The Northward Contrail

The curse of the limited-time offer

Sometimes it's nice having interests that are out of the mainstream.  It's nice, in a world full of ducks, to see an occasional swan, and I've always liked the swan in the pond full of ducks.  Other times, it's agony. 

Take, for example, my more obscure interests in miniatures.  Last year, I learned there was going to be a model kit made of the VJM02, the car run by the Force India F1 team in 2009.  It had several things going for it: a favorite driver was then with the team, it's an underdog team I've enjoyed seeing move up, it had a striking paint scheme I thought especially lovely.  Should be an easy decision, right?  Well, there wasn't long to think about it.  There were only going to be a handful of these kits produced, and they weren't going to be cheap.  (Few of these things are.)

I had to make my mind up, and fast.  After a couple days, I decided the initial pain would outweigh the lingering regret of not doing it, and I ordered one.  I'm glad I did, but I wish I'd had longer to think about it, or maybe even save up and pay cash instead of putting it on a credit card.

A few days ago it happened again.  Another kit I bought, this one a traditional plastic kit, had me visiting a site devoted to those kinds of models.  It turned out there were a couple of conversion sets available for it, and one of them in particular seemed especially interesting.  Everybody builds these things straight from the box, so why not make mine different?  Problem, again, was that the conversion was another of those cottage-industry things, and if you don't buy it when you see it, you may never see another.  So I sighed and placed the order.

And now it's happened again.  I have the opportunity to get a particular book signed.  I remember trying to figure out how to send it to get signed when I was a teenager.  The book's still in great shape, and getting it signed would sort of close a circle for me.  It's probably the only opportunity I'll get to do this, as the guy isn't getting younger and doesn't do this often.  As much as I've come to disdain the autograph industry, It would just be a neat thing to do, and the money will go to charity.  But the problem is it's also going to take a little planning to get the book there in time...and, again, the time element is at work.  If I want to get it done, I have to move.  Drat.

Deep inside, I hate it when this happens.  On the other hand, the alternative would be settling for what everybody else does.  But I don't want to be a duck person in a duck world.  Not when it's always the swans in the duck world that catch my eye.

Midterm report

It's time to take inventory.  Here's the year's production so far:

I figure if I complete 12 models a year, I'm doing okay.  So far, I'm at nine.  You know these from previous posts.  Back row, from left: the Revell Chevy SSR, the Fujimi Porsche Cayman, the Tamiya Karmann Ghia and the Monogram Monte Carlo SS.  In the center is the little 1:144 Revell-Germany Puma.  Up front, the Revell-Germany R23 and MP4/20.  (Not pictured are the Academy F-8E and the Fujimi SH-3G, which are now on display elsewhere.)

There's still a lot of year to go, and I hope I can keep up the pace.  For now, though, it's not so bad, especially since I've gone many years without being anywhere as productive, and with some of these projects being particularly involved, too.

Ghia

The latest off the workbench.  You may remember my pre-economy measures essay about the Karmann Ghia, and how I'd really like to have one someday, since it's likely to be the closest thing to a Porsche I'll be able to afford anytime soon.  I've had the Tamiya kit in the stash for several years, and during the days of economizing, I started to build it as a sort of balm to my bruised automotive aspirations.

This kit shares a lot (obviously) with the Beetle kit, just like the real thing, but with new parts as appropriate.  For the most part, it was an easy build, and as usual with Tamiya there's a lot of really nifty engineering.  However, the chrome trim gave me fits.  I had an old sheet of Bare-Metal Foil that didn't want to work any longer, and an attempt to spray-paint the trim went hilariously wrong.  So I had to repaint the whole body.  By that point, there was enough paint on the body that the trim wasn't as crisp, so my new foiling attempt wasn't much better.  However, I got it done, and it is a nice four-footer.

Someday before too long, when things get paid down/paid off enough, I hope I'll have the real thing.  (Though I don't know what color it'll be.  Yellow is my usual sports-car color for some reason.)  For now, though, this was a nice way to blow off some steam.

The project that wouldn't end

About five years ago I was in the local Uber-Mart.  I'd read a Scale Auto piece by Pat Covert about a mild customization of the then-new Revell-Monogram Chevy SSR kit: he'd turned it into a hardtop (as opposed to the retractable hardtop) and used various shades of Krylon to give it a different look.  I liked the project, and thought it would be fun as a quick project.

Heh heh.

The chassis, engine and interior gave me no real problems.  The body was the real piece of fun.  First, I could never get the seams completely out of the hardtop, especially along where the drip rails would be.  I couldn't get it to sit down straight, so I had to add little trim pieces. Then I primed the thing in gray primer, not realizing that with a yellow topcoat, it would look awful.

So the thing sat in its box for many years, and through a move.  Until I got my second wind on it a few months back.  Problem was, some of the parts took missing.  First I couldn't find the mirrors.  Then they turned up.  Then I couldn't find that big rear bumper piece.  I was so close to having it finished, too.  I was considering various options, including making a new custom bumper.  Thankfully, the bumper turned up in a box of parts.  One repaint later (this time with white primer beneath), here it is.

This one's a definite four-footer (i.e., get no closer than four feet to it and it looks okay).  But it's done.  I didn't let it lick me.  Although it came close.

McLaren

I wrote weeks ago about this little devil.  Now, she's finished.  This is the Revell 1:24 McLaren Mercedes MP4-20, all finished, as a generic Juan Pablo Montoya car from the 2005 season.  I really wanted to build this as his car from the 2005 US Grand Prix fiasco, but there are some differences between it and the kit plastic, so I did the best I could without having to conduct major surgery.  It's sort of a mix of the USGP car and the Australian GP car, or at least that's my story.  I'm really not up on my McLarens, so that had something to do with erring on the side of caution.

My original entry about this little one detailed some of the problems I faced, so I won't reprise them.  Painting was a little bit of a challenge because of all the curvy masking and goofy angles, but I got it done.  I thought it looked like hell at first, but once the stripe decal was applied, it started looking much better.

I went all out on the carbon fiber decal on the Renault, but decided not to do the full monty on this one.  Revell gives you foil decals for some of the rear suspension components, for the areas exposed to the heat from the exhaust, so I just applied those and didn't wrap much of the rear suspension in carbon fiber, and did the best I could with the front.  Technically, I should have used carbon fiber decals on both sides of the barge boards, but I just painted them black instead.  It looks okay to me at normal viewing distance.

In some ways this kit was more crude than the Renault.  There were seat belts molded into the seat pan, and I had to grind those out with a motor tool.  The wing and spoiler components also seemed clunkier and required a good bit of thinning.  I also had to grind inside the back of the wheels so they'd fit properly; otherwise, they tracked way too wide.  The front wheel camber wasn't engineered into the kit, so that had to be induced too.  (Yes, real Formula One cars have that goofy front-wheel stance.)  I used some leftover etch from the Renault's photo-etch to make a new set of seat belts.

The kit's clunky, but the decal sheet is gorgeous and is a pleasure to use.  There's no tobacco decals, just the drivers' names done in goofy logotype the way they were done at Hungary and Magny-Cours.  So, again, Crazy Modeler decals to the rescue for the tobacco sponsorship.  The only other addition was a bit of wire for the little antenna and a couple of little plastic strakes behind the cockpit.

There were times I wondered if I'd ever get this kit finished, because it really fought me at a few points.  But I'm glad I stuck with it. It's no Tamiya shake-the-box experience, but it was rewarding in its own way.  It's a nice companion for the Renault, and it's interesting to compare the boxy R23 to the curvy, muscular-looking MP4-20 and see how much F1 cars changed within just a couple of years.

That said, I think I'm done with carbon fiber decals for a little while.  Something simpler would be in order for the next project, I believe.

The salvage job

A couple more projects got finished last week.  This is the first of the two to be finished.  This is a 1:24 scale Renault R23, meant to approximate Jarno Trulli's entry into the 2003 Australian Grand Prix. (I say "approximate" because the kit has its limitations, because there was only so much I was willing to do for the project, and because my research material wasn't very thorough.)

There's a story behind this model.  It was an eBay special I bought about four years ago, a package deal with the tobacco sponsor decals and a fret of photoetched parts.  I started it about three years ago and got it to the point of decaling.  The kit decal sheet gives you the yellow portions of the body as huge decals.  Long story short, I didn't like how it turned out, and put the project aside.  I bought another R23 kit and planned to eventually rebuild it as a 2002 car; the 2002 Renault didn't look so great, but I'd rather do that than throw out a good model.  At any rate, a few weeks ago, I looked at it and decided it wasn't beyond hope, so it was reborn, and here you are.

The kit is more or less box-stock, though I did replace the kit's wheels with more accurate MSM Creation resin units I bought from Mac's Modeling (unfortunately, they're painted black, so you can't see them...trust me, though, they make a difference), and there are also a few of the Acu-Stion etched bits on there too.  Many of the parts, like the wings, spoiler endplates and other thin parts, are molded much too thick in the kit, so I spent a lot of time thinning those down and refining them.  I used flocking on the seat and made new seat belts from painted tape.

I always loved the old Renault scheme of light blue and yellow. Revell's decal sheet gives you the yellow parts as decals, but decals that large fill me with fear and loathing, and the yellow decals were a bit translucent.  That's why I junked the project years ago.  Instead, when I repainted it, I masked and painted the different colors this time, and cut the border stripe from the decal sheet.  It worked a lot better.  Don't tell anyone, but the blue is actually AMC Big Bad Blue and the yellow is actually a Chrysler color, both from the Model Master Lacquer line.

The decals came from the other R23 kit, which will probably be used as the basis for a 2005 Jordan Toyota conversion someday.  The Mild Seven decals don't come in the kit, and I'd already used the Tabu sheet that came with the package deal, so this set came from a Crazy Modeler sheet.  (No, really, that's the brand name of the decal sheet.  It sounds silly, I know, but it's for real, and it's kind of appropriate for some of us).  There's still a decal or two I need to make and print the next time I run some decals, but it's no big deal.  I used a lot of carbon fiber decal sheet, wrapping suspension components, chassis segments, and other components in the stuff.  It looks great, but it's also a great way to build your vocabulary.

Considering this project was abandoned for so long, I'm happy it cleaned up so well.  It's not perfect, but it's still a particular relief to have it salvaged.

Beat the clock

A year or so back we started doing something when the race at Le Mans starts each year: we each start building a model, and work on it while we're watching the coverage.  The object is to have it finished by the time the race ends 24 hours later.  Hubby started doing this a couple years ago, and last year I joined him.  It was a lot of fun, and the motivation to beat the clock was a real rush.

So, this year, we did it again.  My kit this time was the Fujimi Porsche Cayman in 1:24 scale.  It's a curbside kit (which means no separate engine, only what you can see molded into the chassis, and no working hood), but nicely detailed and an easy, fun build.  The body was molded in yellow, and since a certain friend's yellow Porsche has influenced me, I stuck with that color.  Frustratingly, Fujimi molded the mirrors and rear spoiler in black, and that required two coats of primer (one gray, one white) before the color coat.  And still it didn't quite match.  Grrr.  Oh, well.

The paint is Tamiya Chrome Yellow, from the spray can.  I love Tamiya spray paints, which (at least here) harden up quickly, perfect for a rush job like this.  I sprayed the body before we went out for lunch, and was able to polish it out that night.  The chassis and other parts were also painted with Tamiya rattlecans.  The brake calipers should be yellow, but I painted them red for contrast and interest.  The interior was airbrushed with various shades of Model Master Leather acrylic, with hand-painted details.  You can't see much of it, anyway.  I had to make masks to airbrush the black trim around the window edges inside and out.  Frustrating, but it worked.  The window unit is a big one-piece greenhouse that doesn't fit flush with the window openings, making it all look a little toylike.  You could fiddle with it if you wanted, but I chose not to.  The clunky window fit is kind of a shame, because the rest of the kit goes together extremely well.  It really was a pleasure to build.

Total elapsed time on the build was probably 14 hours, which meant I finished the build with about 10 hours left in the race.  It roughly matches what happened with my little Fiat Abarth last year. 

Le Mans is always fun to watch, and when you have a project like this, it adds something to it.  I can't wait for next year's, both for the race and for the chance for us to do this again with new kits.

Ten years ago

Ten years ago this morning I woke up in a new, strange place. 

The day before, I'd left the home and the town I'd known all my life.  It wasn't the first time I'd left -- graduate school had seen to that years before -- but this time, it was for good.  In grad school, I could sneak home on the weekends.  But, this time, the cradle was gone forever. 

My family did not want me to go.  My mother's protestations were muted.  She'd said goodbye to me before, when I went off to school, so she dealt with it relatively well.  My father tried to talk me out of leaving.  He was fighting tears when we talked the night before.  There was a big brown grocery bag full of food for the ride down that they gave me.  There was something poignant about it, so earnest.  The temptation was so strong to stay.  But I couldn't.  I really hate the expression about "needing to spread your wings," but there's no other way to describe it.

The ride down was not easy.  I spent the first hour driving past familiar sights, wondering if I really knew what I was getting into.  But, as the miles clicked on, I started to get optimistic.  It literally was like the first-season opening of "The Mary Tyler Moore Show," when Mary is in her car, headed off for the big city and the future ahead.  My sadness started to give way to vague optimism.

The miles went on.  I remember I-16 through Georgia being particularly lonesome.  Then the hundreds of miles of I-95 just seemed to take forever.  But things went uneventfully until after I'd stopped for dinner.  Somewhere around West Palm Beach, my car's alternator light started to flicker.  And then it stayed on.  I was an hour from my destination.  I didn't know if my old car was going to stay alive.  I was in a strange place, I had no idea what was going to happen, and I was a little scared. 

Finally, I got where I was going, or at least the neighborhood.  I drove around and around until I got the landmarks I needed.  And then, there I was, at my new home.  New boyfriend (and eventual hubby) was waiting for me.  The car got unloaded, and when that was done, we settled down on the couch to watch television.  "Law and Order" was on, the season finale.  And, while we were watching, the brave front finally let go, and I bawled.  Everything: the homesickness, the uncertainty, the anxiety of wondering if my car was going to make it, everything. 

The next morning, ten years ago today, I woke up in this new place that was my home.  Future hubby had invited me to a cookout his employer was hosting.  I drove over and met up with him, and had a nice time.  That weekend, we met up with some of his friends, and in no time they were my friends, too.  I'd started to build a new family. 

It wasn't always easy.  Those first few weeks, I wondered if any job offers were forthcoming, and even set a vague deadline for moving back if nothing happened.  I don't know if I actually meant the deadline, or if it was one of those things I did to cope with homesickness.  But, slowly, the good started to outweigh the bad.  We got my car fixed.  A job offer or two came in.  And, gradually, I started to get accustomed to the place.  Maybe I never got completely comfortable down there -- you can take the girl out of the country, and all that -- but I did learn how to get around and look out for myself. 

That year I spent down there, in many ways, taught me more than all the ones before.  It was a tough thing to do, but it did me a lot of good in more ways than I can count.  And it all started ten years ago.

One bite at a time

This hobby isn't about little pieces of plastic.  It's about solving problems.

This is the Revell-Germany kit of the McLaren Mercedes MP4-20.  There's really no easy way to produce a kit of a Formula One car.  There's so many wings, struts, arms, winglets, spoilers and everything else, and all of them compete with each other for priority.  One way or another, the manufacturers have to figure out how best to mold them.  It's a compromise.  No matter how you do it, it's not easy.

This requires the modeler to spend at least an hour on strategy.  How do you attack these problems?  You're going to have some very challenging seam work.  Suspension arms often run through bodywork or drivetrain components, and seams or gaps there will stick out like a red flag.  Nor do you have a lot of room in which to fit sandpaper or sanding sticks, either.  (Hint: the narrow sanding sticks found in craft stores are a lot of help.)  Wing assemblies and spoiler boxes require precise alignment, they often require different colors, and you have to figure out how and when to apply carbon fiber decal where needed.  Fun.  And there's very little room in which to work, too.

There's an additional challenge if it's an injection-molded plastic kit; the limitations of the form mean parts a little too thick and clunky.  Then there are problems you wish the manufacturer hadn't induced; for instance, this McLaren kit has wide, trench-like panel lines that don't look realistic at all.  Others come when you compare the kit to pictures; the side stacks, for instance, need to be moved down the side pods a bit, and there are a couple of tiny strakes that need to be added. 

Then there's that fabulously complex paint scheme, too.  And it involves silver, one of the colors least forgiving of sloppy surface preparation.

It's because of these problems that this McLaren has sat, forlorn, upstairs for a while.  I'd started to work on it months ago, but in the course of solving some problems, I created others.  On Sunday, inspired by the Monaco race and my momentum going because of the Sea King and Crusader, I got back to work on it.  By the time evening came, I was covered in dust and tiny plastic shavings from sanding things out and thinning parts down.  But, darn it, the thing was starting to look like the real car. 

It may not come out looking like a showpiece, but I can at least say that it'll come out looking better than it would have otherwise.

Surprise!

About a week ago we had a lot of service calls done at the house.  One day I had to get Baby's windshield replaced.  The following day, I was up early to meet the water treatment system guy for the annual service call.  There had also been a visit to take the cat (oh, I'm sorry, the Mighty Tiger) to the vet for his annual check-up.  So it had been a fairly busy few days.

After the water treatment guy left, I thought it was all done.  I went out, did my morning run (ha ha!), and then came back to get a quick shower before heading to town for errands.  I'd just started to take off my exercise clothes when the doorbell rang.  To say it caught me by surprise is an understatement. 

Now, this is one of those moments when I'm reminded that, no matter how I may aspire to be elegant and cool and classy, I never will be.  For good or ill, my response to being caught unaware like that is to vocalize it.  Not loudly, mind you, but still aloud, and not something you'd want to say in polite company.  That's right; despite everything my mother tried to teach me, under certain conditions I say certain words I shouldn't.  (Thankfully, it hasn't happened in a socially inappropriate situation.  Yet.)

I quickly got dressed and walked over to the door.  It was the exterminator, standing on the front porch.  I could tell by the smile in his eyes that he'd probably heard me when I said it.  And we had a good laugh about it.  I didn't say anything directly about it, but I made some circular allusions to it as we talked about our pest situation. 

And all this, folks, is why the title "Her Serene Highness" will never apply to yours truly.