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how i feel about the 40 series

Discussion in 'Chit-Chat' started by crushers, Jul 14, 2005.

  1. crushers

    crushers post ho

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    "Museum quality" is different from showroom quality, showroom quality is restored to showroom detail and even that has different meanings but most look at it as almost perfection. "Museum quality" is in all original condition to be showed to the public displaying an era in which it existed. This truck fits that bill exactly.

    When you sit in this truck you feel like you have been transported back into a time with less stress, less frustration. A time when life was enjoyable. Back to a time when people enjoyed their life and had a hopeful future to look forward to. To me when I sit in it, I feel I am sitting in a time machine. You reach for the disconnect, pull it once and there is a LOUD click as the electrical come on line, turn the key backwards and wait patiently for the glow screen to light up bright orange, turn the key forward and listen to the engine come to life. You can feel the rattle of the diesel under your butt and wait a few seconds for the smoke to clear. You push in the firm clutch and feel the solid tranny slip into gear and start to pull out. As you rattle your way down the street you get waves from your friends and neighbors (okay, maybe not the one downwind of you at startup but from the rest) as you go by, jealous because you are not caught up in the latest fad that Detroit puts out. You are different from the rest and they know it. You glance at the gauges to make sure all is well and then move on up to another gear. You can feel the solid power and torque as you speed up faster and faster. You pull into traffic and the other vehicles are zipping here and there but you don't care, you are in another time zone. You are back in the 70s heading off to a job you enjoy at a pace that forces you to slow down and smell the roses...

    This is what I feel is so cool about this truck; it has a history of a better time.

    I best stop now or I will talk myself out of selling it...
    Cheers
    Wayne

    basicly i was resonding to an email sent to me about my 1977 BJ40 and i guess i got kinda carried away on the response. i thought it was kinda good so i posted it here.
    so what is it that turns you on about your ride (not the female type either)...
    cheers
     
  2. beaufort-fj60

    beaufort-fj60

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    i could almost smell the pot smoke when i was reading that :cool:
     
  3. bad_religion_au

    bad_religion_au

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    hey that's exactly how i felt when i owned the troopy.

    maybe this should be sticky and we all contribute a piece.
     
  4. honk

    honk

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    LoL! Wayne, perhaps it's YOU that is museum quality!
     
  5. crushers

    crushers post ho

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    getting there i'm afraid...
    next thing you will know i will be that old man in the corner re-telling my cruisers stories again and again and again...
    i really do hope that you guys will tell your stories, could make for some good reading..
    cheers
     
  6. Rugster

    Rugster

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    The same feeling with one of my old Brit bikes and dare I say.. My Heep..

    I also miss the three and four speeds on the collum... Starter button on the floor..
    Vent windows...

    But the old days are good for *Nostalgia*, but I wouldn't want to have to go back and put up with it on a daily basis !
     
  7. bad_religion_au

    bad_religion_au

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    hmmm vent windows, check

    starter button on the floor, check (not through choice mind you)
     
  8. bad_religion_au

    bad_religion_au

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    Ok- how I feel about my cruiser.

    Wake up to the drumming rain on the window. I dreamed of her again, her flowing hair, her smile, the way she’d sleep in the passenger seat. The cold blast of winter air snaps me back to reality. On with the layers, out to the driveway, there it stands, the once mighty shorty. I do a quick visual once over, yep, standard oil amount under it, rust in all the same spots, sagging a few inches on the drivers side… my mind starts to wander, I’m no longer looking at the faults, but see it in it’s perfect proportions. Slightly crouched over at the back, meaty rubber sticking out the sides. Those classic front fenders ending in running boards. Lines which suggest both muscle, and a sadness for the loss of a more pure time. Open the door, no key needed, not that one would work, slide in behind the big steering wheel. Crank it over, hoping that yesterday wasn’t the last day. One cylinder catching then another and finally that big strong slow familiar heartbeat fills the cabin, as my breath fogs up the windows. The big lumbering motor wipes the sleep from it’s eyes, and settles into a more rhythmic idle. A sideways glance brings back the pangs of good times past. But the old girl fired again today, so that’s one thing to be thankful for. Heavy clutch in, move the solid feeling shifter towards the empty passenger seat and down, a familiar crunch as 30 year old gears come together. Slowly off the clutch and down the driveway, no need for revs, the old girl still has her strength in her. The dull yellow glow from the headlights warms a normally crisp and cold yard. Onto the road, and I take the time to get 1st. a few revs and it’s time for second, and I’m not past the letterbox yet. The first corner from home, I savour the feedback through the steering wheel. Like an old pair of jeans, driving her just feels right.

    I point her nose out onto the highway, towards the rising sun, and my mind flashes back to every other journey that has begun like this. Be it nice country drives with she who abandoned me, long winding coastal roads to that perfectly barrelling deserted right hander, completely empty, but soon filled with the hoots of those friends I hold dear, the quick blasts through the mountain passes, or the slow descents into a rocky gorge, which lead to those climbs where I ask more from a 30 year old motor than I should. But never does she hesitate. Usually to the surprise of everyone and their newer rigs. No, today it’s just me and the cruiser, on the open road, leading to adventures that are yet to unfold. A tear wells up as I think of those people in my life that have come and gone. A slight shudder from the cruiser brings back the reality that one day too my cruiser will join the list of those that I’ve left behind. Probably one day soon. Like a faithful dog on it’s last legs, she puts on a brave face, and stands by my assault on life. But like that faithful dog, one day I’ll have to make that trip that only one of us comes home from. But not today. Today we ride.

    sorry... that hurt a bit to write