saw. This operation went smooth, but was very messy. The fibers of glass strand were broken into tiny pieces by the saw and then hurled at high speed into the skin of my legs. The constant stinging in my legs kept me very alert throughout the process. I felt like a cactus plant when I was through.

I removed the floor to reveal the rotting skeleton underneath. The plywood floor had the feel (and strength) of newspaper. The keel board, a critical structural member, had the consistency (and strength) of a damp sponge. As I ripped out the rotting mess various thoughts flowed through my mind. "How am I going to replace all this? What's this bullet doing in here? Will I ever get these needles of glass out of my legs? I still don't have the title for this thing!"

"May I speak with Mr. M please" I said to the woman on the other end of the phone. "He's not here right now, can he call you back," she replied.
"Well you can tell him that I still need the title for the boat. Does he have it?"
"I don't know if he has the title, Ray. He can call you when he gets back. He'll be back any minute."
"Okay," I grumble.
He didn't call back.

Getting the title for the boat was requiring as much effort as the restoration itself. Mr. M had an inexhaustible supply of excuses for not getting me the title. It had been over a month since I bought the boat. I was becoming concerned. The following is an e-mail message that I sent to my friend Tom after one I my visits to Mr. M's place of business.

"Hi Tom. I enjoyed your last e-transmission. Do you want to hear a story that will make you laugh, make you cry, and make you think I'm the most unlucky idiot in the nation? I thought so, read on.

I sold our beautiful boat approximately 2.65 hours after setting it out on the lot for sale. I sold it for $50 over what I paid for it (my initial cost...not the total "invested"). Oh happy day. We have money to burn (it is being burned now, it is like holding back the reins on a horse heading for the barn). No more nice boat. But, I made a very savvy purchase just about 1 1/2 months ago...another boat! This one in need of much repair, but very inexpensive. Here is the really funny part...the snot-pile who sold me the boat has continued to drag his feet on getting me the title. One excuse after another. I went to return the boat and get my money back to find the gates to his establishment locked up, and a "property for sale" sign out front. Ha Ha Ha, HA HA HA !, HA HA HA HA !!

My boat can not be registered. Texas does not have an allowance for abandoned or salvaged boats. I'm now chasing the snot-pile across Texas.

I repeat, "HA HA HA HA !!."

Have a nice evening Tom.

Signed,

Boatless, and Stupid, in Houston"
That e-mail typifies the frustration I felt while trying to get the boat title. I did get the title from Mr. M about a week after that e-mail. The title issue was settled, the boat was legally ours. The restoration project was back in full swing. I was pumped up and excited. I could almost see and hear the beautifully restored Chaparral ripping across the lake. "I did make a great boat deal," I thought, " this boat is really going to be awesome!"

I found another boat motor. This motor ran very well, I heard it and saw it with my own eyes! The price was pretty good, so I bought it. All the pieces of the (boat) puzzle were together. I now had a boat, a trailer to get it to the water, and a motor to propel it. Wow! I was ecstatic. I realize most of you readers take it for granted that when you buy something, you get something useful. But for me, having a boat, motor and trailer, functional and legally mine, was a real treat!

The restoration process was pretty typical, here is a summary of the highlights:

The Following Section Added on 5/29/98

At last, the boat restoration was done, or at least most of it. I had a few more additions I wanted to make to the boat but they could be done later. I was pleased with the transformation. One more boat saved from the landfill. My contribution to the recycling effort.

I was ready to test the boat out, first in the driveway, then in the Lake.

The Following Section Added on 6/4/98

"Whirrerrerrerring." I spun the motor over to start it for the first time since I saw it run at the boat dealer's place. "Whirrerrerrerrerring." "Hmmm, its not showing any sign of starting," I think to myself. I checked the fuel line bulb again and made sure the gas tank is vented. "Whirrerrerrerrerring, Whirrerrerrerrerring, Whirrerrerrerrerring." The motor would not start. It wasn't even stumbling or coughing, so I knew there was a fundamental ignition system problem. I hopped out of the boat and stood in the driveway staring at the motor. "What could be wrong," I ask myself. "I have to figure this out, NOW, I can't work all this time and have the day end like this." I took out the wiring diagram and began troubleshooting. I had been working in the Texas summer heat all day so my mental capacity was somewhat diminished. For those of you not familiar with south Texas summers, they are hot (about 95 degrees) and humid (about 90 percent). Being outside is a lot like being in a sauna, except where a sauna relaxes muscles and removes body toxins, the Texas climate just makes you tired, sweaty and stinky.

I studied, checked, studied, checked and then "Whirrerrerrerrerring, Whirrerrerrerrerring, Whirrerrerrerrerring," tried to start it again. I was out of time. We had to leave soon to go to my Boss's party. I closed up the garage and went inside to take a shower. "We won't be going out in the boat tomorrow," I say, in a hopeless, depressing manner to Gail, my wife as I walk slowly through the house.

I thought through the whole electrical system over and over while getting ready for the party, but I couldn't figure it out. I was resigned to the (painful) idea of taking the motor back to the boat dealer to show me what I had done wrong. It would be a humiliating experience. I was not real happy.

I had about 5 minutes of spare time before we had to leave. Cool, clean and relaxed I sat down in the living room and meandered through motor electrical diagram. There it was. I had found the problem. It turns out that I had suffered from a paradigm about how ignition systems work. In an automobile, a wire is connected from positive battery terminal to the ignition module, so that is what I did, even though the diagram does not show it this way. In this application, the motor runs when the ignition module is disconnected from the negative battery terminal. It is prevented from running when the module is connected to ground, this is also how most lawnmower ignition systems work. I was so excited that I wanted to run out to the garage, make the minor change, and test out my theory. "Time to go," Gail says as she walks into the living room. It was time to go, so I would have to wait until tomorrow, after church no less, to test out my theory. I was as anxious as a kid on Christmas eve.

"Baaroombrumbrumbrumbrum," the motor jumped to life with one flick of the ignition switch. It idled smoothly while I made minor adjustments. All systems go. Everything was ready now. I was elated. "We will be going out in the boat today," I proudly tell Gail. We packed up the boat and headed for the lake.

Corey and I were in the boat poised on the ramp, ready to launch. Gail backed the trailer a bit more. I flicked the silky smooth control lever into reverse. The boat glided effortlessly off the trailer. I give Gail the "OK" signal and she takes off to park the van and trailer. Everything is going very smooth as I maneuver the boat to the pier. Being the first time out in this boat and this motor, all my senses are on alert checking for potential problem signs. I continually scan the entire boat for signs of trouble, every muscle tense, ready to act quickly. Eyes bulging, quick, jerky motions, talking in a strained, high pitched voice in quick, choppy sentences. I did not have the confidence-building body language typical to a captain of a vessel. I imagine my body language was similar to that of the character Barney Fife (Don Knotts) on the old sitcom The Andy Griffith Show.

These are some of the thoughts which went through my mind in the short time it took to move from the ramp to the pier:

While maneuvering the boat and going down my list of irrational thoughts, Corey poured out a steady stream of comments and questions.

We arrived at the pier. Gail hopped into the boat and we idled away through the no-wake zone. I was fairly relaxed and confident now since everything was working so well. The boat handled great at low speed, the controls and shifting were smooth, and the motor didn't miss a beat. "Is everybody ready to take off?" I said just before pushing forward the throttle. "Whuuuuuuugghhhh." The motor bogged down instead of accelerating when I moved the throttle forward. "Whuuaaaaahhhh." The motor then picked up speed and the boat took off. It isn't supposed to run that way, but I figured that the plugs were a little fouled from all the idling and that it would probably need some minor adjustments later. "No big deal," I say to myself, confidence wavering slightly.

We traveled for a short while at about 30 mph. Everyone was enjoying trying out the boat for the first time. The boat handled well, seemed solid, and didn't throw any spray on us as we crossed choppy waves. I was relieved to find that the boat had good manners and that the motor was powerful enough to move this quickly even at 2/3 throttle. "I'm going to open her up," I say, then shove the throttle all the way forward. "Whuuuuuuugggerrrrrrrrrr." The motor bogged down. I backed the throttle to the 2/3 position again. "Whuuuuuuuuhhh." The motor still was just slogging along, like my confidence. "That doesn't sound right," Gail says. Corey restates the fact. "No it doesn't, its messed up," I reply, "I just hope it will get us back to the ramp."

We did get back to the boat ramp. The newly installed bow cleats held up fine while being towed in by another boat. I had more work to do.

"Your carbs are dirty, that's all," said the mechanic on the other end of the phone. David is a mechanic who I have gotten to know fairly well over the last several months. He is competent and honest. I was going to give him the boat to fix, but since he was backlogged, and it was a fairly simple job, he encouraged me to do it myself. I took the carbs off and disassembled them when I got home from work that night. David was right. Even though the exterior of the was sparkling clean, I found clogged ports and piles of gum (fuel deposit type, not chewing gum) in two of the three carburetors. I cleaned them using the cleaner that shoots out forcefully through a small tube. One thing I learned (again), do not look directly into the hole you're squirting the cleaner into, or cleaner squirts right back into your eye.

Click Here See the End of the Story



Click Here to Return to the Boat Page