There's just something very pleasant about working with Bondo.
I mean, it's like sculpture, really. You mix it up to the consistancy of fine french cheese, slather on the pink stuff, and slowly caress it down to what you perceive to be the natural contour of the car. All that sanding and cursing is worth it when you step back and realize you've turned a mess of a dent into something that looks like a hood again. So you take another sip of Molsen Triple X and spray it with the first primer coat, knowing full well you'll probably have to sand it back down again, but you HAVE to see how it's gonna look when you paint it. Get a hint of the final product. To show yourself you are a step closer to shoving the windows back in and tooling around town with the windows down, 48 horses winnying gruffly in the cool night. With the soft green glow of the Nakamichi tape deck, spinning something upbeat and treble. You know, Dick Dale, or CCR, or the Velvet Underground. Or you know what? Just for the pure anachronistic joy of it, Dr. Dre. Let the ricers have a little laugh at your expense, because you're the fucking mack, and you can take it.
I'm really pretty new at this stuff. When I first drove "Old Cars," specifically my old Piratevan, I was content just to let them rust through. I saw no reason to take pride in repairing something when its whole appeal was its run down absurdity. I mean, essential repairs, yes. Like replacing the spark plugs when the van wouldn't start. Or replacing the shifter when it breaks and I had to pull on the shift wire with pliers. Or taking the whole axle into the basement so I could get enough light to replace the busted U-Joint (thus saving $160). Or replacing the water pump, thermostat, and radiator on the Cadillac only to find out it's got a cracked block. Even still, I never should have sold that caddy, especially not for the $150 I got for it. The clarity of hindsight notwithstanding, that car had all leather, dog. Sunroof, big trunk. And I could have dropped a nice refinished engine in it for less than the cost of that Ranger (though that was a cool truck).
With the Beetle, it's different. Here's a car with some surface rust and curb dings, but that's essentially in amazing shape for a 31 year old auto. In fact, when we pried it out from underneath Sean's dad's deck, covered in leaves and muck, not having run in two years -- and it not only turned over, but returned me successfully home to Wynantskill only losing an exhaust pipe in the process -- well, that's something special. That's not run down absurdity, that's a testament to good engineering, meticulous maintenance, and a heaping portion of luck.
That's why I like the bondo. Caressing that plasticene surface with 80 grit sandpaper is a way of connecting with the car. By the time the exterior of this car is primed and ready for the topcoat of Marina Blue (L45D), it will be something that I restored. Some piece of entropic history turned about through my tenuous automotive skills. And you know, I'm probably doing a really shitty job of it. But I feel good. And if you step far enough back, it looks good. And it sure beats watching American Idol or collecting rubber arm bracelets or buying low rise jeans or whatever you people do.
Posted by das at April 21, 2004 09:52 PM | TrackBack