I can't help you with your questions but, while you wait for real answers, I can offer a story about my brother when he used a "ridge reamer" in the eighties.
Setup for a good reaming
I removed the remaining head bolt, lifted the head from the engine and gently tossed the head onto the pile of parts which had been my engine. Next I removed the oil pan and the connecting rod end caps. I was ready to remove the pistons.
For those of you who either are, or a close relative to, one of the "can't use a screwdriver set," the method used to remove the pistons from the engine is to push the piston up through the hole in the top of the engine block. But before you can remove the piston in this manner, you must remove the "ridge" at the top of the piston. This ridge forms because the piston does not go all the way to the top of the cylinder when the engine is running. Because of the friction between the piston rings and the cylinder wall the cylinder's diameter grows over time but the very top of the cylinder remains the original size thus forming a ridge. The piston rings will not pass the ridge . . . it must be removed to get the pistons out.
There is a tool for this purpose. I'm sure it's produced by the same company which makes interrogation devices for the CIA.
I went to my local parts jobber. A parts jobber is the traditional name of an automotive parts supply store. A true parts jobber has nothing in his store but a counter and sixteen feet of catalogs. You tell him what parts you need, the year and make of your vehicle and he asks embarrassing questions like "Is your clutch eleven inches or eleven and a quarter inches?" You ask if the parts are returnable, take a guess and go home with, hopefully, the right part.
"I need a ridge reamer," the aforementioned implement of torture. "What size is your cylinder?" came the embarrassing question. "Four inches . . . I think" I said. I'd just told him that it was a 235 cubic inch Chevy engine in a 1955, first series truck. You would think he would have had a chart in that sixteen-foot catalog specifying the cylinder size. "Is that a half-ton or a 3/4-ton?" came his reply. Another embarrassing question. Perhaps he didn't like the tone in my voice when I offered the cylinder size. Then I saw it! The Pennsylvania State Inspection sign. I was in the clutches of a member of the conspiracy and he was not going to let me escape without extracting a little blood. "Half-ton" I said with a level voice. He reached behind the counter and retrieved the much needed tool. "That will be $22.50 a day rental and a $75.00 deposit." I paid. I thought "I don't want to buy it, I just want to rent it, numb-nuts" but didn't say it. "I should have it back this afternoon" I said. He started to laugh.
Reamed . . . and put away wet
To use the ridge reamer, one inserts it into the cylinder and adjusts the clamping mechanism to hold it in place. On top of this horrid tool is a hex nut which you turn with a wrench thus causing the cutting head to remove material from the cylinder top. After a few rotations of the cutting head you must re-adjust the clamping which extends the cutting head and you turn the nut again. You continue this procedure until the ridge is gone.
In order to operate the thing I found that I had to sit on the engine block under the raised hood with a leg hanging on either side of the engine block. I started the operation. Adjust . . . turn the nut . . . adjust . . . turn the nut . . . adjust . . . turn the nut. Two hours later the first cylinder was smooth enough to get the piston out. Let's see, two hours per cylinder with five cylinders to go. That's ten hours. If I skipped lunch and bathroom breaks I could still have the tool back before the parts jobber closed. I could make the numb-nuts eat his laughter!
Did I mention that temperature was about 92 degrees and the humidity was around 85%!
After hours and hours of "adjust and turn the nut" I was finally on my last cylinder and I still had time to get the tool returned before the store closed. My joy at the prospect of seeing the look on the numb-nut's face as I triumphantly threw the damn tool down on the counter while demanding my deposit was short lived, however. All at once I got cramps! Two of them! One in each leg! Both calf muscles tried to tear themselves from the bones. I desperately needed to straighten my legs to relieve the cramps, but I couldn't use my legs to get off the damn engine block so I could straighten them! I finally, grabbed the radiator and, mustering all my upper body strength (I'm a skinny ******* so there wasn't much strength to muster.) I catapulted myself off the engine block, over the radiator and unto the driveway. I landed on my chest but my legs were now straight. I just lay there until the pain subsided. I could barely get up. When I finally made to my feet I slammed the hood leaving the tool from hell in the last cylinder, went to my refrigerator, grabbed a beer, Iron City of course, and lay on my plaid couch. I was asleep before the beer was half gone. The numb-nuts had won!
Reaming aftermath
Slowly I became aware of someone telling me to repent so that I would be saved. I opened my eyes. It was Sunday morning and a TV evangelist was trying to save me from damnation in the form of a ridge reamer, I am sure. I reached down with my tired, stiff, aching arm to retrieve the Iron City. It was warm, flat and wonderful.
After twenty minutes or so I gained enough strength to hobble down to the truck. I opened the hood; the dreaded ridge reamer was still there! I was hoping, in fact dreaming that I had finished the job but I hadn't. I climbed back in and sat on the engine block as before. I completed the job in about one half hour. No more work would be done on the truck this day. I would return the reamer on Monday now that the job was done. At that moment I resolved to never, never again use a ridge reamer. In the future I would simply remove the entire, intact engine and take it to an automotive machine shop for rebuilding. After all, one seldom gets a cramp from writing a check.
As I entered the store, the numb-nuts had already resumed his laughter. "Tougher job than you thought." laughed the miserable *******. I tossed the thing on the counter. "Just give me what's left of my deposit." I said ignoring his barb. "Well . . . I'll have to inspect it for damage." It was obvious that he needed to make me bleed some more. "It looks OK. Let's see you had it for an additional two days so you get thirty back." Now that I had what was left of my deposit, I was about to tell him how he lost the opportunity to sell me the much needed engine parts because of his ****** attitude when it dawned on me that he may have the power to black ball me with all the parts jobbers in the area. I simply left.
