Steve MacSween wrote:
>
> Negative, way back in the day the best recycler around was Dave Quay at ASAP
> in Atlanta.
> One of Dave's employees developed a turbo kit for the 240d, which did not
> sell in large
> numbers but was enjoyed by most who bought it. Was not a high-pressure setup,
> just added
> some extra OOMPH.
>
Reeves Callaway did a kit for the 240D, I not completely certain if Recaro seats
were part of the deal or optional. Looks like this one has MBZ seats.
Source: Motor Trend, May 1983 v35 p76(2).
Full Text COPYRIGHT Petersen Publishing Company 1983
Diesel With a Difference
Throw a leg over the bolster and slip into the Recaro's palm. Feel the soft
glove leather and fondle, please, the buttons for the contour bladders. Then
lock your hands on the 3-spoke wheel, using the leverage to snuggle your
buttocks to the seat. Pull the shoulder belt across your lap and hook it home.
Twist the ignition and watch the gauges snap to attention. The lights burn as
steadily as coals through the dash panel and the machine steals a few seconds
to ready itself for business. Time is measured by the pumping in your chest
and the wait seems much too long . . .
Okay, okay, stop twitching. You weren't waiting for an electric pump to stoke
the Webers, you were indulging another electronic function, the one that
supplies juice to the machine's uuuuuhhhmmm, aaahhhh, pre-heat system, the
kind of system that brings life to a--yes!--diesel!
(Fade to black. This little psychodrama was brought to you by Callaway Turbo
Sytems in Lyme, Connecticut.)
Standing in the silence of the marrow-cracking January cold was Reeves
Callaway's sleepy 240D Mercedes, the unwitting cohort in a project meant to
freshen his perspective somewhere between twin-turbo 928 brain-busters and the
midnight shriek of the 4-cam Cosworth on his overworked dynamometer. Callaway
was fully aware that the 240D has been the subject of hotair experimentation
by others, but the Mercedes was largely unknown to him. He found something
special. He found a wonderfully over-built automobile, a product created for
the outer limits of the autobahn. But he also found the 240 to be a first
cousin to Torpor, the pavement sloth, and sluggish automobiles have no place
in Callaway's calculations.
Perhaps more impressive than the M-B's bedrock physique was the way it
handled, even with the comfort-prone Continental radials. Enough potential,
reasoned Callaway, for certain owners to enjoy the car from a driver's
standpoint. Everything in sight exuded indestructibility, so could the inner
engine be any less substantial? His thought was to make the car respond at low
speed and undergo maximum pressure by the time it reached 60 mph.
As Callaway puts it, "The conversion is a simple one and diesels are hard to
hurt. The diesel benefits from a turbocharger more than a gasoline engine
does, and it operates at an inherently lower exhaust gas temperature. The
strain that a gasoline powerplant finds with turbocharging is just not
realized in the diesel. The excess air generated by the turbo cleanses the
combustion chamber, recovers heat energy, and yields a boost in horsepower.'
Underhood provision for the installation is prodigious. Despite the
4-cylinder's stock proportions, the distance from engine to fenderwell ensures
proper clearance and ventilation for a hot turbo housing. Since the standard
equipment is well engineered, Callaway's "Turbo Twins,' Don Miller and Kelly
Parsons, preserved as much of it as possible.
For men of their experience, the 240 conversion was pure child's play. Rather
than create an exhaust manifold of their own, they simply cobbled a new one,
adding a stanchion on which to mount the turbo housing and modifying it
further with the addition of a wastegate. Then they fabricated an elbow to
link the turbo to the intake manifold; pre-production samples were tube steel,
but the production piece in every conversion is cast aluminum.
At this point, an aftermarket oil cooler would have been included, but the 240
already had a good one. Aeroquip stainless steel lines complete its
integration with the turbocharger. The brushed-aluminum air cleaner was moved
forward a few inches to finish the job. The exhaust system has extremely low
back-pressure (about 4 psi), so it, too, was left intact. (If there is need,
Callaway will bolt up the even larger pipes from a 300D.)
By the boss' estimation, the result of this manipulation is a 45% power
increase, boosting the 240D's 67 hp to an estimated 95. Fuel consumption for
this vehicle with automatic transmission is 28 mpg, which the Turbo 240 has
dutifully retained during 12,000 miles of operation. The automatic
transmission has lost none of its harmony, and it shifts as smoothly as the
day it hit the pike. But the 240's 0-60 ramble has been reduced by nearly 5
sec to the respectable vicinity of 15.5 sec, attesting to the turbo's healthy
contribution to low-end performance.
Applying heavy leather initiates the hotair rush almost immediately and gives
the driver a feeling of muscle in reserve. Even without exciting the
turbocharger, Callaway finds that sluggishness has been transformed into
willingness. The effect is that of hacking tomatoes day after day with a
butter knife and then finding the joy and happiness that a freshly-honed blade
can bring. The buzz that permeates the normally aspirated 240 at 60 mph is
greatly subdued in the Callaway Turbo, and even at 70 the Mercedes feels
completely relaxed. At lesser speed on a secondary road, one gets the
impression that the engine finally has reached parity with the car's
suspension.
A 300SD it is not. Years of Mercedes-Benz development have made the 300SD a
strong candidate for the title of ultimate turbodiesel. The 300SD whistles to
60 in the mid-12-sec range, which makes the 240D Turbo a matter of economics
and preference. At minimum, those four fleeting seconds will cost $6000 (the
price difference between a new 300SD--suggested retail $37,000--and the
Callaway 240D Turbo). The conversion includes everything we've mentioned, plus
a boost gauge and an exhaust gas temperature meter. It retails for $1800 and
will hinge itself to any 1977-82 240D.
Those who design to do the work themselves (we'll bet against it) will
discover that the changeover requires about six hours, and putting the gauges
in place another three. The leather Recaros and special steering wheel are
Callaway's favors because he feels that man cannot live by turbo alone.
And who would contemplate this aberration? That's right, lawyers, doctors,
"investors,' et al., with a strain of cayenne pricking their otherwise
immutable demeanors. Demand is going something like this: The Twins were
dissecting a stickshift mini-Panzer at the time of our test, shaking their
heads in disbelief over the dozen 240s already waiting to become schizoid
sports cars.
-- End --
