I’ve finally got called out for my end-of-post “please subscribe” gag. Tips on how to change out ball joints on a 2nd Gen Frontier. The people want to know. Probably the same people that want more Star trek references. Challenge accepted!
So we’ve talked Shinto, we’ve talked product design and engineering, now it’s time to roll up our sleeves and engage in some honest labor to merge the two together. There is no purer activity than hands-on maintenance of one’s personal equipment. My recommendation is to delegate this as little as possible. In the real world, it is not the engineer or designer of the machinery that’s important, but the guy who knows how to keep it running. It’s a very grounded way of life. Very few people are up for it now a days and it’s a true shame. Only though hardship does one truly grow.
I did a short stint in a shop which relied on gantry styled 3 & 5 axis mills to shape large sections of aircraft. These CNC beds were some 50 yards in length and required frequent maintenance to maintain tight tolerance down the length of the part. It’s hard to be within 1/100ths of an inch in depth for every 6 inches in length for 360 inches (as an example). There are only a few shops in the Continental Unites States that have this capability, so the equipment was unique and special. Maintenance runs a few millions dollars per machine every 3-6 months. There is only a handful of people that know how to safely keep these things operational. Which means if not for these few, America’s air superiority is in jeopardy. I only need to care that my C-130 and Warthog fleet is in tip-top shape. Cool JSF Lightning II tech is just “neat-to-have” in comparison. If it don’t got wings to fly, it’s not an airplane.
In Star Trek terms, I only care what Geordi has going on. No body cares what Warf is up to. And don’t get me started on his son. Worst Episodes. Did I ever tell you how I met LeVar Burton in a small French Restaurant in Sherman Oaks once? Yep. The guy who pretended to make sure everything was working on an advanced space craft, despite the best efforts of everyone else, having cocktails somewhere off Ventura BLVD. I guess he also taught several children how to read. But that’s less impressive.
But let’s get back to ball joints on a Nissan Frontier. I bought my Frontier from my Father in Law some years back. A 2003 brick on wheels, black, 4-door XE trim. Nissan Frontiers are the most American Japanese Trucks out there. Designed by Nissan, built in Canton Mississippi, all you get is a cab on a frame, with a bed, and what’s only legally considered air conditioning. Mine broke every single summer, always during a heat wave. One summer I just gave up. 110 F commutes home. This is fine. It didn’t kill me, but it made me very weak, as Norm McDonald once put it.
The first order of business getting this bucket up to par was replacing the front end suspension. I ordered the cheapest parts possible from Rock Auto. Bought a 3 ton jack after breaking a 1 ton jack, got the thing on bricks in the back yard and started working. Frontiers are easy to work on. They’re big and cheap so you can make mistakes as you’re “learning” automotive repair.
I got everything replaced except for the ball joints. Ball joint are the worst. They’re press-fit and these ones had the sh*t**st nut size to hold the thing in place. I decided against ordering a 45/87” size socket I’d never use again and “persuaded” the nut off with a rather large adjustable wrench paired to a long pipe. The ball joint was heavily corroded and wouldn’t budge. One of my more bro-ee (lifted truck aficionado) co-workers suggested I shove a coupled of pickling forks to wedge the thing out. Despite having the wimpiest front shocks I’ve ever seen, the ball joints on Frontiers are huge. I must’ve shoved 2 forks, a wrench and a random wedge I found to get this thing to shift. To help pop the joint out, I dropped the weight of the truck on the lower stud of the joint. I clearly needed the leverage. At one point I was just sitting there wailing on forks and wedges with a sledge. The joint finally popped, but a wrench got ejected and went flying past my sternum and bounced off the wall of the house with a loud ping. Great, I almost died. Guess it’s time to start on the other side.
Lessons learned: do not replace Frontier ball joints. Just sell the thing. Ball joints in general are awful. But it was all worth it. The steering improved dramatically. My self esteem was at an all time high. I suddenly had a very personal connection with this truck; it’s not an experience that’s easy to describe, but I felt one with a pile of metal I drove down the highway at very high speeds. I went on to have several adventures with the Frontier. Unlike most “truck people”, I hauled some gnarly stuff in the back. Chunks of a battle ship, a pallet of anti corrosive primer, a 7 ft tall Madagascar palm for the backyard. I once bottomed out the leaf springs with A36 steel plates. The real bed capacity of a Frontier is 500 lbs I guess. The sticker lies!
I sold the truck somewhat recently to a kid who was starting a landscaping business. The truck went to a good home. Do I miss the manual windows? Hell no. Do I miss the fact that it had a whole TWO catalytic converters I had to replace to pass smog in 2021? Also no. That’s just two too many catalytic converters. Who designed this thing? But I do appreciate the experiences. I wouldn’t recommend them, but I’m glad I had them.
You should’ve gotten a painting done of this truck and hung it up. I feel like it’s an important focal point of your life.
I wonder what the truck is up to these days *sigh*