Saving The Old Rustbucket--My 1982 FJ40 Tale (2 Viewers)

[My wife said no FJ!]

if he runs out of material (which seems doubtful ), someone just needs to buy a cruiser and have him deliver it for them.

Good idea...I know of an old 40 in the south west I'd like to have...but my budget just isn't ready......one day...

 

[tucker74]

I always mourn the end of a good book. Holding a book in your hands and anticipating that last page is always a bit of a sad event for me. Not so with this read. It feels good that it MAY go on indefinately (and the back cover isn't visible in my computer). When you run out of experiences please start making $hit up. I don't care, I just don't want to see

THE END.

OMA (Old Man Armstrong) doesn't need to make up anything, if you only knew how much is between here and where he is going. Let's just put it this way, we're part of the way through the first adventure leading to the rust bucket ... and there are two more cross country 40 trips before it enters the picture

Keep on writing old man!

Tucker

 

[Sea Knight]

When you run out of experiences please start making $hit up. I don't care, I just don't want to see

THE END.

Fear not, there's plenty of material left. The thing I worry about is that whenever it runs out, I may not be capable of making up anything as bizarre as some of the stuff that actually happened.

if he runs out of material (which seems doubtful ), someone just needs to buy a cruiser and have him deliver it for them.

Great thread! I agree with all the comments that this would make a great book, better than Who needs a road, and probably appealing to more than just the cruiser crowd.

Hey, I'd volunteer for another delivery mission in a heartbeat.

On the book thing, I'm sort of warming up to the idea. Every one of these "chapters" has been pared down. They could easily be expanded. I do wonder about the potential audience, beyond the Cruiser community I mean.

....if you only knew how much is between here and where he is going. Let's just put it this way, we're part of the way through the first adventure leading to the rust bucket ... and there are two more cross country 40 trips before it enters the picture

Tucker has it right. He knows, because he's already heard most of these tales.

 

[davegonz]

Let's bump this back to page 1.

Here are some examples of future stories that will be included in the Sea Knight biopic.

1. Vietnam and the Long Road Home
2. Mississippi or Bust (Road trip to bring back Pat's red FJ40 in MS)
3. To Da UP (Delivering Yoopers truck)
4. Keeping it Weird: My WALCS Family
5. Alaska Trek (in the Trooper)*not cruiser related
6. Alaska Trek 2013
7. The 3FE List
8. Colorado Road Trip: Craig's red FJ40
9. Cummin to Mississippi (UZJ100 and 4BT80 swap in MS)

Plus a ton more that I can't remember right now.

 

[fireflyr]

I do wonder about the potential audience, beyond the Cruiser community I mean.

That's the great thing about your writing. Your story goes way beyond the fact that a Landcruiser is being driven across country. You see details that most people miss and you're able to develop characters in a matter of a few lines that leave us with the impression that we've known them for years. That's a rare talent.

I've noticed these FJ40's seem to strike a chord in alot of people. They bring back memories of loved ones long gone, of camping and fishing trips and have a mystique of being able to handle anything the wilds of Africa, Alaska or Arizona can dish out. It's a foregone conclusion that someone will walk up to me at the gas station and share a memory of theirs. It opens up a dialogue in a time where most people are so busy with those little electronic mind numbing devices that they don't see what's in front of them.

The FJ40 isn't the protagonist in this story, it's merely the mechanism (literally) for bringing all of these characters together, just like it brings everyone here together (not that a Geo Metro would be capable of the same feat). You have something unique going here; I think the only decision you need to make is who is going to play you and Army in the movie version.

This story will appeal to more than just the Mud community. Keep it rolling.

 

[Sea Knight]

Chillin' in Pueblo--Part Three

I wake up refreshed and hungry. Hard to beat those great Motel 6 uber firm mattresses. Before going boldly forth to find some grub, I decide it would be a good idea to call my parents. I promised to check in periodically and it's been four days.

Me: "Dad, It's your son."
Army: "Which one?"
Me: "Come on, you know which one."
Army: "Where are you?"
Me: "Pueblo, Colorado."
Army: "I didn't know you were stopping there."
Me: "I wasn't. The clutch crapped out. Master cylinder reservoir is cracked,"
Army: "I told you to check that before you left Oklahoma City."
Me: "I don't think so."
Army: "You mentioned a leak. I told you to check the hose connections. If you had, you'd have seen the crack."
Me: "Yeah, maybe so."
Army: "Did you want to speak with your Mother?"
Me: "Yes, please."
Army: "She's grocery shopping. You'll have to call back."
Me: "OK, I will. Please tell her I called."
Army: "Take care of yourself. And call us more than once a week. Call your Mother. She worries."
Me: "I will, and...."

Click...dialtone.

Not only is Army a man of few words. When he decides a conversation is over, it's over.

It's too cold to wander aimlessly looking for a place to eat so I go into the office for a dining recommendation. There's a middle age guy with coke bottle thick glasses at the desk intently studying a Penthouse. Or maybe it was an Expedition Journal. One of those high brow magazines with lots of meaty articles. I assume he's reading something challenging because he doesn't seem to notice me. I clear my throat a couple of times. Nothing

Me: "Excuse me."
Clerk: "You need something?"
Me: "Is there a decent restaurant within walking distance?"
Clerk: "Why?"
Me: "Because I don't have a vehicle. I'd like to walk somewhere nearby and eat."
Clerk: "Yeah, I guess there's a couple."

Silence. He resumes his reading. I can tell we're really hittin' it off. He'll probably want to hang out with me and Jorge later...

Me: "Well?"
Clerk: "Well what?"
Me: "Where can I find them?"
Clerk: "Why didn't you just ask?
Me: "I thought I did."
Clerk: "Next door. Southwest Grill"
Me: "Thanks. You're too kind."
Clerk: "What?"
Me: "Nothing. Thanks."

I walk out, turn left, twenty paces and I'm at the door of Southwest Grill. I'd passed within several feet of it this morning. It's not a conspicuous place, no glitzy signage. Definitely not a franchise restaurant. Lots of cars outside, inside the tables are filled with locals. Looks good. Smells good. Who'd have guessed that clerk was an epicure. I decide to eat healthy and order a Chile Relleno platter, one cheese, one smoked chicken, with rice and beans and a side of guacamole. An athlete's meal. The portions are huge and I'm out of training, but through sheer willpower I'm able to clean my plate. In my family we never threw food away. One of Army's rules that I've never forgotten. Take all you want but if you take it, you eat it. While eating I consider a serious flaw in my travel plan. It was eighty degrees when I left Austin, and I'm headed for Hawaii, so naturally I packed nothing but shorts and t-shirts. I didn't give any thought to Winter in Colorado, Wyoming, Montana. It's already apparent that my beach wardrobe isn't cutting it. I need to come up with a coat and gloves. I decide to confer with my new bud, the Motel 6 clerk. He's already demonstrated that he's a man of good taste. Back to the motel office.

Me: "Is there any place nearby that sells men's outerwear?"
Clerk: "What's that?"
Me: "Like coats, jackets, windbreakers."
Clerk: "Walmart, other side of 25."
Me: "Thank you kind Sir."

I hoof it down to the US 50 - IH 25 intersection and I'm in luck; there's an underpass with a walkway. In the distance I see a Wallyworld sign but even closer there's a Ross Dress For Less store. I'm not looking to spend much so Ross grabs my interest. I go in and find the coat racks. There's dozens, maybe hundreds of coats and they're cheap all right. Cheap junk. Maybe I don't need a coat after all. I wander around and find decent wool socks and gloves, and a couple of long sleeve shirts, so the expedition isn't a complete failure. I pay for my loot and decide on the spot that I don't have the stomach for Walmart, so I head back to the motel. Nearing my door I see young Jorge coming out of his room, carrying a little suitcase. He waves and walks out to the same Ford pickup that gave me a ride this morning, leaps into the back seat, and the truck drives away. Jorge has checked out. I guess that means I'll have to find my own breakfast tacos tomorrow morning.

to be continued....

 

[1911]

Click...dialtone.

Not only is Army a man of few words. When he decides a conversation is over, it's over.

This one single thing alone would endear your dad to me; I wish more people were like this.

In my family we never threw food away. One of Army's rules that I've never forgotten. Take all you want but if you take it, you eat it.

My dad had the exact same rule! It still hampers my diet in restaurants and my weight to this day. What growing up in the Great Depression will do to you I guess.

 

[Chamba]

My dad had the exact same rule! It still hampers my diet in restaurants and my weight to this day. What growing up in the Great Depression will do to you I guess.

My Grandfather, who was born in 1919, had a similar rule: 'Take all you want but eat all you take'. I still live by it today and it drives my wife mad.... another danger to this line of thought.

Luckily (or not), the portion sizes down here tend toward the tiny (compared to Santa Fe), so I can practice this ethos without abdominal pain. Last time I was home, I left Horseman's Haven many mornings feeling like I was 9 months pregnant from the Juevos Rancheros which almost everyone else left half uneaten.

Josh

 

[77mustard40]

Me: "I will, and...."

Click...dialtone.

Not only is Army a man of few words. When he decides a conversation is over, it's over.

While my dad was a corporate defense attorney in his working days, thus full of words, he has never muttered the word "goodby" in conclusion of a telephone conversation with anyone. Maybe this was part of a larger strategy, or maybe men of this time frame share some common phone skills, i don't have the answer but I have never let it bug me. In fact as I ripen in my middle ages I get quite a kick out of it.

Love the read Lee, keep the thought provoking conversation coming

 

[Sea Knight]

I've noticed these FJ40's seem to strike a chord in alot of people. They bring back memories of loved ones long gone, of camping and fishing trips and have a mystique of being able to handle anything the wilds of Africa, Alaska or Arizona can dish out.

Yes, it's almost uncanny, the conversations that an FJ40 will initiate. I've had people follow me on city streets and a couple of times on the highway and motion for me to pull over. The first time this occurred I thought there was a low tire or burned out tail light, but they just wanted a closer look at the old truck, and to reminisce about their own experiences in a 40. There's no age limit either. These people have ranged from the twenty-something Zinger girls to a 70-ish Grandmother I found waiting by the rustbucket outside the Jones County Tax Assessors office several years ago. She and her husband owned his and hers FJ40's that they no longer drove. She said her husband was saving them for their grandchildren. There was probably a great story there and I'm sorry that I wasn't able to hear all of it.

My dad had the exact same rule!...What growing up in the Great Depression will do to you I guess.

My Grandfather, who was born in 1919, had a similar rule: 'Take all you want but eat all you take'. I still live by it today and it drives my wife mad....

You're probably correct about this being a generational thing. My Dad says it goes back to the Great Depression and never having enough to eat, or often having nothing at all to eat. FWIW I have the same ongoing argument with my wife about cleaning my plate. Old habits die hard, or sometimes not at all.

...my dad... has never muttered the word "goodby" in conclusion of a telephone conversation with anyone....I don't have the answer but I have never let it bug me. In fact as I ripen in my middle ages I get quite a kick out of it.

As do I. I've seen my Dad abruptly shut down a conversation and walk away with the other party hanging in mid-sentence. The reactions can be quite entertaining.

You have something unique going here; I think the only decision you need to make is who is going to play you and Army in the movie version.

Army gave us a little help here. I asked him last night who he thought should play him in a movie, at his present age. Without hesitating he said Clint Eastwood. I reminded him that Clint was six inches taller and he said: "Hell, it's the movies. Watch Gran Torino and tell me that's not me."

While we're dreaming, for myself, I'll stick with The Dude, Jeff Bridges.

 

[SHUSH]

Army gave us a little help here. I asked him last night who he thought should play him in a movie, at his present age. Without hesitating he said Clint Eastwood. I reminded him that Clint was six inches taller and he said: "Hell, it's the movies. Watch Gran Torino and tell me that's not me."

While we're dreaming, for myself, I'll stick with The Dude, Jeff Bridges. [/QUOTE]

excellent!!!

 

[myquestoyota]

 

[Sam Stewart]

You're probably correct about this being a generational thing. My Dad says it goes back to the Great Depression and never having enough to eat, or often having nothing at all to eat. FWIW I have the same ongoing argument with my wife about cleaning my plate. Old habits die hard, or sometimes not at all.

Spot on. My grandmother was around during the depression and she was the same way. Anytime someone complained about eating the dark meat of the chicken for example, you were in for a lecture.

 

[Sea Knight]

Couple of Thoughts

Good Morning Gentlemen. Just thinking out loud here as I gear up to write another chapter. One of my Austin Cruiserhead friends recently commented that the level of coincidence in this tale is so huge that it seems unbelievable. I agree, it does border on the unbelievable. That's how I felt throughout the entire road trip, and looking back it still seems like a fairy tale. My background is military, followed by a second career in medical research. In my world, facts are what you learn to hang your hat on, and there's no place for hocus-pocus or weird Twilight Zone occurrences. This experience was enough to give me second thoughts. I'd never have guessed that Uncle Meldon's new old truck would be pure magic.

I recently stumbled across Yooper's email that started it all, from March 2005. I don't think he'd mind me posting it here:

Hi Lee,

Are you back in Austin or still galavanting around the country somewhere? I'm kind of half-assed shopping for an FJ40 for my brother and this pretty solid looking FJ40 has shown up on IH8MUD, in Austin. My brother is all excited about it. I'm worried about rust. If you're in town and willing to inspect it, let me know.


Thanks!
Sean


No, Thank you!

Back to writing, then hopefully a couple of hours wrenching on the old rustbucket.

Carry on,
Lee

 

[77mustard40]

Thanks for the flashback for some of us newbies. I'm waiting for the AHA moment when it all comes together.

 

[yooper]

lots more to come...more mountain snow storms, more phone calls to me, more long distance parts gurus impressing the locals, more evidence that chicks dig FJ40s, more beer adventures...

 

[shocker]

Good Morning Gentlemen. Just thinking out loud here as I gear up to write another chapter. One of my Austin Cruiserhead friends recently commented that the level of coincidence in this tale is so huge that it seems unbelievable. I agree, it does border on the unbelievable. That's how I felt throughout the entire road trip, and looking back it still seems like a fairy tale. My background is military, followed by a second career in medical research. In my world, facts are what you learn to hang your hat on, and there's no place for hocus-pocus or weird Twilight Zone occurrences. This experience was enough to give me second thoughts. I'd never have guessed that Uncle Meldon's new old truck would be pure magic.

Eh, it's a bit like when your turn signal or wiper blades coincide perfectly with the beat of the song you've got playing on the radio. Doesn't happen often, and many people may have never experienced it, but that doesn't mean it's impossible.

Serendipitous things happen, and they can happen on a cross-country scale. That, and the way you tell it, is what makes this a "story" versus a boring yarn.

 

[Sea Knight]

Adios Pueblo, Hello Denver

"I went outside. And there in the blue air I saw for the first time, far off, the great snowy tops of the Rocky Mountains.
I took a deep breath. I had to get to Denver..." ​

--Jack Kerouac, On The Road​

I awaken at 0600, pre-dawn, and flick on the morning weather report. Clear skies and zero precipitation between Pueblo and Denver, just what I want to hear. My friend Jorge is long gone and I'll have to forage for my own breakfast, but we're waiting on a parts delivery so there's ample time to chow down. I decide to revisit the Southwest Grill next door. The waitress brings a mug of coffee without my asking, then suggests the daily breakfast special, a meat lovers skillet dish. She says it's two eggs on a bed of fried potatoes topped with a heap of bacon, sausage, and ham and melted cheese. She points to a guy at the next table devouring the same dish. It looks like a concoction that would shut down my coronary arteries within seconds. I'm determined to make it to Denver alive so I graciously decline and instead order a training table athlete's breakfast--eggs, sausage, biscuits, hashbrowns. No cholesterol there, right?​

I stop by the motel office and there's the same affable clerk from yesterday afternoon, looking even more haggard than before. He must be pulling a 24 hour shift, but he's still cheerful as ever.​

Me: "What's the checkout time?"
Clerk: "11 AM"
Me: "Would it matter if I can't get out by then?"
Clerk: "Yes. Maid leaves at noon."
Me: "And?"
Clerk: "You're late, you pay for another day."
Me: "Can I check out and leave my bag at the desk?"
Clerk: "Do I look like a bell hop?"
Me: "So that's a no?"​

Silence....dirty look. I'm impressed that he even knows about bell hops. Maybe he worked his way up to desk clerk from bell hopping. I check the time and it's only 0830 so I return to my luxury suite, shower and cram my junk into the duffel bag, leave it by the door and begin walking to Pueblo Toyota. I make it by 0930 and find all the sales guys standing in the shop doing their coffee and doughnut routine. Like yesterday, they're standing in a semi-circle around The Turtle. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were engaging in a religious ritual. Heck, maybe they are? I grab the attention of the nearest salesman, the same one who found a vacant office for me yesterday, and ask if someone can give me a ride to and from Motel 6. He says he'll do better than that, goes to a key board and gives me a set of keys to a new 100. He says I can take my time, it's a demo. I ask if he needs to see my driver's license or proof of insurance and he says that won't be necessary....because everyone knows I'm the guy in the old FJ40. Luck of The Turtle.​

I drive back to the motel in style and before leaving the room, I call Steve in Denver with a travel update. He posts this to the 3FE list.​

"Commander Armstrong Update
Just got off the phone with the intrepid wayfaring 3FE traveler. He is checking out of the fleabag motel he has been holed up in the last two days and is preparing to sit in the customer service lounge at the Toyota dealership in Pueblo. He sounds to be in good spirits and hopes to be back on the road by mid-afternoon and into Denver just about rush hour. I may just see him yet! It sounds as if we will have to effect some repair/modification to the windshield/roof junction as he has been getting splattered by bug parts and taking on large quantities of water due to some missing weather-stripping – nothing two kludgers can’t handle. Then he will be off to Sheridan, WY for tomorrow night’s lodging. His schedule is off by two and a half days now so his well-planned itinerary is being rearranged on the fly. I’m sure he will be online tonight to give a personal accounting of his travels so far. Stay tuned! --Steve" ​

I load up my bag and drive around front to check out, with 30 minutes to spare. The clerk seems disappointed. Probably because he won't be able to sell me another night.​

Clerk: "I thought you didn't have a car."
Me: "I didn't, yesterday. Picked this baby up at the dealership this morning."​

He has a look of disbelief, comes out from around the desk and follows me out the door. He stands there gawking as I drive away in the new 100 with a clearly visible $65K window sticker. I'm sure he's wishing he'd been nicer, now that he knows I'm a high roller.​

Back at the Toyota dealership I return the 100 keys and ask where I can store my bag. The salesman says "Why don't you just put it in your office?" My office? Works for me. I talk to the service manager and he says the clutch parts are scheduled for delivery by noon, by FEDEX. He says if the truck is on time, I should count on two hours for installation. He promises that when the parts arrive, they'll stop whatever work is in progress and make it a priority to get me out the door by mid afternoon. I don't know if Yooper is watching the 3FE list and I'm sure his brother is not, so I call with a report. He already knew John Hocker had located the parts, and he's pleased that we're back on schedule. He says he'll pass the word on to his brother. I'm not sure what happened next or how Yooper pulled this off, but less than an hour later I get a call from the man himself, Uncle Meldon. He's somewhere at sea. It's our first conversation; he's calling to say hello, and see if he can be of any assistance. I jokingly tell him that yes, he can pay the repair bill, and he asks that I put the service manager on the phone. A few minutes later and it's a done deal. Uncle Meldon has arranged to pay the repair tab via a sea-to-land phone connection. Our conversation is barely over when a big FEDEX truck pulls into the parking lot. I go out to watch the delivery guy unload and there's at least a couple dozen boxes for the dealership, mine buried somewhere in the stack. It's 1130.​

While they're sorting through the packages I meander into the service area to ask if I can hang out in the shop while they work. No one has stopped me from going anywhere yet. Apparently I have the run of the place, including my own office. Lennie and George, big tech and little tech, come walking in with a shopping bag full of subs. Lennie says he hopes I like subs because they bought an extra for me. He says there's an assortment and I can pick what I like. I find a loaded smoked turkey and swiss and ask how much I owe him. He says it's his treat, and I can buy him a beer the next time I'm in Pueblo. I take the deal and tear into my sandwich.​

Lennie walks over to ask how far I intend to travel this afternoon and I tell him I have to cover 120 miles to Steve's house in Denver. I hope to squeeze into town ahead of rush hour traffic. He checks his watch and says that he'll have me out in less than two hours. Then he and George spring into action like an Indy 500 pit crew. After a quick bleed, George is swapping out the slave at the same time Lennie pulls the master. They do this without even speaking and I'm impressed that they don't need to communicate. Master and slave are in and Lennie says he needs a few more minutes. He checks fluids and tire pressure and wants to take a short test drive but discovers that he's too tall to wedge in behind the steering wheel, so George gets the honor. He's gone no more than ten minutes, drives back into the service area and pronounces The Turtle fixed, good as new. It's not quite 1330. I call Steve again with an ETA of 1600, but before I leave Lennie asks if I'd mind if they take a couple of photos. It's a small thing. No way I can object to that. They get the service manager to snap a few poser pictures of the two of them with The Turtle. This is too cool. How often do you find a dealership mechanic who wants to be photographed with a vehicle he just repaired? More Turtle magic.​

As I climb behind the wheel and back out of the shop, Lennie and George and the service manager and several salesmen come out to the parking area and they all wave as I pull away. The only thing missing from this sendoff is young Jorge and the Motel 6 clerk, and possibly a big brass band. With a tear in my eye, I wave back and we're off. Adios Pueblo. Ten minutes and two miles later we're on Interstate 25 heading north for Denver. I push the old 2F up to 65 and crank up the music. Without too much effort I lock in FM 103.1, Denver's "Cruisin' Oldies" station. Perfect. The first thing I hear, The Stones...​

Start me up
Give it all you got
Ride like the wind at double speed
I'll take you places that you've never seen
Start it up​

Driving and listening, I begin to reflect on the remarkable chain of coincidences that has led me to this place. My oldest friends in the Cruiser family are Yooper, Steve, and John Holmaas, AKA Landpimp. I first met John in 1999 in Gig Harbor, Washington, on the way to our son Clay's wedding on Vancouver Island. A year or so later I drove to San Antonio to meet Yooper, and shortly afterwards I met Steve at a 3FE Bash in Granite Shoals, Texas. Friendships that endure to this day. I'd been in British Columbia and only returned to Austin days before Yooper found The Turtle. Could the timing have been better? I don't think so. And now I'm driving a 30 year old truck belonging to Yooper's brother, whom I've never met, to Denver where I'll see Steve, then on to Seattle where John will help with shipping logistics. Serendipity? I dunno, but it sure seems that way.​

Smooth sailing all the way to Denver and right on schedule, it's barely 1530 when I pull up in front of Steve's house. Steve and his lovely wife Suzy are waiting. I'm so relieved to be in a familiar place and among friends after a week of camping and low down motels that I may have fallen through their front door. Later that evening, after decompressing and spending some quality time with The Turtle, I borrow Steve's computer to send this message to the 3FE list.​

Dunbar, and Gentlemen of the Order of 3FE:​

After driving 1,800+ miles across Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Colorado, and one mechanical breakdown, all is well and I’m still able to move around without assistance. I’m presently sitting in the command control module of the Crase brain center somewhere in the heart of Denver, having safely arrived around 1530, just ahead of rush hour traffic. Uncle Meldon's FJ 40 now sports new genuine Toyota clutch master and slave cylinders, thanks to the assistance of our friend John Hocker, and the efficient staff of Pueblo Toyota. It’s been a productive evening since my arrival. Steve and I made an emergency trip to Applejacks, where we stocked up on provisions for the evening, including but not limited to Left Hand Milk Stout, Yeti Imperial Stout, and various other micro-brews of Steve’s choosing. ​

Upon completion of this mission and drawing on Steve’s vast experience as a former 40 owner, we conducted an exhaustive inspection of the old Road Warrior. Steve adjusted a wobbly pitman arm, attempted to finesse a questionable steering U-joint, and greased several overlooked zerks. I rerouted the sloppy horn (doorbell) wiring, replaced the Weber's buggered up electric choke lead, braced a loose battery bracket, and, uh, sampled several malt beverages. ​

Having enjoyed an excellent home cooked feast, we’re heading back to the garage to address the most important maintenance issue on the table--weatherproofing. Tomorrow morning I’m heading to Sheridan, Wyoming, where the latest weather forecast calls for freezing rain, heavy snow, and a high temperature in the low 30’s. Since there’s no weather strip between the top of the windshield frame and the hard top, we intend to weatherproof the old girl using what is sometimes known as the "Baldwin Technique," covering the sucker with several layers of duck tape. ​

Duty calls, or maybe that’s Steve I hear, so I’m off to his garage again. I’ll try to report in periodically whenever I can find a computer. Keep your fingers crossed…the most interesting part of this odyssey is still ahead, and apparently the most interesting weather too. A-Ron and Holmaas, I’ll call you guys when I get a little closer. I should be hitting Spokane on Sunday afternoon, and Seattle on Monday. ​

And the road goes on forever, and the party never ends…​

Commander Armstrong, carrying the 3FE banner to the hinterlands and beyond​

Yep, that's right, to be continued...​

 

[coinoperated40]

On a tech note .. Has anyone noticed the needs a little more salt????
I tune in every day for another story.
Thanks
Another 82 owner... They do rust?

 

[overhanger]

On a tech note .. Has anyone noticed the needs a little more salt????
I tune in every day for another story.
Thanks
Another 82 owner... They do rust?

Just have another brew and you won't mind the salt shortage. A little tequila, without training wheels, will help too!