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A small victory.

So nice to have this under my belt. After ordering all the parts on my spreadsheet:

I set about getting the Z’s engine running, even if the car itself isn’t yet mobile. Here’s what was done:

• Replaced all engine bay coolant hoses, replaced coolant
• Drained, cleaned and re-sealed fuel tank
• Flushed all fuel hardlines and replaced all rubber lines
• Set valve clearances, replaced valve cover gasket:

• Removed intake manifold coolant pipe and plugged passages
• Had carbs rebuilt
• New battery
• Replaced thermostat, oil pressure sensor, fuel pump and filter…

…along with a few other odds and ends. Filled the tank with a few gallons of 93, added 5 fresh quarts of 15W-40 Rotella T heavy duty oil (love the stuff) and a new filter, and on Wednesday evening…cranked it. The results of the first attempt can be found here—while the engine started, it immediately began to cycle between racing and bogging in the exact manner it had before I parked it eight years ago. By juggling the choke and throttle, I managed to stabilize things long enough for the engine to warm up, at which point I was able to use the idle screw to keep it running. But the engine was still missing and sputtering, something obviously wrong.

I was bummed. I didn’t hear any knocking or tapping that would indicate internal damage from the no-oil-pressure incident, but I wondered if somehow the cycling idle might be caused by something I’d done, though I wasn’t sure how it could be connected to a loss of oil pressure without some accompanying metal-on-metal noise.

Still, as another Z owner pointed out, it started, it stayed running, and it didn’t overheat. So there was that. The critical bit of information came from yet another Z owner, Frank in Houston, who right away saw that the outlet pipe on the balance tube for the (removed) air pump was unplugged, creating a huge post-throttle vacuum leak. The behavior of the engine on first startup was so dramatic that I didn’t see how plugging the pipe would make a substantial difference, but…did it ever. The surging idle completely disappeared, replaced by a perfectly-running, docile and tractable still-untuned engine. Amazing. And extraordinarily encouraging.

The upshot is that the engine wasn’t ruined by the no-oil-pressure incident, so I’ll simply pull it and clean it up in lieu of totally rebuilding it, reducing the cost and time of the restoration exponentially.

Now I’ve just got to get it back on the road for a “last hurrah” before I park it for the resto, which means…brakes and clutch time. Onward!

Editor’s note: This post is Part 14 of an ongoing series chronicling my efforts toward the restoration of my 1972 Datsun 240Z, originally my father’s. Read the other installments here:

• Part 13: Restoring the Fuel System, Part I
• Part 12: Meat on the Wheels
• Part 11: Inspiration (Sort Of)
• Part 10: Carbs’ Return
• Part 9: First Triad Z Club Meet
• Part 8: Wheel Work
• Part 7: Tactical Changes
• Part 6: Little Things
• Part 5: Coming Home
• Part 4: The Rollout
• Part 3: Confessions of a Poor Car Enthusiast
• Part 2: Opening the Tomb
• Part 1: Projecting Forward

The more things change…

The Viper has returned after a two-year hiatus, this time bearing an SRT badge instead of the old Dodge one, and with more power than ever, but design-wise, one could be forgiven for thinking they were in a kind of time-warp while beholding it.

Packing 640 hp from its signature 8.4l pushrod V10, the car’s developers insist a primary goal was to civilize the car, making it more livable and accessible while preserving its rawness and character, and I’ve no doubt they’ve made great strides in that direction. When considering its competition—the Corvette ZR1, Shelby GT500, various Ferraris and Porsches—its horsepower figure seems barely adequate; it was certainly easier top the supercar mountain when the original 400-hp Viper first exploded onto the scene in all its irreverent glory in the early ’90s. Brute power isn’t enough anymore, so there was little else for the engineers to do except make it more docile.

That being the case, the chassis engineers seem to have charged the stylists with carrying the torch of the Viper’s innate essence. To accomplish this, the designers basically pretended that the previous generation ’03-’10 car never existed and penned a surprisingly cursory update of the original ’96-’02 Viper GTS coupe. Where the ’03-’10 car’s waistline was relatively undramatic, the new car’s flanks plunge in the manner of the original’s. The double-bubble roof and ducktail spoiler have even returned.

And as much as I’d like to criticize Chrysler for designing something so derivative of one of their previous products, I just can’t. See, the original Viper GTS coupe is hands-down one of the best looking American cars ever. It’s extroverted, yes, but all the lines resolve perfectly, whether on the front end, the side or at the rear. It’s a flamboyant, yet cohesive shape, and the new Viper’s stylists were right to recognize near-perfection when they saw it, and try to emulate it. It’s not like it’ll ever be mistaken for anything else.

There was far more commotion surrounding this year’s Bahrain Grand Prix than there was in the race itself.

The off-again, on-again event was finally held on Sunday in the midst of protests over the country’s crackdown on political dissent. Formula 1 being a global sport, and one that’s consistently prided itself on paying lip service to a higher social conscience (even if the main concern of the powers-that-be has been and always will be money, first and foremost), there were serious doubts as to whether the event would actually proceed. In the end, though, the race weekend moved forward and Sebastian Vettel won from pole position in his Red Bull, a bit of deja vu to anyone who followed his dominance last season.

Kimi Räikkönen and Romain Grosjean rounded out the podium for a strong showing by the Lotus Renault team. The second-place finish was particularly vindicating for Räikkönen after his single-lap meltdown last race in China. Both Williams cars retired, another setback for what was supposed to be a resurgent year for the storied British team. As for “my” driver, Fernando Alonso in his Ferrari had a decent drive from 9th place on the grid, but couldn’t manage better than 7th. At least he finished in the points, and with four different winners in the first four races of the season, is within spitting distance of the top of the leaderboard.

Spain in three weeks! Can’t wait for the European leg of the F1 season.

The drivers’ points standings after the race:

1. 53: Sebastian Vettel, Red Bull-Renault
2. 49: Lewis Hamilton, McLaren-Mercedes
3. 48: Mark Webber, Red Bull-Renault
4. 43: Jenson Button, McLaren-Mercedes
5. 43: Fernando Alonso, Ferrari

This build isn’t even done yet, but the engineering and fabrication is so stunning that I feel compelled to feature it.

The skinny? It’s custom-engineered, 2.6l, peripheral port, 4-rotor Wankel engine transplant into a 2nd generation (FC) Mazda RX-7. Every piece is so jewel-like that it’s difficult to know where to begin.

John Huijben, an engineer and machinist based in the Netherlands, decided on a bit of a whim to put this engine together in his spare time. In his words, it’s more of an engineering exercise than anything else, and not meant to be a part of a fully integrated car. Put another way, it isn’t remotely the most practical or sensible way to build a powerful RX-7, but Lord help me if it isn’t absolutely fascinating. My kind of project, in other words.

Here’s the shell: a basic Series 4 (’86-’88) RX-7, a touch rusty, stripped down the degree it’ll have to be to accept the engine.

One of the build thread’s highlights is the CAD work. Stunning exploded views precede almost every major update and illustrate the benefits of careful design over a less thought-out, more improvised approach to engine building.

The slide throttle in particular is a complete work of engineering art. Less restrictive than a conventional butterfly throttle, especially at WOT, its design and implementation are peerless.

The part of the 4-rotor build that takes the cake, though, has to be the custom eccentric shaft (a rotary’s equivalent of a crankshaft). Instead of mating two e-shafts from smaller, 2-rotor engines, Huijben decided to design and machine his own custom piece from a solid steel billet (shown at top in photo above). Given its precise balancing, oiling and harmonics requirements, it’s a tour de force of engineering.

I’ll definitely be keeping up with the build’s progress. Can’t wait to see it come to life for the first time!

H/t to Aaron for the link to the build. Thanks!

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series showcasing awesome engine swaps and builds. Read the other installments here:

• Audi V8 into S3 Lotus Esprit
• ’69 Chevy Camaro with LS7/LS9 hybrid

Well folks, I’d like to say that this is one of the signs of the impending apocalypse—a Lamborghini SUV—but believe it or not, there is a precedent here.

See, in the midst of the Italian supercar maker’s 30-year (1970-2000) period of financial distress, they did create a limited run high-end SUV called the LM002. Made to the tune of 328 copies from 1986 to 1993, it seemed just as out of character for Lamborghini then as the Urus does now—perhaps more so, given that the SUV craze of the early ’90s hadn’t yet taken place.

Whatever the quality of its reception, the LM002 did pave the way at least somewhat for the latest Lambo. Not completely, mind you; they’re still very different cars in concept—the LM002 being more of a rugged, Hummer-like vehicle and the Urus existing more in the vein of a polished Land Rover or BMW X5M.

The Urus’ powerplant looks to be a bit less exotic than its forebear’s as well. In contrast to the LM002′s 5.2l V12 (a massive 7.2l marine V12 was even available by special order), the Urus will sport a more “mundane” 5.2l V10 routing 584 hp through all four wheels.

So while the idea of a Lamborghini SUV may still be jarring, it’s a concept with history, and given that Porsche has been cranking out Cayennes for the past ten years, we might well wonder what took Lambo so long?

Here’s one I’d absolutely love to drive.

Like the Toyota AE86, in its day, the ’91-’94 B13 Nissan Sentra SE-R was something of a hidden jewel. Never a smashing success in spite of the profile-raising accolades heaped upon it by the automotive press, it exited the market quietly in ’94 without leaving a real replacement.

It’s easy to see why more buyers didn’t gravitate in the B13 SE-R’s direction—the styling is decidedly soap bar-ish in spite of the sporty wheels, fancy air dam and spoiler. That said, those who didn’t consider one by all accounts missed something special.

To create the SE-R, Nissan took their cheapest car, stiffened the suspension, fitted it with a limited-slip differential, and equipped it with their wonderfully stout, flexible and rev-happy 4-cylinder, 2.0l, 140 hp SR20DE engine. The result was a car that could blow through 60 mph from a standstill in 7.6 seconds—not blisteringly fast, but quick enough to keep pace with higher-tier sports coupes and sedans. The suspension gave the car a fling-about, tossable character and the LSD helped put every last bit of power to the ground effectively.

The B13 SE-R was more than the sum of its parts. Car and Driver, one of its biggest fans, wrote, “The Nissan Sentra SE-R isn’t going to win any beauty contests, but it’s a beautiful driving experience.” All reviews of the day praised the convergence of the SR20 engine’s brilliance, the chassis’ playful character and the overall car’s price and utility into a near-perfect package for the price. As for me, its underrated, diamond-in-the-rough persona is a major draw, and elevates it into the ranks of seriously desirable cars.

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series highlighting FWD cars I think highly of, in spite of my overwhelming RWD bias. Read the other installments here:

• ’88-’92 Mazda MX-6
• Audi Coupe GT
• Volkswagen Corrado
• Peugeot 405 Mi16
• ’78-’93 Saab 900
• Volvo 850 T-5R
• 5th-generation Honda Prelude
• 1st- and 2nd-generation Volkswagen Scirocco

Nissan’s refresh of the Murano between its 1st and 2nd generation is the design equivalent of taking away with your right hand what you add with your left.

Granted, the Murano hasn’t exactly been a flop, sales-wise. I do see a fair number of them on the road, and the car remains a stable part of Nissan’s lineup. But it still represents a classic case of how to improve styling in one area while ruining it in another.

What am I referring to? The front and rear of the car. Examine the pictures above. The top two depict the newer, 2nd generation, ’09+ car, and the bottom two show the original, ’02-’07 vehicle. What Nissan did, essentially, is vastly improve the look of the car’s nose while designing away all the personality of the rear. Lest you think I’m splitting hairs, keep an eye out for examples of each car on the road; the impression is even stronger in person than in pictures.

The 1st generation Murano’s front end cleaved to Nissan’s corporate styling philosophy of the time—it’s sharp, angular, geometric and altogether awkward. The ’09+ car’s fascia, by contrast, is much more cohesive and handsome, as if they had taken the original, given it a shave and a facelift and managed to make it more striking at the same time. Well done there.

But…Nissan went the opposite direction with the Murano’s rear. The ’02-’07 car’s taillights and rump were arguably the most successful area of the car, styling-wise. Significantly, they were distinctive—you could pick them out in a badge-less lineup of mid-size crossovers—and they integrated with the car’s overall lines in the way they flowed up and over the rear wheel arches. But with the 2nd generation Murano, all that character and context is gone; the taillights look arbitrarily placed, and like they could pull double-duty on any econobox further down in Nissan’s lineup.

One step forward, one step back for the Murano. It’s a shame when designers don’t recognize where they’ve gone right and preserve, or at least minimally update, those styling elements.

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series wherein I discuss unsuccessful cars whose styling was their overlooked (or denied) Achilles heel. Read the other installments here:

• Mercedes-Benz R-Class
• Third-generation Ford Taurus