Second thoughts on Ravelco?

About ten years ago I was in the market for a reliable, foolproof anti-theft system for the Porsche 911SC Roseann and I owned at the time. I didn’t want the usual complex electronic type, with the siren everyone ignores. After quite a lot of research I landed on a device called the Ravelco.

The Ravelco, visually, comprises a plug installed in the dash or elsewhere, incorporating a cluster of 16 female pin receptacles. A male plug, which rides on one’s keychain, fits into it, completing a cryptic connection through an armored cable leading to the engine compartment. The system can be wired to interrupt the starter, fuel, or ignition, usually a combination. A would-be thief who tries to bypass the system by randomly jumping the pins with a wire faces odds of thousands to one just to successfully regain one function, much less two or three. Since there are no moving parts it was advertised as supremely reliable, and the company claimed no vehicle had ever been stolen by bypassing the system. So, on a visit to friends in L.A. we had one installed in the Porsche (with the plug positioned under the carpet on the transmission tunnel behind the seats, adjacent to the engine compartment). It gave us great peace of mind while we owned the car. There was nothing to prevent a thief breaking into the car and stealing the stereo, but wherever we parked the car, we knew it would be there when we came back unless said thief had a tow truck.

It was natural to also have a Ravelco also installed in the FJ40, as its value was skyrocketing. So in 2018 an installer came down from Phoenix and put one in, which interrupted the starter and ignition. I wasn’t happy with the metal drill shavings the installer left on the floor, but the unit worked perfectly. I was so impressed with the concept and its simplicity that I included an endorsement of the Ravelco in the Vehicle-dependent Expedition Guide I co-authored with Tom Sheppard. A security device that used no moving parts seemed ideal for a vehicle that might travel to remote parts of the world.

By this time the Porsche was gone and we owned a lovely 1976 Triumph TR6, so I contacted the new Ravelco representative for Arizona—the same who’d done the fine job on the Porsche—and enquired about a unit for the new car, which he said they could do.

However, an issue arose that made me decide to call off that appointment. I began to have an intermittent issue with the starter on the FJ40. I’d turn the key but get nothing. Turn it again, and it would work. Sometimes the starter would operate correctly for weeks, then suffer a spate of failures. I immediately, precipitously presumed the original, 45-year-old factory starter had finally met its end, and ordered a new one—which functioned perfectly. For about a week. Then the same issue arose.

Belatedly it occurred to me to wonder if it was possible the Ravelco was failing to make the connection to the solenoid. I first cleaned all the contacts in the dash plug. No difference. Then I disconnected the unit’s wiring at the starter and restored the original factory connection.

Problem solved.

To say this was troubling would be putting it lightly. This was a device I’d recommended to several thousand people in print. However, at the time there were many other things on my mind, and the ignition interrupt was still functioning, so I didn’t pursue the issue—until this May, when Roseann and I drove our 70-series Troop Carrier and the 40 to Flagstaff for the Overland Expo. Driving up Highway 188 alongside Roosevelt Lake at 65 mph the engine abruptly died completely for about a second, then cut in again, to run fine the rest of the way to Flag.

This was more than troubling; this was shocking. I was driving a vehicle that in my entire ownership had never once failed to start and get me where I needed to go, except when a battery died. Next day, driving in town, it happened again. And again. I checked every connection I could, and found nothing obviously amiss. The float level in the carburetor was fine; it clearly wasn’t a fuel issue. We made it through the weekend and headed home. Driving south on 77 the ignition cut out again, this time for several seconds before I had power. And again.

Rather unbelievably, I again did not immediately suspect the Ravelco, but tried several other fixes. It was difficult to diagnose because the issue was so frustratingly intermittent. Finally, pulling out of a gas station on Ajo one morning, the engine quit and wouldn’t start despite repeated attempts. It turned over healthily but would not fire. Miraculously there was no one behind me, so I put the vehicle in reverse, turned the key with the clutch engaged, and let the battery back me around and out of the way. This time I knew what to do. I got out the electrical kit, disconnected the Ravelco at the coil, and re-connected the factory wiring.

You guessed it: problem solved.

I now faced another problem. I had an expensive anti-theft device—along with a hole in my FJ40’s dash—that did nothing. Zero theft protection for a vehicle that was insured for over ten times what it cost new—not to mention the value of 40 years of memories. How could a product with no moving parts fail—twice?

I decided to email the new Arizona Ravelco representative. I did not ask directly for help, since it was clear this wasn’t a warranty issue—the unit was five years old—and had been installed by a different representative. I simply explained the situation completely and asked for his thoughts, hoping that as the current public face of the company he might volunteer to take care of it as a courtesy. The response contained no such offer, and mostly disavowed any responsibility for another installer’s work. Perfectly justified, but disappointing.

I emailed back and told him that in light of the situation I couldn’t very well justify recommending the Ravelco any longer. At which point, suffice to say, the conversation went downhill quickly.

Ravelco featured in the Vehicle-dependent Expedition Guide

Let me be clear: my experience is essentially an N=1 experiment, 1 being the sample size. Statistically a conclusion from such an experiment is worthless, pure anecdote. There are undoubtedly thousands of Ravelco owners who have had no issues with their units—in fact several people who installed them after reading my endorsements have written to tell me how pleased they were. Nevertheless, the fact remains that I’ve owned two Ravelcos, and one of them failed, not just in one circuit but both. Was the double circuit failure in mine due to poor workmanship on the part of the installer, the same one who was careless enough to leave metal shavings on the floor after he finished? Or was it a degenerative failure in the plug itself? I’ll never know—I cut off the Ravelco’s cable at the firewall and engineered my own double-backup security device. I certainly wasn’t going to spend money on a new Ravelco unit. I’ve not yet decided what to do with the one-inch hole in the middle of the FJ40’s dash; for the moment the Ravelco plug is still there—and possibly acting as at least a visual deterrent.

My conclusion is this: if you own a Ravelco or have one installed in the future, I strongly urge you to have the installer instruct you on where and how to bypass it. Do not take no for an answer. Write down where the device interrupts the functions of the vehicle, and carry sufficient tools and materials in the vehicle to return the wiring to its stock configuration.