How can you tell if you’re on to an honest mechanic; a good guy or gal who won’t dud you? You send them a job that could be a big-dollar fix, only to have them discover a much smaller problem and charge you accordingly. This was brought home to me the other day when the Boxster S put the first blot in its sexy little copy-book.
There I was, fanging along a nice piece of back-road, when I suddenly popped out of paradise, back into suburbia and struck the first red light in about 50km of – ahem – spirited driving. Because it wasn’t actually raining speedboats at the time, I had the roof down and, as I slowed to stop at the intersection, I could suddenly smell coolant. So, back at the MBC, I checked the level of the expansion tank and discovered that, yes, I was down a cupful or so.
Now, I could have stuck the Porker on the ramp and checked it out. But you know what? This is a mid-engined car with three (count `em) radiators in the nose and the expansion tank in the boot. That’s a lot of potential for getting the bleeding process wrong, leaving a hot-spot somewhere in the water-jacket and torching something inside with a part number that begins with a dollar-sign. So it was off to Cascone Auto Sport (who did the IMS and clutch replacement when I first bought the car) for a professional diagnosis.
A quick online search had already revealed that the Porsche 986 is blessed with a vague propensity to eat its own water pump, as well as develop terminal cracks in the expansion tank. Neither of those possibilities was going to be kind to my wallet, but what price motoring nirvana, eh? (Yes, I am still digging the Boxster like a crazy man with a shovel.)
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