
A few days ago, we looked at the start of a homemade gasket endeavor for the license-plate light on a TR6. Most people with sense and a roll of greenbacks would have binned the whole assembly and bought a new one, plus gasket: the pot metal base was bent up, broken off at both ends, the gasket was cracked and tattered and the chrome cover was bowed along the back edge.

But the sensible and this enthusiast part ways often. Plus, 250-odd dollars is more than I want to spend for something that bolts to the bumper. Besides, making and fixing things is more fun than clicking a mouse, opening a box, removing an imported reproduction part, and then trying to get all those statically charged styrofoam particles off your hands, shirt, floor, cat.

Stage one was straightening the metal (and calling pot metal, metal, is a compliment. As the name suggests, pot metal, a cheap automotive raw material, is part metal and part pot, or toilet. It distorts easily, straightens hardly, and cracks if you torque it anywhere near as much as you want to.) I used a vise, which worked some but it’s still a little warped. Once bolted down it should sit square. JB Weld, filed flat at the periphery to accommodate our gasket, now holds the mounting bolts on each end. I’ll bolt it down slowly and evenly with those bolts plus a couple sheet metal screws with a washer on them between the lights. The base just needs to be snug, not torqued down like a cylinder head.

The gasket itself is cut from cord-reinforced rubber mat from Amble’s Hardware–taken from outdoor shelves that house all kinds of secondhand goodies. Given the choice, I’d have preferred no cord, but it does make the rubber extremely tough and also helps prevent distortion.

Getting the outside edge right was a simple matter of outlining the chrome light cover, with a little apron for good measure. The rest of the cutting required a template. I used the lightweight cardstock cover of a law magazine sent to my wife that I had previously used under some parts I apparently painted silver. Mark, cut, fit, mark more, cut more, fit more and eventually you get about exactly what you need the gasket to look like. Cut too much and you can use masking tape to reshape the hole.

I used a utility knife to cut the rubber mat. This is slow going and requires a scoring pass, then successive passes till you cut through. I put a junk 1×6 plank under it and pulled carefully, never directly toward the hand holding the mat. (No matter how tough you think your hands are, a hard-pulled utility knife that slips will do ugly things instantly.) As with the template, there was some enlarging necessary to get a good fit. The final task on this piece was cutting grooves to accommodate a ridge in the pot metal base so that it will sit flush on the gasket. I had it darned-near esthetically perfect but I made one more pass before I took the photo, leaving that deeper cut in the middle. Dang.

The rubber-mat gasket was the tough one, lying between the light base and rear bumper. The stock gasket is cut out with internal lips that allow it to seal both between base and bumper, and base and chrome cover. I’m not that good with a utility knife. My homemade approach requires that gasket, then a second to go between base and cover. For this one I used an anti-slip stair tread from my local hardware store. It was the right thickness, is very pliable and, hallelujah, can be cut with scissors.

The template from the first gasket still had enough “meat” on it, so a little more marking and cutting and masking tape yielded the correct outline for the final piece. Trace onto raw material, cut and voila—or nearly voila. Because it’s a stair tread, it has ribs on it. I put these pointing up because the cover contacts the gasket with much less surface area than the base. Before I bolt it all together on the bumper, I’ll mark where the cover touches the gasket and then remove just enough rib with a sharp wood chisel for everything to sit flush.

Here are the pieces. They fit together well, but I’ll have to wait till bolt-up to show you because I couldn’t hold it all together and take a picture at the same time. The rubber mat cost six bucks; the stair tread was two bucks and change. I spent a couple hours and had fun.

(**This title is poached from a cool record store of my youth–Plastic Fantastic, in West Chester, PA.)