Disjointed Thoughts From Way Back When

NMC_EXP

 
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When I was young a popular summer weekend pastime was slowly cruising the remote county roads, typically two track dirt, drinking beer. To the crowd I ran with the difference between a redneck and a good old boy was the redneck threw the empty cans into the roadside ditch. But the good old boy threw them into the bed of his pickup truck.

One of my friends was a tow boat captain on the Illinois river. He worked 6 weeks on the boat then was off for 12 weeks. Most of his off time was spent partying. He bought a WW2 Jeep and fixed it up. One modification was an aftermarket windshield washer kit. The discharge lines were routed under the lower edge of the dashboard with the button just over the outlet. Captain Jim drank whiskey and that is what the windshield washer tank was filled with. He would cruise the backroads with a cooler of ice and a glass. He'd fill the glass with ice, hold it under the dashboard and push the button with his thumb and a stream of Canadian Club would fill the glass. Slick set-up. There were a lot of abandoned rail lines in the area. Captain Jim and my uncle Bill were working on a way to get the old jeep to run on the tracks so they would not be bothered with steering. But my uncle Bill did not make it (later paragraph).

One of my friends, Bobby worked on his dad's dairy farm. He had some spectacular parties. One Independence Day he bought a keg of beer and had some of us over to his place. Got to be about dark and it was decided some pyrotechnics were in order. Roger, one of the guys there had a demolition license. So a few of us piled into Bobby's car, went to Rogers place and he got some dynamite, caps and fuse. Then we went to the Dixie Truck Stop at the intersection of I-55 and US Hwy 136 to buy cigarettes' (the keg was in the trunk). Plan was to blow up an old derelict farmhouse on Bobby's dad's place. On the way out of town there were two girls hitch hiking. We picked them up. They told us about all of the strange experiences they had while hitch hiking. Then one of them asked what we were up to. Bobby said "we're going to blow up a house, want to come along?". On that cue Roger pulled two sticks of dynamite out of the box on his lap and waved them in the girl's faces. They said "Let us out of the car please." which we did. Probably cured them of hitching.

Got to the derelict farm. Roger realized he forgot the special pliers used to crimp the fuse into the blasting cap. He was drunk enough that did not pose a problem, he crimped the fuses with his teeth. I was just sober enough to back away several paces in case he bit down on the wrong part of the blasting cap. Anyway he blew the hell out of the old house. There was a shed there as well. Bobby had climbed on to the shed roof to watch the show and was cheering Roger on. It was real dark by then. Roger says "watch this" (bad thing when beer and dynamite are involved) then took a section of fuse, no cap, no dynamite, lit it and threw it up on the shed roof with Bobby. Bobby had to assume the lit fuse had a cap and dynamite attached so he jumped off the shed roof. Good thing he was drunk because the drop would have hurt a sober man. Still my favorite Independence Day.

My cousin Mike was 4 days younger than me. He quit college and got drafted. Instead of being shipped to Viet Nam like 90% of draftees at that time he spent his gig in Germany baby sitting a missile battery aimed at Russia and partying on weekends. Mike was not afraid of anything and had he gone to Viet Nam I doubt he would have survived so Germany was a stroke of luck. About a month after he got out of the Army he was helping his dad work on a farm tractor. The tractor came off the jack stands and landed on him and that was it. So much for luck. His Dad, my uncle Bill, died in the same shop building a year later.

My brother enlisted into ROTC. Knew he would get drafted so he figured he'd rather be an officer. Liked it so much he stayed long enough to get two stars. Right after he went in he told me he was going to airborne school. I was in college and figured I'd beat him to being the first to jump out of an airplane so I joined the parachute club. Back then tandem jumping did not exist - you were by your lonesome. I made a few jumps. For beginners you exit at 3,000 ft and from there it takes 13 seconds to hit the ground without a chute. My last jump I had a hard ripcord pull. So I grabbed the handle with both hands and gave it a big jerk. That opened the pack and deployed the chute but it also caused me to do a forward roll on to my back while the chute was deploying. Instead of seeing the ground I was looking at blue sky and the parachute streaming out between my legs. Had time enough to think I'm going to die. When the chute inflated it flipped me over backwards into normal position. The chute was fine, I rode it down but my neck has never been the same.

Like I said, random, disjointed anecdotes of the old days. By comparison things have been boring for the last 40 years.

Springsteen's 'Glory Days" is my theme song.
 

UltraFJ40

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Dito loob ng kubo kubo ko
When I was young a popular summer weekend pastime was slowly cruising the remote county roads, typically two track dirt, drinking beer. To the crowd I ran with the difference between a redneck and a good old boy was the redneck threw the empty cans into the roadside ditch. But the good old boy threw them into the bed of his pickup truck.

One of my friends was a tow boat captain on the Illinois river. He worked 6 weeks on the boat then was off for 12 weeks. Most of his off time was spent partying. He bought a WW2 Jeep and fixed it up. One modification was an aftermarket windshield washer kit. The discharge lines were routed under the lower edge of the dashboard with the button just over the outlet. Captain Jim drank whiskey and that is what the windshield washer tank was filled with. He would cruise the backroads with a cooler of ice and a glass. He'd fill the glass with ice, hold it under the dashboard and push the button with his thumb and a stream of Canadian Club would fill the glass. Slick set-up. There were a lot of abandoned rail lines in the area. Captain Jim and my uncle Bill were working on a way to get the old jeep to run on the tracks so they would not be bothered with steering. But my uncle Bill did not make it (later paragraph).

One of my friends, Bobby worked on his dad's dairy farm. He had some spectacular parties. One Independence Day he bought a keg of beer and had some of us over to his place. Got to be about dark and it was decided some pyrotechnics were in order. Roger, one of the guys there had a demolition license. So a few of us piled into Bobby's car, went to Rogers place and he got some dynamite, caps and fuse. Then we went to the Dixie Truck Stop at the intersection of I-55 and US Hwy 136 to buy cigarettes' (the keg was in the trunk). Plan was to blow up an old derelict farmhouse on Bobby's dad's place. On the way out of town there were two girls hitch hiking. We picked them up. They told us about all of the strange experiences they had while hitch hiking. Then one of them asked what we were up to. Bobby said "we're going to blow up a house, want to come along?". On that cue Roger pulled two sticks of dynamite out of the box on his lap and waved them in the girl's faces. They said "Let us out of the car please." which we did. Probably cured them of hitching.

Got to the derelict farm. Roger realized he forgot the special pliers used to crimp the fuse into the blasting cap. He was drunk enough that did not pose a problem, he crimped the fuses with his teeth. I was just sober enough to back away several paces in case he bit down on the wrong part of the blasting cap. Anyway he blew the hell out of the old house. There was a shed there as well. Bobby had climbed on to the shed roof to watch the show and was cheering Roger on. It was real dark by then. Roger says "watch this" (bad thing when beer and dynamite are involved) then took a section of fuse, no cap, no dynamite, lit it and threw it up on the shed roof with Bobby. Bobby had to assume the lit fuse had a cap and dynamite attached so he jumped off the shed roof. Good thing he was drunk because the drop would have hurt a sober man. Still my favorite Independence Day.

My cousin Mike was 4 days younger than me. He quit college and got drafted. Instead of being shipped to Viet Nam like 90% of draftees at that time he spent his gig in Germany baby sitting a missile battery aimed at Russia and partying on weekends. Mike was not afraid of anything and had he gone to Viet Nam I doubt he would have survived so Germany was a stroke of luck. About a month after he got out of the Army he was helping his dad work on a farm tractor. The tractor came off the jack stands and landed on him and that was it. So much for luck. His Dad, my uncle Bill, died in the same shop building a year later.

My brother enlisted into ROTC. Knew he would get drafted so he figured he'd rather be an officer. Liked it so much he stayed long enough to get two stars. Right after he went in he told me he was going to airborne school. I was in college and figured I'd beat him to being the first to jump out of an airplane so I joined the parachute club. Back then tandem jumping did not exist - you were by your lonesome. I made a few jumps. For beginners you exit at 3,000 ft and from there it takes 13 seconds to hit the ground without a chute. My last jump I had a hard ripcord pull. So I grabbed the handle with both hands and gave it a big jerk. That opened the pack and deployed the chute but it also caused me to do a forward roll on to my back while the chute was deploying. Instead of seeing the ground I was looking at blue sky and the parachute streaming out between my legs. Had time enough to think I'm going to die. When the chute inflated it flipped me over backwards into normal position. The chute was fine, I rode it down but my neck has never been the same.

Like I said, random, disjointed anecdotes of the old days. By comparison things have been boring for the last 40 years.

Springsteen's 'Glory Days" is my theme song.
I know what you mean, my only gift of excitement is coaching little league now.

I did have some fun overseas but most aren't acceptable for this site besides this one. When I was in Okinawa my buddy and I were driving from Schwab to Kinville to pick up women and we saw two children in Ginoza sitting on the side of the road waiting for the school bus to pick them up in front of a store. They were about 6 or 7 so we decided to turn around and buy them some ice cream. They had orange ice cream all over their shirts by the time we left. :) One of the best things I've done, I bet their parents weren't so happy though. My buddy and I continued down the road on our quest for adventure.

Maybe I can think of more that are safe for me to post but I usually got into things not appropriate for posting.
 

NMC_EXP

 
Joined
Feb 4, 2006
Messages
710
Location
Raton, New Mexico
Truck Stop Days – Seat Tanks

I put myself thru college working at the Dixie Truck Stop on US Hwy 66/Interstate 55 in central Illinois. For five years I was a pump jockey and tire man.

Seat Tank Story #1
We worked 12 hour shifts. At this time I was working nights which was 6 PM to 6 AM. It was still dark, maybe 4 AM and an old pickup truck, maybe 1956 vintage pulled in. In the cab was the driver and two other guys who were asleep. The driver got out and said “fill ‘er up" and put in a quart of 30W.

The truck had a seat tank with the fill cap just behind the driver’s door. I stuck the nozzle in, turned it on full blast and walked to the building to get a quart of oil. When I came out with the oil there was the driver standing next to the truck with a cigarette dangling from his lip, a match in his right hand and a matchbook in the left. The matchbook was maybe 12 inches from the gas tank fill neck which was spewing fumes being displaced from the tank as the gas flowed in.

Before I could say anything he struck the match.

There was a whoomp and a ball of fire maybe 6 feet in diameter which rose up to dissipate against the 12 foot tall canopy. When the fireball dissipated the driver had disappeared. The pump was still running and there was a 2 foot long blow torch of flame coming out of the fuel fill neck. The two guys in the cab were about to kill each other trying to open the right door and get out of the cab.

I dropped the oil can, ran back inside, got a fire extinguisher and ran back out. At this point one of the passengers had run around to the drivers side and I saw him reach thru the flames, click off the nozzle (good thing) but then he pulled the nozzle out and threw it (bad thing), spraying burning gasoline over the two pumps on that island.

Flames were still coming out of the truck fuel neck and the pumps and ground around them were burning. I used the CO2 extinguisher and put out the fires.

Then the driver came back after running to the other end of the parking lot and smelling of burnt hair. All of his exposed skin was bright red and his eyebrows and lashes were gone. He said to me; “Guess It don’t pay to smoke around here.”

Seat Tank Story #2:
Dixie Truck Stop was a full service station back then. We filled your tank, washed your windshield and for semi trucks bumped the tires to check for flats.

My colleague was waiting on a gasoline powered truck, maybe a 1 ½ or 2 ton flat bed gas burner straight truck. The driver told him to fill it up and went into the restaurant. Standard procedure was to insert the fuel nozzle first, start filling the tank then go away and finish working on the other trucks. Well Bobby stuck the nozzle in the seat tank, turned it on and went off to finish another truck.

I walked by this truck and saw gasoline dripping out of the drivers door. I clicked the nozzle off and called for Bobby. He came over, eyeballed the situation and like something out of a cartoon he opened the drivers door. It had pumped 11 gallons of gasoline before I shut off the pump. When Bobby opened the door all that gas cascaded out of the cab floor and on his feet and ankles. “Damn” he said.

We took a look and found the seat tank had been deleted but the fill neck and gas cap were left in place. A saddle tank attached to the frame had been added.

We had the control room page the driver. He came out and we told him what happened. Unconcerned, he said fill the saddle tank, which was done. He paid up, then he climbed in the cab which was still saturated with gasoline . At that point I ran the other way figuring one spark from the ignition switch would set off the fumes.

But he started the truck and drove away.

I could write a book about my five years at that truck stop.
 
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NMC_EXP

 
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Raton, New Mexico
I know what you mean, my only gift of excitement is coaching little league now.
Kind of a bummer to not be involved in many situations that make for good stories later on. Mostly what I have are "boring stories of glory days."

I'm inflicting my old stories on IH8MUD cuz the few friends I have in the meat world have heard them a hundred times.
 
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Nov 6, 2013
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In my travels I got into verbal altercations on four occasions two of which almost came to blows when I confronted asswipes smoking while gassing up.

I saw a gas station blow up in 1953.
I was about 7 y/o in the back seat of my parents car heading south on I-44 just north of Bagnel Dam when it blew up.
haven't been that way for a few years now but every time we pass that spot many years later I remember it vividly.

I am always nervous at gas stations to this day.

Even when stations had full service I filled my own tank.

About 20 years ago my wife and I took a two month 3,000 mile road trip in my built up Fiat 128.
I gassed up my self everywhere except Oregon.
At that time it was a state law that an attendant had to gas your car.

The tank was low and I knew I couldn't make it out of the state with out a gas up so I pulled into a station and a doofus kid that looked like a cross between Forest Gump and Gomer Pile came out and started oooing over my car.
He pulled the nozzle out of the holder pointed it at my car and pumped about a half gallon all over the trunk.

I can lose my temper quick and broke all previous records when I pushed the azzhole back knocking him down and while cussing a blue streak got in my car and drove off in search of the nearest car wash.

After I got it hosed down I stopped and bought a box of 30 gallon trash bags and pulled into another gas station.
An older man came out and I told him to wait and he did while poked a small hole in on bag and stretched it around the filler nozzle and laid some more bags around and over the trunk.

I then explained what had previously happened so be real careful.

He was careful and didn't spill a drop but he laughed his assoff the whole time.
 

NMC_EXP

 
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Can't blame you for that. I too have had verbal altercations with mouthbreathers smoking at the pump next to where I'm gassing up.

All my life, even back when I was a pump jockey I believed in the lesson of "No matter what you do, be a pro."

That's what I did...at least until someone treated me with disrespect even though I did things right.

One time I filled up a car. A guy, his wife and two kids inside. He paid cash, maybe $10 or so then told me to give him a cash receipt for twice the amount. I figured he had an expense account and told him I was not going to help him steal from his employer. He told me he wanted to see a manager.

Took him into the control center and explained it to the foreman on duty. The guy b****** and moaned so much the foreman gave him a cash receipt for twice what he paid just to get rid of him. The customer took the cash ticket, looked at me and called me an "a******. I followed him all the way to his car calling him every name I could think of hoping he would take a swing but he never turned around or said anything.

He got in his car and I stuck my head in the drivers window and called him the worst names I could think of in front of his wife and kids. He just looked straight ahead, and drove off. At least I had the satisfaction of making the thief look like a worm in front of his family.
 
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I wrenched in a gas station/garage and a couple of times when the kid hired to pump gas didn't show had to cover for a while.
Most of the people were nice but when an A hole came around they could be a doozy so had some sympathy for the gas jockeys.
One of the things that I learned in my short experience was don't get too close to the window when asking what the customer wanted.
Nothing like when they have been eating fried chicken in the car with the windows up and when they roll down the window all that concentrated greasy KFC smell hits you in the face and goes up your unprepared nostrils.
 
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I used to have to walk to school, uphill both ways, with no shoes...in the snow!
That old saw started with me when I was one year old.
I was so smart I skipped kindergarten and went straight into first grade.
That was the best three years of my life.
Shortly after graduation at age 6 I went to work in a spice factory picking pepper out of fly siht for fifty cents an hour.
A few years later I moved up the corporate ladder picking lemons for fifteen cents a bushel plus all you could eat.
 

NMC_EXP

 
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Most of the people were nice but when an A hole came around they could be a doozy so had some sympathy for the gas jockeys.
One of the things that I learned in my short experience was don't get too close to the window when asking what the customer wanted.
Nothing like when they have been eating fried chicken in the car with the windows up and when they roll down the window all that concentrated greasy KFC smell hits you in the face and goes up your unprepared nostrils.
Vast majority of customers were OK. But I learned there are people out there that enjoy treating people in low level service jobs like dirt. A life lesson for me. Every since then I make it a point to be nice to such workers......unless they give me a good reason not to.

I also watch how coworkers and other acquaintances interract with a waitress. If they are nice to me but behave like an a-hole to a waitress I figure that person is not to be trusted.

I fully agree about the stench from a car full of people who have been chowing down on the road, especially in winter heater on and windows up. KFC was bad but to me the worst was BBQ ribs and chicken. Some of those scum bags would pull up to the pump, all four windows came down and the occupants would jettison piles of bones, cardboard, tin foil, napkins and soda cans on to the driveway not 6 feet from a trash can. Then get out of the car, wade thru their own garbage and disappear into the main building for half an hour, blocking the pumps.

This taught me not to eat in the car.
 
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Hugh Heifer

Georgia bound.
 
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May 10, 2006
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6,780
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Rome, GA bound
In my travels I got into verbal altercations on four occasions two of which almost came to blows when I confronted asswipes smoking while gassing up.

I saw a gas station blow up in 1953.
I was about 7 y/o in the back seat of my parents car heading south on I-44 just north of Bagnel Dam when it blew up.
haven't been that way for a few years now but every time we pass that spot many years later I remember it vividly.

I am always nervous at gas stations to this day.

Even when stations had full service I filled my own tank.

About 20 years ago my wife and I took a two month 3,000 mile road trip in my built up Fiat 128.
I gassed up my self everywhere except Oregon.
At that time it was a state law that an attendant had to gas your car.

The tank was low and I knew I couldn't make it out of the state with out a gas up so I pulled into a station and a doofus kid that looked like a cross between Forest Gump and Gomer Pile came out and started oooing over my car.
He pulled the nozzle out of the holder pointed it at my car and pumped about a half gallon all over the trunk.

I can lose my temper quick and broke all previous records when I pushed the azzhole back knocking him down and while cussing a blue streak got in my car and drove off in search of the nearest car wash.

After I got it hosed down I stopped and bought a box of 30 gallon trash bags and pulled into another gas station.
An older man came out and I told him to wait and he did while poked a small hole in on bag and stretched it around the filler nozzle and laid some more bags around and over the trunk.

I then explained what had previously happened so be real careful.

He was careful and didn't spill a drop but he laughed his assoff the whole time.
Getting a car filled in Oregon has always seemed like an endless hassle.

I was at a pump once and the pimple faced meth head put the nozzle in for about 30 seconds and it clicked off. I think the truck took about 4 gallons. I was on fumes and saw him hang the nozzle up and saunter over to my window with my credit card and receipt. I asked him if he would not mind trying again and this time maybe fill the tank past a quarter. He said he could not over fill the tank - when the nozzle clicks it is full. The pissing match became so ridiculous I ended up going across the street to get my fill up.

Another time I had been on temp duty back in Virginia for about 5 months. I returned to Oregon and without thinking, jumped out and started going through the motions to put gas in the car. Another pimple face douche bag came running over to me screaming. Before i could even say anything like, "Hey sorry, I was in real America the past few months where you are trusted to, and required to do this yourself," he told me I did not know what I was doing because I put the nozzle in the tank before running the card, a sort of backwards process I have done many times before. The guy was so rude and such a clown I simply put the nozzle away, put my cap on, deleted the transaction and left. All I could muster was the old man comment, "I was pumping gas when you were in diapers."

Does OR still not allow pumping gasoline yourself?
 

NMC_EXP

 
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Messages
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Raton, New Mexico
Truck Stop Days

Strange cargo #1
I was working the car pumps. A full size station wagon with University of Illinois markings pulled in. It was sitting low in the back. The rear seat was folded down and the cargo bay was full of packages wrapped in white paper. Looking closer I noticed some bloody little hands, feet and heads with open eyes staring back. They were monkeys which had been skinned. Destined for a med school I suppose.

Strange Cargo #2
Tri-State Motor Transit made fuel stops at the Dixie. TSMT had a security division for dangerous and high value cargo. One of their tractors was a custom White Freightliner cabover. It had an extended sleeper cab with jump seats for four people instead of a bed. The cab, windows and fuel tanks were armored and there were armored car gun ports in the cab. Every time I saw it, it was pulling an enclosed cargo trailer. On two occasions it had and escort of two cars with US govt motor pool tags. Two plainclothes guys in each car. He'd pull up to the pump with one escort car in front and the other behind. At least one guy stayed in the truck cab and each chase car at all times. The driver refused to say what was in the trailer.

Occasionally a driver from another company would park in the lot and ask a pump jockey to watch his truck while he got something to eat. He'd record your name on a form. When he came out he'd get your signature on the form and give you $5. One of these guys told me he had a load of worn out currency destined for a Federal Reserve Bank shredder.

Strange Cargo #3
Commercial apiaries rent beehives to orchards and other operations. A big flatbed straight truck came in with hundreds of beehives stacked up and covered with a fine net. SOP was for drivers to leave their rigs at the pumps while they went in to eat which is what the bee driver did. The net did not work and in a while there were bees everywhere. It was summer so the cab windows on other trucks at the pumps were open. Us pump jockeys retreated to the fuel line shack and closed the door. It was entertaining watching the other drivers mosey out to their truck sucking on a toothpick, climb into the cab then start swinging and swatting then bail out because the cab was full of bees.
 

NMC_EXP

 
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Messages
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Raton, New Mexico
Truck Stop Days - Confessions of a Tire Man

I was a truck stop tire repairman from '72 to '77. In that period maybe 90% of the semi-truck tires were tube-type on multi-piece lock ring rims. Tubeless semi truck tires were just coming into use. I knew the multi-piece rims were dangerous. Confirmation of that was based on how the bars of the inflation safety cage were bulged out from failures.

But I was never scared of the tubeless tires which did not have a lock ring to blow off.

A driver came in with a brand new step deck or low-boy trailer. It was tandem axle, dual wheel with 16 inch 12 ply tires. There was a flat on the trailer. If it was a multi-piece rim with a lock ring I always aired it up in the cage but the tubeless on drop center rims I did not do that.

The flat tire had one bead all the way off the rim. I assumed he had driven so far that that one tire bead came off the rim on it's own. I remounted the bead on the rim and started to air it up to find the leak. I did this with the tire laying flat on the floor, not in the safety cage. I was squatted down on my haunches next to the tire holding the air chuck on the valve stem. I pumped it up incrementally then would soap it down and check for leaks - no leaks.

The last time I checked the PSI it was 65. Then I felt the tire & wheel move and get "taller". I turned loose of the air chuck and leaned back. Next thing I was aware of was a very loud noise.

Next thing I knew was the foreman talking to me. I told him to let me lay down for a while then I'd be OK. He said you are already laying down. I had been blown backwards 4 or 5 feet and piled up against the Coates car tire machine and had been out cold.

The tire bead next to the floor completely blew off the rim and launched the tire and rim straight up. It hit the ceiling and came back down but did not hit me.

The foreman drove me to the hospital. Both eyeballs were scratched by the crud blown off the shop floor and I said "huh?" a lot for a couple of weeks but some bruises and other than that I did survive.

The ceiling in the tire shop was a concrete deck for the second floor office. Acoustic tiles were glued to it. You could read the imprint of the tire brand (General) and size in the tiles after the incident. I would not consider buying General tires until a couple of years ago.

Afterwards I had a lot more respect for tubeless truck tires.
 

subzali

 
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Denver CO
...Does OR still not allow pumping gasoline yourself?
It is still state law to have an attendant pump your gas. This summer we had a vacation in Oregon with a rental car. Stopped to fill it up before returning to the airport. Got almost to the airport before realizing that the pump had clicked off after only a few gallons so was not full. We had plenty of time before the flight so I went back and had them actually fill it up (only one gas station close to Portland airport), wasn’t going to pay hertz to fill it up for $9/gal or whatever. My wife was mad though, she thought we were going to miss our flight.
 

LINUS

Waiting for the Great Pumpkin
 
 
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I’ve bounced into OR but I always fill on the WA side of the river, I am still surprised at that law.


To the original post, I remember we used to cruise dirt / cropfarm plot access road with Schmidt Sport Packs (so late 80’s, maybe 1990 tops) - you never *really* got drunk unless you were shotgunning them, and the county sheriff never bothered us if we weren’t on asphalt.
Sort of a known, unspoken thing - they rather deal with real stuff than kids really not making a problem for others.

Different Times.
That‘s what I tell my nephew when he hears stories - no internet, debit cards, cel phones (that big grey Motorola flip came out in 1991, but none of us had even the ‘brick-phone’), & surveillance cameras were only on 24hr gas stations & banks.

Simple times where every last move wasn’t somehow documented for anyone else to pull up.
People were social, and in general far less self-absorbed compared to now.

Oh well, at least we got them during our upbringings.
I almost pity kids born post-internet.
 
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