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.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 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"
The Following Section Added on 5/29/98
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.