STAFF CAR SAGAS
The Saab’s restoration journey concludes for James
For the second time in my life, I have chronicled my struggles with a Saab. Back in 2017, it was a troublesome 96 V4, which just didn’t want to live despite endless hours of dedication and expense. I’ve owned a few very nice 900s and 99s before and since – all roadworthy and trouble-free – but I seem to have an aversion to project Saabs. Or, rather, they have an aversion to me.
At times, this 900 Turbo has tested my sanity – and I very nearly binned it once and for all. No, really. I’ve never done that before but it very nearly happened. This car seriously ravaged my mental health. But… we persevered, despite some cars wanting to live, and others fighting you all the way. Recently, Clive and I were in the workshop, putting in 12-hour days less than a week before the car was due to join our annual winter adventure to Cornwall. Did we enjoy it? No. Was it worth it? No. Well… not as I write this, anyway. Maybe that’ll change. I hope so.
You may have read back in the December 2024 edition about the clutch slave cylinder going pop? Well, Clive and I shoved the car back under the ramp and left it there. We needed a break. As the Cornwall deadline loomed, we got stuck in again. In order to remove the slave cylinder, which sits inside the gearbox bellhousing, the clutch must be depressed and a special tool inserted to lock the whole clutch assembly, allowing it to be removed as one unit. To gain access in the first place we had to remove numerous intake pipes, breathers and vacuum hoses followed by the cover plate that sits atop the forward-mounted gearbox. However, the failure of the slave cylinder meant that compressing the clutch with the pedal was impossible. Out came the reciprocating saw and some brutal surgery (which served as therapy for Clive, who had by this point had had enough) saw the weeping unit dissected and removed in pieces.
Access was tight, but after multiple grazed knuckles, each of the clutch pressure plate’s securing bolts were removed using ‘keyhole surgery’, the engine having been turned incrementally using a breaker bar after each to access the next. New slave cylinder in hand, Doctor Clive compressed the clutch assembly using the bench press, fabricated a retaining tool from a length of copper brake pipe, and carefully fed the assembly back into the bellhousing. Six setscrews were then carefully inserted, care being taken not to drop any into the bellhousing before, on the second revolution of the engine, each was torqued to spec. Well… five were. The sixth went tight, then loose again. Yep… the threads in the flywheel had failed!
A vision of Helicoil
Expletives echoed around the workshop before Clive set about removing the clutch bolts once more, followed by the assembly, before unbolting the flywheel from the end of the crankshaft. Matt Tomkins then came to the rescue with his Helicoil kit. The kit was supplied with an oversize drill to clear the damaged threads, a tap to suit the outer diameter of the thread insert and a pair of fitting tools and once the outer thread had been carefully cut, these were used to wind in the stainless-steel insert and finally break off its fitting tang. As sun set on another day in the workshop, we set to work once again refitting the flywheel and clutch assembly.
Day broke and the workshop echoed to the familiar sound of ‘Up, Down, Up, Down’, as the final bleed on the clutch hydraulics were completed, fluid having initially been drawn through with a vacuum bleeder. Pipework removed days previously was refitted, jubilee clips tightened and finally, (oh, finally), the Saab emerged humming contentedly from its longterm storage position beneath the four-poster ramp. Onto the two-poster, work could finally commence on the brakes, which required some titivation. Given how long the car had been off on the road it was no surprise. Calipers were stripped, freed, cleaned and exercised and new flexi hoses fitted – but of course in the manner we’d come to expect from this restoration so far, the hard lines at the rear were so corroded to their unions that fresh pipework needed to be made up from scratch to replace it. The clock ticked on.
Eventually it was all back together, and the MoT station beckoned. Of course, the Saab failed but, as explained in my Winter Warmers diary on page 22, there was nothing that wasn’t quickly sortable. After which, well, it was time to drive the car to Cornwall, it’s first trip out after what had been the most traumatic birth the workshop had witnessed for years. Having given the car a much needed clean, I now needed to learn how to love the thing. Let’s see what Cornwall, my former home and sanctuary of happiness and contentment, can do for us both.
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