911 Motor Finished

Lets see, I’m not exactly sure where I left off, lol.

I think we had the motor out and were ready to start tackling some oil leaks. First two culprits are the oil thermostat (round thing under the black wiring harness), and the breather plate gasket (oval cover). Pretty common source of leaks, and is possible to change in the car without removing the motor.

Here you can see the black o ring that needs to be replaced. Hard as a rock.

And the breather plate off, ready for a new gasket.

Next up was the RMS. You can see the trail of oil at the bottom of the seal indicating a leak.

Old seal out, cleaned and ready for a new seal.

Special tool…..I dunno P-something something something. This tool allows you to insert the RMS evenly.

Ready to start pushing it in place.

Nut on the tool and slowly you can install the RMS.

And the new seal installed.

Next up, put the flywheel back on with a new pilot bearing.

Since the clutch had been replaced at some time, we were able to reuse it. Plenty of life left.

And a much cleaner transaxle…..

Having the motor out lets you catch things like this and fix them.

Getting ready to go back together.

And the motor in place, and most everything hooked up and marked.

And up and running 🙂 Right now it appears we have conquered this round of leaks!

About porschedoc

The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it. Ok, for those that can't figure it out, that is actually not my profile, but that of Dr. Evil's profile from Austin Powers. Though chestnuts are indeed lazy, you can't argue with that.

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