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Saving The Old Rustbucket--My 1982 FJ40 Tale (1 Viewer)
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myquestoyota
SILVER Star
Every time I get an update I'm excited only to be let down with no story update.
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- #1,123
I may need to do a little review myself before I can proceed. The last thing I remember is being chewed out by an old man at a gas station outside Butte...
Every time I get an update I'm excited only to be let down with no story update.
You think Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel ceiling in a day? Or Tolstoy knocked out War and Peace over a weekend? It takes time to produce a masterpiece.
OK, I admit, I'm behind with the tale. Life continues to get in the way of writing, but the next chapter is underway. Keep the faith and ye shall be rewarded in due time.
I think I can safely speak for those of us that live in Montana that we are happy to stay here
Bang Bang
Age is a state of mind.
The last thing I remember is being chewed out by an old man at a gas station outside Butte...
Watch what you say......someone may get their panties in a wad.......
The travel may be slow ,,, but the rewards are worth waiting for.
Forty move and a different speed than the rest of the world.
Shane
Forty move and a different speed than the rest of the world.
Shane
TS888
Almost the person my dog thinks I am...
Greg, grateful for the latest installment. Don't give a damn if it isn't about the trip, because it's still about the journey... 
Pre-war Ford coupes are near the top of my automotive bucket list, '37s and '39s in particular. My dad was born in '31, so the pictures I have of the cars of his youth are post-war Fords. Not sure why, but for me the pre-war Fords just hit the sweet spot. He worked for GM when he returned from Korea, and for the rest of his life he drove GM cars, but I never got that bug.
Pre-war Ford coupes are near the top of my automotive bucket list, '37s and '39s in particular. My dad was born in '31, so the pictures I have of the cars of his youth are post-war Fords. Not sure why, but for me the pre-war Fords just hit the sweet spot. He worked for GM when he returned from Korea, and for the rest of his life he drove GM cars, but I never got that bug.
Sir,You think Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel ceiling in a day? Or Tolstoy knocked out War and Peace over a weekend? It takes time to produce a masterpiece.
OK, I admit, I'm behind with the tale. Life continues to get in the way of writing, but the next chapter is underway. Keep the faith and ye shall be rewarded in due time.
All of the eager followers of your writing realise EXACTLY, that it's a challenge to craft such beautiful prose and weave such wonderful images with words, and create the verbal, textual equivalent of a marvelous brew...
...or we'd have consigned you to the dung-hill by now.
Thanks for this incredible thread!
Fouad.
Wow, it has been a while since we heard something. I hope all is well for our distinguished author.
Dunbar
SILVER Star
He may be sporting a hangover but he is OK.
77mustard40
SILVER Star
Dunbar said:
Must have been the Green Flash IPA tap at our beloved Billy's. He must have slipped back down there for another sample.
I was in a small town in Colorado over the weekend and was reminded of this story. An old 60 comes bouncing down this road with a dad letting his young daughter drive, her smile was a mile wide a memory she will have forever. Thanks for helping me remember what's important in life
Sucking down some St. Arnold's Fancy Lawnmowers waiting for the storm to get here and patiently waiting for a new installment.
- Thread starter
- #1,136
Updating
Afternoon Fellow Cruiserheads:
I just checked and I haven't posted a chapter since 31 July, almost a month. Sorry for the lag. For those who asked and expressed concern, all is well. I've been busy trying to handle matters related to my settling my Dad's estate and haven't found enough quiet time to write anything.
There might have been a little Green Flash IPA influence in there too. Excellent West Coast style IPA, if you haven't tried it. Powerful medicinal properties.
I'm gonna try a new writing strategy. Shorter chapters, but more frequent postings. Today will be the first short installment, and I've already started writing the next episode. I'm thinking the tale will be easier to follow if postings occur at more regular intervals.
Several of you have mentioned losing track of the story. Maybe this will help. It's Saturday morning and we're at a truck stop on the outskirts of Butte, Montana. We left Bozeman at sunrise and it's still early morning. I'm expected at Landpimp's house in Gig Harbor, near Seattle, on Monday. The Turtle is scheduled to be turned over to the shipper on Tuesday. 600 miles to Seattle, three days to make it. We're on the home stretch.
If you're still lost, I'd suggest re-reading the previous Montana chapters. I had to read them again last night in order to remember where we were. Here's the page and post references:
Pg. 33/Post 642 Bozeman-Part 1
Pg. 35/Post 682 Bozeman-Part 2
Pg. 36/Post 710 Bozeman-Part 3
Pg. 37/Post 740 Bozeman-Part 4
Pg. 39/Post 778 Bozeman-Final Chapter
Pg. 42/Post 839 Jen
Pg. 45/Post 897 Onward To Butte
Pg. 49/Post 963 Butte-Part 1
Happy Reading.
Afternoon Fellow Cruiserheads:
I just checked and I haven't posted a chapter since 31 July, almost a month. Sorry for the lag. For those who asked and expressed concern, all is well. I've been busy trying to handle matters related to my settling my Dad's estate and haven't found enough quiet time to write anything.
There might have been a little Green Flash IPA influence in there too. Excellent West Coast style IPA, if you haven't tried it. Powerful medicinal properties.
I'm gonna try a new writing strategy. Shorter chapters, but more frequent postings. Today will be the first short installment, and I've already started writing the next episode. I'm thinking the tale will be easier to follow if postings occur at more regular intervals.
Several of you have mentioned losing track of the story. Maybe this will help. It's Saturday morning and we're at a truck stop on the outskirts of Butte, Montana. We left Bozeman at sunrise and it's still early morning. I'm expected at Landpimp's house in Gig Harbor, near Seattle, on Monday. The Turtle is scheduled to be turned over to the shipper on Tuesday. 600 miles to Seattle, three days to make it. We're on the home stretch.
If you're still lost, I'd suggest re-reading the previous Montana chapters. I had to read them again last night in order to remember where we were. Here's the page and post references:
Pg. 33/Post 642 Bozeman-Part 1
Pg. 35/Post 682 Bozeman-Part 2
Pg. 36/Post 710 Bozeman-Part 3
Pg. 37/Post 740 Bozeman-Part 4
Pg. 39/Post 778 Bozeman-Final Chapter
Pg. 42/Post 839 Jen
Pg. 45/Post 897 Onward To Butte
Pg. 49/Post 963 Butte-Part 1
Happy Reading.
Well, got a little worried about ya Sir. Thanks for the update. The story will come when it comes. Most important thing is you are doing fine.
Currently sitting under Isaac's north-east quadrant getting drenched and watching the trees whip to-and-fro in the 75 mph gusts. Power was out for 2 hrs and hope it stays on this time. Fingers crossed we don't have to go to generator power, but ready if we need it.
Currently sitting under Isaac's north-east quadrant getting drenched and watching the trees whip to-and-fro in the 75 mph gusts. Power was out for 2 hrs and hope it stays on this time. Fingers crossed we don't have to go to generator power, but ready if we need it.
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- #1,138
Butte-Part 2: Breakfast at Gamer's
I can't remember when I last ate. It may have been that sandwich yesterday afternoon at the Bank Bar in Wilsall. Less than 24 hours ago and already it seems a lifetime away. So does Jen's pre-dawn coffee. And Jen. Was that really just this morning? I've barely left Bozeman and the time I spent there is already a blur, a dream within a dream. Too much time on the road, I think, and it's beginning to play with my head. The old timer says Gamer's Cafe serves the best breakfast in Montana and I'm running on empty, so I don't have to think hard about my next move. I fire up The Turtle and pull out of RD's parking lot, tracking north on Harrison Street toward uptown Butte. Following his directions, Harrison to Front, Front to Arizona, Arizona to Park, I'm there in less than ten minutes. When I'd asked the old timer to describe the cafe building, so I'd know what to look for, he studied me for a minute, seemed to be considering his words, and finally said "Description? I just gave you directions. A blind man could follow my directions, and you don't appear to be blind." Something my Dad would have said. Well...Okay then. He was correct; I'm not blind, and I found it. I'd expected a little hole-in-the-wall diner, and I couldn't have been more wrong. Gamer's occupies the ground floor of a massive 19th century building. It's a magnificent architectural relic of another time, four stories of red brick and carved stone featuring a turret, gables, arched windows, and ornate metal trim. On the fascia above the second story windows is a stone signboard, "Curtis Music Hall." A green canvas awning shades the entry and above the awning an old marquee spanning the width of the building tells me I'm in the right place: "Jordan Jewelry and Gamer's Fine Food." I park on the street a half block away and hike back to Gamer's. I'm eager to sample some of that fine food. A lot of it.
Inside the front door there's the usual rack of tourist literature; I pick up a brochure on historic Butte and walk through the foyer into the cafe. It looks like something out of a 1930's movie; everything is pastel blues and greens, art-deco furnishings. On the right is a long lunch counter with swivel stools and on the opposing wall are booths, their seats upholstered with white vinyl. It's early and the cafe isn't crowded, only a few diners at the counter and the booths mostly unoccupied. Self seating seems to be the drill, so I pick a booth and settle in. The pamphlet tells me that Curtis Music hall was built in 1892 and during its long history it's been a dance hall, theater, saloon, rooming house and possibly an exclusive bordello. Gamer's Cafe, formerly Gamer's Confectionery, has been in operation continuously since 1933. A waitress approaches my booth and from her appearance, I'm fairly certain she's worked here since the doors were opened in 1933. She even has a 30's name, Myrtle. She hands me a menu and silverware rolled in a napkin, and she's all business. No "Good Morning," or "Welcome to Gamer's," just "Coffee?" I nod yes and begin studying the menu. Another waitress walks past my booth carrying plates heaped with steaming biscuits and hashbrowns and a monster omelet.
There's a problem here. I can't make a decision. I want it all. Fortunately, everything on the menu is cheap, so I decide to go for broke. Myrtle returns with coffee and I order a Farmer's Omelet, home made corned beef hash, cottage fries, biscuits and gravy, and a half order of French toast with maple syrup and fresh blueberries. And orange juice. Yeah, I know, a little over the top. But I'm thinking it could be a long wait until I eat again. After all, this is desolate territory, the Wild West. I'd hate to break down in the middle of nowhere and starve to death because I didn't eat enough breakfast. No regrets, right? Myrtle dutifully writes everything down, looks at me over the top of her glasses, and says "This all for you?" I tell her yes, I'm alone, it's all for me, and I ask if she could stagger the courses--biscuits and gravy first, then omelet and hash, and French toast for dessert. She doesn't comment, but I get a disapproving look and as she walks away I'm pretty sure I hear a "Harrumph." I've already seen that look, earlier this morning, and I wonder if she's related to the old timer at the truck stop.
My food begins arriving, in waves, and it's as good as advertised. The old timer didn't steer me wrong. I eat, and eat, and while eating continue to read the pamphlet on historic Butte. By the time I'm done, I've decided that I can spare a few minutes to check out that $hithole M&M Bar. It may be a tourist trap but it must be famous for a reason. I'm already in the neighborhood, and I'd hate to be this close and not even do a drive-by. Myrtle brings my check, plants it in front of me and says "I'll be your cashier." She doesn't seem impressed that I cleaned all my plates. I glance at the bill, nine bucks and change; it seems way too low. I have a credit card in my hand but before handing it over I pause to examine the bill. Myrtle stands by the booth, hands on hips. I know the pose; if I don't shape up quickly she's gonna start tapping her foot. "Something wrong" she asks? I start to tell her that the bill doesn't seem to be enough for everything I ordered, but she cuts me off abruptly. "I combined your orders. Saved you a few dollars. It's correct. Were you planning to hand me that credit card?" I say "Yes Ma'am, I was," and hand it over. On second thought, I don't think Myrtle would undercharge me. Not her.
She returns with the credit card ticket, I sign, and decide to be bold and ask for directions.
Me: "Do you happen to know how to get to the M&M from here?"
Myrtle: "Are you pulling my leg?"
Me: "No Ma'am."
Myrtle: "You can't be hungry."
Me: "No Ma'am. I just want to check it out."
Myrtle: "What does that mean? You want a drink? At this hour?"
Me: "No. I'm just passing through Butte. Wanted to see what the place looks like. It's supposed to be famous."
Myrtle: "Can you walk?"
Me: "Of course I can walk. Why?"
Myrtle: "I'm not even convinced you can get out of that booth after what you just ate."
Myrtle's idea of humor. She's a laugh a minute. I give her a token chuckle and assure her that I can walk very well, thank you.
Myrtle: "M&M. Go out the front door. Turn left. Walk to the corner. Turn left on Main. Walk 30 feet. Second building on your left. A blind man could find it."
Another blind man comment? What the hell? There's no doubt in my mind now, she has to be related to the old timer. I wait until Myrtle walks away, struggle to my feet and waddle out the front door, heading for the infamous M&M Bar.
To be continued....
When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet,
"What's the first thing you say to yourself?"
"What's for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?"
"I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet.
Pooh nodded thoughtfully. "It's the same thing," he said.”
--A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh
"What's the first thing you say to yourself?"
"What's for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?"
"I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet.
Pooh nodded thoughtfully. "It's the same thing," he said.”
--A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh
I can't remember when I last ate. It may have been that sandwich yesterday afternoon at the Bank Bar in Wilsall. Less than 24 hours ago and already it seems a lifetime away. So does Jen's pre-dawn coffee. And Jen. Was that really just this morning? I've barely left Bozeman and the time I spent there is already a blur, a dream within a dream. Too much time on the road, I think, and it's beginning to play with my head. The old timer says Gamer's Cafe serves the best breakfast in Montana and I'm running on empty, so I don't have to think hard about my next move. I fire up The Turtle and pull out of RD's parking lot, tracking north on Harrison Street toward uptown Butte. Following his directions, Harrison to Front, Front to Arizona, Arizona to Park, I'm there in less than ten minutes. When I'd asked the old timer to describe the cafe building, so I'd know what to look for, he studied me for a minute, seemed to be considering his words, and finally said "Description? I just gave you directions. A blind man could follow my directions, and you don't appear to be blind." Something my Dad would have said. Well...Okay then. He was correct; I'm not blind, and I found it. I'd expected a little hole-in-the-wall diner, and I couldn't have been more wrong. Gamer's occupies the ground floor of a massive 19th century building. It's a magnificent architectural relic of another time, four stories of red brick and carved stone featuring a turret, gables, arched windows, and ornate metal trim. On the fascia above the second story windows is a stone signboard, "Curtis Music Hall." A green canvas awning shades the entry and above the awning an old marquee spanning the width of the building tells me I'm in the right place: "Jordan Jewelry and Gamer's Fine Food." I park on the street a half block away and hike back to Gamer's. I'm eager to sample some of that fine food. A lot of it.
Inside the front door there's the usual rack of tourist literature; I pick up a brochure on historic Butte and walk through the foyer into the cafe. It looks like something out of a 1930's movie; everything is pastel blues and greens, art-deco furnishings. On the right is a long lunch counter with swivel stools and on the opposing wall are booths, their seats upholstered with white vinyl. It's early and the cafe isn't crowded, only a few diners at the counter and the booths mostly unoccupied. Self seating seems to be the drill, so I pick a booth and settle in. The pamphlet tells me that Curtis Music hall was built in 1892 and during its long history it's been a dance hall, theater, saloon, rooming house and possibly an exclusive bordello. Gamer's Cafe, formerly Gamer's Confectionery, has been in operation continuously since 1933. A waitress approaches my booth and from her appearance, I'm fairly certain she's worked here since the doors were opened in 1933. She even has a 30's name, Myrtle. She hands me a menu and silverware rolled in a napkin, and she's all business. No "Good Morning," or "Welcome to Gamer's," just "Coffee?" I nod yes and begin studying the menu. Another waitress walks past my booth carrying plates heaped with steaming biscuits and hashbrowns and a monster omelet.
There's a problem here. I can't make a decision. I want it all. Fortunately, everything on the menu is cheap, so I decide to go for broke. Myrtle returns with coffee and I order a Farmer's Omelet, home made corned beef hash, cottage fries, biscuits and gravy, and a half order of French toast with maple syrup and fresh blueberries. And orange juice. Yeah, I know, a little over the top. But I'm thinking it could be a long wait until I eat again. After all, this is desolate territory, the Wild West. I'd hate to break down in the middle of nowhere and starve to death because I didn't eat enough breakfast. No regrets, right? Myrtle dutifully writes everything down, looks at me over the top of her glasses, and says "This all for you?" I tell her yes, I'm alone, it's all for me, and I ask if she could stagger the courses--biscuits and gravy first, then omelet and hash, and French toast for dessert. She doesn't comment, but I get a disapproving look and as she walks away I'm pretty sure I hear a "Harrumph." I've already seen that look, earlier this morning, and I wonder if she's related to the old timer at the truck stop.
My food begins arriving, in waves, and it's as good as advertised. The old timer didn't steer me wrong. I eat, and eat, and while eating continue to read the pamphlet on historic Butte. By the time I'm done, I've decided that I can spare a few minutes to check out that $hithole M&M Bar. It may be a tourist trap but it must be famous for a reason. I'm already in the neighborhood, and I'd hate to be this close and not even do a drive-by. Myrtle brings my check, plants it in front of me and says "I'll be your cashier." She doesn't seem impressed that I cleaned all my plates. I glance at the bill, nine bucks and change; it seems way too low. I have a credit card in my hand but before handing it over I pause to examine the bill. Myrtle stands by the booth, hands on hips. I know the pose; if I don't shape up quickly she's gonna start tapping her foot. "Something wrong" she asks? I start to tell her that the bill doesn't seem to be enough for everything I ordered, but she cuts me off abruptly. "I combined your orders. Saved you a few dollars. It's correct. Were you planning to hand me that credit card?" I say "Yes Ma'am, I was," and hand it over. On second thought, I don't think Myrtle would undercharge me. Not her.
She returns with the credit card ticket, I sign, and decide to be bold and ask for directions.
Me: "Do you happen to know how to get to the M&M from here?"
Myrtle: "Are you pulling my leg?"
Me: "No Ma'am."
Myrtle: "You can't be hungry."
Me: "No Ma'am. I just want to check it out."
Myrtle: "What does that mean? You want a drink? At this hour?"
Me: "No. I'm just passing through Butte. Wanted to see what the place looks like. It's supposed to be famous."
Myrtle: "Can you walk?"
Me: "Of course I can walk. Why?"
Myrtle: "I'm not even convinced you can get out of that booth after what you just ate."
Myrtle's idea of humor. She's a laugh a minute. I give her a token chuckle and assure her that I can walk very well, thank you.
Myrtle: "M&M. Go out the front door. Turn left. Walk to the corner. Turn left on Main. Walk 30 feet. Second building on your left. A blind man could find it."
Another blind man comment? What the hell? There's no doubt in my mind now, she has to be related to the old timer. I wait until Myrtle walks away, struggle to my feet and waddle out the front door, heading for the infamous M&M Bar.
To be continued....
Awesome Commander. Good to be riding shotgun again. Hopefully our louisiana brethren can all read this to pass the time. Rain and wind picking up here in jackson. NOLA must be a swimming pool by now
myquestoyota
SILVER Star
I'm gonna do this one more time and then refrain from commenting on every chapter.
Don't think I'm not reading the rest of it I just hate to clutter up your thread with thank you's.....
Thank you!
Don't think I'm not reading the rest of it I just hate to clutter up your thread with thank you's.....
Thank you!
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