Moderators.......PLEASE dont move or kill this incredible thread
Saving The Old Rustbucket--My 1982 FJ40 Tale
- Thread starter Sea Knight
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What a great story! I have not seen it until today and had about an hour + worth of reading to catch up. Can't wait for the next chapter. 
ryanjl
SILVER Star
Mornin' Everyone,
And thanks for the props. Most of this has been fun to write. Some of it, not so much, but therapeutic. I'm pleased that this tale is going over well, and I appreciate your positive comments and PM's. I'll try to finish the OKC chapter and post later today. Then The Turtle and I will be back on the road.
For anyone who feels this thread is veering too far off topic, well, maybe in a sense it is, but it's first and always the story of adventures in an FJ40. Keep in mind that the central character is an old truck, and none of the incidents I write about would ever have occurred without that truck. The same will be true later, when the story moves on from The Turtle and eventually shifts to The Old Rustbucket. A couple of chapters ahead, there may even be some 40 tech. Way ahead, when I run out of story, there's lots of tech, so keep the faith
Cheers,
Lee
I can fit 21 topics on my computer screen at a time. That means this topic is taking up less than 4.8% of my screen; the remaining topics, more than 95.2%.
Those who feel this thread is veering off topic have ample opportunity to click on something else. Those who click on this thread more than likely do so intentionally. Keep up the good work.
Nice story so far... Could use some pics but then again maybe you shouldn't kill my mental images of the Zinger girls and the bbq clerk...
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wesintl said:Nice story so far... Could use some pics but then again maybe you shouldn't kill my mental images of the Zinger grils and the bbq clerk...
I agree. Pictures are for writers who cannot paint with words and this writer is an artist.
- Thread starter
- #126
Army and The Turtle--Part Two
My Dad makes his way into the kitchen, parks his walker, takes a chair at the table, looks at me, and says nothing. It's up to me to get this started. "Morning," I say. "Hey," he says. A word. At least he's talking to me. I'm sort of a coffee snob, and I brought a supply of good stuff along for the road trip, Sumatra dark roast. I pour 20 ounces of mud into his special ARMY mug and set it in front of him. I don't know where the mug came from but it's obviously seen some action, and it's the only mug he'll use. He gets pissed if anyone else touches it. By now the coffee looks like sludge from an overdue Birf job. That means it's just about perfect. He takes a sip. "Good coffee son. Really good coffee." And we're off.
Our conversation starts the way they usually do. Awkward, and a little forced. I ask how he's feeling. He recites all his medical problems--the latest stroke, balance issues, cataracts, and so on. When he launches into a health report, it annoys my Mom but I've finally come around to understanding that he isn't complaining. He doesn't complain; he just provides the facts, and only when asked. My Mom told me last night that she can't get him to slow down. He recently fell in the back yard while trying to prune a big Maple tree. 85 years old and he's trying to climb a ladder. He couldn't get to his feet, and EMS had to be called. Days later he attempted to change the drive belt on their clothes dryer and fell in the laundry room. My Mom called a neighbor to help him up. He's asked my Mom to not mention his falling. She wants me to have a chat with him, to persuade him to stop acting like he's still a young man. I promised her that I would, but I change my mind on the spot and decide not to mention his falls, or ask him to slack off. I won't embarrass him, and he wouldn't listen to me anyway. What my Mom is missing, is that he doesn't know how to stop working. It's all he has left, and I won't be a party to taking that away from him.
In his day, my Dad was a four banana mechanic. I've seen him do everything from simple brake jobs to complete engine rebuilds and everything in between, usually without the help of a repair manual. I figure one thing that will interest him for sure is The Turtle. It looks like something he might have cobbled together himself, and I feel certain he'll want to check it out. I rattle off a few features--a WARN winch similar to one he had on his oil field work truck, dual batteries, manual locking hubs, an old school carburated engine, the jerry-rigged horn button...but he doesn't look interested. Then I mention the mysterious empty clutch reservoir that I discovered at the Hard 8, and say something about not being able to find a leak. He gives me a look of disappointment, one of those parental "Where have I failed?" looks, and starts delivering a lecture about clutch hydraulics, and the most likely places he'd expect to see a leak. I was just making small talk and I don't even think there's a leak, but this conversation is going in the wrong direction so I change course. I tell him about the road trip, about how I know Yooper but not his brother Uncle Meldon, how I'm driving The Turtle to Seattle and then flying to Kona to pick it up. I think it's interesting, but the notion of taking a road trip for no apparent purpose baffles him.
Dad: "So you don't know the guy who bought this truck?"
Me: "No. I know his brother."
Dad: "But you don't know him."
Me: "Nope."
Dad: "That thing doesn't look comfortable. Is it?"
Me: "No, it's pretty uncomfortable."
Dad: "Air Conditioned?"
Me: "No, but Dad, it's April."
Dad: "Just asking. Power steering? Looks like you'd need it with those tractor tires."
Me: "Yes, a nice Saginaw conversion."
Dad: "What? Never mind."
Dad: "How much is this guy paying you?"
Me: "Nothing, but he's buying gas and paying travel expenses. Food, and motels if I need them."
Dad: "Let me get this straight. You're driving that thing 3,500 miles, for someone you don't even know, for nothing?"
Me: "No, not for nothing. He's a Cruiser friend, or soon will be, and it'll be an adventure."
Dad: "You're joking."
Me: "No. I should probably be paying him."
I would have been wise to leave out the last sentence. My Dad is quiet, but I can see he's thinking that he's raised an idiot.
Dad: "Why would you do this for someone you don't know, without compensation? People pay good money for these services."
We could talk for days and he'd never understand, so I shift gears and start discussing anything else I can think of--the national news, Bin Laden (He thinks we should take the bastard out), global warming (He's an earth scientist, and he thinks it's real but overblown. He thinks Al Gore is a buffoon.), family gossip, and so on. When we run out of things to discuss, he heads for the TV room and I go to the driveway, still hoping he'll come out to inspect The Turtle. I quickly go through my checklist--Clutch fluid is slightly low but nothing alarming, all other systems are A-OK. Cute lady from two doors down walks across the yard and starts asking questions about the 40. She grew up down the street; I've known her since she was 10. She leaves and returns with her husband in tow; he's a car guy, vintage Mustangs. They have a little cooler of Coors and offer one to me. Not the best beer, but it sounds good and I accept. We stand in the driveway, the three of us, and talk trucks until the suds are gone. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of my Dad at the window, leaning on his walker. I know he's curious but doesn't want to admit it. He might even enjoy a cold one, but he never comes out.
Back inside, early supper, we feast on leftovers from last night, and they're better the second time around. My Mom thinks it looks bad for me and the neighbors to be drinking alcoholic beverages in plain sight. "What will people think? We've lived here 35 years. We have a reputation to think about." It would be a waste of breath to tell her that Coors is weaker than her ice tea, so I promise to be more careful. I tidy up the kitchen and decide to turn in early. I'm really tired. And sleepy. Must have been those two cans of Coors.
Departure morning. I build another pot of Sumatra and decide a trucker's breakfast is in order. I cook eggs and sausage, and bacon, and a bag of frozen biscuits that I uncovered in the freezer. Homemade biscuits that my Mom made. It goes over well. Not much early morning conversation, just the sounds of eating. Afterwards I load the dishwasher, then toss my bag in The Turtle and I'm ready to roll.
Leaving is never easy. My Mom cried for the first time when I boarded a plane for Southeast Asia 35 years ago. Nothing has changed. She always cries, and my Dad always tries to say something affectionate but usually falls short. He's a man of few words. At the door, my Mom chokes up, tells me to be careful, and asks that I call whenever possible. "Call your Mother,"she says. My Dad says something that's barely audible about keeping an eye on that leaky clutch, and then as I walk away, louder, he says "Son, if you get in trouble on the road, call me. I don't know what I could do to help, but I'd figure something out." And he would, too. My Dad can fix anything.
My Dad makes his way into the kitchen, parks his walker, takes a chair at the table, looks at me, and says nothing. It's up to me to get this started. "Morning," I say. "Hey," he says. A word. At least he's talking to me. I'm sort of a coffee snob, and I brought a supply of good stuff along for the road trip, Sumatra dark roast. I pour 20 ounces of mud into his special ARMY mug and set it in front of him. I don't know where the mug came from but it's obviously seen some action, and it's the only mug he'll use. He gets pissed if anyone else touches it. By now the coffee looks like sludge from an overdue Birf job. That means it's just about perfect. He takes a sip. "Good coffee son. Really good coffee." And we're off.
Our conversation starts the way they usually do. Awkward, and a little forced. I ask how he's feeling. He recites all his medical problems--the latest stroke, balance issues, cataracts, and so on. When he launches into a health report, it annoys my Mom but I've finally come around to understanding that he isn't complaining. He doesn't complain; he just provides the facts, and only when asked. My Mom told me last night that she can't get him to slow down. He recently fell in the back yard while trying to prune a big Maple tree. 85 years old and he's trying to climb a ladder. He couldn't get to his feet, and EMS had to be called. Days later he attempted to change the drive belt on their clothes dryer and fell in the laundry room. My Mom called a neighbor to help him up. He's asked my Mom to not mention his falling. She wants me to have a chat with him, to persuade him to stop acting like he's still a young man. I promised her that I would, but I change my mind on the spot and decide not to mention his falls, or ask him to slack off. I won't embarrass him, and he wouldn't listen to me anyway. What my Mom is missing, is that he doesn't know how to stop working. It's all he has left, and I won't be a party to taking that away from him.
In his day, my Dad was a four banana mechanic. I've seen him do everything from simple brake jobs to complete engine rebuilds and everything in between, usually without the help of a repair manual. I figure one thing that will interest him for sure is The Turtle. It looks like something he might have cobbled together himself, and I feel certain he'll want to check it out. I rattle off a few features--a WARN winch similar to one he had on his oil field work truck, dual batteries, manual locking hubs, an old school carburated engine, the jerry-rigged horn button...but he doesn't look interested. Then I mention the mysterious empty clutch reservoir that I discovered at the Hard 8, and say something about not being able to find a leak. He gives me a look of disappointment, one of those parental "Where have I failed?" looks, and starts delivering a lecture about clutch hydraulics, and the most likely places he'd expect to see a leak. I was just making small talk and I don't even think there's a leak, but this conversation is going in the wrong direction so I change course. I tell him about the road trip, about how I know Yooper but not his brother Uncle Meldon, how I'm driving The Turtle to Seattle and then flying to Kona to pick it up. I think it's interesting, but the notion of taking a road trip for no apparent purpose baffles him.
Dad: "So you don't know the guy who bought this truck?"
Me: "No. I know his brother."
Dad: "But you don't know him."
Me: "Nope."
Dad: "That thing doesn't look comfortable. Is it?"
Me: "No, it's pretty uncomfortable."
Dad: "Air Conditioned?"
Me: "No, but Dad, it's April."
Dad: "Just asking. Power steering? Looks like you'd need it with those tractor tires."
Me: "Yes, a nice Saginaw conversion."
Dad: "What? Never mind."
Dad: "How much is this guy paying you?"
Me: "Nothing, but he's buying gas and paying travel expenses. Food, and motels if I need them."
Dad: "Let me get this straight. You're driving that thing 3,500 miles, for someone you don't even know, for nothing?"
Me: "No, not for nothing. He's a Cruiser friend, or soon will be, and it'll be an adventure."
Dad: "You're joking."
Me: "No. I should probably be paying him."
I would have been wise to leave out the last sentence. My Dad is quiet, but I can see he's thinking that he's raised an idiot.
Dad: "Why would you do this for someone you don't know, without compensation? People pay good money for these services."
We could talk for days and he'd never understand, so I shift gears and start discussing anything else I can think of--the national news, Bin Laden (He thinks we should take the bastard out), global warming (He's an earth scientist, and he thinks it's real but overblown. He thinks Al Gore is a buffoon.), family gossip, and so on. When we run out of things to discuss, he heads for the TV room and I go to the driveway, still hoping he'll come out to inspect The Turtle. I quickly go through my checklist--Clutch fluid is slightly low but nothing alarming, all other systems are A-OK. Cute lady from two doors down walks across the yard and starts asking questions about the 40. She grew up down the street; I've known her since she was 10. She leaves and returns with her husband in tow; he's a car guy, vintage Mustangs. They have a little cooler of Coors and offer one to me. Not the best beer, but it sounds good and I accept. We stand in the driveway, the three of us, and talk trucks until the suds are gone. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of my Dad at the window, leaning on his walker. I know he's curious but doesn't want to admit it. He might even enjoy a cold one, but he never comes out.
Back inside, early supper, we feast on leftovers from last night, and they're better the second time around. My Mom thinks it looks bad for me and the neighbors to be drinking alcoholic beverages in plain sight. "What will people think? We've lived here 35 years. We have a reputation to think about." It would be a waste of breath to tell her that Coors is weaker than her ice tea, so I promise to be more careful. I tidy up the kitchen and decide to turn in early. I'm really tired. And sleepy. Must have been those two cans of Coors.
Departure morning. I build another pot of Sumatra and decide a trucker's breakfast is in order. I cook eggs and sausage, and bacon, and a bag of frozen biscuits that I uncovered in the freezer. Homemade biscuits that my Mom made. It goes over well. Not much early morning conversation, just the sounds of eating. Afterwards I load the dishwasher, then toss my bag in The Turtle and I'm ready to roll.
Leaving is never easy. My Mom cried for the first time when I boarded a plane for Southeast Asia 35 years ago. Nothing has changed. She always cries, and my Dad always tries to say something affectionate but usually falls short. He's a man of few words. At the door, my Mom chokes up, tells me to be careful, and asks that I call whenever possible. "Call your Mother,"she says. My Dad says something that's barely audible about keeping an eye on that leaky clutch, and then as I walk away, louder, he says "Son, if you get in trouble on the road, call me. I don't know what I could do to help, but I'd figure something out." And he would, too. My Dad can fix anything.
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Living in the Past
SILVER Star
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2005
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- 25,015
I was getting all on board with this not so tech thread until you said your dad called Al Gore a buffoon. We wouldn't be reading this today if it wasn't for Al Gore. I going to let this one slide but from now on we need some respect for the inventor of the internet
Great read keep up the good work.
Great read keep up the good work.
- Thread starter
- #128
I was getting all on board with this not so tech thread until you said your dad called Al Gore a buffoon. We wouldn't be reading this today if it wasn't for Al Gore. I going to let this one slide but from now on we need some respect for the inventor of the internet
LMAO. Point taken. I bow to the greatness that is AlGore.
Your editor approves, although you are still wordy!
You are a fantastic writer and very illustrative in your narrative. Keep churning em out old man!
F' the editor, your publisher approves. More words please.
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I have this habit of skipping to the last page of a thread to see if it's worth reading. It's a bad habit.
Going back to page one so I can enjoy all of it. Well written narative is rare on the internet.
Going back to page one so I can enjoy all of it. Well written narative is rare on the internet.
77mustard40
SILVER Star
Sea Knight said:
Hard men have difficulties with words and may never be able to say something they really want to say, even after years of "hearing" themselves say it in preparation. Lee where I'm going with this is you may have to look for these simple words, or even simple glances and awkward silent exchanges. I know what you are struggling with right now, just try to take joy in any little thing that gives him joy with each of his remaining days. Sometime that simple concession is all we need in the end.
Fear not. This story will be longer than War and Peace, and more entertaining than Young Hippies in Love. Really, it will.
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Excellent.........waiting on more
kling-on
Kool Arrow
love the story ... I'm goin to have to go see my Dad this weekend now ... makes me miss him ... I remember the day I could fix a truck/car better then him .... I dont know if he was crushed or happy.
- Thread starter
- #137
The Mother Road--Part One
One of my friends from college, Tom, is an oil and gas attorney in Dumas, Texas, 300 miles from Oklahoma City. 300 miles also happens to be the maximum distance I can tolerate The Turtle's petrified seats without taking a break. Perfect. I haven't seen Tom in a dozen years, but we stay in touch. From what I can gather he's done well. He owns a ranch in the Texas panhandle, and he's offered the use of his guest house for the night. Good for me, good for the old travel budget. Today I plan to follow Route 66 westward through Yukon and El Reno, Hydro and Weatherford, Clinton and Elk City, then on toward Amarillo and finally Dumas, 50 miles north of Amarillo.
The weather couldn't be more spectacular. Oklahoma has bitter Winters but even though it's April and should still be frigid, I'm looking at clear sunny skies and 70 degree temps. I'd call it inspiring. I open the kick vents and tune in KOMA, an iconic AM oldies station I've listened to since the 60's. It's one of those monster stations you can pull in for hundreds of miles and I feel certain it'll stay with me through the flatlands all the way to Dumas. So The Turtle is cruisin' down the old Mother Road, humming along at an easy 55 mph clip, and I'm feeling a happy little bounce from the suspension at every concrete expansion joint. KOMA doesn't let me down. Exiting Yukon I hear Tom Petty...
If you ever plan to motor west,
Travel my way, take the highway that is best.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
-- Bobby Troup
Travel my way, take the highway that is best.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
-- Bobby Troup
John Steinbeck was the first to call US Route 66 The Mother Road. Others referred to 66 as the Main Street of America. It was both. Construction began in the 1920's and once completed, Route 66 would become the first US super highway, two continuous lanes of concrete originating in Chicago and snaking almost 2500 miles across the American West. I can trace my love of the road directly to a 1960's television series, also called Route 66. It featured two handsome young guys, Buzz and Todd, exploring The Mother Road in a '60 Corvette convertible. There was no continuing story line. They'd drive from town to town, stop for a few days, have an adventure, then move on. No matter how small or nondescript the town there was always excitement in store, and often romance. All the episodes were filmed on location, and watching the show was almost like being there. Every week I'd lose myself in that show and dream of being in the Vette, just me and the open road, chasing adventure. Life got in the way of that dream for a few decades, but now it's 2005 and here I am. From my parent's house in Oklahoma City, The Turtle and I creep through their sleepy neighborhood for two long blocks, turn South on Meridian Avenue, then another mile and we turn West, onto The Mother Road.
Lookin' for adventure...(Yeah, I know, Steppenwolf)
Lookin' for adventure...(Yeah, I know, Steppenwolf)
One of my friends from college, Tom, is an oil and gas attorney in Dumas, Texas, 300 miles from Oklahoma City. 300 miles also happens to be the maximum distance I can tolerate The Turtle's petrified seats without taking a break. Perfect. I haven't seen Tom in a dozen years, but we stay in touch. From what I can gather he's done well. He owns a ranch in the Texas panhandle, and he's offered the use of his guest house for the night. Good for me, good for the old travel budget. Today I plan to follow Route 66 westward through Yukon and El Reno, Hydro and Weatherford, Clinton and Elk City, then on toward Amarillo and finally Dumas, 50 miles north of Amarillo.
The weather couldn't be more spectacular. Oklahoma has bitter Winters but even though it's April and should still be frigid, I'm looking at clear sunny skies and 70 degree temps. I'd call it inspiring. I open the kick vents and tune in KOMA, an iconic AM oldies station I've listened to since the 60's. It's one of those monster stations you can pull in for hundreds of miles and I feel certain it'll stay with me through the flatlands all the way to Dumas. So The Turtle is cruisin' down the old Mother Road, humming along at an easy 55 mph clip, and I'm feeling a happy little bounce from the suspension at every concrete expansion joint. KOMA doesn't let me down. Exiting Yukon I hear Tom Petty...
It was a beautiful day, the sun beat down
I had the radio on, I was drivin'
Trees flew by, an' me and Del were singin' Little Runaway
I was flyin'
Yeah runnin' down a dream
I had the radio on, I was drivin'
Trees flew by, an' me and Del were singin' Little Runaway
I was flyin'
Yeah runnin' down a dream
Beginning in the early 1960's, Route 66 began to lose popularity. Life was faster, people were in a hurry to get places, and by then there were 4 lane, high speed highways that would take you most anywhere without seeing so much as a single stop sign. Today, somewhere around 80% of The Mother Road is still open, including almost 400 miles in Oklahoma. I'm in no hurry and I'm enjoying this nostalgic drive. There are long stretches of this road where you could close your eyes, blink, and think you've stumbled through the twilight zone and been transported back to the 30's. Old road signs, boarded up gas stations, dilapidated motels--they're all still here, and likely there's a thousand great stories behind every one. I'm enjoying the scenery and wondering if I'm retracing any of the steps taken by Buzz and Todd.
I've driven sections of this road before, and I know a little history. After Yukon comes El Reno, founded at the time of the 1889 Oklahoma land rush, supposedly the place where the onion burger was invented, and the location where a scene from Rain Man was filmed. Yep, Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman spent a few days in this little burg, filming at the old Big 8 Motel. Next month is the big event of the year in El Reno, their Fried Onion Burger Festival. I'll miss it by days, darn it. On down the road is Hydro, where people still come to be photographed in front of Lucille's Gas Station. Built in 1927, in it's heyday Lucille's was known as the Mother of The Mother Road. Out back you can see the remains of an old tourist court where motorists could stay for $2 a night. The station finally closed in 2000 and now it's designated as a National Historic Site. Lucille herself is buried somewhere on the property, probably keeping watch. After Hydro is Weatherford, home of the 66 West Twin Drive-In. To my amazement, this old dinosaur is still open for business. They're showing War of the Worlds and Batman Begins, a double feature. Don't see many of those any more. I pull over and snap a photo through the window and as I pull away, I see trouble.
Weather in these parts can change on a dime and even though I diligently checked the long range forecast before leaving, off to my left there's a big black cloud puffing up in the sky. What the hell? Where did that come from? This wasn't supposed to happen. I can't gauge the distance. It could blow away before I get there, or stay put and wreak havoc. Sudden storms here are legendary and I can imagine me and The Turtle being picked up and rudely deposited in the middle of a wheat field, upside down. I've been driving less than two hours and OKC is only 75 miles behind me. I weigh my options. I can turn around, or mush on. I decide to mush on. The next town is Clinton, about 20 miles away. I can't remember anything about Clinton except for a good Bar-B-Que joint, Jiggs Smoke House, on the outskirts. At least I know there's civilization ahead and if there's a storm, there's bound to be shelter.
....to be continued
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Not an exact quote but should be close:
"If you don't like the weather in Oklahoma, wait a minute and it'll change" - Will Rogers
True story.
Also, I grew up on Sapulpa which is in the neighborhood right off of 23rd and Meridian. We're practically neighbors!!!
"If you don't like the weather in Oklahoma, wait a minute and it'll change" - Will Rogers
True story.
Also, I grew up on Sapulpa which is in the neighborhood right off of 23rd and Meridian. We're practically neighbors!!!
- Thread starter
- #139
Your Will Rogers quote is spot on, and I know your neighborhood. NW 57th at Meridian here. My parents moved there after I'd left home, but I know the hood well.
I see lots of 40's in OKC, several every time I'm there. Too bad the nearest Cruiser club is Tulsa.
Dang!! I remember Buzz and Todd, watched that show every week, it was great. Seen a poster for the show Route 66 in Fredericksburg not too long ago, almost bought it. Martin Milner and I can't remeber the other guy's name. I loved that 'vette. maybe that's why I'd like to have one now. Great story Lee, keep it up.
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