Grease Monkeys Become Tech Junkies

Dan Chi, 17, drives a computer-aided hot rod. His dad, Sam, a former mechanic, doesn't "know about all that stuff." (Robert A. Reeder -- The Washington Post)

It's not called hot rodding anymore, though; it's "tuning." Magazines such as Super Street and Import Tuner are crammed with ads for computer chips and central processors alongside wheel rims and turbochargers. One company even advertises a way of converting a Nintendo Game Boy into a car diagnostic device. Many tuners focus on Asian imports such as the Honda Civic, Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution or Subaru WRX -- which for relatively little investment can produce as much speed with six- or even four-cylinder engines as the hulking V-8 muscle cars of the "Dukes of Hazzard" generation.

"The average commuter car is a much more refined product than it was 10 years ago," said Albert Ennulat, who runs the automotive technology program at the Gudelsky Institute at Montgomery College. "A lot of equipment is required to do appropriate jobs today that the homeowner is not going to have in his garage."

In the old days, he said, boosting performance might mean simply bolting on a turbocharger to make the engine more powerful. Today, that won't help the car without also reprogramming computer code to accommodate the new equipment. All those precision electronic controls have also changed mechanical systems, he said, making them so delicately machined that driveway mechanics shouldn't fool with them.

Some advances have eliminated the need for tinkering. Twenty years ago, a home mechanic might swap out a standard suspension system in favor of something stiffer, to improve handling around corners. Many modern cars have electronically controlled suspensions that can change at the flip of a switch.

"I don't know about all that stuff. That's all fresh and new to me," said Sam Chi, 59, who spent years as an auto mechanic in the 1970s and '80s. He drove a powerful Delta 88 back in those days, and dreamed of owning a Datsun 280Z. Now his son Dan, 17, has a Lancer Evolution with modifications Sam Chi can't begin to understand.

Dan's car was already a monster when he and his parents bought it last November. But while the high school junior insists he is a responsible driver who would never take risks with his beloved car, he wanted more power.

"I think making modifications is kind of like an addiction," Dan Chi said. "When you feel fast, you get used to it. You want that feeling of being even faster, of, like, the G-forces pushing you back in your seat and stuff."

Using his dad's old tools, Dan was able to install a new air intake on his own. But to make the computer and hardware changes that allowed his engine to jump from nearly 300 horsepower to nearly 400, Dan sold a collection of vintage Nike sneakers for cash and paid a professional.

That's because fiddling with the electronic brain is risky. Crash the electronic control unit, or ECU, and it can easily cost more than $1,000 to replace. Enter the wrong performance instructions and the whole engine could burn up. Even properly readjusted engines will have a shorter life span because they wind up working harder. And modifying the computer system is likely to void parts of the manufacturer's warranty.

Carmakers don't exactly encourage the phenomenon, but some don't discourage it, either. Much of Mitsubishi Motors Corp.'s U.S. reputation rests on the performance possibilities of the Lancer Evolution, known as the Evo. "It kind of works both ways. We want them to be excited about the car, and we know they're going to do some things. But by the same token they have to be aware that modifications will do certain things to part of their warranties," said Janis Little, a Mitsubishi spokeswoman.