Saving The Old Rustbucket--My 1982 FJ40 Tale (1 Viewer)

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this thread is headed towards "Epic-ville"

ironically it may help me out as my horn isn't working either....and im out of beer too:hmm:
 
mmw68 said:
Just don't make it a nude scene - no one really want to see me with out my pants on. :D(or do they? )

Not to worry Mark, most of us are getting to the age where we all have some hail damage on the rear bumper.
 
Damn!!! This IS good!!!! Keep talking!!!! errrr typing!! BTW, my '68 40 has a horn button on the dash. Put it there because I couldn't get the button on the steering wheel to work, and it was inspected several times that way before I tore it down.
 
I need a fix.....for my truck and with reading these stories....get a beer and start typing lee
 
A little off topic but I grew up in OKC and have family in Austin and Dallas.

And to keep it tech-y and on topic, I got my old 5.0 Mustang inspected when I was a teenager there and got passed with no mufflers. They have (or used to have) a law that you only had to spend $250 attemting to repair the problem for which you failed and you get a free pass. Needless to say, that was easy to come up with...
 
Ken and Barbie

No tech here. This is just a story from the road, but a story with a hint of problems to come. Unfortunately, it was a hint I ignored. Austin to Seattle, day one. From my house to Stephenville, Texas is 160 miles. Driving 60 and allowing for small town slowdowns in between, that's around 3 hours in a 40, or about as much abuse as my ass can handle without a break. Stephenville is the first town of any size after Lampasas. It's a college town, self-proclaimed Cowboy Capital of the World, host of one of the country's largest rodeos, and site of the original Hard 8 Bar-B-Que. That's the place I like to stop for lunch. Hard 8 has world class BBQ at reasonable prices, all you can eat sides, and they hand out free beer. That's right, free beer. I'm told it's because they don't have a liquor license, and Texans demand beer with their BBQ, so they just give it away, as much as you can hold. It's crappy beer, usually Keystone, but the price is right and I've found that ice cold swill tastes pretty damn good after several hours spent bouncing around on buckboard seats and inhaling road dust. All their employees appear to be college students from Tarleton State. I've heard it's an aggie oriented school, and that fits what I see. Most of the diners look like ranch people--well worn boots and jeans, big Stetsons, people who know their beef. My kind of place.

I pull into the parking lot at a non-peak time. The lot is almost empty but as usual, I park in a remote spot. The drill here is to place your meat order at the outside smoker, then pick it up and pay at the counter inside, but before I can order, there's the matter of a long overdue pit stop. I go inside and take care of business, then I'm returning to the smoker when I see a small crowd gathered around Uncle Meldon's 40. They're all young, a couple of girls and two or three guys. I don't know if something is wrong, or they're getting ready to steal the truck, or if they're just curious, but my gear is inside so I walk out to investigate. No worries. Nothing is wrong. The 40 is just an unusual looking rig, to them anyway, and they're trying to figure out what they're seeing. They're all seniors at TSU, all clean cut, polite, and personable. Soon all of them drift inside except for one guy and girl who remain behind.

These two look like a cowboy version of Ken and Barbie. He's dark, and good looking. She's a cute pony-tailed blond, and she's sporting a walking cast that extends all the way to her hip. I'm in no hurry and happy to be standing up for a change, so we chat about trucks and things for a while. He's an Ag major, with an Army ROTC commission around the corner. He's going on to Ranger school and thinks he'll be in Iraq within a year. She's a Biology major who's been accepted to veterinary medicine school. I don't see a ring but it sounds like they're engaged. I ask what happened to her leg, She says she was training a horse for a rodeo competion, thrown, and her leg broken in several places. She's matter-of-fact about her misfortune and says it didn't stop her from graduating on time. She's an honor student. Her cast comes off next month, and she's eager to ride again. I like her attitude; she has what my Grandmother would have called spunk. They both graduate in May. They have a few questions about the rig, and ask where I'm going. I'm getting hungry so I give 'em the Cliff's Notes version. They confess that neither of them have ever been outside Texas, and they're envious of the road trip. They tell me they enjoyed the conversation, then go inside. I think to myself, these are nice kids, the type you'd be proud to call your own. I assume they're here to eat with their friends. College students, free beer, seems a reasonable assumption.

Since I'm already at the truck, I decide to check fluids before eating. The clutch reservoir is almost empty. Strange, since it was full when I left Austin, but I don't see any signs of leakage so I top it off, and head back to the smoker. I don't recognize him at first with an apron and gimme cap, but the kid cutting meat at the smoker is the same polite Ag major I just spoke with out at the truck. He sees that I'm puzzled and explains that there had been a shift change, and the crowd around the 40 was the incoming shift. Oh, I say, I thought they were all out there admiring the cool Land Cruiser. He grins and says "Some of us were."

I order brisket and a hot link. He says that I should try the ribs too. He highly recommends them and they're just out of the smoker, so I agree and he gives me a huge half rack, and what appears to be more brisket and sausage than I requested. This has to be $30 worth of meat, way more than I need to eat, but what can I say. I'm weak. I lug the tray inside and grab my silverware, move on down the line to the register, and there's the pony-tail girl with the cast. She's the checker. I hand her my credit card. She hands it back without swiping, winks, and says "Have a great trip. If you come through here on the way back, stop and tell us about it." I'm flying back from Hawaii and there's no way I'll ever see these kids again, with him in Iraq and her in vet school, but I say "Sure, I'll do that." I try to hand her the card again and she won't take it. She sort of wrinkles up her face and barely shakes her head sideways, as if to say "Stop, please let me do this for you." By now there's a line behind me and no point in embarrassing her by arguing so I pocket my card, drop $20 in the tip jar, and find a seat. The ribs are as good as advertised, and the free beer doesn't taste nearly as bad as I remember. I make quick work of it.

Before leaving I consider finding Ken and Barbie and wishing them well, but by now the place is really crowded and I'm behind schedule, so I hike out to The Turtle, climb in, and fire up the mighty 2F. There's a little wooden split rail fence surrounding the Hard 8 building and as I prepare to pull out of the parking lot, I glance back and see those two kids, Ken and Barbie, future Army Ranger and future vet, standing at the fence waving. I feel proud of them, a couple of small town kids with big dreams and the moxie to make them happen. What a country this is!

I wave back, engage the clutch, and I'm off...:steer:
 
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So after the aforementioned Yooper brother, AKA Uncle Meldon, decided to buy the Austin 40, Yooper casually mentioned that his brother lived in Kona, Hawaii. I made a flippant remark, something to the effect of: "Now that I've done the inspection, I suppose he'll expect me to drive the 40 to Hawaii for him." A few days later I get an email from Uncle Meldon. "I've decided to take you up on your offer to drive my new 40 to Hawaii." I'd known Yooper for years, but had never met his brother. I learned that he was chief engineer on a yacht, and would be at sea for several weeks, maybe months. The proposal was that I'd drive his 40 from Austin to Seattle, ship it to Hawaii, fly to Kona and pick up the truck at the port in Hilo, park it in his garage, and fly back to Austin. While the 40 was in transit, I could hang out at his beach house. Only a fool would have refused this deal so naturally I signed on. In April 2005 I took off for Seattle, a road trip which proved to be the adventure of a lifetime. There would be unplanned delays, several of them--a monsoon rain somewhere in Oklahoma, a road closure in the wilds of New Mexico, a clutch failure in Colorado, and a major Winter blizzard in Wyoming. Even with the delays I somehow made Seattle on time and hooked up there with another old friend, Landpimp, who was kind enough to follow me to the shipper, and later provide a ride back to SeaTac. I languished in Seattle for a few days before departing for Kona, and got to spend time behind the wheel of Landpimp's legendary '82 40. After almost a month on the road in Uncle Meldon's '76, and a couple of days motoring around Gig Harbor in Landpimp's '82, the 40 sickness had quietly established a foothold in the man-toys lobe of my brain. I didn't know it at the time, but I was toast.

Landpimp's John Deere Green 40, well known to all MUD'ers.

Been up close to Johns 40, all original spectacular speciman.:popcorn:

Look forward to this thread unfolding:beer::beer:

Rob
 
Look forward to this thread unfolding:beer::beer:

Rob

Hey Rob, you'd better be following this thread because you're in there, only a few chapters ahead.

Lee :cheers:
 
Reference post #66.......Lee....you need to find a publisher for a hard back edition....great writing!
 
:popcorn: subscribed
 
Im guessing we will get tech heavy and he will build a snorkel in california?



or really big tires so he can float/paddle?
 
How the hell do you drive to Hawaii :D

Easy ... You drive on a boat on the main land and drive it off the boat at the island ; :lol:)
 
Reference post #66.......Lee....you need to find a publisher for a hard back edition....great writing!

Thanks, I appreciate that. Maybe I will. Plenty of story left. We aren't even out of Texas yet.

what a country indeed

It really is. Easy to lose sight of that. Lots of wonderful folks out there. You just have to find them.

How the hell do you drive to Hawaii :D

Flotation tires. :lol:
 
Pancho and Lefty

From Stephenville, US 281 is a straight two lane ribbon of asphalt cutting a 75 mile swath due north to Jacksboro. I know two things about Jacksboro. One, it's the only place in the world you can buy a hand made Herd's hamburger. Some folks claim it's the best in the universe. Herd's menu has only one item, a burger, and they've been making them the old fashioned way for nearly 100 years, but I'm full of BBQ and trying to make Oklahoma City by sunset so stopping there is out of the question. And two, Jacksboro is also where I depart 281 and take my secret cutoff. It's a scenic meandering 35 mile stretch of State Highway 59, that leads to Bowie. There I'll pick up US 81, which carries me across the Red River and deep into Oklahoma. I always take the 59 cutoff, even though the obnoxious lady who lives in my GPS insists it isn't the preferred route. I'm contrary that way and like I said, it's scenic and usually deserted.

It's a beautiful sunny afternoon, no clouds in the sky, almost Spring, trees beginning to leaf out, and I'm cruisin' along on SH 59, just me and The Turtle. We seem to have the road all to ourselves. There's a better than average CD player in the Tuffy, and I've brought along a few favorite road tunes for occasions like this. So I'm listening to the late great Townes Van Zandt and daydreaming about white sand beaches and hula girls when just as I hear the opening chords of Pancho and Lefty, I spot a highway patrol cruiser parked off the highway, partially hidden in tall weeds. Glance at speedo. I'm doin' 55 and even allowing for the big tire correction, there's no way I'm speeding. No adjustments necessary. I keep on driving.

I knew Townes when we were young, just a little bit. He'd sometimes hang out at his Aunt's house across the street from ours, in Amarillo, and knock out Elvis covers evenings while sitting on the curb. Back then, it was just for fun and no one knew if he was any good. He was.


Living on the road my friend
Was gonna keep you free and clean
Now you wear your skin like iron
Your breath's as hard as kerosene
You weren't your mama's only boy
But her favorite one it seems
She began to cry when you said goodbye
And sank into your dreams


I'm 3 miles down the road and lost in thought. I've already forgotten about the patrol car when I see flashing lights coming up fast behind me. Not me, I think, so I slow down and pull onto the shoulder to let them pass. They ease in behind me and goose their siren enough to let me know it's me. It's broad daylight, so this can't be about the missing license plate light. I look in the rear view mirror and see two state troopers approaching the truck, one from either side. I have no idea what this is about, but I remind myself not to be a smartass. I know better, but there's always that risk with me. I'd cut the ignition but the stereo was on a hot circuit, so Townes kept on singing. Now they're at the windows. One trooper is a big guy about my age, salt and pepper hair, nice looking stash, little bit of a beer belly. He reminds me of Diesel Dog. I didn't know DD then, but in hindsight the description fits. The other is much younger, possibly a rookie. He's a body builder type, biceps straining the seams of his uniform sleeves. Both look pleasant enough, and they haven't asked me for a license or proof of insurance, so maybe I'm good.

Old trooper: "Good afternoon."
Me: "Good afternoon."
Young trooper: "You in a hurry?"
Me: "No Sir. I wasn't speeding, was I?"
Old trooper: "No, you were almost going too slow. Is that Townes Van Zandt?"
Me: "Sure is. Early Townes, from the 70's"
Old trooper: "I love that song. Best damn songwriter ever. Better than Dylan."
Me: "Can't argue with that.

Old Trooper is leaning against the driver's side window sill. He closes his eyes and seems to be concentrating on the lyrics. Townes is still singing. It's a long song. This is seeming increasingly peculiar. What do these guys want with me?

Me: "Why did you stop me?"

No answer, but the song has ended and now they're both doing a cursory examination of The Turtle while trying to seem casual. I know how this works. I watch Cops. Next they'll be asking if I mind them taking a look inside.

Then...

Young trooper: "Sweet 40? You do the buildup?"

All right, he knows it's not a Jeep. Score one for The Turtle

Me: "No. I wish."
Young trooper: "We don't see many 40's around here. Mind if I look it over?"
Me: (Whew) "Not at all"

I relax. They look. They laugh at the 12" white steering wheel, ask if the shackle reversal was worth the money, tell me the Weber carb is crap and I need to go back to AISIN, but generally they seem impressed. They say it looks like a serious rig, not like the girly Wranglers all the teenagers drive. The older trooper says he has a 62, all original. Hey, I do too. The young trooper is building up a 60, and wants a 40 but can't find one that fits the family budget. He's a newlywed, and his wife doesn't get the Cruiser thing. Yeah, tell me about it. We talk Cruisers for 30 minutes. If they hadn't been wearing uniforms, this would just be a normal Cruiserhead BS session and someone would break out the beers. I know from past experience, this conversation could easily go on for hours. A couple of cars drive by and I guess that reminds them that they're supposed to be manning a speed trap. They revert back to their official demeanor and apologize for detaining me. Yes, they actually said "detaining." I think that's my cue to leave.

Old Trooper: "Have a nice day, and drive safe"
Me: "Absolutely. You gents take care"


A few gray federales say
They could have had him any day
They only let him go so wrong
Out of kindness I suppose

RIP Townes

Onward, to Oklahoma...​
 
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I love Townes, Poncho and Lefty, and this thread. Subscribed.

Well...more like perscribed, because it is curing my ills of being at work today.
 
Lee, when di this trip take place? Recently??
 
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