Reply With QuoteOriginally posted by matt1
Does anyone have a pic of the bumps you are supposed to grind out. Look into the 385 Forum [Network 54] and search "Re-incarnation Automotive" or something like that. His website goes into great detail on what to do.
Does anyone have a pic of the bumps you are supposed to grind out.
Originally posted by matt1
Does anyone have a pic of the bumps you are supposed to grind out. Look into the 385 Forum [Network 54] and search "Re-incarnation Automotive" or something like that. His website goes into great detail on what to do.
Here's a stock C9VE Exhaust Port. Notice the Thermactor bump in front of the valve guide boss. Also notice the enormous size of the valve guide boss (it's a flow obstruction also):
http://www.***boat.com/image_center/...tock_Port1.jpg
Start to grind away at the Thermactor boss so as to create a vane behind the valve guide boss. Also start to trim down the valve guide boss at the same time:
http://www.***boat.com/image_center/...0Mod_Port1.jpg
Finally, just grind the valve guide boss away completely so that it is flush with the rest of the bottom of the bowl and following the contour of the port. Then trim down the Thermactor boss to a tiny little vane:
http://www.***boat.com/image_center/...Mod_Port2a.jpg
Here's the "Before" and "After" view from the valve-side of the head:
http://www.***boat.com/image_center/...ock_Valve2.jpg
http://www.***boat.com/image_center/...Mod_Valve2.jpg
Now go back and look again at the exhaust port EXIT pics at the top. Notice that the floor of the exhaust port is oval shaped, but by the third picture, the floor has been widened from the center-on-outwards (to both left and right) to be effectively flattened. Do not lower the floor any more than it is at the center! Just widen all the way (side-to-side & toward the valve seat).
Grinding your exhaust ports like this will raise your flow from 135 cfm to about 175 cfm. Any further grinding (detail work and short turn radius) is best left to be done with a flow bench nearby, as the wrong material removal can hurt flow.
175 cfm will suit you fine for a stock-stroke 460 to about 5500 rpm.
(These are DanHercules heads, by the way, and he is turning 5200 rpm and loving it.)
LO
Hey, cant see the pics, can ya send them to me via e mail lakes??
Originally posted by Blown 472
Hey, cant see the pics, can ya send them to me via e mail lakes??
Emailed you the entire text with pic's.
Try hitting "refresh" (F5) and maybe the pictures will load here on ***boat. Incidentally, the pic's are in the Image Center.
I don't know about everybody else, but my online connection seems slow as hell this morning...maybe that has something to do with it...
Can anyone else view the pictures here in the post?
LO
Yeah I can see them and thats exactly what i thought they were my d3,s had some port work done to them and that part wasn,t removed.
But now thanks to the 385 GOD (L.O.)He really knows his stuff. I will be able to remove them.
Hey Lakes could you P.M. me your phone # so I could pick your brain on a few things about my BBF.Also Include best times to call you in your time zone.I think Im 2 hours ahead of you in Louisiana.Thanks again for the pics and detailed write up.
what in the hell are those things for anyway.The bumps that is.
Originally posted by matt1
what in the hell are those things for anyway.The bumps that is.
air injection, in an effort to help with smog.
Does it matter any that some of mine are hollow and some are solid.
Originally posted by matt1
what in the hell are those things for anyway.The bumps that is.
The bumps are drilled (from 1970-up) for air passages. The smog pump air exits there and hits the exiting hot exhaust gases...this causes more exhaust burning/reduces emmissions.
It may be wise to drll, tap and plug the air passages in your D3VE exhaust port (after porting).
I am just a Ford 429/460 enthusiast. 058 IS THE GURU.
Ah, yes. I remember the day I met the Great 058. I was a lost soul and in need of guidance. I sold my '64 autocross Corvair and bought a one-way ticket to Nepal, nothing but the clothes on my back.
After touching down, I was met by a sherpa. He led me to the base of the Himalayas where we began to climb. Through rain and cold and night, we climbed.
Thousands of feet above the clouds, the path dead stopped. It looked like the end of the trail. The sherpa told me that this was as far as he dare go, and that if I wish to seek greater BBF knowledge, I must continue my journey alone to the Guru. Then he pointed to the rocky cliff I must climb.
Grabbing an old dead branch, I hoisted myself upwards into the cold, rocky cliff. I climbed for hours, exhausted, and neared the peak of the great Himalayas as the sun began to set. As I looked upwards, I caught the glimpse of an old, weathered, white-haired man in a robe, holding a lantern, gazing down on me amidst my weakening grip of the jagged rocky mountainside. Slowly, he turned and walked out of sight above. I then heard the loud roar of a just-started 514, which settled down to a deep resonant lopey idle, then was shut down. I clung to the side of the cliff, mesmerized as the continuing echo of the BBF bounced off the Himalayan peaks several minutes after shutdown, booming like thunder.
I tore off a sleeve of my shirt and tied it to my wrist, the other end to a dried shrub in the side of the cliff. Secured from a deadly fall, I passed out until morning, secured and hanging from the shrub.
The next morning, I was awakened from my sleep by the distant sound of wrenches clinking one another and the start of a hard rain. I got a grip on the ever-muddying cliff and worked my way to the peak of the mountain just as the mountain side evolved into a raging river. Covered in mud, I looked over my shoulder, startled, as the valley was filling quickly and turning into one of the biggest, most enormous lakes I had seen. I could barely make out the rooftops of homes floating away. Hanging on for my dear life, I desperately made my way to the mountain top.
Once on my feet at the top of the mountain, covered in mud and soaking wet from the rain, I saw the old man hunched over the motor of a boat, his back to me.
"Hand me the 5/8" open end...we don't have much time," he said without even looking, his weathered palm extended.
Instinctively and with a lump in my throat, I scrambled to the tool box and handed him the wrench.
"There is much to learn, much teaching," he continued, "and there will be ample time to learn...but only if we hurry!"
I turned to look and the whole planet was covered in water as far as the eye could see, and the water was rising quickly to the peak of the mountain. I damn-near shit in my pants. This was the Eastern Indian monsoon of all monsoons.
"Quickly!" He exclaimed, but I was in shock and mesmerized by the thought that everything and everyone I knew was washed away forever. "QUICKLY!" he screamed, "Snap out of it and get into the Hondo Ark!"
I got the message and jumped in. The old white-haired Guru fired the engine. Just then, a mass of water crested the mountain peak. The Great White-Haired-Man-That-Knew-All spooled up the turbos and we launched into the freshwater sea.
For the next forty days, fasting and living on small portions of fish and water, I sat on the bow of the boat in the lotus postion. I meditated six to eight hours each day after lengthy lessons on the Big Block Ford. The teaching of the Great Guru transcended space and time; the lessons became my mantra.
On the fortieth day, the clouds began to break and the sun shot a beam of light that engulfed the Hondo Ark. Immediately thereafter, a dove appeared and landed on the steering wheel in front of the great man. It was carrying an olive branch. The great white-haired guru took the branch from the beak of the dove and studied it. I noticed "058" on the knuckles of his right hand. Just then, he gazed right though me and beyond.
"The waters are subsiding," he said as he pointed past me.
I turned to look and saw what looked like the second bridge at Berryessa's Putah Creek. As we approached, the waters continued to subside and other boats began to appear. Wakeboard boats with huge speakers and women dancing and shaking their thong-clad asses.
"This must be Heaven...or Nirvana," I thought to myself, looking at the plethora of boats and soaking in the new sunshine.
Then I heard, "DUDE! BEER!" I turned and some guy in a passing boat had is arm extended my way, holding a silver bullet. I lept to my feet and jumped to his boat. I cracked the beer and and saluted a "cheers" to the boat operator.
Then I turned to look for the Great Guru. He and his boat were nowhere to be seen...they vanished. Disappeared into thin air.
But as I looked around for him, I realized that I saw Putah Creek in a whole new Light. The sounds of a 533 Ford idling by took on a whole new meaning; it spoke to me. It was the Great Guru saying, "farewell."
Copyright 2004
LO
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