Published on November 4, 2025

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Part of the Bullnose Era Transmissions series.
Part of the Ford Truck Systems and Parts series.

Show Transcript

If your bullnose still has that old four-speed cloer, you’ve probably thought about it. That five-speed swap — five real gears, smoother shifts, maybe even a little better mileage — is the promise of the Mazda M50. Sounds like the perfect upgrade right up until your 351 decides to eat it for lunch. Hi folks, Ed here. Welcome back to Mono’s Garage. Our subject is Ford’s most controversial 5-speed, the Mazda M50: the one that turned a lot of old-school truck guys into believers and just as many into skeptics. When they’re good, they shift clean and make your old truck feel almost civilized. But when they’re bad, you get whining, grinding, and maybe a little puddle under the tailshaft just to remind you who’s boss. I’m covering everything you need to know: the good, the bad, how to take care of one, and when you’re better off with a ZF5, especially if your truck has some muscle behind it. Picture the mid-’80s. Ford was trying to move away from brute-force manuals like the MP435 and the T18. Great boxes if you wanted to pull stumps, but they were heavy, loud, and about as refined as a tractor. The world was changing: fuel economy, emissions, and comfort started to matter. Ford wanted something that felt more like a modern pickup than a farm implement. Ford already had a solid working relationship with Mazda by then — they owned part of the company. Mazda was already supplying transmissions for smaller cars, and Ford knew they could build a gearbox that would shift smoothly. So they went to Mazda and said, ‘We need something that feels like your car boxes but can handle a truck motor.’ That’s how we ended up with the M50: a Mazda 5-speed with overdrive. A transmission born from Mazda’s smooth-shifting DNA but built tough enough, almost tough enough for Ford’s half-tons. It’s not something Mazda ever used in their own trucks. This was a Ford baby, raised in a Mazda factory. You’re going to hear a lot of alphabet soup with these — R1, R2, HD, and a few other oddballs — but really it’s just two families: the R1 for the little trucks and SUVs, and the R2 for full-size rigs like the F-150 and the Bronco. The R1 HD came later when Ford started hanging bigger engines on Rangers and Explorers. The R2 quietly got the same kinds of upgrades over the years: better bearings, stronger forks, little tweaks to make it live longer. There was even a version stuck in a Thunderbird Super Coupe, which is wild because it’s basically a truck transmission behind a blown V6. The first thing you’ll notice is the case. It’s all aluminum — bellhousing and all — cast as one piece. Saves weight, sure, but if you crack it you don’t just swap the bell; you’re shopping for a whole new transmission. Mazda didn’t mess around with separate parts on this thing. They also fully synchronized every forward gear and reverse, which was a big step up. No more double clutching to get into first. No more grinding into reverse because you didn’t let it stop spinning. It was a slick design for its time. The shifter connects straight into the top cover rails, so it’s got a tight, direct feel. None of that long-throw wooden-stick-in-a-bucket action like the MP435. You can tell Mazda tuned it to feel like a car, and when it’s working right it really does — the first time you drive one, you kind of forget it’s a truck transmission. All of that smoothness, though, came with a few compromises. There’s no oil pump inside; it’s all splash lube. That means the… Gears fling fluid around to keep everything happy. It works fine if you have the right fluid at the right level. We’ll get into that later, but that’s a big one. The clutch setup was another modern touch: hydraulic with a concentric slave bearing inside the bellhousing. Great when it’s working—smooth pedal, no adjustment needed. While Ford never published an official torque rating for the R2, in practice they live fine behind stock 300 and 302 engines. That means roughly 300 to 350 lb·ft of torque. Once you start making more power, like a healthy Windsor build, you run out of headroom pretty fast. It will take it for a while if you baby it, but you can’t dump the clutch at 4,000 rpm and expect it to smile. Dry weight on an R2 is about 115 lb depending on year. The R1s are lighter, more like 85 to 90 lb, but still no featherweight compared to a car transmission. The R2 is roughly 28 inches long overall, give or take, depending on the tailhousing. For comparison, the NP435 tips the scales closer to 130 to 140 lb, and the ZF5 lands in the 160 to 175 lb range, so you’re saving a solid chunk of weight, which was a big part of the design goal. Ratios vary a bit depending on year and application, but most R2 truck boxes fall in a similar range. You can find little differences between early and late units, and the Thunderbird SC version runs a bit shorter at 0.75 overdrive, but those numbers get you in the ballpark. In practice, first gear is a lot taller than the old 6.68 granny in an NP435—you won’t be crawling out of ditches with this thing. It’s built for driving, not digging. The overdrive makes a 3.55 or 3.73 rear gear feel perfect on the highway, the sweet spot for guys dailying their old trucks. Internally, it’s a five-speed, fully synchronized, constant-mesh box. The input shaft runs on tapered roller bearings front and rear with a countershaft that carries the rest of the geartrain. Mazda used brass or carbon-lined synchro rings depending on year: early ones were brass, later ones used the updated friction lining for smoother shifts. The gears are helical cut and quiet, and the countershaft sits in a pair of pressed-in races inside the aluminum case. The clutch splines are 1-1/16 in x 10, standard small-block Ford size, and the input shaft pilot is the same diameter as the NP435, so pilot bushings are easy to match. Output spline count depends on the unit: many 4×4 R2s are 31 spline, while two-wheel-drive versions are often 28 spline, so match the yoke to your specific transmission. Fluid capacity is about 3.8 quarts of automatic transmission fluid. Even though it’s a manual, they were designed for Mercon ATF, not gear oil. These transmissions are picky: gear oil is too thick for the splash action to lube correctly, and it will pool in the bottom while the transmission cooks. If you just bought a truck and don’t know what’s in it, drain and refill it—cheap insurance. When you look at what it replaced, the M50D was a step forward in the ways that mattered for the trucks of the time. It made old trucks feel new, made new trucks easier to live with, and gave Ford a shot at competing with the lighter, smoother rigs from GM and Dodge. It was the beginning of the modern era for Ford manuals, an era where a truck could still work hard, but. It didn’t have to sound like it was angry about it all the time. And now for the inevitable call to action: if you’re enjoying the video, hit like, subscribe, or better yet, check out patreon.com/bullnosegar. You’ll see some neat behind-the-scenes stuff and even more of me, which is definitely why you’re here, right? So we’ve talked about what the M50 is. Let’s talk about what it does when it decides to remind you it’s not bulletproof. Because for every guy who swears his M50 has been smooth and quiet for 200,000 miles, there’s another guy sitting on the side of the road with a dipstick full of glitter wondering what the hell just happened. The most famous failure, the one that’s practically a rite of passage, is the input bearing. That bearing sits at the front of the transmission right behind the input shaft, and it lives a hard life. Because it’s splash-lubed, the only oil that bearing gets is whatever gets flung up while the gears are spinning. On the highway that’s fine, but around town, especially with thick fluid or a low fill, it starves. It starts to whine, then it howls, then it eventually wipes itself out and takes the input gear with it. If you get a faint 45 to 60 mph whine under light load, that’s an early sign. If the pitch tracks road speed off throttle, start planning a teardown. The next most common issue is synchro wear, especially in third gear. Third is kind of the workhorse of the M50. It’s used a lot in city driving and it takes the brunt of any sloppy shifting or mismatched revs. Over time the synchro cones glaze, the rings lose bite, and you start getting that crunchy, notchy feel when you shift fast. If you have to baby it into third, that’s your sign. Sometimes fresh fluid helps, sometimes it’s just plain worn out. Shift forks are another weak link. They can crack at the base or wear the pads down so far the gear never fully engages. Then there’s the countershaft support bores. Over time the soft aluminum wears where the countershaft bearings sit. Once that happens the gears don’t mesh quite right, and you start hearing that high-pitched whine in second or third gear. Some rebuilders sleeve those bores or use oversized bearings to restore the fit, but if it’s really hogged out, the case is done. Let’s not forget the top cover leaks. These things love to seep around the lid and the shifter tower. The original gaskets were cork, and after a few heat cycles they shrink and weep. Most rebuilders just use RTV now and call it a day. It’s not catastrophic, just annoying. The good news is at least you’ll know when you have this issue because it’ll mark its territory on your driveway. Case cracking is less common, but it’s worth mentioning. The integral bell design means the case is doing double duty: it’s not just holding gears, it’s also part of the mounting structure. Over-torque the bell housing bolts or leave a dowel pin out and the whole thing can flex or crack around the flange. Usually it happens to people who rush a clutch job or bolt it up crooked. That’s a very expensive oops. And then there’s that funky internal slave cylinder. It’s technically part of the clutch system, but it’s inside the transmission. So when it leaks, you’re pulling the whole unit out to replace a $50 part. I don’t know who thought that was a good idea, but they very clearly never had to service one on a gravel driveway. And that’s really the story when it comes to the bad news. When they’re taken care of, they’re fine. But if you run them poorly, they will fail. The wrong fluid, slammed gears, or putting it behind a hot 351 asks it to do something it wasn’t born to do. If you’ve ever rebuilt a manual transmission before, the M50 isn’t that bad. But if you’ve never been inside one, it can humble you pretty fast. You don’t need a degree in rocket science, but you’ll want some mechanical sense, a clean workspace, and the right tools. Get a rebuild manual, or at least some photos before you start. The parts themselves aren’t hard to find. There are complete bearing and synchro kits on eBay, RockAuto, and some transmission suppliers that specialize in these. A typical rebuild kit runs about $150 to $250. Add seals, a new slave cylinder, and maybe a new shift fork or input bearing upgrade, and you’re still under $400 in parts. The biggest challenge for a rebuild here isn’t cost, it’s precision. Everything in this box runs on very tight tolerances. The manual calls for specific clearances, and those numbers actually matter. If that sounds intimidating, there’s no shame in taking it to a shop. A professional rebuild usually runs between $800 and $1,200 depending on how deep they go, how bad your core is, and where you live. You’ll get new bearings, synchros, seals, and usually a one-year warranty. That’s not bad for something that will last you years. If you want to keep one of these alive, keep a few things in mind. People treat them like an old iron four-speed and then wonder why it doesn’t act like one. This unit wants finesse, not violence. First rule: change the automatic transmission fluid every 30,000 to 50,000 miles. Second rule: be gentle when it’s cold. ATF is thick when cold, and these boxes don’t like to be rushed. Synchros need the fluid moving freely to grab cleanly. If it’s stiff or notchy in the first few blocks, that’s okay—don’t force it. Third, learn to shift with some feel. The shifter is short and precise, which is part of its charm. Hammering a two-to-three shift punishes the synchros. You’ll be amazed how much smoother and longer it will last when you stop pretending you’re running a quarter mile. If you’re towing or running it behind a torquey engine, keep an eye on heat. Long highway pulls on a hot day can cook the oil faster than you’d think. Some people drill a small port and plumb a cooler line, but for most, regular fluid changes are sufficient. And probably the biggest rule: be nice to it. No clutch dumps, no burnouts, no speed shifting at 4,000 rpm. It’s not a top loader or a Tremec. The gears are small, the case is aluminum, and the bearings rely on splash oil. That may sound delicate for a truck part, but that’s the trade-off you made when you left the NP435 behind. You gave up brute strength for drivability. That doesn’t mean it’s weak; it rewards the driver who pays attention. If you do that, it’s not unusual to see these go 200,000 miles or more before needing a full teardown. But if you neglect it, it’ll let you know in the loudest way possible. After all that, are you thinking about swapping one of these in? I was too until I did the math on how much torque I’ll get out of my old stoked Windsor. But if you’re here to learn whether that math works out for your truck, let’s set you straight, because yeah, the M50 will bolt up It fits a lot of engines, but that doesn’t mean it’ll survive them all. So let’s start with the easy one, the 3096. The M50 and the 3096 are a perfect marriage: smooth torque curve, low RPM, not a high-rev screamer. That engine and transmission were basically made for each other. Ford ran that combo from the factory for years, and it just works. You’ll wear out the clutch before you hear the transmission. If you’ve got a bullnose 300 and you want overdrive, this swap is a no-brainer. Next up, the 302. This is where things are still mostly safe, but the gray area starts creeping in. A stock or mild 302—headers, intake, maybe a small cam—the M50 will handle it fine as long as you don’t abuse it. You can even get away with towing light loads or running a little extra timing. But once you start building a serious 302—big cam, heads, high compression, or, God forbid, boost—that’s when the M50D starts sweating a little. In my case, the 351 wins here. This is where people get themselves in trouble. On paper, it bolts right up and it fits beautifully. In reality, a healthy 351 puts down way more torque than the M50D was ever really rated for. A bone-stock 351, especially a late-’80s smog motor, is probably fine. It’s right on the upper edge of what the transmission’s comfort zone is. But as soon as you wake it up—intake, cam, heads, maybe a stroker kit—you’re flirting with rapid, unscheduled disassembly. The truth is, if you’re running anything beyond a mild Windsor, you’re probably in ZF5 territory. The ZF was designed to handle torque in the 450 ft-lb range, sometimes more. It’s heavier, but it’s made for that kind of punishment. If your truck has a stock 300 or Windsor and you’re the kind of driver who rolls into the throttle and shifts cleanly, the M50 will make your truck feel like a new machine. But if you’ve got a heavy right foot or you treat every on-ramp like a drag strip, it’s probably the wrong transmission for you. And when you start talking transmissions to the Ford guys, you find out real quick everyone’s got a favorite. Half the crowd swears by the old MP435 because you just can’t break it. The other half worships the ZF5 like it’s holy scripture. And somewhere in the middle sits the M50—the good-enough five-speed that makes sense on paper and feels great behind the wheel but just can’t shake the shadow of those iron legends. If you’re trying to decide between them, let’s see what the competition looks like. We’ll start with the MP435 because every bullnose owner either has one or has fought with one. It’s a tank: cast-iron case, granny-low first gear you could practically climb a tree with, and enough mass to anchor a small ship. It’ll take anything you throw at it, but driving one every day is like doing manual labor. You’re rowing a gear stick the length of a pool cue through gates that feel like you’re stirring a bucket of rocks. Fantastic for crawling, horrible for commuting. The T18 and T19 are the same story. The old Borg-Warners are workhorses. Sure, they’re heavy and clunky and reliable as gravity, but they shift like they’re full of peanut butter. If you’ve ever double-clutched a T18 at a first-and-a-half stoplight, you know what I mean. Then there’s the mighty ZF5, the one everyone brings up when they say, “Yeah, but I want something strong.” They’re not wrong. The ZF5 is the heavyweight champ in this weight class: all aluminum like the M50D, but built like a bridge. Bigger gears, better… Oiling, a real pump inside, and torque ratings up in the 400s. It will take whatever your 351 or 460 can dish out. The trade-offs are weight, cost, and complexity. It’s a big transmission — about 40 pounds heavier — and it’s longer, so you’ll be dealing with driveshaft and crossmember work all over again. It also shifts a little more like a truck; it’s not bad, but it’s not nearly as slick as the M50. They can also be hard to find in the right configuration for your truck. If you want something modern and bulletproof, there’s always the TMIC route. TKO or TKX five-speeds will handle 600 lb-ft all day, but you’ll pay dearly for that privilege. Expect around three grand before the clutch, and you’ll still be fiddling with shifter replacement and crossmember alignment. Beautiful gearboxes, just not exactly budget-friendly. For most bull-nose guys, the M50 makes sense. It gives you overdrive, keeps the truck quiet, saves weight, and makes it feel ten years newer. It’s not a torque monster, but if you drive it like a grown-up, it will do what you want. If after all that you decide you want one of these middle-of-the-road, nice-shifting transmissions, let’s help you find one. The M50 R2 — that’s the big one from the F-150s and Broncos — uses the standard Ford small-block bell pattern. That’s the same bolt pattern as the 302, 351, and 300 inline-six. It will bolt right up to any of those; no adapter needed. That’s what makes it such a natural fit for bullnose guys, because your truck already runs one of those engines. The 300 and the Windsor family both share that pattern. For once, Ford kept building the R2 long after the bullnose years. In 1997, when the new F-150s came out, they reused the name but changed the bell pattern. The 4.2L V6 version got the S6/3.8L V6 pattern, and the 4.6L modular V8 version got its own modular-family bolt pattern. These won’t bolt to a 300, 302, or 351 without an adapter. And before you go hunting for an adapter, here’s the deal: nobody makes one. You would have to machine a custom adapter plate and deal with input shaft length, pilot engagement, and clutch spacing. The newer transmissions also run electronic sensors and have slightly different mount points. So even if you could get it to bolt up, it would still be a pain to get it to work right. The M50 R1 family is where things start branching out. The R1s came in Rangers and Explorers and used different bell patterns depending on the engine. The 2.3L four-cylinder version has its own pattern shared with nothing else. The 2.9L and 4.0L V6 versions share a Cologne V6 pattern totally different from the small-block Ford bolt circle. The 3.0L Vulcan V6 used another unique pattern shared with some Taurus and Tempo cars. The takeaway for full-size truck guys is that R1s come in every flavor of wrong. If you’re trying to hang one off a 302 or 351, the cases and bell are cast as one piece, so you can’t just swap a bellhousing like you could with an old top-loader or an NP — you have to swap the whole transmission. There is also one oddball version of the R2 that throws people off sometimes: the one used in the Thunderbird Super Coupe and the Cougar XR7 behind the supercharged 3.8L V6. It looks like an R2 on the outside but has a different bell pattern unique to that engine, plus a shorter tailhousing and a different shifter location. It’s a great gearbox for those cars. Totally useless for a truck unless you plan on doing some serious creative adapter-plate work. For swapping into a bullnose, you’re hunting for an R2 that came out of a 300 or a 302 truck. Even though they’ll bolt to a 351, they almost never came that way from the factory because the torque numbers are right on the line, and that pairing is so rare you’ll likely never see one. The easiest donor is an ’88 to ’96 F-150 or Bronco with a 300 or a 302. Beyond the bolt pattern, there are a few other things you’ll need to consider for this swap. The crossmember will probably need to move a few inches, and your driveshaft length might change depending on whether you’re coming from an MP435 or a T18. It’s nothing major, but it’s worth measuring before you start cutting. You’ll also need to move to hydraulic on the clutch if you’re not already. The M50 uses an internal concentric slave cylinder instead of an external fork. It’s a clean setup, but it means you’ll need a master cylinder, line, and the correct pedal assembly. If you’re handy, you could adapt the later F-150 hardware into your bullnose pretty easily. Some guys even use the whole clutch pedal box from the donor truck. Shifter placement is nearly perfect; in most bullnoses it lands right about where the factory four-speed shifter did. You might need to trim or move your boot just a little, but it’s not a hack job. The transmission mount pattern is a little different, so plan on fabricating a small adapter plate or modifying your crossmember. To summarize: if you’re looking for one in a yard, get the right donor. If it came out of a small-block or 300 truck, it’s basically made to live in your bullnose. If it came out of anything else, it’s probably not worth the trouble. If you find one in the wild, check that the bellhousing pattern matches your block before you buy it. In either case, spin the input shaft and listen—if it sounds like a box full of marbles, walk away. That’s your starting point for a bullnose swap that actually feels like an upgrade instead of a regret. The M50 isn’t a hero or a villain. It’s more like that buddy who will help you move furniture but draws the line at a piano. You have to respect it for what it is, not what you wish it was. It was Ford’s first real step toward trucks being something you could drive every day without feeling like you’d been in a fist fight. It wasn’t perfect, but it delivered something Ford desperately needed: a manual that made a truck feel modern, and one that served Ford well for the next decade. If you’re a bullnose guy seriously thinking about a swap, it’s one of the best ways to make your truck genuinely enjoyable to drive day to day. If you already own one, take care of it. Treat it like the precision piece of machinery it actually is. Do that and it’ll reward you with years of easy, quiet service. If you’re the type who can’t leave anything stock and you’re throwing serious torque around, that’s fine too—just know what the M50 is and what it isn’t. It’s not a race box. It’s not a heavy hauler. It’s a great, honest five-speed that gave old trucks a second life, and for that it deserves a little respect. That’s everything I know (or pretend to know) about the Mazda M50 five-speed. Do you have one you love or hate? Thinking about swapping one in? If so, drop a comment and let me know. If I change your mind, for or against, let me know. Know that, too. I really enjoy hearing about how this information might influence your decision. As always, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, gripes, or internet ramblings, stick them below. Thanks again so much for watching, and we’ll see you next time. If you want to dig deeper into the builds, the side projects, and the stuff that doesn’t always make it onto YouTube, or just want to get to know me a little better, come hang out on patreon.com/bullnosegar. It helps keep the lights on, keeps the beer fridge full, and funds the builds. I appreciate you being part of the garage. Shine Garage — she’s considered divine. Thanks again for watching; we’ll see you next time.

If your Bullnose still rows a four-speed, you’ve probably daydreamed about a five-speed that shifts clean, cruises quiet, and doesn’t feel like you’re stirring gravel. Enter the Mazda-built Ford M5OD. It turned a lot of old-school truck guys into believers and a fair few into skeptics.

In this deep dive, I break down what the M5OD is, why Ford used it, what actually fails, how to keep one alive, and when you should skip the drama and grab a ZF5. If you’re eyeing a swap behind a 300, 302, or 351W, this will save you time, money, and maybe a tow bill.

Ford × Mazda: What M5OD Really Is

Mid-’80s Ford wanted out of the tractor-transmission era (think NP435/T18) and into something that felt modern. They went to Mazda, already a partner and known for slick-shifting manuals, and asked for a car-like five-speed strong enough for half-ton trucks. The result was the M5OD: a Mazda-built five-speed with overdrive, purpose-built for Ford trucks. Mazda didn’t use it in their own trucks; this was Ford’s baby, raised in a Mazda factory.

There are two main families:

R1: Rangers/Explorers (light-duty), later with an “HD” variant
R2: Full-size trucks like F-150 and Bronco

Both evolved over time with better bearings, stronger shift forks, and small tweaks to help them live longer. There’s also an oddball: a version in the Thunderbird Super Coupe/Cougar XR7 behind the supercharged 3.8 V6. Looks like an R2, but the bell pattern, tail, and shifter location make it a car-only deal.

Design Highlights

There are a few choices that define the M5OD’s personality—both the good and the bad.

One-piece aluminum case and bell: Light and tidy, but if you crack it, you’re shopping for a whole transmission.
Full synchros (including reverse): No more double-clutching into first, and reverse doesn’t grind if you operate like a civilized human.
Direct top-rail shifter: Short, precise throws with a car-like feel. No “broomstick in a bucket.”
Splash lubrication: No internal pump. It relies on gears flinging ATF. This is fine—until you put in the wrong fluid or run it low.
Hydraulic, concentric slave: Smooth and self-adjusting. When it leaks, the trans has to come out to fix a cheap part. Ask me how much fun that is in a driveway.

Specs Snapshot (What Actually Matters)

Real-world torque range: Happy behind stock 300 and 302. A mild 351W is the ceiling. Hot Windsors push it past its comfort zone.
Weight: R2 around 115 lb dry. R1 closer to 85–90 lb. Lighter than NP435 and much lighter than ZF5.
Length: R2 is about 28 inches overall (varies slightly by tailhousing).
Ratios: First is tall compared to the NP435 granny; overdrive makes 3.55–3.73 gears nice on the highway. Thunderbird SC got a shorter OD (~0.75).
Guts: Helical gears, constant-mesh 5-speed, tapered roller bearings on the input, countershaft in pressed races. Early synchros were brass; later units got carbon-lined rings.
Splines: Input clutch splines are 1-1/16 x 10 (small-block Ford standard). Output is commonly 31-spline for 4×4 and 28-spline for many 2WD. Match your driveshaft yoke to the box you buy.
Fluid: About 3.8 quarts of Mercon ATF. Not gear oil. Gear oil is too thick for splash lube and will cook the transmission. If you don’t know what’s in there, drain and fill… cheap insurance.

Why Ford Used It

Compared to the iron legends it replaced, the M5OD made trucks feel newer, quieter, and less punishing to drive daily. It helped Ford keep up with the “modern manual” era… still a truck, but not mad about it all the time.

Common Failures (And What They Sound Like)

1) Input Bearing Oil Starvation

The celebrity failure. Splash lube plus thick fluid or a low fill means the front bearing doesn’t see enough oil around town. Early sign: a faint 45–60 mph whine under light load that tracks road speed off throttle. Ignore it and it’ll take the input gear with it.

2) Third-Gear Synchro Wear

Third does a lot of work in city driving. The synchro cone glazes and the ring loses bite. Result: notchy, crunchy shifts if you’re quick with the lever. Fresh fluid may help a little. If you’ve got to baby it into third, it’s wearing out.

3) Shift Fork Issues

Forks can crack at the base or wear pads so thin the gear doesn’t fully engage. That turns into pop-outs and more grinding.

4) Countershaft Bore Wear

The aluminum case can wear where the countershaft bearings sit. When that happens, gear mesh is off and you get a high-pitched whine (often in second or third). Some shops sleeve the bores or use oversized bearings. If it’s too wallowed out, the case is done.

5) Leaks and Seepage

Top cover and shifter tower love to weep. Original cork gaskets shrink; RTV fixes it. Annoying, not catastrophic. Just marks its spot on your driveway.

6) Case Cracking

Integral bell means the case is structural. Over-torqueing or misalignment can crack it around the flange. Leaving a dowel pin out or rushing a clutch job can get expensive fast.

7) Internal Slave Cylinder

When it leaks, the whole transmission comes out. It’s part of the clutch system, but it lives inside the bell. Whoever greenlit that never lay on gravel doing one.

Rebuild Reality: Tools, Cost, Precision

If you’ve rebuilt a manual before, an M5OD won’t scare you. If you haven’t, it can humble you. A clean bench, the right tools, and a manual or photo guide are mandatory. The box runs tight clearances and those specs matter.

Parts availability: Good. Complete bearing/synchro kits are plentiful.
Parts cost: ~$150–$250 for a kit. Add seals, a new slave, maybe a fork or an input bearing upgrade, and you’re still usually under $400 in parts.
Pro rebuild: Roughly $800–$1,200 depending on condition and region, often with a 1-year warranty.

How to Keep an M5OD Alive

Run the right fluid: Mercon ATF only. Change it every 30,000–50,000 miles.
Be nice when it’s cold: ATF thickens; synchros need fluid flow to work. Don’t force it in the first few blocks.
Shift with feel: The short shifter encourages hero moves. Every ham-fisted 2–3 punishes the synchros.
Avoid shock loads: No clutch dumps, burnouts, or speed-shifting at 4,000 rpm. Small gears, aluminum case, splash oil so act accordingly.
Watch heat on long pulls: Towing on hot days cooks oil faster. Some folks add a cooler with a drilled feed, but for most, timely fluid changes are enough.

Treat it like precision machinery and 200,000-mile service life isn’t unusual. Neglect it and it’ll sing you the song of its people right before it lets go.

Swap Sanity Check: 300, 302, 351W

300 Inline-Six

This is the easy win. Smooth torque curve, low RPM, and Ford ran this combo from the factory. If you’ve got a Bullnose 300 and want overdrive, this is as close to a no-brainer as swaps get.

302

Stock or mild? You’re fine, just don’t abuse it. Light towing and sensible driving won’t scare an R2. Once you go big cam, big heads, high compression, or (bless your heart) boost, you’re into “this gets expensive” territory.

351 Windsor

It bolts up and fits great on paper. Reality check: a healthy 351 makes torque the M5OD wasn’t built to digest long-term. A smog-era stocker is on the edge of acceptable. Wake it up with intake/cam/heads, or a stroker, and you’re flirting with rapid, unscheduled disassembly.

If your build goes past “mild Windsor,” you’re in ZF5 territory. The ZF5 was designed for torque in the 400s and has real oiling with a pump. Heavier and longer, yes, but it’s built for that punishment.

Alternatives: What You’re Comparing Against

NP435 / T18 / T19: Iron workhorses with granny-low first. Nearly unbreakable, but heavy and clunky. Great for crawling, awful for commuting.
ZF5: All aluminum but beefy. Bigger gears, internal pump, torque ratings in the 400s. Heavier/longer (driveshaft and crossmember work required) and a bit more “truck” in shift feel, but the right answer for real torque.
Tremec TKO/TKX: Modern aftermarket option that’ll take serious torque, but pricey and you’ll still be sorting shifter placement and mounts. Awesome gearboxes; not budget-friendly.

Finding the Right M5OD-R2 (And Avoiding the Wrong Ones)

You want the R2 from an F-150 or Bronco with a 300 or 302. That lands you in the 1988–1996 donor window with the small-block Ford pattern that bolts to 300/302/351W.

In 1997, Ford reused the name but changed the pattern:

4.2L V6: Shares the 3.8/Essex V6 pattern
4.6L modular V8: Modular-family pattern

Those won’t bolt to a 300/302/351W without an adapter and nobody sells an off-the-shelf adapter. Even if you custom-machine one, you’ll have to sort input length, pilot engagement, clutch spacing, sensors, and mount points. It’s a headache you don’t need.

About the R1 Family

R1s came in Rangers/Explorers with multiple bell patterns (2.3 four, 2.9/4.0 Cologne V6, 3.0 Vulcan V6). The bell is cast into the case, so you can’t swap bells. For full-size trucks with 300/302/351W, R1s are basically every flavor of wrong.

The Thunderbird SC Oddball

Looks like an R2, but it’s unique to the supercharged 3.8 V6. Different bell, shorter tail, different shifter location. Great for that car, useless for a truck unless you love fabricating adapters.

Yard Tips & Fitment Notes

Check the bell pattern: Make sure it matches your block before you hand over cash.
Spin the input shaft: If it sounds like a box of marbles, walk away.
Output splines: Know if you’ve got 28- or 31-spline and match the yoke.
Crossmember: Plan to move it a few inches. The mount pattern differs; a small adapter plate or minor fab solves it.
Driveshaft length: May change depending on what you’re coming from (NP435, T18, etc.). Measure before you cut.
Hydraulic clutch conversion: You’ll need a master, line, and the right pedal setup. Many folks adapt later F-150 hardware; some swap the whole pedal box.
Shifter location: Lands close to where the factory four-speed shifter was. You might massage the boot a bit—nothing hacky.

So… Is the M5OD the Right Move?

The M5OD isn’t a hero or a villain. It’s the buddy who’ll help you move a couch but draws the line at a piano. Respect what it is: light, smooth, honest. It makes an old truck feel ten years newer. Abuse it or throw big torque at it and it’ll remind you it’s splash-lubed aluminum with smallish gears.

If you’re driving a stock 300 or a mild 302 and you shift with some finesse, the M5OD is a great upgrade. If your right foot is heavy or your Windsor is spicy, save yourself the rebuild and start with a ZF5.

Wrap-Up

I broke down the history, what fails and why, how to rebuild or maintain one, donor years that actually fit, and where the M5OD makes sense (and where it doesn’t). If you’re swapping into a Bullnose, get the right R2 and set it up properly and you’ll actually feel like your truck wants to commute.

Got M5OD war stories or a swap plan? Drop them in the comments. Want the full rundown in motion? Check out the video above and let me know what you think.

If you want more specific information on Bullnose Ford Trucks, check out my YouTube Channel!

For more information on Bullnose Fords, you can check out the BullnoseFord SubReddit or Gary’s Garagemahal. Both are excellent resources.

As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. If you see an Amazon link on my site, purchasing the item from Amazon using that link helps out the Channel.

Mount Vintage Ford Screw-On Caps on Aftermarket Wheels

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Mount Vintage Ford Screw-On Caps on Aftermarket Wheels… the Right Way

Published on October 21, 2025

Click to play the video inline or see it on YouTube

Part of the Ford Truck Systems and Parts series.
Part of the Tips & Tricks series.

Show Transcript

There is something really classic about those old 1980s and ’90s Ford truck screw-on center caps. They scream bullnose, brick-nose, OBS. When you see them on a truck, you know it’s an old-school Ford truck, and I really like the look. Dodge and Chevy had their versions, but these are Ford DNA. I like them enough that in my current builds — the Bronco and I think even the F-150 — I’m going to use these caps, but they have a problem. Howdy folks, Ed here. Welcome back to Bone’s Garage. The problem with these center caps, as cool as they are, is that they screw on. There is no other way to retain the caps on a rim except by screwing them on. The old-school Ford rims have screw holes, but these Bassett racing rims do not. In fact, almost all aftermarket rims won’t have the necessary screw holes to install these center caps. If you want to use those caps on aftermarket wheels, you have to drill holes into the rims, like I did on these Bassett racing rims. I’ll show you exactly how to do that. It’s not that hard, but there are some things to pay attention to so everything lines up correctly — these wheels spin fast, and if it’s out of whack it will wobble. I’ll give measurements for the hole sizes and widths so you know what to look for in aftermarket wheels. Not all aftermarket wheels list these measurements, but with some numbers you’ll have ammunition to find the right wheels. Here’s a top-down view of my Bassett wheel so you can see how the cap will align. You could eyeball it and punch the holes, but there is a little bit of wiggle even when the obvious holes appear lined up. Because this is a Bassett rim, I have to use 45° conical seat open-ended lug nuts. Even with the lug nut in place, you can still wiggle the cap around quite a bit. That wiggle could make it look funny on the road or slightly affect the balance. If the ones are close, it’s probably not much of an issue. Here’s how you deal with that: you have to make sure these are centered perfectly on the rim. To do that properly, we need to mount the wheel onto the vehicle. Before we do, I’ll show what I use to get it there to begin with. I have a digital caliper and some round rubber spacers. They measure about 1 in wide and about 1.18 in (30 mm) in the middle, which is what you want for the lug. The 1 in is not big enough to fill this space, and I couldn’t find an exact spacer that fit tightly, so I wrapped Gorilla tape around the outside until it fit perfectly inside. That will help ensure the center cap is centered when the wheel is on the vehicle and over the lugs. For this step you need the wheel, the vehicle, three of the five lug nuts, the spacers, the center cap, and a good solid punch. Mount the wheel and get three lugs on in the right positions. You do this to make sure the wheel is centered; lug nuts will center the wheel on the hub unless you’re using hub-centric aftermarket wheels, in which case you’d center the hub instead. I’m not torquing these down fully, just snugging them so the wheel is centered and won’t move. Put the center cap on, then pop the spacers in; they should be tight to hold everything in place. There is enough play around the lug holes that you can’t fully rely on the lug nuts to center the cap, which is what these little plugs are for. By alternating the three and two positions, it keeps the cap in a stable spot so it won’t move while you mark it. Use a punch to make your marks, trying to get as close to the center of each hole as you can. This is a bit of eyeballing; there are methods to be more precise, but punching the marks on a bench isn’t reliable because a wheel that looks centered on a table might not be centered relative to the lug pattern when mounted. I’ve got two of the four done already; this is my third, and I’ll grab the fourth and finish them up. You bolt the wheel to the truck and use your spacers. Everything’s locked in exactly where it lives in the real world. The cap sits dead center on the hub and your lug holes are perfectly aligned around all five studs. That’s what keeps the cap from ending up just a hair off, where one screw’s tight, another was crooked, and the whole thing looks a little wonky once it’s spinning. Doing it on the truck guarantees it’s true to the actual geometry of your lugs, not eyeballed off the bench. It takes a few extra minutes, but it’s worth it to get that perfect fit. All right, time to drill and tap our wheels to accept the screws. These screws are 1/4-20 — that’s what came with my caps from Amazon. I think most of them are 1/4-20, but I’m not 100% sure. Because these are 1/4-20, I’m using a number seven drill bit from this Warrior 60-piece set from Harbor Freight. You can also use a 13/64 drill bit, but number seven is the correct one if you’re doing this to spec. When you’re drilling steel, use some tap or drilling fluid. Put a little in the little indent; you don’t need much, then start drilling. The key to drilling through metal is slow, steady pressure with good cutting fluid. If you have a drill press, you might be able to use it depending on the size, but I don’t have one. Now that you have your holes drilled, it’s time to tap. Make sure you get all your swarf out. Keeping the holes clean makes a big difference when tapping. This is 1/4-20 for these screws, so put a little cutting fluid on the tap. This tap and die set is from Harbor Freight — it’s not the best, but it works. Try to keep the tap as straight as you can, though it doesn’t have to be perfect. Stop and back out every so often to clear swarf from the threads. Nothing ruins your day faster than breaking off a tap because you left too much junk in the hole. I know it’s tedious and a little nerve-wracking if you have expensive wheels, but there’s something satisfying about drilling those holes and cutting threads by hand, especially if you don’t do machine work every day. You can feel the metal and know when it’s biting. Doing it yourself means you know exactly how deep those screws go and how much thread engagement you have. There’s no guessing or surprises when you bolt it up later. One thing I love about these old screw-on Ford caps is how mechanical they are. Everything today just snaps together — plastic clips and press fits. It feels like there’s no real craftsmanship anymore. Back in the ’80s, Ford actually threaded these holes in the wheels for those little screws. They were totally overbuilt, and that’s what’s cool. You can tell they weren’t chasing assembly speed; they were building something meant to last. At least on the wheels. I wish I could say… The same for the door panel clips. Those things bust off if you look at them sideways, but that’s part of the charm of working on old trucks like this. At least that’s what I tell myself. All right, all done. Now we can take them out and mount them inside the wheel. When I did my test fit, I noticed these screws stick out too far behind the rim and actually touch the rotor on my axle. I’m going to have to trim the screws. I’ll use a bench grinder to grind them down, then use my tap and die set to rethread them. I happen to have some wing nuts that are the right size for these screws. If I screw the wing nut on tight so it doesn’t move, the amount of screw sticking out the other end is almost exactly what I want to remove. I tighten the wing nut, grind the excess off, and the wing nut acts as a chaser, so when I pull the screw out it rethreads and goes right back in. Sometimes there’s a little burn on the end that I have to trim off, but once it cools down it should go right in. All trimmed up. I’m not a fan of these open lug nuts; I prefer the way regular black lug nuts look, so I’m going to put black lug nuts on the outside. The interior lug nuts will be torqued down and keep the wheel held on sufficiently, and then I’ll thread on the black nuts and tighten them lightly. That gives me the look I want and adds a bit of theft protection. There’s plenty of bite on these threads. To be clear about torque: the open-ended 45° basset nuts will be torqued to spec, about 100 ft-lb. Once the wheel is properly mounted, I’ll thread on the black nuts with a dab of blue Loctite and snug them to about 10 ft-lb. That’s enough to keep them from coming off by hand and adds a little theft protection, but it’s not enough to affect the main lug nuts that hold the wheel on. It’s safe and purely decorative. Screw them down, but not too tight—you don’t want to crack the plastic if it’s plastic. That’s what it’s going to look like. I think I’ll end up painting these wheels some kind of bronze or copper color. With the black lug nuts, that and maybe a fake bead-lock trim ring, I think they will look really nice. That’s how to install an OEM-style Ford truck center cap on an aftermarket wheel. Things to keep in mind: make sure the center cap is as centered as possible, use your spacers and your lug nuts, and get everything in place. Here, mark your holes in the right spots. Make sure your screws are not too long, because if they are they will impact the rotor back there. Make sure you get the right length screws; if not, you can always trim them like I showed you. Use tap oil when you’re drilling and tapping to avoid binding things up or snapping bits. Also make sure your aftermarket wheel will support a mod like this depending on its material. These are aftermarket steelies, which are perfect for this kind of mod. Any kind of five-on-5 1/2-inch steelie should be able to support this. The wagon wheels will, and the old-school Ford rims will. Anything with that big center flat area should take care of it. If you’re doing this on aluminum rims, be a little more careful. I haven’t done this on aluminum rims, but I know it’s possible—follow the same steps, take your time, and be careful. If you have any questions, comments, concerns, or tips and tricks about doing this, let me know in the comments. As always, thank you so much for watching, and we’ll see you next time. She’s rough around the edges, but she’s doing fine. Take her away; getting things to shine at no garage, she’s considered divine.

There’s something undeniably right about those old Ford screw-on center caps from the ’80s and ’90s. Bullnose, Bricknose, OBS… they’re basically rolling ID badges. I’m using them on my current builds, but there’s a catch: modern aftermarket wheels don’t have the threaded holes those caps require.

So in this video, I show exactly how I drill and tap a set of Bassett racing wheels so the OEM-style screw-on caps mount dead center, stay put, and don’t rub on the rotor. It’s not hard, but it does reward patience and a few simple tricks.

Why These Ford Screw-On Caps Are Worth the Trouble

Ford’s old design is unapologetically mechanical. Actual threaded holes and screws holding a cap in place. Not a plastic clip in sight. It’s overbuilt in a good way and has that satisfying, purposeful feel you don’t get from modern snap-on trim. If only the door panel clips from that era were built the same way… but I digress.

The Fitment Problem With Aftermarket Wheels

Ford’s original steel wheels had the holes threaded in from the factory. Most aftermarket wheels don’t. My Bassett racing wheels are a perfect example: great wheel, no provision for screw-on caps. If you want that period-correct look, you have to add the holes yourself and the key is getting the cap centered perfectly so it doesn’t wobble or look crooked at speed.

Tools and Measurements I Used

Here’s the exact setup from the video, so you can match it:

Center caps: vintage Ford screw-on style (’80s–’90s F-150/Bronco pattern)
Screws: 1/4-20 (supplied with my caps)
Drill bit: number 7 (correct for 1/4-20 taps); 13/64 also works in a pinch
Tap: 1/4-20 (Harbor Freight tap-and-die set—nothing fancy, but it works)
Tap Oil: Tap Magic
Punch: a good generic punch
Digital caliper for quick checks
Spacers: round rubber plugs about 1 inch wide with a 30 mm (1.18 in) center bore; wrapped with Gorilla tape to fit snug
Wheels: Bassett steelies
Lug nuts: 45° conical seat open-ended lug nuts for the Bassett wheels

Cap dimensions (from the video description): 7 inches total width, 30 mm (1.18 in) hole spacing, and a 3.5-inch center. Those numbers help when you’re shopping wheels or laying out hole locations.

Why Centering on the Vehicle Matters

You can eyeball a cap on the bench and it will look fine until the wheel spins and that “fine” turns into wobble. Wheels center on the truck differently than they do on a workbench, so I mount the wheel on the truck and use the vehicle’s lug pattern to position the cap exactly where it lives in the real world.

Prep the Wheel and Spacers

The Bassett wheels use 45° conical open-ended lugs. There’s enough play around the lug holes that the cap can still wiggle even when things look lined up. That’s where the rubber spacers come in. The plugs I used are roughly 1 inch wide with a 30 mm middle. I wrapped Gorilla tape around them until the outer diameter fit snug in the cap’s holes. The snug fit prevents the cap from shifting while you mark.

Mount and Snug the Wheel

Put the wheel on the truck and install three of the five lug nuts in alternating positions. Snug them (don’t fully torque yet) so the wheel is centered on the hub. If you’re dealing with hub-centric wheels, you’d center on the hub; for lug-centric setups like these steelies, the lug nuts do the centering.

Seat the Cap and Lock It In

Set the cap in place over the lugs. Insert those snug-fitting spacers into the cap holes to lock the cap where it naturally centers on the vehicle. This is the trick that removes the “eyeball” error.

Punch Accurate Marks

With everything held steady, use a solid punch to mark the hole locations through the cap. Aim for the center of each opening. You’re not drilling yet—just making accurate starter marks that correspond to the truck’s actual lug geometry.

Drilling and Tapping the Wheels

Now you can pull the wheel and head to the bench. The screws I’m using are 1/4-20, so I drill with a number 7 bit (13/64 will work, but number 7 is proper for tapping). A few keys to clean holes and long tap life:

Use cutting fluid—just a little in the punch mark is enough.
Drill with slow, steady pressure. Let the bit cut; don’t force it.
Clear chips (swarf) often so you don’t pack the flutes.

Once drilled, clean the holes thoroughly. Then tap 1/4-20 by hand with cutting oil. Keep the tap as straight as you reasonably can; it doesn’t need to be perfect. Back the tap out periodically to clear chips. If you’ve ever snapped a tap, you know why this step matters.

Test-Fit and Check Screw Length

After tapping, test-fit your cap and screws. On my setup, the supplied screws protruded far enough to contact the brake rotor… obviously a no-go. If your screws are too long, shorten them before final install.

Trim Screws the Easy Way

I use a bench grinder and a wing nut “chaser” trick. Thread a wing nut onto the screw to the exact length you want to keep, grind off the excess, then remove the wing nut to clean up the threads as it backs off. If there’s a little burn or mushrooming at the tip, let it cool and touch it up. You want clean threads and the right length so nothing interferes behind the wheel.

Lug Nut Setup and Torque Notes

I’m not a fan of the look of open-ended lug nuts on the outside, so here’s how I handle it while keeping things safe:

Torque the interior open-ended 45° Bassett lug nuts to spec: about 100 ft-lb in my case.
Then thread on black “outer” lug nuts as a visual set. A dab of blue Loctite and about 10 ft-lb is enough to keep them in place. They’re decorative and add a little theft deterrence. They don’t replace or alter the main lug nut clamping load.

For the cap screws themselves: seat them snug, but don’t go full gorilla… especially if your caps have any plastic. It’s very easy to crack a cap by chasing “just one more quarter turn.”

Material and Wheel Style Considerations

This process works great on steel wheels. My Bassett steelies took the tap cleanly, and the center area is flat and thick enough to hold threads. In general:

Five-on-5.5-inch steelies, “wagon wheels,” and old-school Ford rims with a flat center area are solid candidates.
Aluminum wheels can work too, but go slower, use proper cutting fluid, and be mindful of thread engagement. I haven’t done this on aluminum in the video, but the same steps apply, just be careful.

Why Do It On-Vehicle? The Real-World Geometry

The most important step in the whole process is marking on the vehicle. Wheels that look centered on a table can still be slightly off relative to the truck’s lug pattern. Bolting the wheel up and using snug spacers locks the cap to the real geometry of the hub and lugs. That’s how you avoid that one screw that’s tight, the opposite one crooked, and a cap that looks “just a hair off” once it’s rolling.

Quick Checklist

Center the cap on the truck using snug spacers and three lugs.
Punch marks with the cap held firmly in place.
Drill with a number 7 bit for 1/4-20 and use cutting fluid.
Tap slowly, clearing chips often; keep the tap as straight as you can.
Test-fit cap screws and verify they don’t protrude into the rotor.
Trim screw length using the wing nut chaser method if needed.
Torque your main lug nuts properly; treat any dress nuts as decorative.
Snug cap screws without over-tightening—avoid cracking plastic.

Common Pitfalls (and How to Avoid Them)

Off-center caps: Always mark on the vehicle with spacers; don’t trust a bench mock-up.
Stripped threads: Use the right drill size (number 7) and cutting fluid; don’t force the tap.
Rotor interference: Verify screw length before final install and trim as needed.
Wobble at speed: Make sure the wheel is centered on the hub during marking and that holes line up with the lug geometry.
Cracked caps: Tighten cap screws only until seated—stop before the “snap.”

Specs at a Glance

Cap width: 7 inches
Cap hole spacing: 30 mm (1.18 inches)
Cap center opening: 3.5 inches
Screws: 1/4-20 (use number 7 drill or 13/64)
Lug seats used here: 45° conical (open-ended Bassett lugs)

Old-School Design, Modern Wheels

There’s something satisfying about drilling and tapping a wheel for a proper mechanical fastener. You can feel the tool bite, clear the chips, and end up with threads you trust. Do it right, and those vintage Ford caps sit perfectly centered, tight, and true… even on wheels that were never designed for them. That’s the kind of overbuilt thinking Ford baked into these trucks back in the day. I just happen to be carrying it over to a set of Bassett steelies.

Final Thoughts

If you’re running aftermarket steelies and want that classic Ford screw-on look, this is the clean way to make it happen. Center on the vehicle, mark carefully, drill and tap properly, and check your screw length. Simple, mechanical, and reliable. Just how I like it.

Got Questions?

Drop your questions or tips in the comments. If you’ve done this on different wheels let me know how it went. And if you just came here for a little old-school Ford nostalgia, I won’t blame you.

Thanks for watching and reading. Check out the video above to see the whole process, start to finish.

If you want more specific information on Bullnose Ford Trucks, check out my YouTube Channel!

For more information on Bullnose Fords, you can check out the BullnoseFord SubReddit or Gary’s Garagemahal. Both are excellent resources.

As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. If you see an Amazon link on my site, purchasing the item from Amazon using that link helps out the Channel.

Ford 427 Side Oiler V8 engine with cross-bolted mains and polished headers, the race engine used in the GT40 at Le Mans.

Ford 427 Side Oiler: The Big Block That Beat Ferrari and Built a Legacy

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Inside the Ford 427 Big Block V8: How It Made the GT40 a Le Mans Legend

Published on October 13, 2025

Click to play the video inline or see it on YouTube

Part of the Ford Engines series.

Show Transcript

Ferrari thought they had endurance racing locked down with six straight wins at Le Mans. The whole world was convinced nobody could touch them. Then along came Ford, ticked off, with deep pockets and willing to throw everything at the problem. They had Carroll Shelby in their corner, a brand new GT40, and under the hood, a 427 cubic inch sledgehammer that could change racing history. Spoiler alert, Ferrari didn’t like what happened next. Howdy folks, Ed here. Welcome back to Bono’s Garage. Now, if you’ve seen Ford v Ferrari, you know the Hollywood version of the story. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great movie, but the movie plays pretty fast and loose with the facts. And while the truth is way more interesting, I’m not here today to debate about Henry the Deuce’s motivations or Ken Miles getting cheated out of first place. We’re here about the 427 that got into the line and gave Ford the photo op they wanted in 1966. Because the Ford 427 wasn’t just some one-off race motor. It was the peak of the FE family, the same big block line that powered Ford trucks for years before being replaced by the 429 and 460 that carried into the bullnose era. In other words, that Le Mans-winning motor didn’t just beat Ferrari, it laid the groundwork for Ford’s big block future. Let’s back up a little. Before the 427, before the GT40, and before the drama in France, Ford had to build the FE family. The FE wasn’t some accident of racing. It was born as Ford’s first true big block family back in 1958. FE literally stands for Ford Edsel. Yeah, I know the Edsel name is usually the punchline of a bad joke, but in this case, the engine family outlived the car by decades and became one of Ford’s most important platforms. The FE was designed to fill the gap between the small Y-block V8s like the 292 and 312 and the heavy-duty Lincoln and Mercury big blocks that were too bulky for most applications. Ford wanted one engine architecture that could scale. Put it in a Thunderbird or a Galaxy and make it fast, or stick it in an F-series truck and make it pull. That meant a middleweight big block that was compact but still capable of serious displacement. From a technical standpoint, the FE had a 4.63-inch bore spacing which set the ceiling on displacement. That’s why you’ll see FEs topping out in the 428 to 430 range, while the later 385 series 429 and 460 used a wider 4.9-inch bore spacing and had more room to grow. Deck height was set at just over 10.17 inches. Cast iron blocks were the norm, and the deep skirt design gave them strength for both racing and trucks. It didn’t come cheap though. The 429 clocked in over 600 pounds or more fully dressed. Some engineers joked it was like lifting an anvil with spark plugs. Unlike most engines where the heads are self-contained and the intake just sits on top, the FE’s intake is part of the head structure itself. That made the manifolds huge and heavy, often 70 pounds or more. And swapping one isn’t just a Saturday afternoon job, but that massive structure gave the top end a lot of rigidity, which was a blessing once Ford started pushing the FE into racing. Over its lifespan, the FE family covered everything from 322 cubic inches up to 428. The 352 was the first out of the gate, offered in cars and trucks in ’58. By the early ’60s, the 360 and 390 had become the bread and butter truck engines. Torquey, reliable, and built to take abuse. These were the motors farmers, contractors, and good old boys trusted for years before the bullnose era. And that’s the point I want to drive home here. The FE wasn’t just a race motor. It was Ford’s Swiss Army knife. Same external block, same basic design, but it could be tuned to idle smooth in a pickup, or it could be bored and stroked to scream on a NASCAR track. The 427 we’re going to focus on was the extreme end of that spectrum, the wild child of a family that also powered America’s work trucks. So, why did Ford decide to build the 427? Simple. They wanted to win. In the early ’60s, Ford was getting embarrassed in NASCAR. Their 390, even the 406, weren’t bad engines, but ‘not bad’ doesn’t win a Daytona or Le Mans. NASCAR’s 427 cubic inch limit was staring them in the face. Chrysler was swinging with the 426 Hemi, and Ford needed an answer. That answer was the 427. Same FE family bones, but bored and stroked right to the edge. A 4.23-inch bore and 3.78-inch stroke. That combination made a high-winding 427 cubic inch big block that could hang with anything on displacement. But Ford knew size alone wasn’t going to be enough. So here’s the problem. The FE was born as a passenger car and truck motor. It used what’s called a top oiler system. Oil flows from the pump, feeds the cam and valve train first, and then makes its way down to the crankshaft. And that’s fine for hauling hay bales at 3,000 RPM, but not for running 6,500 to 7,000 RPM wide open for hours. The crank was starving for oil when it needed it most, and bearings don’t last long when they go dry at speed. So, Ford did something radical. They created the side oiler block. This design ran a dedicated galley along the side of the block that fed the crankshaft first before anything else. The valve train could wait a fraction of a second because if the crank didn’t live, nothing else mattered. It turned the FE into a reliable racing engine, one that could survive the abuse of NASCAR and the 24 Hours of Le Mans. And if you know what you’re looking at, side oiler blocks are easy to spot. That external oil passage is cast right into the block. Collectors today will pay a fortune for a real one because they’re rare. And they solved that one weak spot that kept the FE from being a world-class race motor. Now, here’s where some folks scratch their heads. If the side oiler was so good, why didn’t Ford keep doing it? Well, the answer is that the side oiler was a workaround, not the future. It was a clever fix for an FE that was being pushed way beyond what it was originally designed to do. Later engines like the 429 or 460 Lima big blocks and even Windsor small blocks… went back to that top oiler layout, but they had stronger main webs, bigger journals, and better oiling capacity right from the start. They didn’t need the side gallery for everyday cars and trucks. A side oiler would have just added cost, weight, and complexity, and it wouldn’t have really given any benefit. So, the side oiler was a one-generation trick, a race-bred fix that kept the FE alive at the top level. But it wasn’t how Ford designed engines going forward. Think of it like a pit stop on the way to Ford’s later Big Block. It’s not the destination. But, you know, call it what you want. Trick, hack, genius engineering. Bottom line is it definitely worked. Once the 429 side oiler hit the scene, Ford wasted no time throwing it into the fight. In NASCAR, it was an instant game changer. The big bore and short stroke gave it the breathing room for high RPM. And with that side oiler system keeping the crank alive, it could run flat out all day. Ford team suddenly had the durability to hang with and beat Chrysler and GM. For a while, the 427 was the engine to have in stock car racing. And Ford didn’t stop there. They got creative. Maybe too creative. In 1964, they unveiled the 427 single overhead cammer. This was still an FE block at heart, but with wild single overhead cam cylinder heads, timing chains so long they looked like something off of a bicycle and the ability to spin to the moon. It was basically Ford’s answer to Chrysler’s 426 Hemi. NASCAR took one look and said, ‘Nope, that’s too radical,’ and banned it before they could dominate. But on the drag strip, the cammer became a legend, especially in Top Fuel and funny cars. Guys like Connie Kalitta and Don Prudhomme used it to terrorize quarter miles across the country. On paper, Ford rated it as 616 horsepower in stock trim. The NHRA, in their infinite wisdom, called it 425 for classification, which was a joke. Everybody was in on it. In reality, tuners were pulling 700 horsepower or more, which is why those engines were absolute terrors in Top Fuel and funny cars. Chrysler had the Hemi, but Ford’s cammer was the one scaring track officials. Of course, the 427’s most famous stage was across the Atlantic. Early GT40s with smaller engines had been fast but fragile. Ferrari ran circles around them. That changed when Carroll Shelby got involved. Shelby had already made the Cobra a world-beater by stuffing an FE into a lightweight British roadster. So when Ford handed him the GT40 program, he knew what it needed, the 427 side oiler. And here’s where Ken Miles comes in. Now Ken wasn’t just a driver. He was Ford’s secret weapon in testing. Miles would literally run engines until they grenaded just to give Ford engineers the data they needed to make them tougher. If the 427 side oiler held together at Le Mans, it’s because Ken Miles had already blown a dozen of them to pieces back in testing. He broke them so customers or racers didn’t have to. With a big block FE sitting midship in the GT40 Mark II, everything clicked. In 1966, Ford stomped Ferrari at Le Mans with a historic 1-2-3 finish. That was the year of the famous photo finish where Ken Miles was robbed of the win for technical reasons. But the real story is that all three cars were Fords and all three were powered by the 427 FE. It wasn’t a fluke. The GT40 kept winning four years in a row from ’66 to ’69, cementing Ford’s place in endurance racing history. And here’s a detail the movie didn’t really emphasize. Those 427-powered GT40s were breaking 200 mph on the Mulsanne Straight in 1966. That’s not just fast, man. That’s light years ahead of what most race cars, let alone road cars, could do at the time. Ferrari had nothing that could match that kind of straight-line speed, and everyone knew it. That’s why the win wasn’t just symbolic. Ford didn’t just beat Ferrari, they flat out outran them. And for gearheads and car buffs back in the States, those GT40s weren’t running exotic one-off race engines. They were running versions of the same side oiler blocks you could, in theory, buy in a Galaxy if you knew the right box to check on the order form. They were handbuilt, blueprinted, and tuned to the ragged edge, but at their core, they were still Fords. That’s part of why the story is so cool. Ford didn’t just build a race motor from scratch. They weaponized a production block to take on Ferrari’s best and absolutely stomped them with it. So, when people talk about Chrysler’s 426 Hemi as the ultimate ’60s big block, Ford fans have a pretty strong rebuttal. The 426 may have owned the drag strip, but the 427 FE is the engine that took down Ferrari on the world’s biggest stage. Okay, so why does all of this matter if you’re standing in front of an ’80s bullnose Ford? I mean, after all, no bullnose ever came with a 427 side oiler. And if we’re being precise, you couldn’t even get a 460 in an F150 during the bullnose years. The biggest gas engine in those trucks was the 351 Windsor. When a 460 had to step up to an F250 or F350, because that’s where Ford put the heavy hitter big blocks. Here’s the connection. The 427 proved something inside Ford as a company, that they could build world-class engines and, more importantly, that they had to. Before the FE, Ford was seen as solid but conservative. Good for trucks and family cars, but not global racing glory. The 427’s success changed that. It gave Ford the confidence to throw money and engineering muscle into performance, and the lessons they learned fed directly into the next generation of big blocks. Think about it this way. The FE had a 4.63 bore spacing. That’s why it maxed out around 428 cubes. When Ford sat down to design the 385 series, that’s the 429 and 460, they fixed that. They widened the bore spacing to 4.9 inches, gave the block more breathing room, and built in oiling improvements from the ground up. They took what the 427 side oiler taught them, that endurance requires durability at the crank, and baked it into a whole new engine family. Bullnose trucks. Now, the F-150 may not have gotten the 460, but plenty of F-250s and 350s did. Those engines weren’t just big for the sake of being big. They carried the same philosophy that the 427 proved on the racetrack: build it big, build it tough, and make sure it can survive under serious abuse. There’s a cultural side, too. Beating Ferrari wasn’t just a trophy for Ford; it changed how the world looked at them. Suddenly, Ford wasn’t just the company that built Grandma’s Galaxy or your dad’s farm truck. They were the company that could stand toe-to-toe with the Italians and win. That swagger carried into the muscle car era, into the Cobra Jet programs, into the Boss 429, and eventually into the trucks of the ’70s and ’80s. The Bullnose generation wasn’t designed to win alone, but it inherited the same DNA of toughness and confidence that Ford had proved with the 427. So, because this is Bullnose Garage, here’s a fun question: Would you ever stick a 427 side oiler into a bullnose? On paper, yeah, it’s possible. The engine bay in those trucks is plenty big. Mounts and adapters exist, and with enough determination and cash, anything’s possible. Let’s be real for a second. First, cost. A genuine 427 side block today is like striking oil in your backyard. Collectors, racers, and restorers all want them, and the prices are sky-high. By the time you source a real block, heads, intake, and all the hardware, you’ll have more money tied up in the motor than the entire truck is worth, even if it’s a nice one. Second, practicality. The FE family is heavy. That massive intake alone feels like it was cast out of battleship armor. By comparison, the 460 is cheaper, easier to find, and will make just as much or more torque for a fraction of the investment. A Windsor build or even a stroked 408 Windsor will give you more performance per dollar, and the parts are on every parts store shelf. Let’s not kid ourselves. If you did swap a 427 into a bullnose, you’d have bragging rights for life. That’s the kind of thing you pop the hood at a show and people stop mid-sentence. Most folks expect to see a 460 or a Windsor. Nobody expects to see the same engine that won Le Mans four years straight sitting in an ’80s Ford pickup. That’s pure ‘why the hell not’ territory. And sometimes, in this hobby, that’s reason enough. So, if you do, let me know because I want to talk to you. But would I recommend it? No. Not unless you’ve got a winning lottery ticket or a dusty old 427 sitting in your uncle’s barn. And even then, probably not. Here’s why. Ford only built around 40,000 427 blocks in total across all the versions. Compare that to the hundreds of thousands of 390s or 428s, and you see the problem. Genuine 427 sides are rare, and collectors will pay a fortune. Dropping one in a bullnose would be like using a Shelby Daytona coupe to haul firewood. Yeah, you could do it, but most people would call you insane. Would I respect it? You better believe it. Because a bullnose with a 427 under the hood isn’t about logic. It’s about making a statement. And that statement is, ‘Yeah, I put a Le Mans engine in my farm truck. What are you going to do?’ The Ford 427 wasn’t built to be practical. It wasn’t built to idle smooth, sip gas, or make it through a 100,000-mile warranty. It was built for one reason: to win. To take the fight to Chrysler at Daytona and to Ferrari at Le Mans, to prove that Ford could play at the very top of the motorsports world. And it did. Four straight Le Mans victories, NASCAR dominance, drag racing legends. The 427 earned its place in history the hard way at wide-open throttle. For us truck guys, it’s easy to look at the 427 and say, ‘Yeah, cool story, bro. What does that have to do with my bullnose?’ The answer is everything. The 427 forced Ford to innovate. It proved the value of durability, taught them how to build engines that could take punishment, and gave the company the swagger to go all in on big displacement. Without the 427’s success, there’s no 460. Without the 460, bullnose trucks don’t get the kind of big block grunt that made them kings of towing and hauling. So, no, your ’80s F-150 or F-250 never came with a 427, but every single time you fire up a bullnose, you’re hearing echoes of what Ford learned in the ’60s. That Le Mans-winning motor didn’t just beat Ferrari. It helped shape Ford’s big block legacy that carried all the way into trucks that we love today. And the F-series itself, that’s a whole story of its own. The 352, the 360, the 390, engines that earned their reputation in F-series trucks long before the bullnose. And you know what? We’ll dig into that in a future video. But for now, just remember the Ford 427 side oiler wasn’t just an engine. It was a statement. And it’s a statement that still echoes through every single Ford sitting in a driveway today. And that’s it, guys. That’s everything that I know or pretend to know about the legendary 427 side oiler from Ford. Any questions, comments, concerns, gripes, internet ramblings, if I got something wrong, let me know in the comments below. I really appreciate that. Again, guys, thank you so much for watching and we will see you next time.

The Ford 427 Side Oiler: Racing’s Big Block Legend

Table Of Contents

The Ford 427 Side Oiler: Racing’s Big Block Legend

Introduction: The Day Ford Declared War on Ferrari

Promotional poster showing Ford GT40 and Ferrari 330 P4 race cars from the Ford vs Ferrari rivalry at Le Mans. — When Ford got mad at Ferrari, they built a car that made history.

he Ford 427 Side Oiler was the engine that took Ford from Detroit to victory at Le Mans… a race-bred big block built to beat Ferrari.

Ferrari thought they had endurance racing locked down. Six straight wins at Le Mans. A reputation that screamed perfection. Everyone figured nobody could touch them. Then along came Ford… ticked off, flush with cash, and determined to humiliate the prancing horse on its own turf.

They brought Carroll Shelby to the party, built a car called the GT40, and stuffed it with an American V8 so mean it would change racing history forever. That engine was the 427 cubic-inch FE Side Oiler, and it didn’t just beat Ferrari – it stomped them flat.

Now, Hollywood told that story in Ford v Ferrari, and sure, it’s a good flick. But the truth is even better and a lot more mechanical. The 427 wasn’t just a race motor pulled out of some secret lab; it was the peak evolution of Ford’s FE engine family, the same basic big-block line that powered F-Series trucks for years. Long before the Bullnose era ever rolled off the line, the 427 had already proven Ford could build a world-class engine out of production parts.

That’s what made it dangerous.
That’s what made it legendary.

And today, we’re tearing it apart, not with a wrench (though I’d love to), but with a deep dive into how this monster came to be, how it worked, and how it shaped the future of Ford’s big blocks.

Birth of the FE: The Foundation of Ford’s Big Block Era

Ford FE big-block V8 engine with black valve covers, a precursor to the 427 Side Oiler. — Before the 427 came the FE — heavy, stubborn, and tough as an anvil.

Before the 427, before the GT40, and long before Le Mans glory, there was the FE: Ford’s first true big-block family. Introduced in 1958, the FE stood for Ford-Edsel, which sounds like a punchline if you only know Edsel as Ford’s biggest flop. But the FE outlived the car by decades and became one of the most important engine families Ford ever built.

Ford had a problem in the late ’50s: the old Y-block V8s were running out of headroom. They were fine for the smaller passenger cars and light-duty trucks, but Ford needed something that could scale… an engine that could handle both power and payload. The Lincoln and Mercury big-blocks were too heavy and expensive, so the engineers in Dearborn got to work on a new design that could do both jobs: go fast in a Thunderbird or pull a trailer in an F-Series.

The Engineering Vision

The FE was a masterpiece of compromise. It was big enough to move heavy cars and trucks, yet compact enough to fit under a standard hood. The block featured 4.63-inch bore spacing, which set a natural limit on displacement (that’s why you’ll never see an FE go much past 430 cubic inches). Later engines like the 429 and 460 used 4.90-inch spacing, giving them room to grow, but the FE’s tighter layout made it a stout, dense package.

Deck height was just over 10.17 inches, giving plenty of room for stroke without making the block excessively tall. Cast iron was the material of choice, not aluminum, which meant these things were heavy. They could be north of 600 pounds fully dressed. Engineers joked that lifting one was like bench-pressing an anvil with spark plugs.

The Deep-Skirt Block

One of the FE’s defining features was its deep-skirt block design. Unlike earlier engines that left the crankcase skirt short, the FE’s block extended well below the crank centerline, creating a solid cradle for the rotating assembly. This made it incredibly rigid, a trait that would later become crucial when Ford started chasing high-RPM endurance reliability.

The design had its quirks, though. For example, the intake manifold wasn’t just a cap sitting on the heads. On the FE, the manifold actually formed part of the cylinder head structure. That made for excellent rigidity and consistent sealing under load, but it also meant the intake was massive, sometimes tipping the scales at 70 pounds or more. Swapping one wasn’t a Saturday afternoon job unless you liked hernias.

Displacement and Applications

The FE family was flexible, covering everything from 332 cubic inches up to 428. The first version to hit the streets was the 352, launched in ’58. It quickly proved itself in both cars and trucks, leading to larger variants like the 360 and 390… engines that became staples of Ford pickups throughout the ’60s and early ’70s.

Those engines earned a reputation for torque and toughness. You could lug them all day on the farm, run them hard in a work truck, or drop one into a Galaxie and surprise the guy next to you at a stoplight. That’s the beauty of the FE design. It has same external block, but with different internals comes a completely different personality.

A Family Built to Adapt

Light blue 1963 Ford F-100 pickup truck parked outdoors, showcasing the early use of FE-series engines in Ford trucks. — Where the FE earned its reputation: hauling, not racing.

The FE’s secret weapon was adaptability. It could idle smooth in a pickup or scream at 7,000 RPM in a NASCAR stocker. It was the Swiss Army knife of big blocks, and Ford took full advantage of that.

By the early ’60s, engineers started pushing it to its absolute limits. That’s when they discovered something crucial and the FE’s endurance Achilles heel.. the FE’s original oiling system wasn’t up to the job. The top-oiler layout fed the cam and valvetrain first, leaving the crankshaft last in line for lubrication. Fine for trucks. Not so fine for racing.

That flaw set the stage for the creation of one of the most famous racing engines of all time: the 427 Side Oiler.

Why Ford Built the 427

By the early 1960s, Ford had a problem. They were getting beat on the track, and badly. Ford was tired of losing. NASCAR and endurance racing had become more than just marketing. They were a battleground for engineering bragging rights. Chrysler had the 426 Hemi, GM had their own high-winding monsters, and Ford’s best effort, the 406 FE, was fast – but not fast enough. NASCAR had capped displacement at 427 cubic inches, which gave Ford a target. If they wanted to win, they had to hit that number and hit it hard.

The result was the 427 FE, an engine designed to dominate and survive at full throttle longer than anyone else. It used the same FE architecture, but everything about it was reworked for racing. Bore was punched out to 4.23 inches, stroke was set at 3.78, and the block was strengthened everywhere Ford could get away with it. Ford engineers had learned through painful experience that you couldn’t just bore and stroke your way to victory. High-RPM endurance killed engines through flex, heat, and oil starvation, so they went after all three. This wasn’t a warmed-over 390 anymore. It was a hand-built brute made to live at full throttle.

Strengthening the Block

The first step was casting integrity. Ford revised the FE block molds specifically for the 427, thickening the main webs, cylinder walls, and the oil pan rails. The engineers even modified the foundry’s core supports to reduce core shift during casting, which is something that had plagued earlier FE blocks and made cylinder wall thickness inconsistent. That kind of attention to detail was rare in production iron at the time.

The result was a high-nickel-content casting that could handle abuse far beyond what Ford’s standard passenger-car engines ever saw. Nickel made the iron harder and less prone to cracking under load, but it also made the blocks more expensive. Ford didn’t care. Racing budgets were generous, and this was war.

Next came reinforcement at the bottom end. The 427’s crankcase was a deep-skirt design like other FEs, but Ford took it further by adding cross-bolted main caps. Instead of the usual two vertical bolts per main, they added a pair of horizontal bolts that ran through the skirt of the block into each main cap, effectively tying the crankshaft to the block from both directions. It acted like a cradle that stopped cap walk… the tendency of the main caps to shift under load at high RPM.

To make this work, each cap had to be machined with precision flats and drilled passages for those side bolts. That added machine time and cost, but it created a bottom end that stayed tight and square at 7,000 RPM. Ford even extended the pan rails downward and added cast ribs between the bolt bosses to keep the block from twisting under load.

The Rotating Assembly

Ford 427 Side Oiler forged steel crankshaft showing machined journals and counterweights.

Inside, the crankshaft was a beast of its own. Ford used forged steel instead of the nodular iron found in lesser FE engines. It featured rolled fillets for stress relief and, in some racing versions, cross-drilled oil passages to improve flow between journals. These weren’t mass-produced cast cranks — they were hand-inspected and balanced for competition.

Connecting rods were shot-peened forged steel with 3/8-inch rod bolts, and the pistons were forged aluminum with full floating pins. Compression ratios ranged from around 10.5:1 on street versions to well over 12:1 in race trim. Combined with the short 3.78-inch stroke, the 427 was a rev-happy big block that could spin faster than most of its contemporaries without grenading.

Cylinder Walls and Cooling

Ford didn’t stop at the bottom end. They also beefed up the cylinder walls, which was critical for longevity. Earlier FE blocks could suffer from core shift that left thin walls on one side of a bore, leading to hot spots and eventual cracking. The 427 addressed this with revised core geometry and a thicker casting between cylinders.

The 427’s cooling passages were also reshaped to flow more evenly around the bores, especially in the upper water jacket. That helped even out thermal expansion, which in turn kept head gaskets intact under brutal conditions. The decks were machined flatter and truer than any production FE before them, which meant the heads sealed better and the engine could survive hours of sustained high heat.

Heads, Valves, and Flow

Although most of the 427’s legend lives in the block, the heads got attention too. Ford offered medium-rise and high-rise cylinder heads, each with larger ports and better flow characteristics than earlier FE designs. The high-rise heads used raised intake runners that improved airflow at high RPM, feeding the 427’s appetite for top-end power. Some later race engines even used tunnel-port heads with pushrods running through the intake ports — a bizarre but effective way to keep airflow high at extreme speeds.

To top it off, Ford developed lightweight cast-aluminum intakes for racing and even dual-quad setups that turned the engine bay into something that looked more at home on a drag strip than in a dealership lot.

All of these changes added up to a block that was as close to bulletproof as Ford could make it in the mid-’60s. Engineers used to joke that the 427 could take abuse that would scatter most other big blocks, and they weren’t far off.

Even so, the engineers knew there was one area that still wasn’t perfect: oiling. The FE’s top-oiler system was holding the whole thing back. The next step would be the innovation that truly separated the 427 from its predecessors: the side-oiler block.

The Oiling Problem

The FE had started life as a car and truck engine, not a race motor. Its top-oiler design fed oil to the camshaft and valvetrain first, with the crankshaft coming last. That was fine for your uncle’s pickup or your grandma’s Galaxie. At 3,000 RPM, it lived forever. At 7,000 RPM for hours on end, the crank bearings would start to go dry. When that happened, rods welded themselves to journals, and the engine went from thunder to shrapnel in a heartbeat.

Ford’s engineers couldn’t let that stand. They needed a fix that would feed the crank first every time, no matter how hard it was revved.

Enter the Side-Oiler

Cross-section diagram of the Ford 427 Side Oiler engine showing the side oil gallery feeding the crankshaft first. — Ford’s side-oiler fix — oil the crank first, worry about the rest later.

The side-oiler block was Ford’s answer. Instead of sending oil up through the center of the block and letting gravity do the rest, they created a dedicated oil gallery running down the side of the block. Oil came straight out of the pump and went directly into that gallery, which fed the main bearings first. Only after the crank had what it needed did oil get routed upward to the camshaft and valvetrain.

That simple change solved the FE’s biggest weakness. The crank, the heart of the engine, always had pressure, even under brutal loads. It turned the FE from a strong street motor into a legitimate endurance engine that could run flat-out for hours.

If you’ve ever seen a real side-oiler block, the difference is obvious. There’s a long horizontal bulge cast into the side of the block that houses the oil passage. It’s the giveaway collectors look for today, and it’s the reason those blocks are so valuable. They weren’t made in huge numbers, and the ones that survived decades of racing are prized like rare gold.

Why It Worked

What made the side-oiler design so effective wasn’t just the oil path. It was the whole system. Ford engineers balanced the galleries so that pressure stayed consistent from front to back. Each main bearing got its own direct feed instead of sharing a single passage. That meant less pressure drop, less heat, and much better bearing life at high RPM.

They also used cross-bolted main caps, which tied the bottom of the block together like a race cage for the crank. Each main cap was bolted vertically as usual, but also held in place with horizontal bolts running through the skirt of the block. That extra support kept the crank from flexing under stress, and when you’re spinning steel that fast, a few thousandths of movement can mean the difference between finishing a race and scattering parts down the back straight.

The combination of the side-oiler gallery and the cross-bolted mains gave the 427 incredible durability for its time. Engines that used to fail halfway through an event were suddenly living to see the checkered flag. In endurance racing, that was everything.

A Clever Workaround, Not the Future

It’s worth remembering that the side-oiler was a brilliant solution, but it was still a workaround. Ford was pushing the FE architecture past what it was designed for. Later engines like the 429 and 460 big blocks, and even the smaller Windsor family, went back to more conventional oiling paths, but with stronger main webs, larger journals, and better casting design from the start. They didn’t need a side gallery to survive because the whole block was built for it.

For racing, though, the side-oiler was magic. It was Ford’s way of saying, “We’ll fix it with engineering,” and it worked. The 427 side-oiler didn’t just solve a problem; it made Ford competitive again. From NASCAR ovals to the Mulsanne Straight at Le Mans, it gave Ford the endurance they’d been missing.

And if you want proof that it worked, all you have to do is look at the trophies.

The Racing Legacy of the 427 Side Oiler

Historic 1966 Le Mans finish showing three Ford GT40s crossing the line together for a 1-2-3 victory over Ferrari. — 1966 — the year Ford dropped the mic at Le Mans.

Once Ford had the 427 Side Oiler dialed in, they didn’t waste any time turning it loose. NASCAR was the first proving ground. The short stroke, big bore, and bulletproof bottom end gave Ford the perfect combination for high RPM power and endurance. It could breathe deep, rev hard, and stay together under punishment that would turn most engines into scrap metal.

At a time when a 6,500 RPM redline was considered “aggressive,” the 427 was comfortably running past 7,000. Oil pressure stayed steady, bearings lived longer, and the engines came back from races still in one piece which, in motorsport, is the only statistic that really matters.

NASCAR Dominance

Ford teams quickly figured out that the 427 wasn’t just powerful, it was consistent. In NASCAR, consistency wins championships. The side-oiler setup meant the crankshaft got oil pressure first, and that allowed teams to run harder and leaner without worrying about oiling failures.

The 427-powered Galaxies and Fairlanes started showing up everywhere. Drivers like Fred Lorenzen, nicknamed “Fearless Freddy,” made Ford a serious threat. In the early to mid-1960s, he was running speeds that other teams simply couldn’t maintain without engine failures. That reliability came from the 427’s design. Those cross-bolted mains and the crank-fed oiling system did exactly what they were meant to do.

Other manufacturers were scrambling to keep up. The Chrysler Hemi had power, no doubt, but the 427 FE was a freight train that could keep pulling lap after lap. It didn’t care about being delicate. It was built for violence. It was just strong, simple American iron engineered to live.

The Cammer: Ford’s Wild Experiment

Ford 427 SOHC Cammer engine with single overhead cams and long timing chains, developed to rival Chrysler’s 426 Hemi. — The 427 Cammer — too wild for NASCAR, too good for everyone else.

Then Ford got ambitious… maybe too ambitious. In 1964, they unveiled a version of the 427 that made the racing world stop in its tracks: the 427 SOHC, better known as the Cammer.

The block underneath was still an FE, but the top end was completely new. Instead of the pushrod setup, Ford gave it single overhead cams on each bank, driven by a timing chain so long it could’ve come off a bicycle. The cammer heads breathed like crazy, with massive valves and hemispherical-style combustion chambers that looked suspiciously similar to what Chrysler was doing with their 426 Hemi.

The intent was simple: dominate NASCAR. The Cammer made a conservative 616 horsepower in “factory trim,” though that number was more for politics than truth. Tuned race versions easily pushed 700 horsepower or more. It was an absolute monster.

NASCAR, of course, took one look and banned it before it could ever dominate. The official excuse was that it wasn’t “production-based” enough. The real reason? It scared them. Nobody else had anything that could touch it.

Even though NASCAR shut the door, the Cammer found a second life on the drag strip. In Top Fuel and Funny Car, it became the engine that nobody wanted to line up against. Drivers like Connie Kalitta and Don “The Snake” Prudhomme made names for themselves running Cammers. You’d hear that shrieking, chain-driven top end echo through the pits, and everyone knew it was about to get serious.

In the quarter mile, Chrysler had the Hemi, but Ford’s Cammer was the one making tech inspectors sweat.

Le Mans: Beating Ferrari at Their Own Game

If NASCAR proved the 427’s durability, Le Mans cemented its legend.

When Ford first sent the GT40 overseas, it didn’t go well. The early 289-cubic-inch cars were fast but fragile. They couldn’t hold together long enough to challenge Ferrari’s dominance in endurance racing. That’s when Carroll Shelby stepped in. Shelby was the same guy who had already turned the British AC Cobra into a snake with an FE under the hood. Shelby knew exactly what the GT40 needed: the 427 Side Oiler.

The new GT40 Mk II was a different animal entirely. The 427 sat midship, low and angry, mated to a beefed-up transaxle to handle its torque. It was heavier, yes, but it was also unstoppable. Ford tested the hell out of it, often under the guidance of Ken Miles, the engineer-driver who pushed these engines to their limits.

Miles didn’t just drive; he broke things on purpose. He’d run engines at full load until they failed, then hand the remains to the engineers with notes on what went wrong. If the 427 survived Le Mans, it was because Ken Miles had already found every weak link during testing.

The Ultimate Show of Force

Row of Ford GT40 race cars lined up on the Le Mans starting grid in the 1960s with crowds watching from the stands. — The calm before 24 hours of mechanical mayhem.

In 1966, Ford brought the hammer down. The GT40s finished 1-2-3, humiliating Ferrari in front of the world. It wasn’t a fluke, either. Ford came back and won four straight Le Mans victories from 1966 to 1969, and in 66 and 67 every one of those cars was powered by the FE family — the same 427 Side Oiler that started life as a production-based block you could, theoretically, buy in a Galaxie.

That’s what made it so impressive. Ferrari’s engines were delicate, hand-built art pieces. The 427 was a brute. It didn’t whisper; it shouted. It didn’t glide; it muscled its way down the Mulsanne Straight at over 200 miles per hour… in 1966. That’s mind-blowing performance for an iron-block V8 from Detroit.

And here’s the real kicker: those GT40 engines weren’t exotic prototypes. They were built from the same basic architecture as the 427 you could find on a Ford dealer’s option sheet if you knew which salesman to ask. They were blueprinted, balanced, and tuned to perfection, but at their core, they were FEs. Production blocks, racing glory.

The Ultimate Proof of Concept

What Ford proved with the 427 Side Oiler was that durability wins races. Power gets headlines, but reliability wins trophies. That philosophy carried through everything Ford built afterward. The 427 taught Ford engineers how to make big displacement engines live under stress. Lessons that filtered down into the 429 and 460 big blocks that powered the heavy-duty trucks of the ’70s and ’80s.

Every time one of those GT40s roared down the straight at Le Mans, it wasn’t just about beating Ferrari. It was about proving that American iron could take the best the world had to offer and come out on top. The 427 Side Oiler didn’t just win races; it changed Ford’s entire approach to engine building.

Why It Matters

If you’re standing in front of an ’80s Bullnose Ford, it’s easy to think the 427 Side Oiler doesn’t have much to do with your truck. After all, no F-Series ever rolled off the line with one under the hood, and even 460 big block only went in the F-250s and 350s of the time. But that’s the thing… the 460 exists because of the 427.

The 427 didn’t just win races. It changed Ford’s entire approach to building engines. It taught them where the weak points were, what it took to make an iron block survive high loads, and how to design oiling systems that wouldn’t give up when the pressure was on, literally.

The Engineering Legacy

Ford 460 cubic-inch 385-series big-block V8 painted blue with aluminum valve covers, successor to the FE family. — The 460 — Ford’s last big-block bruiser built for torque, not talk.

When Ford engineers started designing the 385-series big blocks that replaced the FE family in 1968, they brought every hard-earned lesson from the 427 with them.

The FE had a 4.63-inch bore spacing, which was fine for 390s and 428s, but it limited how far you could push displacement. The new 385-series used a wider 4.90-inch bore spacing, giving more room for thicker cylinder walls and larger bores without sacrificing cooling. That’s how Ford got engines like the 429 and 460, which shared much of the 427’s philosophy but were easier to cast, easier to maintain, and even tougher.

They also took what they learned from the 427’s oiling system. The 385-series engines went back to a top-fed layout, but they strengthened the main webs, widened the oil passages, and improved pump volume to prevent starvation under load. The oiling “problem” that started this whole revolution was permanently solved in the next generation.

The deep-skirt block design carried over, giving the 429 and 460 that same rock-solid bottom end feel. Even though they didn’t use cross-bolted mains, the webbing was thick enough that the crank sat in a structure just as strong. The result was a big block that could take anything you threw at it… hauling, towing, or screaming down a drag strip.

And while the 427’s racing program was all about pushing the limits, the 385-series engines were about applying those lessons to real-world performance. You could run them hard in a truck, day after day, and they just wouldn’t die.

From Le Mans to the Work Truck

There’s a direct line between the GT40s that tore up Le Mans and the Bullnose Fords that pulled horse trailers and campers two decades later. It sounds like a stretch until you look at what really mattered: durability under stress.

The 427 proved that you could make a high-compression, high-output V8 live at full throttle for 24 hours. Once Ford had that formula, applying it to trucks was easy. Sure, the 460 wasn’t spinning 7,000 RPM, but it still had to handle heavy loads, steep grades, and long hauls in hot weather. That’s the same kind of stress that kills engines when oiling or cooling is marginal.

That’s why those big-block Fords earned their reputation for reliability. They came from an era when Ford had something to prove and wasn’t afraid to overbuild. The 427’s success gave Ford confidence, and the budget, to keep that mindset alive.

When you fire up a Bullnose with a 460 under the hood, you’re hearing the same design philosophy that took Ford to the top of the racing world: build it tough, feed it well, and let it breathe.

A Cultural Shift Inside Ford

Ford Motor Company factory building at sunset with smokestacks and American flag flying above the roof. — Where Detroit iron met American stubbornness.

Before the 427, Ford was seen as dependable but conservative. They were the company that built your dad’s work truck and your grandma’s grocery-getter. After the 427? Whole different story.

Winning Le Mans changed the brand’s identity overnight. Ford became a performance company. That victory opened the door for the Cobra Jet, the Boss 429, and even the Thunder Jet engines that filled muscle cars through the late ’60s and early ’70s. The 427’s DNA ran through all of them.

That same culture of durability and pride carried into the trucks of the late ’70s and ’80s. The Bullnose generation wasn’t designed to win races, but it was built with that same Ford attitude. Solid, practical, a little overbuilt, and proud of it. When you look at the engineering on those trucks, from the frames to the drivetrains, it’s the same thinking that made the 427 such a success: do it right, even if it takes longer.

A Legacy Measured in Iron

For enthusiasts, the 427 Side Oiler is more than just an engine. It’s proof of what happens when a company gets serious about performance and refuses to accept second place. It turned Ford from an also-ran into a powerhouse. And it made possible every tough, torque-heavy big block that came after.

So yeah, your Bullnose F-150 never had a 427, but every time you start it, you’re hearing echoes of that engine. The smooth idle, the deep tone, the feeling that the motor could pull a house down… all of it traces back to lessons learned when Ford went to war with Ferrari.

Without the 427, there’s no 429.
Without the 429, there’s no 460.
And without the 460, the Bullnose doesn’t get its reputation for being a hard-pulling, long-living workhorse.

That’s why the 427 matters. It wasn’t just a racing engine. It was a proof of concept that forever changed how Ford built power.

Would You Swap a 427 Side Oiler Into a Bullnose?

Red 1985 Ford F-150 short-bed pickup parked on grass, part of the Bullnose generation of F-Series trucks. — My ’85 F-150 — the heart of Bullnose Garage.

Now, this is Bullnose Garage, so let’s ask the question that’s been itching at the back of your mind since the start: “Would it be possible to drop a 427 Side Oiler into a Bullnose Ford?”

Short answer: yes.
Long answer: yes, but your wallet’s going to need CPR.

The swap can be done. The Bullnose engine bay is plenty roomy, the frame can take it, and adapter kits exist to bolt almost anything to almost anything. But just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

The Money Problem

A real, documented 427 Side Oiler block is one of the most expensive pieces of Ford iron on the planet. These weren’t mass-produced like 390s or 428s. Depending on the condition, just the block alone can cost anywhere from $10,000 to $20,000, and that’s before you’ve bought heads, crank, rods, pistons, or an intake.

If you’re lucky enough to find a complete running engine, (talking a real one here, not a service replacement or re-stamped block), you’re probably looking at $30,000 to $40,000, minimum. That’s more than most Bullnose trucks are worth fully restored.

And that’s just to own one. If you plan to actually drive it, you’ll want a modern oiling system, better cooling, and upgraded ignition. The Side Oiler was designed to live at wide-open throttle, not to idle in traffic on a summer day with the A/C blowing. It’ll do it, but it’ll complain the whole time.

The Practicality Problem

Even if money isn’t an issue, there’s the matter of weight and geometry. The FE family isn’t exactly light. A fully dressed 427 tips the scales at roughly 620 to 650 pounds, and that’s all iron. No aluminum block, no fancy alloys. Your front suspension would notice that extra hundred pounds compared to a Windsor or even a 460.

Then there’s the intake. Because the FE’s intake manifold forms part of the cylinder heads, it’s a monster, sometimes 70 pounds by itself. Swapping one of those isn’t a “pop it off before lunch” kind of job. You’ll want a hoist, or at least a few strong friends and a six-pack.

As for transmission fitment, you’d need FE-to-modern bellhousing adapters, and custom headers would almost be mandatory. You could get creative with mounts and driveshaft angles, but the swap would involve plenty of cutting, welding, and head-scratching. Nothing impossible, just not easy.

And don’t forget about the fuel system. The 427’s thirst makes a 460 look efficient. On a good day, you might see 5 to 7 miles per gallon and that’s if you’re nice to it. But let’s be honest, nobody puts a Side Oiler in a truck to hypermile.

The Cool Factor

Two-tone red-and-tan 1980s Ford F-150 with hood open at a car show, surrounded by spectators. — Proof that Bullnose trucks still turn heads.

Here’s where logic goes out the window. Because a Bullnose with a 427 under the hood isn’t about practicality, it’s about bragging rights. It’s the kind of swap that makes people stop mid-sentence at a car show.

Most folks expect to see a Windsor or maybe a 460 if they peek under the hood. But when they spot those wide FE valve covers and that distinctive side gallery bulge on the block? Game over. You’ve just won every “coolest swap” conversation within a 500-foot radius.

It’s ridiculous. It’s expensive. It’s completely unnecessary. And it’s also one of the most badass things you could ever do to a Bullnose. The kind of thing that makes people say, “You did what?” and then immediately grab their phones for a picture.

The Reality Check

For most people, it just doesn’t make sense. Real 427 Side Oilers are collector pieces now, and every one that gets pulled out of a crate or race car to be stuffed into a pickup is one less surviving piece of Ford racing history.

If you want the look and the power without the museum-level price tag, a 390 or 428 FE build will get you most of the way there. Those engines share the same basic architecture and can be built to run hard with modern internals. You’ll still get that FE sound and torque curve, but without needing a second mortgage.

Or, if you’re chasing performance, a well-built 460 or even a stroked 408 Windsor will out-torque a stock 427 and cost a fraction of the price. You’ll have parts support, lighter weight, and fewer headaches.

But if you do happen to find a dusty Side Oiler sitting in your uncle’s barn and decide to make it happen? You’ll have my respect forever. Because a Bullnose with a 427 Side Oiler under the hood isn’t a build — it’s a statement.

It says: “Yeah, I put a Le Mans engine in my farm truck. What are you gonna do about it?”

The Wrap-Up: Ford’s Iron-Fisted Masterpiece

The Ford 427 Side Oiler wasn’t built to be practical. It wasn’t built to idle smooth, sip gas, or pass emissions. It was built for one reason: to win. To take the fight to Chrysler at Daytona, to humiliate Ferrari at Le Mans, and to prove that American engineering could go toe-to-toe with anyone on earth.

And it did.

It gave Ford four straight Le Mans victories, a NASCAR championship run, and a fearsome reputation on the drag strip that still echoes in the pits today. This engine didn’t just make power… it made history. Every FE that came before it led to it, and every Ford big block that came after owed it a debt.

The FE Family’s Final Triumph

The 427 Side Oiler was the pinnacle of the FE family. It took a design that started life in the late 1950s and refined it into something worthy of global domination. From the deep-skirt block to the cross-bolted mains and the side-mounted oil gallery, every inch of that engine was purpose-built to solve problems most manufacturers didn’t even know they had yet.

It proved that Ford could do more than build reliable engines, they could build bulletproof ones. The same DNA that made the 427 survive Le Mans for 24 hours without coughing up its crankshaft eventually found its way into the 429 and 460. Those engines powered dump trucks, tow rigs, RVs, and the heavy-duty Bullnose pickups that became legends in their own right.

Lessons That Lasted

The real genius of the 427 wasn’t just its raw output. It was what Ford learned from it. They learned how to strengthen block castings, balance oil pressure, and keep bearings alive under conditions that would kill most engines. They learned that overbuilding doesn’t just win races. It earns reputations too.

And that mindset filtered down through decades of Ford engineering. When you look at a 460 pulling a trailer through the mountains without breaking a sweat, that’s the 427’s legacy at work. When you hear a Bullnose rumble to life and feel that deep torque right off idle, you’re feeling the echoes of a time when Ford refused to cut corners.

The Soul of a Winner

Close-up of a black-and-white checkered racing flag representing victory and endurance racing heritage. — Every legend ends with a checkered flag.

For us truck guys, the 427 isn’t just a piece of racing trivia. It’s proof that Ford earned its stripes. It’s the reason we can still brag that our trucks were built tough before “Built Ford Tough” was even a slogan.

Every Bullnose out there, from the humble 300 straight-six to the big 460, carries that same bloodline. You can trace it straight back to the moment Ford decided they were done playing nice and started building engines to win.

No, your ’85 F-150 never came with a 427 under the hood. But the lessons learned from that engine shaped every big block Ford that followed, and every time you fire yours up, you’re hearing a little piece of Le Mans in the exhaust note.

The 427 Side Oiler wasn’t just an engine. It was a statement — one that said, Ford doesn’t follow. Ford fights.

And that fight lives on in every truck still rolling down the road today.

If you want more specific information on Bullnose Ford Trucks, check out my YouTube Channel!

For more information on Bullnose Fords, you can check out the BullnoseFord SubReddit or Gary’s Garagemahal. Both are excellent resources.

As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. If you see an Amazon link on my site, purchasing the item from Amazon using that link helps out the Channel.

The Hard Truth About Aftermarket Parts for Classic Cars

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Do Aftermarket Parts Suck? Hard Truth for Classic Cars & Trucks

Published on October 3, 2025

Click to play the video inline or see it on YouTube

Part of the Truck Talk series.

Show Transcript

All right, here we go. This is a fun one. Aftermarket parts. Do they suck? Yes. Yes, they do. All right. Now, obviously, not all aftermarket parts suck. This is a hard question. It’s interesting. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve seen several people on Facebook and Reddit ask if aftermarket parts are better. I’m going to approach this from a bullnose angle because the question is so broad that trying to answer it for every vehicle and every type of part is just ridiculous. Even for bullnose, some aftermarket parts are better, and some aren’t. But there are a lot of parts that just aren’t better. That was hard for me to grasp when I first started working on my truck. I got into working on these old bullnose trucks, and I thought, ‘I got this new truck. I’m going to fix it up, make it nice and shiny, and get all the new parts.’ Clearly, a new part should be better than a 40-year-old part, right? At this point, they’re 40 years old, so the new parts have got to be better for a couple of reasons. One, they’re brand new, so they’re not worn out, and two, the world has had 40 years to figure out how to make these parts better. So, if I go to O’Reilly’s, AutoZone, or Napa and get a brand new part, it should be way better. For performance parts like heads, headers, carburetors, and fuel injectors, new aftermarket parts, especially performance ones, are just going to be better. That’s what you’re paying for. What I’m talking about is replacement parts that claim to be OEM but really aren’t. Stuff you buy from AutoZone or O’Reilly’s, like Dorman parts, generally aren’t better. The point of this rant is to tell you that for many parts on your trucks, if you can keep them working or refurbish them, do that. For those doing restorations wanting all original OEM stuff, this isn’t an issue. It’s for guys like me tinkering in their garage who want to keep these trucks on the road. I wish someone had told me when I started that the parts I was replacing might be better fixed instead. When I first got the truck, I’d replace parts with ones from Amazon, thinking they’d be better, but that’s not true. In 40 years, the world hasn’t figured out how to make these parts better because nobody cares about an old F-150 part from ’85. What they care about is selling you something, and higher quality doesn’t sell as well as low price. They’ve figured out how to make these parts cheaper. Where a part used to be a nice, robust metal part, now it’s all plastic. A perfect example is the old school hubcaps. I’ll be doing an episode about how to get those hubcaps on aftermarket wheels. Those aftermarket hubcaps are all plastic, whereas the original ones were solid metal. Are the plastic ones bad? No, they’re not bad quality. They don’t crack or have problems; they’re just plastic, not quite as high quality. Some parts will give you problems. One of the first things I replaced on my F-150 were the side mirrors because one wouldn’t stay put. The connection between the mirror and the mounting was wobbly, so I’d drive, and it would flop around. Rather than fix the mount, I thought I should buy a brand new mirror. I looked at mirrors on Amazon, and they weren’t expensive. I thought a brand new mirror had to be good. So, I bought a couple of mirrors. If I’m replacing one side, I may as well replace both. I spent hours figuring out how to get the old mirrors off and replace them with new ones. The problem was the old mirrors were metal and solid, and the new ones were plastic. The new mirrors would stay in place but shake so much you couldn’t use them to look behind you. The old ones didn’t have that problem; they would flop around but didn’t shake. There’s no way to fix the shake because they’re cheap. They’re made cheaply. They’re not the big, nice, heavy metal mirrors. They are cheap, light plastic mirrors. What’s worse is, to my knowledge, you can’t find a good aftermarket set of side mirrors that aren’t made cheaply. I threw the original mirrors away because I didn’t know any better. Don’t make the mistake I made and assume that aftermarket stuff is just better. Now, obviously, this is a nuanced question because not all aftermarket parts are worse. A lot of aftermarket parts are basically the same. I have a Dorman door striker on my truck for closing the door and keeping it tight. My original one was worn out, so the door wouldn’t stay closed well. I bought a Dorman replacement door striker and had to modify it a bit, but now it works great. Another example is my windshield wiper motor. The new aftermarket one works fantastic, but I had to modify it to fit. In 1985, trucks came off the assembly line with parts made to exactly fit that vehicle. New aftermarket parts are made to fit multiple vehicles, so they often require tweaks to fit properly. It’s normal to buy a part that says it fits your vehicle, but it doesn’t quite fit, and you have to modify it. That’s one of the frustrating things about working on old vehicles. I don’t have a lot of experience with other vehicles besides my ’85 F-150 and ’82 Bronco, but I assume it’s similar with other old cars. If you’re doing period-correct restorations, you have to find original parts, which can be expensive and difficult. Junkyard parts can be a hassle to get. Sometimes you just want to go to AutoZone and get something new, but those doing restorations don’t have that option. If you can keep the old stuff going, do it. I wish I had kept those mirrors. I could have figured something out to make them work better. Just because a part is new doesn’t mean it’s better. Old parts were designed by engineers who knew what they were doing. They built them tough back then. Newer vehicles aren’t necessarily bad, but when it comes to parts, the new stuff isn’t always better. Non-OEM replacement parts can be shady. You just don’t know. I replaced my parking brake cable and made a video about it. I installed a parking brake cable, and within two uses, it was ruined because it bound up inside. There was a coating inside that caused it to malfunction. I had to buy a different cable from another brand, which didn’t have that issue and has worked fine since. Aftermarket parts can be a gamble; some are fine, and some are not. You don’t know until you try them. If I buy a part from Amazon and it fails, I leave a review to warn others. I did that for the parking brake cable that broke after two uses. I don’t like leaving negative reviews because someone is trying to make a living, but it’s necessary. Aftermarket parts aren’t always better just because they’re new. Especially with parts from China, they’re made cheaply for us to buy cheaply. People often look at the price before quality, which is why these parts keep being made. My advice is to keep old parts working if possible. If you can’t, keep them around unless they’re beyond repair. You might find you need them later. I have a file cabinet in my garage for old parts because you can’t always buy new ones for old vehicles. It’s not always about whether aftermarket parts are better; sometimes, they’re not even available. So, keep the old parts running if you can. Thanks for watching. If you have questions or comments, leave them below. See you next time.

Do Aftermarket Parts Really Suck?

Ah, the age-old debate: are aftermarket parts for classic cars and trucks actually any good? Spoiler alert: not always. Now, I know this might ruffle some feathers, but let’s dive into why ‘new’ doesn’t always mean ‘better’ when it comes to these parts. Trust me, I’ve been there with my own F-150 and Bronco projects, and I’ve got some stories to tell.

When New Isn’t Better

So, you might think that a brand-new part should outperform a 40-year-old one, right? Wrong. Especially when we’re talking about those parts you grab from AutoZone or O’Reilly’s. They’re often marketed as OEM replacements, but in reality, they don’t hold a candle to the originals. Take mirrors, for instance. I replaced the ones on my F-150, thinking new would mean sturdy and reliable. What I got were plastic pieces that shook more than a Polaroid picture.

The Plastic Problem

Here’s the deal: a lot of these new parts are made cheaper, not better. Where you used to have solid metal hubcaps, now you’ve got plastic ones. Sure, they might not crack, but they’re just not the same quality. And don’t get me started on those side mirrors. The originals might have flopped a bit, but at least they didn’t vibrate like a bad karaoke performance.

When Aftermarket Does Work

Now, I’m not saying all aftermarket parts are junk. Some are actually decent, especially when it comes to performance parts like heads and carburetors. You’re paying for that extra oomph, and sometimes it’s worth it. I’ve had some success with a Dorman door striker and a windshield wiper motor. But here’s the catch: they often need a bit of tweaking to fit just right. It’s like buying a suit off the rack; it might fit, but a little tailoring goes a long way.

Buyer Beware

Aftermarket parts can be a gamble. I once replaced a parking brake cable, and it was toast after two uses. The culprit? A cheap coating that caused it to bind up. I had better luck with a different brand, but the experience taught me to read reviews and proceed with caution. If you buy a part and it fails, don’t be shy about leaving a review to help out the next guy.

The Case for Keeping It Old School

If you’ve got original parts that still have some life left in them, my advice is to keep them going. Refurbish them if you can. These parts were built tough back in the day, and sometimes they’re just irreplaceable. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s wise to hang onto old parts, even if they’re not perfect. You never know when you might need them again.

Final Thoughts

In the end, it’s all about making informed choices. Don’t assume that new aftermarket parts are automatically better. Sometimes, they’re not even available, and when they are, they might not be worth the trouble. So, before you toss out those old parts, think twice. You might just save yourself a headache down the road.

As always, if you’ve got questions or comments, drop them below. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Until next time, keep those classic cars and trucks running!

If you want more specific information on Bullnose Ford Trucks, check out my YouTube Channel!

For more information on Bullnose Fords, you can check out the BullnoseFord SubReddit or Gary’s Garagemahal. Both are excellent resources.

As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. If you see an Amazon link on my site, purchasing the item from Amazon using that link helps out the Channel.

How My Bronco’s 300 I6 Nearly Became a Bomb

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Cranking My Bronco’s 300 I6 Almost Killed It (and Me)

Published on September 8, 2025

Click to play the video inline or see it on YouTube

Part of the Truck Talk series.
Part of the The Bullnose Bronco series.

Show Transcript

Have I got a question for you. Have you ever turned your 80s bullnose Ford into a literal ticking time bomb? No, because I have. There I was, cranking the engine for the 40th time, wondering why the hell this Bronco wouldn’t start. I’d been working on this thing for like a month or more, and it just wouldn’t catch and go. Then suddenly, boom, the dipstick flew across the garage. It was like a grenade went off next to my head, and the oil cap flew off and rocketed into the wall. I had to sit there stunned. I can tell you I have never had anything like that happen to me in my life. I hadn’t fixed anything. All I managed to do was turn my crankcase into a bomb. Let’s talk about what actually happened, what caused that, and how I damn near blew up my garage because of a no-start on my Bronco. Hi folks, Ed here. Welcome back to Bono’s Garage. This Bronco that I got, I had a hell of a time getting it started. When I first got it, the guy I bought it from had a little bottle, like a Pepsi bottle, with fuel in it. He put it inside the engine bay, running directly to the fuel pump, which then went to the carburetor, and it would run. He said, ‘Oh yeah, see it runs.’ I had no idea why there was a Pepsi bottle and not going all the way back to the gas tank. I figured maybe there was a fuel filter issue, like an inline filter or a fuel line issue. Maybe the gas tank had some issues. I replaced the gas tank, cleaned it out, and put it back in. After I did that, I tried to start it and nothing. There was fuel pumping. I got fuel out of the fuel pump, so I knew that wasn’t an issue. I verified that I had spark. That wasn’t an issue. Obviously, air wasn’t an issue because you’re just gulping it from the air. I didn’t know what was going on and why it wouldn’t start. I assumed it had to be something to do with the fuel system because I had just worked on it. I worked on this thing every weekend for a month trying to figure out why it wouldn’t start. I checked spark, fuel, ignition timing, and turned the distributor. I changed the spark plug wires and all the spark plugs, even cracked one and had to change it twice. No matter what I did, it would crank and crank. If I was lucky, it would sputter but not continue to go. It got to the point where it wouldn’t even sputter. As part of this process, I noticed my ignition coil was burning really hot. It turns out my ignition coil on these Broncos is generally externally resistant. That means externally on the wire going to the ignition coil there’s resistance, so it doesn’t get a full 12 volts. There’s also a wire from the starter solenoid to the ignition coil for when the starter is engaged to give it a full 12 volts while cranking. That way, you have a better chance of starting. But mine didn’t have that. Someone had replaced the coil and just wired it directly to 12 volts. I burned my hand checking the ignition coil. It was too hot. I thought maybe that’s my problem. I replaced the coil, put in the resistor, ran the starter wire, but it didn’t do it. I got the Bronco backed into the garage. I had to push it in there because I couldn’t drive it. It’s nicer to work in the garage than outside anyway. I put a battery tender on there, changed the battery because it had died from cranking so much. I got everything cleaned out, redid some wiring, and tried to figure out what was going on. Every time I tried to start this truck, I could smell the fuel. I knew it was getting fuel. I even had it pump into a bottle. I knew it was getting spark. I shocked myself on a spark plug trying to check spark. I checked the ignition timing. It was fine. Everything was okay. I didn’t understand what was going on. It wasn’t long before my garage started to smell like a gas tank. Remember back to the beginning of the video, I talked about explosions. You can probably see where this is going. What actually happened was that I had a full-on gasoline explosion in my crankcase as I was cranking the truck. Trying to get it to start, the carburetor is flooding the engine with fuel, right? My brother-in-law told me it might be my carburetor. Check to see if your float is stuck or if there’s something going on with the jets gathering too much fuel because too much fuel will cause it not to start. I’m not a carburetor guy, so I was hesitant to check that. In the meantime, I kept trying to crank it. Eventually, it dumped too much fuel into the cylinders. The fuel leaked past the rings, got into the oil, and into the crankcase. Every time I tried to crank it, the internals were moving around, mixing the oil with the fuel. A spark hit, and boom, it blew the oil cap off the valve cover and the dipstick across the garage. It was like a grenade going off. Luckily, it was just one bang, and then nothing else happened. I was able to regroup and reassess. It was a full-on detonation. Fuel had flooded the cylinders, leaked down past the rings, got into the oil, and ignited. Gasoline in your oil equals bomb. Aftermath, I checked everything out and, thank God, I didn’t crack the block. I did damage the oil pan gasket and blew a seal around the dipstick. I need to replace the oil pan, which is a several-hour job. But I can drive the truck. My brother-in-law was right; it was the carburetor. Once I got a new carburetor, it fired right up. I’ve driven it around the block a few times. It leaks oil while running, but it’s manageable. I’m not driving it into town, but I can take it around. The only real damage was to the oil pan gasket and the dipstick. If you have gasoline in your oil, change your oil immediately. I did all that, got the new carburetor, and now we’re good to go. I’ve also changed the EGR plate because it was gunky. The only issue is the carburetor I bought has a heat choke, which my Bronco doesn’t have. That tube does not exist. I’m not sure if someone removed it or what happened there. There’s been a lot of stuff done to this Bronco. Who knows? But that’s not there, so I have no choke. It’s not that big of a deal because I can still start it with some carb cleaner or a little shot of gasoline. It’s not cold around here, so it’s not that big of a deal. Once it runs for a couple of minutes, it’s warm enough that I can just use the key and I don’t have to worry about that. Key takeaways: if your engine smells super rich and won’t start, maybe take that as a hint to not just keep trying until it explodes. Realistically, you can sniff your dipstick, basically smell the oil to see if it smells like gasoline. Gasoline has a very distinctive odor, and if you’ve got gasoline in your oil, that’s an indication that something’s going on and you need to take care of that. You don’t want to make the mistake of turning your crankcase into a bomb. I never thought I’d be one of those guys that builds bombs in my garage, but here we are. That’s a joke, guys. I’m not actually building bombs in my garage, at least not purposefully. It’s just an engine that kind of exploded on me. Long story short, the Bronco’s got nice fresh oil, a carb that I can trust, the ignition coil seems happy now, all the spark plugs are good. It fires up, it runs, I can just let it run, I don’t have to baby it. It runs really well now. As far as the engine is concerned, at some point I will do the oil pan change and rebuild this engine. It’s a 300 inline 6, and I get a lot of guff from people for swapping out my 300 in my F-150 for a Windsor. For the Bronco, I’m going to stick with the 300 but I’m not going to leave it stock. I’ll do some work to it, at the very least a rebuild, and maybe more to give it more torque and horsepower. That engine’s going to get a rebuild. Something did happen internally to that engine, and I will find out when I pull it apart, but for now, it seems to run just fine. I’m not sure yet if I will get around to the oil pan change before I do the engine rebuild. Probably because I’m a long way away from the engine on that truck because I got the Windsor to do first. I don’t want to have multiple engine builds going on at the same time. I may drop the pan and do that, but that’s not really a priority. The F-150 is going to be my priority now that the Bronco runs. For a while, the Bronco was the priority because it couldn’t even run, and my wife was like, ‘You got to move this thing.’ If I want to move it from one place in the yard to the other, unless I wanted to push it, which is a pain, I got to have it running. That was my priority. Got that taken care of, and now it’s just going to be a back burner project, even more so than my F-150. Anyway, getting pretty close to home here. My commute is almost done. If you like this whole disaster scenario or feel sorry for me, give me a thumbs up. I appreciate that. If you have a similar story, any kind of disaster, that would be fun to hear about in the comments. But the fact of the matter is that no matter what, at the end of the day, I learned something and I didn’t die. Really, what more can you ask for? Thanks again so much for watching and we will see you next time. She’s rough around the edges, but she’s doing fine. Thanks again for watching. We will see you next time.

Introduction: The Day My Bronco Almost Exploded

Have you ever turned your 80s bullnose Ford into a ticking time bomb? No? Well, lucky you. I did, and let me tell you, it was one hell of a wake-up call. My 1982 Ford Bronco with a 300 inline-six engine went from a simple no-start issue to a full-blown crankcase explosion. And it all started with a flooded carb and a few bad assumptions. Let’s dive into what happened, what I learned, and how you can avoid turning your own engine bay into a pressure cooker.

Diagnosing the No-Start: A Comedy of Errors

The Fuel System Fiasco

When I first got my hands on this Bronco, the previous owner had rigged a Pepsi bottle as a makeshift fuel delivery system. Charming, right? I figured the problem lay somewhere in the fuel system, so I replaced the gas tank, cleaned it out, and verified that fuel was indeed pumping. But still, the engine refused to start.

Spark and Ignition Mysteries

Next, I turned my attention to the ignition system. I checked the spark, fiddled with the ignition timing, and even replaced the spark plug wires. The ignition coil was another suspect, burning hot enough to fry an egg. Turns out, someone had bypassed the resistor, giving it a full 12 volts. I fixed that, but still no dice.

The Explosion: When Things Went Boom

After weeks of cranking and cursing, the garage started to smell like a gas station. The rich fuel smell should have been a clue, but hindsight is 20/20. As I cranked the engine for the umpteenth time, an explosion rocked the garage. The dipstick flew across the room, and the oil cap ricocheted off the wall. It was like a grenade had gone off.

What Went Wrong?

The culprit was a flooded carburetor. Too much fuel had leaked into the cylinders, past the rings, and into the crankcase. The mixture of fuel and oil turned my engine into a bomb, and a stray spark set it off. Luckily, the damage was minimal—just a blown oil pan gasket and a dipstick seal. But it could have been much worse.

Fixing the Aftermath

Once I picked my jaw up off the floor, I replaced the carburetor, which solved the starting issue. The Bronco now fires up without a hitch, albeit with a slight oil leak. I also changed the EGR plate, which was gunked up. The new carb has a heat choke, but my Bronco lacks the necessary tube. It’s not a big deal, though; a little carb cleaner or gasoline gets it going just fine.

Lessons Learned: Avoiding Engine Explosions

If your engine smells rich and won’t start, take it as a hint. Don’t just keep cranking until something blows. Check your dipstick for gasoline odor, a surefire sign that you’ve got fuel in your oil. And if you do, change your oil immediately. Trust me, you don’t want to turn your crankcase into a bomb.

Conclusion: The Road Ahead

Despite the explosion, the Bronco is back on the road. It’s not perfect, but it runs. The engine will eventually get a rebuild, but for now, it’s a back-burner project. My F-150 needs attention first. If you enjoyed this disaster scenario or have a similar story, share it in the comments. At the end of the day, I learned something and didn’t die. Really, what more can you ask for? Thanks for reading, and see you next time.

If you want more specific information on Bullnose Ford Trucks, check out my YouTube Channel!

For more information on Bullnose Fords, you can check out the BullnoseFord SubReddit or Gary’s Garagemahal. Both are excellent resources.

As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. If you see an Amazon link on my site, purchasing the item from Amazon using that link helps out the Channel.

Understanding 80s Ford 4×4: BW1345, NP208, NP205 Transfer Cases

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Ford 4×4 Systems of the 80s: BW1345, NP208, & NP205 Explained

Published on September 1, 2025

Click to play the video inline or see it on YouTube

Part of the The Bullnose Bronco series.
Part of the Ford Truck Systems and Parts series.

Show Transcript

If you ignore the fact that one of these is an F-150 and the other is a Bronco, then these two trucks are almost identical. They both run the trusty 300 inline 6. They both have an NP435 four-speed transmission. And of course, they both wear that classic bullnose style. But other than the model and the paint color, there is one pretty big difference. The Bronco has four-wheel drive. Howdy, folks. Ed here. Welcome back to Bullnose Garage. Four-wheel drive is one of those topics that can divide truck guys. Some folks will tell you that a truck without 4×4 is just a car with a bed. Others have never even needed it, let alone actually put a truck in four-wheel drive. But here’s the thing. Even if you’re in the first camp, the guys who swear by 4×4, do you actually know how the system works in an 80s era Ford? Ask any Ford guy what transfer case he’s running and you’ll either get a blank stare or a half-hour lecture. So today I’m going to save you the trouble of both. We’ll look at how the 4×4 system works in bullnose trucks, what transfer cases Ford used, how they differ, and how it all ties together with the hubs, the axles, and that floor shifter down by your right leg. And just to make it interesting, we’ll use my ’82 Bronco here as the guinea pig. It’s running a Borg Warner 1345 hooked up to an NP435 transmission. Even though the door tag says it should have been a T18. So somewhere along the way, this thing got a little surgery. You know, that’s half the fun of these old Fords. You never quite know what you got until you actually crawl under there and check it out. So, let’s check it out. So, before we dig into transfer cases and all the details, let’s zoom out and look at the big picture of how four-wheel drive actually works on these bullnose trucks. Because it’s not just one part, it’s a whole system working together. In two-wheel drive, power runs from the engine into the transmission, through the output shaft, into the drive shaft, and straight back to the rear axle. Simple enough. You’re just pushing the truck with the back wheels. But when you add four-wheel drive into the mix, the transfer case gets involved. That’s the box hanging off the back of the transmission, and its whole job is to split the power. One output goes to the rear drive shaft like normal, and the other output sends power forward to the front drive shaft. The catch with these older trucks is that the front wheels aren’t always connected. And so, let me introduce you whippersnappers out there to the old school manual locking hubs. This means if you shift the transfer case into four high or four low, but don’t lock the hubs, well, the front drive shaft will spin, the differential will spin, and even the axle shafts inside the knuckles will spin. But the wheels themselves are just freewheeling. You’re not actually putting the front tires in 4×4 until those hubs are locked. Funny enough, you could technically just lock one hub and not the other. And this means that the rear axle is pushing and one front wheel is pulling and you’ve basically invented three-wheel drive. It’s not smart, but it is possible. And I guarantee a few people watching have probably done that. And because I know some keyboard warrior out there is going to call me out. Technically with open diffs, you only ever drive one tire per axle at a time, but you get the idea. The whole open versus lock diff thing is a rabbit hole of its own. Two-wheel drive, four-wheel drive, one-wheel peel, py lockers, but that’s a topic for another day. Anyway, so let’s talk transfer cases. This is the heart of the whole 4×4 system, and it’s what makes the magic happen. Ford gave us a few different options of the bullnose years depending on the truck and the year. The most common one you’re going to find is the Borg Warner 1345. That’s what’s in mine. It’s aluminum chain driven and it was the bread and butter of the F-150s and Broncos in the early to mid-80s. Lighter than the old cast iron monsters, but still tough enough for what most guys use these trucks for. It weighs about 85 to 90 lbs dry, handles enough torque for both those applications, and uses a 2.72 to 1 low range with a chain about an inch and a quarter wide. It’s plenty stout for a small block or a six-cylinder, but if you throw a big block or crazy torque at it, that chain, it’s eventually going to stretch. Another one that you’ll run into is a new process 208 aluminum case, also chain driven, and just a bit lighter duty than the Borg Warner, about 80 pounds with 2.61 to 1 low range. A lot of F-150s and Broncos had them and while they get the job done, the housing was just a little bit weaker. You drop one on a rock and you’ll find out real quick why a lot of guys like to swap them out. Now we go to the NP 205. It is the Brute. All cast iron gear driven, tip of the scales at about 140 lbs dry. It’s got a shallow 6 to 1 low range, but what it lacks in gear reduction it makes up for in sheer indestructibility. By the bullnose years, you weren’t likely to see one of those in a half-ton or a Bronco because they mostly lived in the F250s and 350s or they got swapped in later by guys who wanted bulletproof strength. These things will take a thousand ft-lbs of torque without even blinking, which is why rock crawlers and heavy haulers still hunt them down today. And finally, at the very beginning of the Bricknose era in 1987, you had the Borg Warner 1356, just a touch heavier than its brother with 2.69 to 1 low range. Think of it as the 1345’s bigger brother. Still chain driven, but beefed up for the next generation. And I’m mentioning here because even though it’s not a bullnose transfer case, it’s a potential swap in. So, quick note here on the difference between a chain driven case and a gear driven case. Gear-driven cases like the NP 205 are heavier, they’re noisy, and they’re pretty much indestructible because it’s just gears meshing together. Chain-driven cases like the 1345 or 208 are lighter, quieter. The chain is always the weak link. You could stretch it, skip it, break it, and if you do, you’re dead in the water. It’s a classic trade-off: strength, weight, and durability versus refinement, manners, and everyday drivability. My ’82 Bronco has the Borg Warner 1345 transfer case. Down here on the floor, you have the shifter with four positions: two high, four high, neutral, and four low. In two high, you’re sending power straight back to the rear wheels. Shift into four high, and the front drive shaft gets engaged, putting you in four-wheel drive at a 1:1 ratio. Neutral disconnects everything, useful for flat towing or certain recovery situations. Ford included neutral as a true towing mode, with an internal pump that keeps things lubricated even when flat towed behind an RV. Four low is where things get serious, with a 2.72:1 reduction applied to both the front and rear drive shafts, increasing torque for crawling through tough terrain. My Bronco runs this 1345 behind an NP 435 four-speed, even though the door tag says it should have been a T18. Someone swapped it, but it doesn’t change how the transfer case works. With the NP 435’s ultra-low granny first gear, if I put the transmission in first and the transfer case in four low, the reduction multiplies to about an 18:1 overall reduction before hitting the axles. With my gears and 31-inch tires, that’s over a 60:1 final drive at the wheels. Translation: I can just about pull a freight train at 1 mph. Obviously, that doesn’t mean my Bronco could actually tow a freight train. The gearing gives control and torque multiplication, but the driveline parts are only so strong. Low range is built for crawling through tough terrain or easing a heavy trailer into place, not dragging half the Santa Fe railroad behind you. It’s a good way to understand the mechanical advantage these old Fords can give you. One thing I love about these old trucks is how simple the shifters are. No buttons, no electronics, just a lever on the floor. In my Bronco, this shifter goes straight into the Borg Warner 1345. It’s a mechanical linkage, so when I pull it, it physically moves the gears inside the transfer case. The pattern is simple: two high, four high, neutral, and four low. You feel it clunk into each position, and you know exactly where you’re at. It’s not the smoothest thing; sometimes you have to roll the truck a bit to get it to drop in, but that’s part of the character. It’s raw and mechanical, and you’re connected directly to what’s happening underneath. These old Borg Warner cases weren’t true shift-on-the-fly setups like newer trucks. The manual says you can slip it into four high while rolling real slow, maybe under 5 mph, but it can be rough. Four low is full stop only. Yank while moving, and you’ll quickly find out why replacement parts are hard to come by. Treat it like the old 40-year-old mechanical box that it is. Smooth, deliberate shifts will serve you well. Fast forward three decades, and my 2015 F-150 has a neat little knob on the dash and a digital readout that tells me I’m in four-wheel drive. It even shows how much power is going to each wheel. It’s super convenient, but it lacks the character and charm of that old-school floor shifter. With the old trucks, you feel the clunk, hear the gears, and know something mechanical just happened. It’s a whole different feeling. Let’s move up front because the transfer case is only half the story. This Bronco, like most bullnose F-150s and Broncos, is running a Dana 44 twin traction beam front axle. That’s Ford’s unique take on independent front suspension, with two beams that pivot in the middle and a differential offset to one side. Some people love it, some hate it, but it was Ford’s way of trying to give a smoother ride without going full independent. On the ends, you have the locking hubs. These are manual hubs, meaning if you want four-wheel drive, you have to hop out, grab the dial, and twist it from free to lock. That physically connects the wheel to the axle shaft. When the front drive shaft spins, the wheels spin with it. Leave it on free, and the front wheels just coast while everything else spins inside. Ford also offered automatic locking hubs starting in the early ’80s, especially with select shift automatics. They became more common by around ’83 or ’84 when automatics became more popular, especially on higher trim Broncos and F-150s. By ’85 and ’86, they were fairly common, though manuals were still available, and many trucks stuck with them. Mechanically, the difference is simple. Manual hubs are driver-controlled. You turn the dial on the hub, and that physically locks the wheel hub to the axle shaft with a set of splines and a clutch ring. Once it’s locked, you’re connected. Period. Automatic hubs, on the other hand, use a cam spring setup inside the hub. When the axle shaft starts turning under power, the cam engages the clutch and locks the wheel to the shaft automatically. That sounds great, but the problem is that they rely on friction and movement to engage. If the system’s worn out or you’re in a tricky spot, sometimes they’ll flip, half engage, or not engage at all. That’s why a lot of guys today either swap back to manuals or wish they had. Manuals are dead simple. You lock them and you know you’re good. Since we’re talking about the Dana 44 twin traction beam, here’s a fun tidbit. Ford kept this design alive all the way into the ’90s. Some folks even argue that the basic concept is still alive in a lot of trucks today. A lot of people bash on it compared to a solid front axle, but the twin traction beam did what Ford wanted. It rode nicer on the highway, still gave you four-wheel drive off-road, and it’s become a hallmark of Ford trucks from that era. Love it or hate it, it is pure bullnose DNA. If you’re interested, I have a great video specifically about the twin I beam and twin traction beam setup on these trucks. Definitely go check that video out because it dives into all that information. Let’s tie it all together and actually go through the process of engaging four-wheel drive on this Bronco. First, I got the truck sitting in two-wheel drive. That means the transfer case is in two high, sending power straight back to the rear axle, and the hubs are set to free. In this state, the front drive shaft and the axle can spin around, but the wheels aren’t connected. Basically, just a rear-wheel drive truck. Now, let’s say I want four-wheel drive. Step one is to lock the hubs. Walk up to each front wheel, twist the dial from free to lock. Now those wheels are physically connected to the axle shaft. Step two is to hop back in the cab and move the transfer case shifter from two high into four high. At that point, the case engages the front drive shaft. Because the hubs are locked, the front wheels now get power. Congratulations. You’re officially in 4×4. You might be wondering what happens if you lock the hubs but leave the transfer case in two high. In that case, the front wheels spin the axle shafts, which spin the differential, which spins the front drive shaft, which spins the front gears inside the transfer case, but none of that’s actually engaged to the engine. All you’re really doing is turning a bunch of extra iron for no real reason. You’re adding wear, you’re adding drag, and you’re getting reduced fuel economy. On a bonus Ford, reduced fuel economy usually just means a little more terrible. Once you’re in 4×4, a couple things change in how the truck behaves. There’s no center differential in these part-time systems. That means the front and rear axles are locked together at the transfer case, spinning at the same speed. It’s great for traction in mud, snow, or dirt, but if you try to run on dry pavement, you’ll feel it bind up in the turns. That’s called driveline bind, and it’s why you should only use 4×4 on loose or slippery surfaces. Another thing to keep in mind, tire size and pressure matter. If your front and rear tires are mismatched even slightly, the transfer case is going to feel that difference and start fighting itself. If you push it hard enough, something’s going to give, usually a U-joint or a chain. Now that we’ve covered the basics of how it all works, let’s talk about some of the quirks, common issues, and things you want to stay on top of if you’re keeping one of these old Ford trucks on the road. First up, chain stretch. The Borg Warner 1345 and 1356 both use a chain to drive the front output, as does the NP208. Over time, that chain can stretch, especially if the truck’s been used hard in four low. You’ll know it’s happening when you start hearing a rattling or popping sound under load, almost like the chain is skipping teeth. If you ignore it, you’ll eventually be sitting in the mud with a whole lot of noise and no forward motion. Then there’s the case on the NP208. Easy transfer case for what it was, but the housing could be a weak point. They were pretty lightweight, but one smack on a rock or over-torque the mounting bolts and you could end up with a crack. Once that happens, you’re not fixing it with JB Weld. You’re just hunting for another case. Shift linkages are another wear item. After 40 years, the bushings get sloppy and you’ll feel it when the shifter doesn’t want to fully drop into gear or feels a little bit vague. Sometimes guys think the whole transfer case is shot, but really it’s just a linkage that needs a refresh. Don’t forget about seals. These cases can leak, and output shaft seals get tired. If you don’t keep an eye on them, you can run low on fluid. Speaking of fluid, here’s a critical one. The Borg Warner and new process chain-driven cases use ATF, automatic transmission fluid, not gear oil. The gear oil can ruin the internals. The NP205 is the exception. It’s gear-driven and it takes gear oil. Knowing what belongs in your case is step one. Regular fluid changes are cheap insurance. Ford called for around every 30,000 miles, but let’s be real, most of these trucks went decades without one. If you buy a bullnose and don’t know its history, draining and refilling the transfer case should probably be one of the first jobs on your list. On the axle side, keep an eye on the U-joints. If you hear clicking when turning in 4×4, that’s your sign they’re worn out. They’re cheap and easy to replace, but ignore them and you risk a failure that could take out a yoke or drive shaft. As for upgrades, there are a few no-brainers. If you have automatic hubs, swap back to manual. Manuals, upgrade. That alone can save you some headaches. If you’re doing a Borg Warner 1345 or 1356 behind something making serious torque, you need to consider an upgraded heavy-duty chain. And if you’re building a hardcore off-roader, the NP 205 is still the king. Heavier, shallower, low range, but about as close to unbreakable as it gets. One last fun bit of trivia: some guys lock the hubs while driving in too high, especially in winter or muddy conditions, to avoid getting out of the cab to lock the wheels every time they get stuck. It adds a little drag, wear, and maybe knocks half a mile per gallon off fuel economy, but on a bullnose Ford getting 12 mpg anyway, who’s counting? That’s the rundown on how Ford’s four-wheel drive system worked back in the bullnose years. From the transfer cases, whether it’s the Borg Warner 1345 like mine, the NP 208, or the legendary NP 205, to the floor shifters, the hubs, and the D44 twin traction beam up front. It all comes together to give these trucks their character. Modern trucks have knobs on the dash, digital readouts, and fancy electronics do the thinking for you. Convenient, sure, but there’s something satisfying about pulling a lever, feeling it chunk into gear, and knowing those front wheels are locked in because you made it happen. Four-wheel drive isn’t just about getting unstuck. It’s about understanding how all the parts work together and respecting what these old trucks were built to do. They may not be the most efficient or the smoothest, but they’ve got a kind of honesty and mechanical charm you just don’t get anymore. That’s why I love working with them. For me, that’s what makes this ’82 Bronco and that F-150 special. It’s not just another truck. It’s a reminder of how Ford built 4x4s tough, simple, and ready for anything. Love them or hate them, bullnose Fords have their own DNA, and it’s alive every time you roll out of the driveway in two-wheel or four-wheel drive. So, there you have it. Everything I know or pretend to know about bullnose Ford 4×4 systems and transfer cases. If you have any questions, concerns, gripes, or got something wrong, drop it in the comments and let me know. As always, thanks so much for watching, and we will see you next time. She’s rough around the edges, but she’s doing fine. Tinker Moon’s garage. She’s considered divine. Thanks again for watching. We will see you next time.

Welcome to the World of Bullnose 4×4

Hey folks, Ed here from Bullnose Garage. Today, we’re diving deep into the four-wheel drive systems of the 1980s Ford trucks—specifically, the transfer cases that make these systems tick. If you’ve ever wondered how these classic machines manage to pull themselves through mud, snow, or whatever else you throw at them, you’re in the right place. So, grab a coffee, or a wrench if you’re feeling ambitious, and let’s get into it.

How 4×4 Works on Bullnose Fords

First things first, let’s zoom out and look at the big picture. In two-wheel drive, power runs from the engine into the transmission, through the output shaft, into the drive shaft, and straight back to the rear axle. Simple, right? But when you engage four-wheel drive, the transfer case gets involved. This little box splits power between the front and rear drive shafts. The catch is that the front wheels aren’t always connected, thanks to those old-school manual locking hubs. Shift into four high or four low without locking the hubs, and you’re just spinning parts without actually being in 4×4. Funny enough, you can lock one hub and not the other, effectively inventing three-wheel drive. Not smart, but possible.

The Transfer Case Trio: BW1345, NP208, NP205

Now, let’s talk about the heart of the 4×4 system—the transfer cases. The most common one you’ll find in bullnose trucks is the Borg Warner 1345. It’s an aluminum, chain-driven case weighing about 85 to 90 lbs, with a 2.72:1 low range. It’s tough enough for most applications but can stretch under heavy torque. Next up, the NP208, another aluminum chain-driven case, slightly lighter duty at 80 lbs with a 2.61:1 low range. It’s a bit weaker, and dropping one on a rock will teach you why many folks swap them out. Finally, the NP205, the brute of the bunch. It’s a cast iron, gear-driven monster weighing in at 140 lbs, with a shallow 1.96:1 low range. It’s indestructible, making it a favorite among rock crawlers and heavy haulers.

Shifter Positions and Crawl Ratios

In my ’82 Bronco, the Borg Warner 1345 transfer case offers four positions: two high, four high, neutral, and four low. In two high, power goes straight to the rear wheels. In four high, the front drive shaft engages for a 1:1 ratio. Neutral is useful for flat towing, while four low gives you a 2.72:1 reduction for serious torque. With the NP435’s granny first gear, the reduction multiplies to about 18:1, offering over a 60:1 final drive at the wheels. Translation: you can pull a freight train at 1 mph, theoretically speaking.

Manual vs Automatic Hubs

Moving up front, let’s talk hubs. My Bronco uses manual locking hubs, meaning you have to hop out and twist the dial from free to lock. Automatic hubs, on the other hand, engage when the axle shaft starts turning under power. Sounds great, but they can be unreliable, leading many to swap back to manuals. Manuals are simple and reliable—lock them, and you’re good to go.

Common Issues and Maintenance Tips

These old systems come with their quirks. Chain stretch is a common issue in chain-driven cases, leading to rattling or popping sounds under load. The NP208’s housing can be a weak point, and shift linkages can wear out, making gear shifts vague. Regular fluid changes are crucial—use ATF for chain-driven cases and gear oil for the NP205. And don’t forget to keep an eye on those U-joints.

Upgrades and Real-World Quirks

If you’re looking to upgrade, swapping automatic hubs for manuals is a no-brainer. For serious torque, consider a heavy-duty chain for the Borg Warner 1345 or 1356. And if you’re building a hardcore off-roader, the NP205 is still king. A fun trick some folks use is locking the hubs while in two high for quick 4×4 engagement, though it adds a bit of drag.

Why Bullnose 4×4 Still Matters

Modern trucks might have fancy electronics and dashboard knobs, but there’s something satisfying about pulling a lever and feeling those gears engage. These old Fords might not be the most efficient, but they’ve got a mechanical charm that’s hard to beat. They’re a reminder of a time when trucks were built tough and simple, ready for anything.

So, there you have it—everything you need to know about the 4×4 systems in bullnose Fords. If you have questions or want to share your own experiences, drop a comment below. Thanks for hanging out with me in the garage, and I’ll see you next time.

If you want more specific information on Bullnose Ford Trucks, check out my YouTube Channel!

For more information on Bullnose Fords, you can check out the BullnoseFord SubReddit or Gary’s Garagemahal. Both are excellent resources.

As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. If you see an Amazon link on my site, purchasing the item from Amazon using that link helps out the Channel.

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Alternatives: What You’re Comparing Against

Finding the Right M5OD-R2 (And Avoiding the Wrong Ones)

About the R1 Family

The Thunderbird SC Oddball

Yard Tips & Fitment Notes

So… Is the M5OD the Right Move?

Wrap-Up

Why These Ford Screw-On Caps Are Worth the Trouble

The Fitment Problem With Aftermarket Wheels

Tools and Measurements I Used

Why Centering on the Vehicle Matters

Prep the Wheel and Spacers

Mount and Snug the Wheel

Seat the Cap and Lock It In

Punch Accurate Marks

Drilling and Tapping the Wheels

Test-Fit and Check Screw Length

Trim Screws the Easy Way

Lug Nut Setup and Torque Notes

Material and Wheel Style Considerations

Why Do It On-Vehicle? The Real-World Geometry

Quick Checklist

Common Pitfalls (and How to Avoid Them)

Specs at a Glance

Old-School Design, Modern Wheels

Final Thoughts

Got Questions?

The Ford 427 Side Oiler: Racing’s Big Block Legend

Introduction: The Day Ford Declared War on Ferrari

Birth of the FE: The Foundation of Ford’s Big Block Era

The Engineering Vision

The Deep-Skirt Block

Displacement and Applications

A Family Built to Adapt

Why Ford Built the 427

Strengthening the Block

The Rotating Assembly

Cylinder Walls and Cooling

Heads, Valves, and Flow

The Oiling Problem

Enter the Side-Oiler

Why It Worked

A Clever Workaround, Not the Future

The Racing Legacy of the 427 Side Oiler

NASCAR Dominance

The Cammer: Ford’s Wild Experiment

Le Mans: Beating Ferrari at Their Own Game

The Ultimate Show of Force

The Ultimate Proof of Concept

Why It Matters

The Engineering Legacy