On the Gas: A Welding Story

At the dawn of the New Year, I felt like something was off. It took me a good week or two of deep thought to figure out what it was. A feeling like that is a hard thing to chase, let alone diagnose and troubleshoot. Nonetheless, I finally pinned it down and stared directly into its beady little eyes. So, what was I up against? It was the feeling of comfort.

Somewhere amidst life’s highs and lows, I realized that I was falling into an overly comfortable place. If I wanted to have any hope of growing, I needed to take action. I didn’t dwell. Instead, I thought back to my list of goals and did the most logical thing I could think of: I enrolled in a welding course at City College of San Francisco.

As you read this, we’re six weeks into the program, which lasts until May. During this Wednesday’s lab, we had our introduction to oxy/acetylene welding. In my 10+ years of writing about hot rods, I’ve used the term gas welding more times than I can remember. Writing it is one thing—actually taking it on was a whole different story.

Welder’s magnets set. Two flame-cut pieces of metal positioned close to each other. No gap. Torch in the right hand, striker in the left. I remember my ABC’s as I sit on the old metal stool. “Always Be Comfortable.” I crack open the red knob for gas and hit the striker. PloooF! The flame is lit. I flip down my Shade 5 lenses. I ease on the oxygen, watching the cone grow and shrink. I pick up a fresh copper rod with my left hand. Circle the flame on the metal. Watch the color change from dark gray to bright orange. It’s time.

I bring the rod near the glowing metal. A little bit melts off and fizzles like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. I add more material, then repeat on the other end. Tacks complete! Using pliers, I lift my project and remove the magnets. I can hear the professor’s voice in my head, “If you learn one thing today, it’s not to burn the magnets.”

With the two pieces tacked at a right angle, I start making my main weld. “Circular motion, just like sewing.” I can feel the heat of the torch and the torches of my fellow classmates around me. Other than the occasional mutterings of “Oh, shit,” everyone is silent. Rushing gas and flickering flames provide the soundtrack. My first weld was uneven and kind of globular. Hey, you have to start somewhere, right?

By the time I made my second weld, I felt a little more confident. I repeated the same steps, but this time I cranked up the heat and got a rhythm going. The end result was much more uniform. Improvement.

“There’s nothing wrong with what you did there,” the professor told me, “but you have a long way to go before you’re Gene Winfield.” I smiled, because I’m there to learn.

***

On my drive home, I thought a lot about gas welding. Seeing that you don’t need any sort of electricity, it makes sense why it was so popular during hot rodding’s early years. It wasn’t until later that I realized that my welds looked similar to those on my roadster’s header.

Fresh from Canada

Of all the pieces on my Model A, the exhaust is one of my favorites. The story goes that the header came off an old Pacific Northwest drag machine. I bought it on Instagram, and I remember the seller describing the welds as “Juicy.” The four-into-two configuration creates a unique sound, and I modified a set of motorcycle baffles to cut down on the noise. When I got it, it was painted high-temp silver, which happened to not be very high-temp at all. Now it’s weathered and worn much like the rest of the roadster.

While brainstorming this article, I took the car out for a drive to catch the sunset. Parked on Rossi Avenue, I hopped out and studied the header. I have so much respect for the person who created it, and I’m glad I understand the processes it took to put it together.

Nothing beats learning. I’ll keep you posted as the semester continues.

—Joey Ukrop

Looking for more tales of beginner welding? Make sure to check out my intro to MIG here. To follow along on my roadster’s saga, click here. 

My car