Did you find her yet Barry? A dvm that looks like elle mcpherson shouldn't be too hard.
Saving The Old Rustbucket--My 1982 FJ40 Tale (4 Viewers)
- Thread starter Sea Knight
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- #302
Heh. Bet half the guys on this thread have been combing facebook for her though. Ft Collins isn't very big.
This road trip took place in early 2005. I doubt you'd have any luck searching Fort Collins.
You guys should just go with your imagination.
Or...
- Thread starter
- #303
Snowing on Raton
Since Boy Scout days I've heard people complain about sleeping outdoors, including more than a few who claim to be experienced campers. They're bothered by everything from wind and rain and the lack of heat to the sounds of creatures rustling in the darkness. I'm not one of those people; some of my best sleep has come in the wilderness. Camping in overgrown grass behind an old motel barely fifty yards from the highway is hardly roughing it, but it is quiet and isolated. I slept soundly, probably with a little help from Moose Drool, and it's almost nine when I crawl out of the tent. Instead of seeing the accumulation of fresh snow that I expected, the sun is shining brightly and yesterday's snow fall has already begun to melt off. There's no wind, and it even feels warm. I'm hot natured and this almost seems like t-shirt weather. I take my time storing the tent and sleeping bag, intentionally delaying arrival in Raton. It's only fifty miles ahead and I intend to grab a late breakfast and shower there, but I don't want to run into Gayla and have to explain why I'm not already in Denver. Downtown near her motel, there's a great old time diner just off US 64, The Oasis, where they serve a monster breakfast and real coffee at 1950's prices. That's my first destination. Then, just before turning onto Interstate 25, several truck stops offer hot showers for five bucks. Even better, in warmer weather, you can use their hoses and take an outdoor shower for free. If the weather holds, that may be a possibility today.
The Turtle's 2F fires right up and we begin driving northwest on US 64/87, the road which takes us all the way to Raton. We pass through Des Moines and to the west I can see the outline of Capulin, a long dormant volcano. Further in the distance, snow capped peaks of the Sangre de Cristo mountains are visible on clear days, a picturesque backdrop to the surrounding range lands. Capulin is a designated National Monument and well worth a detour. It's possible to drive to the top and hike down into the crater. From atop the 8,000 foot crater rim trail, views are spectacular but today we won't be stopping. This evening I really am expected in Denver. From Raton to Denver is usually a four hour drive and I hope to sneak into town just ahead of rush hour. That should be easy to accomplish with a noon departure.
At the Oasis, I pork down a stack of blueberry pancakes, followed by a Spanish omelet with a side of smoked bacon and a generous heap of hand cut hash browns, all washed down with several mugs of high octane coffee. It's even better than I remembered; that should hold me until dinner time. By now it's just past 11 AM and I'll have plenty of time to fill the tank and grab a shower. Weather through the pass can be severe at this time of year so I check the forecast at the truck stop. Clear all the way to Denver, they tell me. It's still sunny and creeping up on 70 degrees, remarkable for April. After hosing myself off at the truck stop I decide to change into shorts and a t-shirt. Thirty minutes later and we're gassed up, clean duds, ready to rock and roll.
Raton Pass is part of the historic Santa Fe Trail, a path cut in the early 1800's by Southwestern explorers. For almost two hundred years the pass has been the primary gateway between northern New Mexico and southern Colorado, dipping from Raton into a basin, then rising to almost 8,000 feet at the New Mexico-Colorado border before descending into Colorado. I've driven through this pass at least a hundred times and know very well that weather conditions can change in a heartbeat, or even be totally different on either side of the pass. Today I buy into the sunny skies and balmy forecast and don't even give this a thought. The Turtle and I begin descending into Raton Basin and sure enough, conditions couldn't be better. The basin marks the beginning of the Rocky Mountain foothills, and the scenery is a stark contrast to the flat prairie lands behind me. I poke along in the right lane in second gear, windows down, and periodically pull onto the shoulder to snap photos. Emerging from the basin and beginning the climb, I notice the temperature is dropping. No surprise there given the change in altitude. I roll up the windows, crank on the heater and all is well.
At the crest of the pass, looking down into Colorado, there's a different world ahead. The sun has disappeared, and I see darkened skies with snow falling, not the little flurries we saw yesterday, but big sloppy flakes falling quickly and already covering the roadway. Vehicles coming up the pass have their headlights on and they're barely moving. From behind it seems that every vehicle moving in my direction is attempting to make it to flat ground before the road becomes impassable. Eighteen wheelers are blowing by me and shaking the truck, making it difficult to stay in my lane, or what little I can see of it. I pull over and stop in order to let them pass. Visibility is becoming a big problem, and I think it would be an excellent idea for us to get the hell out of here too, the sooner the better. When the coast looks clear from behind I attempt to shift into first gear and there's no pedal. The Turtle has no clutch. We sit there for a while as I weigh options. I check the cell phone, no signal, so no help there. I could probably coast most of the way down, but wouldn't have much control so that's out. I decide to try and grind into second gear without the benefit of a clutch, something my Dad taught me to do as a kid. I try to remember his lesson. Turn the engine off, find first gear, start the engine and wait for the tranny to engage. I haven't done this in years and I'm not even sure I'm remembering correctly, but it's worth a try. I jam the shift lever into gear, turn the key, and The Turtle starts moving. I think I can shift gears without the benefit of clutch hydraulics once we're up to speed. I try this and there's an ugly grinding noise, but it works. I decide not to tempt fate so I turn on the warning flashers and we stay in second gear in the outside lane. Eventually we make it to the bottom, to flat ground and we're on IH-25 slowly creeping north, still in second. What to do now? On the Colorado side, now through the pass, it's still snowing but the road is relatively clear; we keep moving. The next town ahead is Trinidad but as I recall there's not much there. It's not a place I care to stop.
On the first long flat stretch, as an experiment, I attempt to shift into third and Shazaam, like magic the clutch works and I'm in third gear. Huh? I accelerate, try the clutch again, and I'm in fourth. This makes no sense but we're moving under power and I'm not about to question good luck, so I keep driving. A few miles pass and somewhere north of Trinidad I need to downshift; again the clutch is gone and we begin lugging badly on the uphill grade. I coast onto the shoulder, try Army's no-clutch procedure again, hear the loud grinding but again I'm able to get into second. I begin worrying that if I keep on grinding gears like this, I'm likely to really screw something up, and I remind myself that this isn't my truck. I'm almost two hundred miles from Denver and trying to make it there under these conditions just isn't smart. I begin looking for the first exit with lights and shortly spot a Diamond Shamrock convenience store on my right, Exit 74. I take the exit and pull into a lone spot at the edge of the parking area. I'm gonna need to leave room for a tow truck.
I don't know if smart phones existed in 2005 but if they did, I didn't own one. I do have a military spec cell phone, but it hasn't been charged since the Glancy Motel in Oklahoma, three days earlier, and I'm almost out of juice. It's 2:30 and there's no way I'm making it to Denver, so my first call is to my old friend Steve, known on MUD as Overhanger. I give Steve a short report and tell him not to hold dinner. I speculate that either the clutch master cylinder has crapped out, or the slave, or both, but I'm not inclined to troubleshoot outdoors in this weather. With no tools or spare parts, there's no point. I promise to call back as soon as I figure out which end is up. A nice lady at the register tells me there's a small Toyota dealership in Pueblo, twenty five miles north. That's good I think, and fortunately I'd upgraded to AAA 100 mile towing before leaving on this trip. I call AAA and hold for thirty minutes, argue with the dispatcher, and finally convince her to send a tow truck. She tells me that I may have a two to three hour wait due to a rash of weather related accidents between Raton Pass and Pueblo. At least I'm not one of them. It continues to snow and I'm wearing the same shorts and t-shirt that I put on three hours earlier in sunny Raton, but it's warm inside the store and assistance is on the way. Things could be much worse, and the sympathetic cashier offers me free coffee and doughnuts while I wait.
As I'm waiting for AAA, Steve is posting updates to the 3FE Land Cruiser forum. Here's his first post:
"Tracking the Commander
I was sincerely hoping that by now the Commander and I would be getting bored swapping lies and ready to bombard the list with stories of speeding northward in an FJ40 bound for Glory (Hawaii). That will,unfortunately, have to wait as Lee and the Cruiser have ground to a halt at mile marker 74 on I-25 south of Pueblo. ......He is in a Shamrock convenience store parking lot trying to figure out what has happened to the clutch. Sounds as if the clutch M/C has gone belly up and that he wasn't keen on the idea of grinding gears, truck driver style, in a vehicle that doesn't belong to him. He was just beginning to troubleshoot the situation and called to let me know why he hadn't pulled up in front of mi casa yet. I hope he downloaded the Cruiser Assistance list and that his cell phone battery is fully charged. Any of you 40 series owners have any quick fixes that might work?
Steve"
Tomorrow the mountains will be sleeping
Silently their blanket green and blue
I shall hear the silence they are keeping
I’ll bring all their promises to you
It’s snowing on Raton
Come morning I’ll be through them hills and gone
--Townes Van Zandt, Snowing on Raton
Silently their blanket green and blue
I shall hear the silence they are keeping
I’ll bring all their promises to you
It’s snowing on Raton
Come morning I’ll be through them hills and gone
--Townes Van Zandt, Snowing on Raton
Since Boy Scout days I've heard people complain about sleeping outdoors, including more than a few who claim to be experienced campers. They're bothered by everything from wind and rain and the lack of heat to the sounds of creatures rustling in the darkness. I'm not one of those people; some of my best sleep has come in the wilderness. Camping in overgrown grass behind an old motel barely fifty yards from the highway is hardly roughing it, but it is quiet and isolated. I slept soundly, probably with a little help from Moose Drool, and it's almost nine when I crawl out of the tent. Instead of seeing the accumulation of fresh snow that I expected, the sun is shining brightly and yesterday's snow fall has already begun to melt off. There's no wind, and it even feels warm. I'm hot natured and this almost seems like t-shirt weather. I take my time storing the tent and sleeping bag, intentionally delaying arrival in Raton. It's only fifty miles ahead and I intend to grab a late breakfast and shower there, but I don't want to run into Gayla and have to explain why I'm not already in Denver. Downtown near her motel, there's a great old time diner just off US 64, The Oasis, where they serve a monster breakfast and real coffee at 1950's prices. That's my first destination. Then, just before turning onto Interstate 25, several truck stops offer hot showers for five bucks. Even better, in warmer weather, you can use their hoses and take an outdoor shower for free. If the weather holds, that may be a possibility today.
The Turtle's 2F fires right up and we begin driving northwest on US 64/87, the road which takes us all the way to Raton. We pass through Des Moines and to the west I can see the outline of Capulin, a long dormant volcano. Further in the distance, snow capped peaks of the Sangre de Cristo mountains are visible on clear days, a picturesque backdrop to the surrounding range lands. Capulin is a designated National Monument and well worth a detour. It's possible to drive to the top and hike down into the crater. From atop the 8,000 foot crater rim trail, views are spectacular but today we won't be stopping. This evening I really am expected in Denver. From Raton to Denver is usually a four hour drive and I hope to sneak into town just ahead of rush hour. That should be easy to accomplish with a noon departure.
At the Oasis, I pork down a stack of blueberry pancakes, followed by a Spanish omelet with a side of smoked bacon and a generous heap of hand cut hash browns, all washed down with several mugs of high octane coffee. It's even better than I remembered; that should hold me until dinner time. By now it's just past 11 AM and I'll have plenty of time to fill the tank and grab a shower. Weather through the pass can be severe at this time of year so I check the forecast at the truck stop. Clear all the way to Denver, they tell me. It's still sunny and creeping up on 70 degrees, remarkable for April. After hosing myself off at the truck stop I decide to change into shorts and a t-shirt. Thirty minutes later and we're gassed up, clean duds, ready to rock and roll.
Raton Pass is part of the historic Santa Fe Trail, a path cut in the early 1800's by Southwestern explorers. For almost two hundred years the pass has been the primary gateway between northern New Mexico and southern Colorado, dipping from Raton into a basin, then rising to almost 8,000 feet at the New Mexico-Colorado border before descending into Colorado. I've driven through this pass at least a hundred times and know very well that weather conditions can change in a heartbeat, or even be totally different on either side of the pass. Today I buy into the sunny skies and balmy forecast and don't even give this a thought. The Turtle and I begin descending into Raton Basin and sure enough, conditions couldn't be better. The basin marks the beginning of the Rocky Mountain foothills, and the scenery is a stark contrast to the flat prairie lands behind me. I poke along in the right lane in second gear, windows down, and periodically pull onto the shoulder to snap photos. Emerging from the basin and beginning the climb, I notice the temperature is dropping. No surprise there given the change in altitude. I roll up the windows, crank on the heater and all is well.
At the crest of the pass, looking down into Colorado, there's a different world ahead. The sun has disappeared, and I see darkened skies with snow falling, not the little flurries we saw yesterday, but big sloppy flakes falling quickly and already covering the roadway. Vehicles coming up the pass have their headlights on and they're barely moving. From behind it seems that every vehicle moving in my direction is attempting to make it to flat ground before the road becomes impassable. Eighteen wheelers are blowing by me and shaking the truck, making it difficult to stay in my lane, or what little I can see of it. I pull over and stop in order to let them pass. Visibility is becoming a big problem, and I think it would be an excellent idea for us to get the hell out of here too, the sooner the better. When the coast looks clear from behind I attempt to shift into first gear and there's no pedal. The Turtle has no clutch. We sit there for a while as I weigh options. I check the cell phone, no signal, so no help there. I could probably coast most of the way down, but wouldn't have much control so that's out. I decide to try and grind into second gear without the benefit of a clutch, something my Dad taught me to do as a kid. I try to remember his lesson. Turn the engine off, find first gear, start the engine and wait for the tranny to engage. I haven't done this in years and I'm not even sure I'm remembering correctly, but it's worth a try. I jam the shift lever into gear, turn the key, and The Turtle starts moving. I think I can shift gears without the benefit of clutch hydraulics once we're up to speed. I try this and there's an ugly grinding noise, but it works. I decide not to tempt fate so I turn on the warning flashers and we stay in second gear in the outside lane. Eventually we make it to the bottom, to flat ground and we're on IH-25 slowly creeping north, still in second. What to do now? On the Colorado side, now through the pass, it's still snowing but the road is relatively clear; we keep moving. The next town ahead is Trinidad but as I recall there's not much there. It's not a place I care to stop.
On the first long flat stretch, as an experiment, I attempt to shift into third and Shazaam, like magic the clutch works and I'm in third gear. Huh? I accelerate, try the clutch again, and I'm in fourth. This makes no sense but we're moving under power and I'm not about to question good luck, so I keep driving. A few miles pass and somewhere north of Trinidad I need to downshift; again the clutch is gone and we begin lugging badly on the uphill grade. I coast onto the shoulder, try Army's no-clutch procedure again, hear the loud grinding but again I'm able to get into second. I begin worrying that if I keep on grinding gears like this, I'm likely to really screw something up, and I remind myself that this isn't my truck. I'm almost two hundred miles from Denver and trying to make it there under these conditions just isn't smart. I begin looking for the first exit with lights and shortly spot a Diamond Shamrock convenience store on my right, Exit 74. I take the exit and pull into a lone spot at the edge of the parking area. I'm gonna need to leave room for a tow truck.
I don't know if smart phones existed in 2005 but if they did, I didn't own one. I do have a military spec cell phone, but it hasn't been charged since the Glancy Motel in Oklahoma, three days earlier, and I'm almost out of juice. It's 2:30 and there's no way I'm making it to Denver, so my first call is to my old friend Steve, known on MUD as Overhanger. I give Steve a short report and tell him not to hold dinner. I speculate that either the clutch master cylinder has crapped out, or the slave, or both, but I'm not inclined to troubleshoot outdoors in this weather. With no tools or spare parts, there's no point. I promise to call back as soon as I figure out which end is up. A nice lady at the register tells me there's a small Toyota dealership in Pueblo, twenty five miles north. That's good I think, and fortunately I'd upgraded to AAA 100 mile towing before leaving on this trip. I call AAA and hold for thirty minutes, argue with the dispatcher, and finally convince her to send a tow truck. She tells me that I may have a two to three hour wait due to a rash of weather related accidents between Raton Pass and Pueblo. At least I'm not one of them. It continues to snow and I'm wearing the same shorts and t-shirt that I put on three hours earlier in sunny Raton, but it's warm inside the store and assistance is on the way. Things could be much worse, and the sympathetic cashier offers me free coffee and doughnuts while I wait.
As I'm waiting for AAA, Steve is posting updates to the 3FE Land Cruiser forum. Here's his first post:
"Tracking the Commander
I was sincerely hoping that by now the Commander and I would be getting bored swapping lies and ready to bombard the list with stories of speeding northward in an FJ40 bound for Glory (Hawaii). That will,unfortunately, have to wait as Lee and the Cruiser have ground to a halt at mile marker 74 on I-25 south of Pueblo. ......He is in a Shamrock convenience store parking lot trying to figure out what has happened to the clutch. Sounds as if the clutch M/C has gone belly up and that he wasn't keen on the idea of grinding gears, truck driver style, in a vehicle that doesn't belong to him. He was just beginning to troubleshoot the situation and called to let me know why he hadn't pulled up in front of mi casa yet. I hope he downloaded the Cruiser Assistance list and that his cell phone battery is fully charged. Any of you 40 series owners have any quick fixes that might work?
Steve"
To be continued...
Attached Pics--Capulin Volcano, entering Raton Pass on IH-25 from sunny New Mexico, and descending Raton Pass into Colorado.
Last edited:
wow what an amazing story, i to have had to drive without a clutch to get me home, thankfully i have a tach in my 40 so it was easer to mach my RPMs to my speed to shift. cant wate for more!!!
My71FJ40
SILVER Star
Great read! Almost like reading Patrick F. McManus but without the canoes Keep it coming.
Keep it coming.
kling-on
Kool Arrow
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I practice no clutch driving all the time for just this reason... Again great read keep it up commander
Sent from outer space via my mind
Sent from outer space via my mind
77mustard40
SILVER Star
Sitting here sipping a leftover from Friday's gathering and thinking of the time I lost my slave in the boot heal of New Mexico. Jammed her in gear and kept plugging, even stopped to pick up a couple of guys really stranded (rock to the oil pan), stuffed them in the back with ice chests and bird dogs and crawled all the way home.
- Thread starter
- #308
Official Soundtrack
I've just been advised that I forgot to include the official soundtrack for the Raton Pass chapter. Here ya go, along with a couple of Oasis Diner shots that I wasn't able to attach earlier.
Link---> Townes van Zandt - Snowin' on Raton - YouTube
I've just been advised that I forgot to include the official soundtrack for the Raton Pass chapter. Here ya go, along with a couple of Oasis Diner shots that I wasn't able to attach earlier.
Link---> Townes van Zandt - Snowin' on Raton - YouTube
.
Jacket
Moderator
Cameo from Crash!
- Thread starter
- #311
Chillin' in Pueblo
After calling Steve in Denver to report the breakdown, and after requesting a tow truck, I get bold. It's snowing and the convenience store clerk tells me the temp is hovering around 20 degrees, but I decide to suck it up and attempt a quick diagnosis of the clutch issue. I borrow a parka and Maglite from a guy stocking the drink cooler and dash out to The Turtle. I remember the PO telling me that he'd replaced the clutch slave within the past month so I'm skeptical that could be the problem. From a cursory visual check, the slave looks spankin' new and there's no evidence of fluid leakage so I dismiss that possibility. I open the hood and see fluid covering the firewall behind the clutch master. There's so much splatter that it looks as though the MC exploded. At the rear of the reservoir facing the firewall I can see a long vertical crack in the plastic bowl and it appears that the cracked edges have separated. And of course the clutch reservoir is empty.
Five minutes outside and I have no feeling in my fingers, but I've seen what I needed to see and I return inside for more coffee. My cell phone rings and it's David Dunbar calling from Houston. He's seen Steve's post and is calling to tell me to try adjusting the slave; he feels certain that's the problem. As I'm explaining the grenaded master cylinder, I see a AAA truck pulling into the parking lot and I terminate the call. Following our conversation, Dunbar posts this message to the 3FE list:
"Spoke With Lee.
I thought it could be the slave cylinder.
However, he said that it appears that the clutch fluid reservoir has overflowed and spewed onto the firewall. Boiled the fluid perhaps? Lee was in a convenience store wearing shorts and T shirt with snow coming down and 25 degrees with no tools.
The AAA guy showed up as we were talking and he is having it towed to the local Toy dealer there in Pueblo. He will get a ride to the 5 star Hyatt and go back when they open in the morning. John Hocker, do you know anyone at the dealer in Pueblo? Lee said that it started getting tough to shift going up Raton Pass and an 18 wheeler was on his tail when he was unable to downshift. He got it to the shoulder and then limped into Pueblo.
Dunbar"
I go out to meet the tow truck driver. He's a clean cut looking kid, probably early twenties; he asks where the truck is parked. I point to The Turtle and he does a double take. He says he thought it was a "big Land Cruiser." I tell him the 40 has a big heart and he gives me a blank look. He looks tired and not in a joking mood. He asks what happened and I describe the failed clutch hydraulics. He says it's probably the slave and I assure him that it isn't. I mention the busted clutch reservoir and he decides to see for himself, opens the hood and says "Oh $hit!" He asks where I want it towed and I say the Toyota dealership in Pueblo. He's in a big flatbed truck and it only takes minutes to winch The Turtle up the ramp and cinch it to the bed. I ask the distance to Pueblo and he says it's around thirty miles to the dealership. We've been standing in the parking lot for the better part of half an hour and by this time I'm half frozen and I can't stop shivering. The driver climbs into the cab and it suddenly occurs to me that I'm about to be stranded at the convenience store, so I ask if I can hitch a ride into Pueblo. He tells me it's against company policy to carry passengers, and taking me could get him fired. I don't reply. He sees me shaking, then says "Oh hell, it's Christmas, hop in." I think "Christmas? It's April," but who am I to question a gift horse in this situation, so I climb in. He instructs me to buckle up and says that if we have an accident, I'll have to jump out and act like I wasn't riding in the truck. No problem. I strap myself in and we're on our way.
Pueblo Toyota is about two miles west of Interstate 25, on US 50. The dealership service department closes at 6 PM and it's pushing 8 by the time we arrive. The driver unloads The Turtle near the service entrance and I see from the sign that they open at 0700. I ask for a hotel recommendation and the driver says "You want nice, medium, or cheap?" I tell him cheap is fine, so long as it's not in a war zone, and within walking distance of the dealership. He says he knows just the place and it's on his way back to the highway. I grab my duffel bag from the 40 and he takes me to a Motel 6 on US 50; he says it's only 1.5 miles back to the Toyota dealership, and near several eateries. I thank him for breaking the company rules and give him a twenty. He didn't ask for money but he doesn't object, takes it and thanks me. I figure it's the least I can do, and it's a lot cheaper than paying for a thirty mile cab ride.
How lucky can I get? Good old Motel 6 has one single room available, and it's only $24.99. I take it. The room is at the rear of the motel and the door opens onto a paved drive and parking area. Across from the pavement is an open field, overgrown and full of litter. Not scenic but hey, I'm not on vacation. For $25 I have heat, indoor plumbing, a bed, and cable TV. I change into big boy pants and my only long sleeve shirt and go out in search of food. Across the highway is the usual lineup of fast food outlets. None of them sound appealing, but I see an Arby's with a big banner advertising fresh deli sandwiches and decide to give it a try. There's a two-for-one special so I buy a couple, a roast beef and a smoked turkey. Exiting Arby's, in the strip center next door I see a little wine store. What the heck. I make it inside just before closing and I'm in luck; their entire selection of Colorado craft beer is on sale. The first thing I see is an orphan six pack of Left Hand Milk Stout all alone in the cooler. Another sign. I'm overcome with emotion. Milk stout it is.
Back across the street I'm on the walkway that runs alongside the motel, heading for my room when I'm joined by a young Hispanic man in work clothes and engineer boots, covered head to toe with dirt and grime. He looks like he could be a construction worker or member of a road crew, and he's so fatigued that he's having trouble moving his feet. I say good evening and he nods, and we continue walking, all the way to the back. I stop at my door and he stops at the adjacent door. We're neighbors. He's looking longingly at my six-pack and I decide that he probably needs a beer more than I do, so I pull out a bottle and hand it to him. He hesitates, then takes the beer. No point in giving half a gift, so I reach into my Arby's bag, pull out the roast beef sandwich and hand it over. I prefer turkey anyway, so it's no great sacrifice, and besides the second sandwich was free. At first he doesn't seem to understand, but he finally accepts the sandwich, mumbles what I think is "Gracias," and we enter our rooms.
In the interim, Dunbar posts this message to MUD:
"Greenhawk Down!
Need help for a 3FE lister with clutch problems in a 76' FJ40 on a cross country trip from Austin TX to Kona HI. He is in Pueblo, CO. Crossing Raton Pass the truck got tough to shift...When he stopped he could not get into any gear and found brake fluid sprayed onto the firewall area near the clutch master cylinder. I thought it might be the slave cylinder out of adjustment but with the sprayage perhaps he has a crack in the reservoir or hard line going into the master. Any of you guys have an idea on what could be wrong? The truck is at the dealership waiting for them to open and I would guess that they have all the parts or one of the NAPAs will. He was trying to make it to Overhanger's house in Denver before the gremlins attacked. I will be running the internet effort and speaking with him via cell phone. Thanks for the help.
Dunbar"
10 PM, I'm in bed watching the news and working on my third milk stout when there's a knock at my door. That's strange, since no one knows I'm here, and I don't know a soul in Pueblo. I look out the peep hole and it's my neighbor, the young Hispanic fellow, and he's all cleaned up. I crack the door a few inches and in English he says "I want to thank you for your kindness. You are the first to be nice to me in this place. Bless You, Sir."
Before I can reply, he turns and goes back into his room.
To be continued...
After calling Steve in Denver to report the breakdown, and after requesting a tow truck, I get bold. It's snowing and the convenience store clerk tells me the temp is hovering around 20 degrees, but I decide to suck it up and attempt a quick diagnosis of the clutch issue. I borrow a parka and Maglite from a guy stocking the drink cooler and dash out to The Turtle. I remember the PO telling me that he'd replaced the clutch slave within the past month so I'm skeptical that could be the problem. From a cursory visual check, the slave looks spankin' new and there's no evidence of fluid leakage so I dismiss that possibility. I open the hood and see fluid covering the firewall behind the clutch master. There's so much splatter that it looks as though the MC exploded. At the rear of the reservoir facing the firewall I can see a long vertical crack in the plastic bowl and it appears that the cracked edges have separated. And of course the clutch reservoir is empty.
Five minutes outside and I have no feeling in my fingers, but I've seen what I needed to see and I return inside for more coffee. My cell phone rings and it's David Dunbar calling from Houston. He's seen Steve's post and is calling to tell me to try adjusting the slave; he feels certain that's the problem. As I'm explaining the grenaded master cylinder, I see a AAA truck pulling into the parking lot and I terminate the call. Following our conversation, Dunbar posts this message to the 3FE list:
"Spoke With Lee.
I thought it could be the slave cylinder.
However, he said that it appears that the clutch fluid reservoir has overflowed and spewed onto the firewall. Boiled the fluid perhaps? Lee was in a convenience store wearing shorts and T shirt with snow coming down and 25 degrees with no tools.
The AAA guy showed up as we were talking and he is having it towed to the local Toy dealer there in Pueblo. He will get a ride to the 5 star Hyatt and go back when they open in the morning. John Hocker, do you know anyone at the dealer in Pueblo? Lee said that it started getting tough to shift going up Raton Pass and an 18 wheeler was on his tail when he was unable to downshift. He got it to the shoulder and then limped into Pueblo.
Dunbar"
I go out to meet the tow truck driver. He's a clean cut looking kid, probably early twenties; he asks where the truck is parked. I point to The Turtle and he does a double take. He says he thought it was a "big Land Cruiser." I tell him the 40 has a big heart and he gives me a blank look. He looks tired and not in a joking mood. He asks what happened and I describe the failed clutch hydraulics. He says it's probably the slave and I assure him that it isn't. I mention the busted clutch reservoir and he decides to see for himself, opens the hood and says "Oh $hit!" He asks where I want it towed and I say the Toyota dealership in Pueblo. He's in a big flatbed truck and it only takes minutes to winch The Turtle up the ramp and cinch it to the bed. I ask the distance to Pueblo and he says it's around thirty miles to the dealership. We've been standing in the parking lot for the better part of half an hour and by this time I'm half frozen and I can't stop shivering. The driver climbs into the cab and it suddenly occurs to me that I'm about to be stranded at the convenience store, so I ask if I can hitch a ride into Pueblo. He tells me it's against company policy to carry passengers, and taking me could get him fired. I don't reply. He sees me shaking, then says "Oh hell, it's Christmas, hop in." I think "Christmas? It's April," but who am I to question a gift horse in this situation, so I climb in. He instructs me to buckle up and says that if we have an accident, I'll have to jump out and act like I wasn't riding in the truck. No problem. I strap myself in and we're on our way.
Pueblo Toyota is about two miles west of Interstate 25, on US 50. The dealership service department closes at 6 PM and it's pushing 8 by the time we arrive. The driver unloads The Turtle near the service entrance and I see from the sign that they open at 0700. I ask for a hotel recommendation and the driver says "You want nice, medium, or cheap?" I tell him cheap is fine, so long as it's not in a war zone, and within walking distance of the dealership. He says he knows just the place and it's on his way back to the highway. I grab my duffel bag from the 40 and he takes me to a Motel 6 on US 50; he says it's only 1.5 miles back to the Toyota dealership, and near several eateries. I thank him for breaking the company rules and give him a twenty. He didn't ask for money but he doesn't object, takes it and thanks me. I figure it's the least I can do, and it's a lot cheaper than paying for a thirty mile cab ride.
How lucky can I get? Good old Motel 6 has one single room available, and it's only $24.99. I take it. The room is at the rear of the motel and the door opens onto a paved drive and parking area. Across from the pavement is an open field, overgrown and full of litter. Not scenic but hey, I'm not on vacation. For $25 I have heat, indoor plumbing, a bed, and cable TV. I change into big boy pants and my only long sleeve shirt and go out in search of food. Across the highway is the usual lineup of fast food outlets. None of them sound appealing, but I see an Arby's with a big banner advertising fresh deli sandwiches and decide to give it a try. There's a two-for-one special so I buy a couple, a roast beef and a smoked turkey. Exiting Arby's, in the strip center next door I see a little wine store. What the heck. I make it inside just before closing and I'm in luck; their entire selection of Colorado craft beer is on sale. The first thing I see is an orphan six pack of Left Hand Milk Stout all alone in the cooler. Another sign. I'm overcome with emotion. Milk stout it is.
Back across the street I'm on the walkway that runs alongside the motel, heading for my room when I'm joined by a young Hispanic man in work clothes and engineer boots, covered head to toe with dirt and grime. He looks like he could be a construction worker or member of a road crew, and he's so fatigued that he's having trouble moving his feet. I say good evening and he nods, and we continue walking, all the way to the back. I stop at my door and he stops at the adjacent door. We're neighbors. He's looking longingly at my six-pack and I decide that he probably needs a beer more than I do, so I pull out a bottle and hand it to him. He hesitates, then takes the beer. No point in giving half a gift, so I reach into my Arby's bag, pull out the roast beef sandwich and hand it over. I prefer turkey anyway, so it's no great sacrifice, and besides the second sandwich was free. At first he doesn't seem to understand, but he finally accepts the sandwich, mumbles what I think is "Gracias," and we enter our rooms.
In the interim, Dunbar posts this message to MUD:
"Greenhawk Down!
Need help for a 3FE lister with clutch problems in a 76' FJ40 on a cross country trip from Austin TX to Kona HI. He is in Pueblo, CO. Crossing Raton Pass the truck got tough to shift...When he stopped he could not get into any gear and found brake fluid sprayed onto the firewall area near the clutch master cylinder. I thought it might be the slave cylinder out of adjustment but with the sprayage perhaps he has a crack in the reservoir or hard line going into the master. Any of you guys have an idea on what could be wrong? The truck is at the dealership waiting for them to open and I would guess that they have all the parts or one of the NAPAs will. He was trying to make it to Overhanger's house in Denver before the gremlins attacked. I will be running the internet effort and speaking with him via cell phone. Thanks for the help.
Dunbar"
10 PM, I'm in bed watching the news and working on my third milk stout when there's a knock at my door. That's strange, since no one knows I'm here, and I don't know a soul in Pueblo. I look out the peep hole and it's my neighbor, the young Hispanic fellow, and he's all cleaned up. I crack the door a few inches and in English he says "I want to thank you for your kindness. You are the first to be nice to me in this place. Bless You, Sir."
Before I can reply, he turns and goes back into his room.
To be continued...
Last edited:
myquestoyota
SILVER Star
I had the master go out in my 79 about a month after replacing the slave. I knew it was coming about a week afterwards when I saw a little fluid on the floor but I ignored it. I had another car anyhow. But one morning soon after we got about 8 inches of snow overnight and the car couldn't make it out of the driveway. I hopped in the cruiser, pushed the clutch in and it lurched forward when I engaged the starter. I drove it anyway, but it was a bit tricky in traffic at times. You get surprisingly good at driving without a clutch when you don't have the option. But I probably wouldn't have done it in someone else's rig either. I changed it in the snow in the parking lot at work during lunch.
^^^x2
Dunbar
SILVER Star
Commander Armstrong has a good handle on life.
You make it sound so good when you broke down.
that's what I like about my 40, too - the stories we get to tell 
- Status
