Saving The Old Rustbucket--My 1982 FJ40 Tale (4 Viewers)

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Just wondering

Sea Knight, just wondering if you were wearing your "Big Watch" at the time...lol :clap:
 
Sea Knight, just wondering if you were wearing your "Big Watch" at the time...lol :clap:

YEAH BOYEE!

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Sea Knight, just wondering if you were wearing your "Big Watch" at the time...lol :clap:

YEAH BOYEE!

Damn straight I was. Bought it in Singapore for 3 bucks. :grinpimp:

BTW, what are you guys doin' in this thread, if you already know the story? :confused:

Author's Note: I've been warned by a big muckedy-muck that if this uber high tech thread gets too chatty, it'll be moved to chat. I already had to delete the Zinger Girls photo, which was painful. Painful I tell ya. For my part, I welcome and invite all comments, but I'm not in control so lets try to keep the thread halfway on track, whatever that means. I haven't even gotten to the good parts yet.

In that spirit, the next chapter will include invaluable FJ40 upholstery repair tech tips. Comin' right up...
 
The Turtle

By mid-April of 2005, I've already had custody of Uncle Meldon's 40 for several weeks, ample time to drive around town and even venture into the Texas Hill Country for a couple of short road tests. With the Zinger girls only a fond memory, windshield frame holes securely plugged, and all mechanical systems checked out, there's not much else to do but begin the adventure. I've driven the truck enough to know that traveling anywhere north of 62 mph is scary, and anything more than 5 hours of vibration per day will destroy my spine, so that dictates my travel plan. l'll shoot for a max of 300 leisurely miles a day, 3,600 miles to Seattle, with a generous fudge factor built in to allow extra days for the unexpected. Because therein lies the adventure--the unexpected. Right?

The bucket seats are original. There's no discernible padding left and I can't even see any upholstery material. The entire seating surfaces are covered with old sticky duck tape, every square inch. I stop by Wal-Mart and buy the cheapest generic seat covers I can find, and an inch thick foam seat cushion that's intended for a kitchen chair. You know, the kind with red and white checkered fabric and a cute little ruffle around the border. I hide the cushion under the cheapo driver's side seat cover and call it good.

Tucker and Mark Mellon-Werch insist that a going away Happy Hour is critical to the success of my mission. They twist my arm and I resist mightily, but they win and we hit Billy's for a few two dollar pints. They ask if the 40 has a name. She does not, but even though it's not my truck, I figure I can give her a temporary name. She looks rugged and indestructible, all armored up with quarter inch steel diamond plate, so before leaving the watering hole I dub her "The Turtle." The next day is D-Day, departure day. I've purchased AAA 100 mile towing just in case, but I still don't want to stray too far from civilization in a 30 year old truck. I do however want to avoid interstate highways, at least until I'm clear of Texas.

Uncle Meldon is footing the bill for basic travel expenses, but I've assured him that I'm a cheap-ass traveler and his biggest expense will be gas. I intend to camp out whenever possible, and mooch an occasional bed and shower along the way from various Cruiserhead friends. When it's necessary to pay for lodging, I'll stay at small town Mom and Pop motels. There's dozens of them along my route and they're usually quaint, clean, and cheap. It'll be a challenge to see how little I can spend. My parents live in Oklahoma City, so I decide to suck it up and drive all the way there on the first day. A free bed and Mom's home cooked meals fits the plan. If I'd opted for IH-35, AKA the death trap, the drive would only be 400 miles, but I hate interstates. The back route to OKC is 450 miles. This is a no brainer; putting in 50 extra miles in the country are worth it to me.

And so I bid my wife farewell, and I'm gone. :steer:

Leaving Austin, I drive US 183 northwesterly to Lampasas, then head north on US 281. Though 281 is a US highway, much of it is an old 2 lane road, well maintained but not heavily traveled. Once you've fought your way out of the Austin metro area, there's nothing but farm and ranch country and wide open spaces all the way to Oklahoma, punctuated by several small towns and some good greasy spoon diners.

Somewhere between Lampasas and Hico, allegedly the final home of "the real" Billy the Kid, there's a rancher who raises Longhorn steers. I usually see a few of them grazing along the fence line that borders the highway, and I thought it would be cool to take a photo of The Turtle parked next to an old barb wire fence, with Longhorns in the background. The only problem was that I couldn't remember exactly where they'd be, so I was chuggin' along at 50 or so, scanning the landscape for Longhorns, when I see a big dualie ranch truck in the southbound lane suddenly veer onto the shoulder spraying gravel everywhere, then lurch back onto the road and blast past me. Whatever was in the road was on a rise several hundred yards ahead, but from the distance I couldn't see it. I assumed it was probably a dead deer, a common sight along that stretch, so I slowed down even more thinking that I didn't want to sacrifice Uncle Meldon's truck to a road kill after only 100 miles on the highway.

Another couple of hundred yards, and....What The Hell? There's a big ole turtle smack in the middle of the highway, just parked there like he owns the road, craning his neck, looking around and taking in the scenery. I pull off the road to observe. I used to catch little box turtles as a kid and keep them as pets, so I have a soft spot for these ancient creatures. I've heard they can live to 100 years and this is a big specimen, probably an old codger that doesn't know where he is or how to get off the road.

I'm sure that I'm imagining this because turtles don't have facial expressions, not that I know of anyway, but this one looks confused and helpless. About this time another pickup roars by, this time straddling the turtle. He still hasn't budged from his spot. What I have to do now is clear. After all, I'm driving The Turtle, and here's a helpless turtle in the middle of the road. If this isn't a sign, then there's no such thing as a sign. I get out and pick up the old guy and place him on the passenger side floor pan. By now he's hiding inside his shell, which is probably a good thing. I don't want him so scared that he takes a dump in my ride.

I drive a few miles until I spot an unpaved road that leads into a wooded area. I stop, walk about 20 feet beyond the tree line, and place my traveling pardner on the ground by a rock that looks like his twin. Maybe he'll mistake it for a relative and stay put for a while. I make a U-turn, retrace my steps back to 281, and continue northward. I never saw the Longhorns, but hopefully I gave a little extra time to an addled old turtle.

As I drive away, I'm thinking this is karmic, and before this trip is done, lord knows I'm probably gonna need a little help. Little did I know.
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I stop by Wal-Mart and buy the cheapest generic seat covers I can find, and an inch thick foam seat cushion that's intended for a kitchen chair. You know, the kind with red and white checkered fabric and a cute little ruffle around the border. I hide the cushion under the cheapo driver's side seat cover and call it good.


That is some good tech, righ there. :popcorn:
 
Subscribed.. Fantastic storytelling, publish on kindle! :)
 
Book? Lee signed over the movie right to me one night, he will sign anything if you get a little beer in him. Here is a shot of SeaKnight driving his FJ62, he has a bit of a drinking problem I think. :D

Dude! What are you doing? You're giving away all of the material for the book I'm writing about you!

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The Inspection, Part 1: Horn Tech

From Austin to the Texas-Oklahoma state line, what I call the country route, is around 300 miles. After following US 183 from Austin to Lampasas, and turning north on US 281, there's over 200 miles of sparsely populated prairie land. This is farm and ranch country, with the highway taking you through a few historic towns and a few more that are dead or dying, and not-so-historic. Traveling this road you see no 18 wheelers and very few cars. You do see all manner of pickups, horse trailers, combines, and the occasional tractor. Because of its isolation and the fact that it's relatively straight and flat, almost everyone not driving a tractor speeds. And because they speed, the entire stretch of highway is crawling with state troopers---the dreaded highway patrol. I had no fear of being stopped for speeding on the open road, certainly not in the 40, but it's easy to become distracted, crest a hill, enter some small town you didn't remember being there, and discover too late that the speed limit has dropped abruptly from 70 to 35. And just like you see on television, there's Barney Fife sitting at the city limits sign ready to write you up. I didn't plan on having an encounter with the law but in the event it happened, I certainly didn't want to be careless and offer up any dumb reason for being fined, or even frivolously detained. That has been known to happen in the South, ya know, and it would have been foolish to ignore the possibility.

A couple of days pre-departure, we're about to leave Billy's, Mark is snapping pics of Uncle Meldon's truck in the parking lot, and he points out that the inspection sticker has expired. Crap. Registration is current but he's correct; the Texas state inspection sticker has long since expired. I figure this is a PIA, but nothing of great concern. The truck is too old for emissions testing, and it apparently passed the safety check without issue the prior year. I call Jeremy, the previous owner, and ask where he's had the 40 inspected in years past, thinking this will be the path of least resistance. Some inspection stations are more corrupt...I mean meticulous, than others and I don't want to pick the wrong one. He tells me of a little neighborhood garage and inspection station that he's used for the entire 7 years of his ownership, and assures me that they never hassled him.

I find it, an old Texaco station with a big sign advertising tuneups, oil changes, AC service, clutches, brakes, starters, alternators, electrical repairs, and inspections. It looks like these guys can do anything. Business is not booming. There's no customers there and no vehicles in the service bays so I pull right in and think this is excellent; I'll be done in 5 minutes. There's two mechanics on duty. They also appear to be the owners, and brothers. One guy with a clipboard starts methodically checking systems, while the other one paces around outside chain smoking. I'm not sure, but it looks like he's ducking behind the building every few minutes, and he smells like cheap beer. Um, yes, I'm familiar with the smell, but that's another story. I pay him no mind, because he's not doing the inspection and I don't care if he's completely ripped, so long as I'm not dealing with him.

Back to the inspection. It never occurred to me that they'd nail this truck for any discrepancy because the same shop had passed it barely a year ago, and nothing had changed. Well, nothing had changed, but it seems there was something that had somehow escaped their notice in the previous seven inspections. Texas requires a functioning horn. Uncle Meldon's 40 had a Camaro steering column which was way too long. In order to provide clearance between the steering wheel and the driver's chest, an itty-bitty 12" diameter steering wheel had been installed. Yep, and it was white. Aside from looking silly, with Saginaw power steering it was perfectly functional, but there was no horn button. I hadn't even noticed, but this was something I couldn't argue. In Texas when they identify a deficiency during inspection, you have the option of having the inspecting shop make the repair, or you can go elsewhere, or repair it yourself. In any case, you're issued a rejection slip and given 14 days to remedy the problem and return for a re-inspection. I thought "How hard could this be? I know there's horns under the hood. At one time they worked. I'll figure this out myself and come back later."

I return home, stick my head under the dash, and Holy $hit! There's a massive clump of tangled wires the size of a softball crammed up under the dash. I have no idea WTF I'm looking at. I pull it down to get a better view and then purely by luck, I see two naked wire ends in the middle of the ball. I gingerly touch them together, and to my amazement, the horn honks. Thank you Jesus! I doubt this will satisfy the inspector, and I don't want to screw with the wiring harness and risk buggering up something I can't fix, so I head for good old Zinger Hardware again. I buy a doorbell button, the biggest one I can find. The button itself is as big as a quarter. The button housing has a plain institutional look, something like you might find on the door of a government building. Which is OK, I'm not looking for bling. I decide it's adequate and as an added bonus, the package says it's even weatherproof. I know it won't look any more stupid than the go-cart steering wheel. It just needs to work. And it only cost $3.79.

The 40 has a nice Tuffy console, the security version that houses a stereo head unit, and the stereo is mounted in the console. The dash has been cut and there's a rectangular hole where a previous head unit was installed. I think Hmmm, that looks like a good spot for the doorbell button. I forage around and find a piece of scrap aluminum, cut it to cover the opening, and screw it to the dash with sheet metal screws. I connect the two wires to the doorbell button and mount the doorbell assembly on the aluminum plate. Press doorbell button....Honk, Honk! I'm in business. Now back to the station for my new sticker.

To be continued...
 
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ohhh,.....that's just cruel Lee...you can't leave us hanging like this....most of us are at work...therefore reading this and surfing mud!!!
 
Finessing the Damn License Plate Illumination Light

It's 5:30 PM, April, and already dark. The inspection station closes at 6, but it's only minutes away and I've fixed the horn issue. I'm thinking this should be a simple in-and-out. I'll honk the horn, get the new sticker, and mush on. I drive in and there's no sign of clipboard guy. Instead, there's only chain smoking cheap beer guy. If he's not ripped, he's gettin' there, kinda weaving around and slurring his words..for all I know, this is his normal state. I don't know if this a a good thing or a bad thing, but he's the only one there. I remind him that I was in earlier, got dinged on a horn discrepancy, show him the doorbell button, and demonstrate that it works. He gives me an incredulous look and says, "You have got to be joking." I assure him that I'm not joking and invite him to take a turn honkin' the horn. "Knock yourself out," I say. He says "Dude, that horn button has to be mounted on the steering wheel." Quick thinker that I am, I say "No it doesn't. I've read the Texas code and all that's required is a functioning horn. That's a functioning horn." Which is complete BS. I've never even seen the official safety inspection requirements, and I have no idea whether it stipulates the horn button location. But he has no comeback, shrugs his shoulders, and drops the subject. Maybe I'm correct?

It's 5:50, 10 minutes to quittin' time, and I think I'm home free, But nope. evidently I'm not. He starts looking at the rear of the 40, where the license plate is zip-tied to the Jerry can carrier. I know that's an acceptable means of fastening, but then he says "You don't have a license plate light. That's required by law. I can't pass this vehicle." While I'm thinking he adds, "We offer complete auto electric service here. We can splice into your tail light wiring and add a light back there for $100, maybe a little more, maybe $150. Leave it with us and I'll have it out by tomorrow noon."

I'm thinking Jesus, can I just catch a break here? :bang:

Clipboard guy didn't say anything about this damn license plate light. I explain to chain smoking cheap beer guy that I have no intention of driving after dark (it's already after dark but I don't think he'll notice), that I'll be out of Texas within a day and the vehicle will soon be retitled and relicensed. I just need to get an effing sticker. In his most official voice, he says "Sir, I cannot pass this vehicle until the "prescribed license plate illumination light" is in place." To do so could cause him to lose his inspection license. He goes on to say that it would be irresponsible of him, and he just won't do it. He tells me that no inspector worth his salt would let this slide. I happen to look at the name patch sewn over his chest pocket, and have an idea. I look at the old inspection sticker and there it is, bigger than hell...it has this guy's signature. I decide to try horse trading.

In the back of the shop area, earlier in the afternoon, I spotted a 55 gallon drum overflowing with empty cans. Not automotive fluid cans, but Old Milwaukee and Red Dog cans. The cheap beer smell. There's a 7-11 several blocks down the street. I tell this guy that I think I can resolve the missing light problem. If he'll give me 10 minutes, I'll be back with something that'll fix everything. He looks perplexed, and says OK but make it quick. I haul ass to 7-11 and what do I find but suitcases of Old Milwaukee on sale. 24 cans, $10.99. If you want good beer, you have to pay for it, right? I grab a case and just for insurance, I also pick up a 6 pack of Red Dog tall boys. That's another $2.49. I return to the shop and it goes something like this. "Sir, I know from last year's sticker that you have already passed this truck, in exactly the same condition it's in now. There's the proof, right there on the windshield. I've told you that this truck is leaving the state, and it'll never be back. Not ever. I also told you that I don't plan to drive it after dark, and I don't. In the unlikely event that I'm stopped in Texas, and someone notices the "prescribed license plate illumination light" is missing, I'll swear that it was there when the truck was inspected and must have somehow fallen off." He's pondering what I said, probably trying to calculate how much of that $150 he'll net if he holds me hostage, and just as he clears his throat, probably to say no, I open one of the rear half doors and show him the beer.

"How about this? Let me have the sticker, I'll get out of your hair, and you can have this special beer that I bought just for the road trip. It's my favorite and I hate to give away expensive beer but if you do me this favor, it's yours." For a drunk guy he moves pretty fast. He sprints into the office, fills out the sticker so fast his hand is a blur, slaps it on the windshield, looks all around to be sure no one is watching, heaves out the suitcase and tall boys, runs back into the inspection bay, and slams the door. He doesn't even tell me Goodbye. I'm hurt. I thought we'd bonded. But I'm not too hurt. I'm stickered up, locked and loaded, and I'm off.

Me and The Turtle are off to Hawaii.
 
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I'll have to remember that trick next time the inspection station gives me s hard time. That's good guidance right there
 
So, Who is going to play you in the movie version of this? Jeff Bridges?

Who should we cast for the inspection sticker guy?..????
 
I'll have to remember that trick next time the inspection station gives me s hard time. That's good guidance right there

I told you there would be a lot of great tech tips in this thread. And we're only on page 3. :wrench::wrench::wrench: :bounce::beer:

So, Who is going to play you in the movie version of this? Jeff Bridges?

Who should we cast for the inspection sticker guy?..????

Being played by The Dude would be an honor. A great honor.

Or Tom Selleck--he'll surface in this tale after I get to Hawaii

Drunk inspection sticker guy? That's a small role, but it's really important. Maybe Cheech Marin? Or someone like Cheech, but younger. Jack Black?

Don't worry Mark, I'll insist that they save a cameo role for you.;)
 
Don't worry Mark, I'll insist that they save a cameo role for you.;)

Just don't make it a nude scene - no one really want to see me with out my pants on. :D(or do they? )
 
I wanna hear about the naked pool lady again. She still asks about ya!


Well look who surfaced, the man who started it all. :cheers:

As for the nekkid pool lady, tell her I'm still havin' the nightmares. :eek:

I'll have a few stiff drinks and deal with her in an upcoming chapter.

BTW, preliminary congrats on you-know-what. ;)
 
I think I'm going to come up for the next meeting at Billy's, sounds like a great place to hear some great stories!

I'll have to print this out and have you autograph it.
 
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