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Carburetor Enthusiast™

@1990mx5

🪲I might’ve given you unsolicited VW facts. Let me know if you didn’t enjoy it. 🪲
she/her
🍓1990 Mazda Miata 🍓
🫛1971 VW Super Beetle🫛
✨When I’m not fixing my own cars, I enjoy watching others race theirs.✨

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Y’all. I’m just now realizing that I yammer on about cars, but have never actually proven that I own anything to back it up. So, an introduction?

The first, and the best. My 1971 Super Beetle. It was the very first Beetle I looked at when I was in the market, and it has been a perfect car. I’ve never looked at another Beetle since.

The engine has been pulled, poked at, disassembled, and then put back in by yours truly. When I first bought this car, my dad was adamant that I could do all the work myself, and he’s held me to that for the last five years. This car gifted me a slow-building foundation of patience and skill that I wouldn’t trade for the world.

Ownership status: 2019 — present

Beetle #2 — A 1972 Standard. Didn’t I just say that I’d never buy another Beetle?

This one was bought from a friend for about the price of a Happy Meal. She didn’t run, she had no brakes, and she was probably losing her clutch as well.

I once stalled her on a hill while Chic’s Le Freak was blasting from a speaker that had no volume buttons. She failed to start for about a solid minute, and after my pleading and begging, apparently got enough gas in the chamber to splutter embarrassingly up the hill.

It was the height of COVID, and I was bored out of my mind. The brakes took a few days, the engine needed a new fuel filter and carb float, and then that was it. She was back on the road. I sold her away, and I still look for her occasionally on Marketplace.

Other than the paint, she was completely stock, which made her good for stealing parts off of. I’m pretty sure she was sold without sidemarkers.

Ownership status: Spring of 2020 — summer of 2020.

My dad’s 1976 Transporter. When I got my Beetle, my grandad and dad started going on about “the good old days”, when they’d pile into one of my grandad’s buses, and go camping in the South of France.

So, enter VW Bus. She’s a Transporter at heart, but the previous owner stuck a Westfalia interior in there, and now we’ve got a camper! We bought her non-running, had a crisis about buying a lawn ornament, and then realized that the problem was merely a main vacuum line. She’s run fine ever since.

She’s got about 10 more horsepower than the other Volkswagens (62hp), which makes her particularly good in freeways and long-distance travel. She’s the most reliable of the fleet, and has made it down to the California border (from Northern WA) and back without a blip. She’s never broken down. Not yet.

Ownership status: Spring of 2021 — present

One of these is not like the other: 1990 Miata.

The Beetle -> Miata pipeline is real. I know of at least three people (myself included) that’ve pulled this trick. She’s got 300,000 miles on the clock and counting. This car was meant to be a cheap summer commuter, maybe do a little track racing, and be gone by the end of the summer. Unfortunately, I fell in love. This car has had more money poured into it than any of the other vehicles, despite her terrible paint and high mileage, no OBD system, and about fifty other problems. But I love her.

This is the car that has forced me to reckon with fuel injection, and the one that has taught me the most about “racing” (quotation marks because I was the slowest 1.6 NA at the last Auto-X).

I had to learn about rollbars, hardtops, tires and wheels, coilovers, radiators, rolled and pulled fenders, and how to handle a car with more than 60hp. All my other cars are completely stock in the engine department, so the Miata is where I started experimenting. Racing intake, performance radiator, the usual suspects. Rumor (fact) has it that I tried to ship a cheap hardtop from my university to my house. It did not work. I had to tuck my tail and go to Canada for a hardtop that’s genuinely worth more than the car. I’ve become a snob, I think.

This car has only failed me once, about two days into ownership. The clutch master went out, and I panicked, thinking I’d bought a lemon. I had not. However, she’s had to save me only one time, but it was quite possibly the greatest save known to Miatakind. A clutch disc spring exploded while I was out and about, rendering shifting to become harder and harder, and then impossible. She drove me 84 miles home in the middle of a bitter winter rainstorm at 10pm. She only refused to go into gear once on my driveway. So, I owed it to the car to fix the transmission, I guess. I cashed a lot of luck that day.

I replaced the clutch disc, plate, pilot bearing, throwout bearing, and hydraulic system in February 2025, and she drives now! It was my very first transmission pull and put-back, and certainly not the most fun I’ve ever had. But I did it, and it works (so far).

Ownership status: Fall of 2022 — present

Honorable mention: My dad’s 1978 MGB. This is the car that taught me how to drive stick! My dad bought it when my family moved from California, and he was probably longing for a little bit of his British roots. The car was his daily for its entire ownership, and drove in commuting traffic every day for years with a cracked cylinder head. My dad pulled the engine on it multiple times, probably just for fun.

Just kidding. The clutch blew up twice. The soft top would leak, and moss grew on the carpets. My dad used to tote a gallon bottle into work to fill with water because the car would lose coolant throughout the workday. He would place a small bowl to collect oil because the company had just finished the underground parking, and he didn’t want to leak oil onto the new concrete. It had three windshield wipers! What a brilliant car! I say that with zero sarcasm. What a silly, beautiful, funny car.

Ownership status: 2006 — summer of 2021

***

I learned everything from my dad, who used to rally his Mini Cooper for pinks back in the 80’s. He learned everything from his father —my grandfather— who is exactly who you’d think of when you hear “Mancunian backyard mechanic”. He smoked like a house on fire, refused to spend more than 2k on any car ever, and was quite possibly the greatest, kindest man who ever lived. He never had a car for longer than 6 months, but always had a soft spot for aircooled Volkswagens. 

If you’re genuinely curious about my mechanical misadventures, I go by @lowbutstillslow on Instagram, where I actually put money where my mouth is. It’s subpar work, but it is work. 

When I'm not fixing the tin cans on wheels, I love to watch F1 and Le Mans, and I'm getting into NASCAR and Indycar. I'm astounded by the abilities of drivers and mechanics that're far more talented than I can ever dream.

If anyone has questions about anything -- mechanical things*, car brands, F1, or even non-car stuff, let me know!

*If you ask for it, my advice might not be right, but it will be free, and that's certainly something.

<3!

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When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anyway.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could crochet me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

#not-cars#I love childhood toys#I only really have three from my childhood#2 dogs and a chicken#my favorite was#one of the dogs was called Orangy (I was three and she was a russet brown. leave me alone)#Orangy spends most of her time on my dresser now but when I went to England I was so SO scared and so I brought Orangy with me#it’s so funny how we protect our childhood stuffies because I literally refused to put Orangy in the suitcase#she was like the nuclear football wherein she HAD to travel on my person#she had to be in the backpack#(was a lil embarrassing when I’d get searched and pull her out with a raised brow but like whatever)#idk man I just get emotional about childhood toys#when I was in college my roommates all shyly introduced their own toys (bc we were all scared together)#Orangy (collie) joined a whaleshark and a jack Russel terrier and a cat. we sat them in the living room. they were droopy and dirty but eh!#idk I don’t wanna be like ‘back in MY day we didn’t have phones!!!’#but Orangy and I went on adventures through the woods and on car rides and about once every 5 years#I gently undo a small incision on her stomach and restuff her with fabric scraps#and then I sew her back up#shes missing both eyes (and I’ve sewn black thread in place). most of her fur has worn away. Shes missing her tail and ear. she wears a pink#sweater bc if she didn’t she’d probably fall apart#she represents childhood innocence and whimsy etc etc#IDK BRO IM WEIRD ABOUT THIS OK

Having a boyfriend is literally free

I’m stuck in my room because i have a fresh arm tattoo that’s not exactly fun to drive with and my little sister and her friends are hanging out in the kitchen so instead of doomscrolling or agonizing over creative projects i’m sending him pictures of various car parts and asking him to name them

I think he likes it?

I want to see so much more of this please

Mor car parts please

More highlights

Crankshaft:

The recording is him chanting “pasta pastasta pastaa” to himself very very quietly

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