Denver In My Rear View Mirror
“He was like a man who stands upon a hill above the town he had left, yet does not say 'The town is near,' but turns his eyes upon the distant soaring ranges.” ― Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward Angel
Well here I am in Denver, finally, and The Turtle and I are in one piece. I'm relieved, but there won't be much time to relax; we lost three days in Pueblo, days I'd hoped to spend goofing off with Steve and Suzy. That plan is kaput. There's no more flexibility in the travel schedule and now time is becoming critical. In order to stay on track we'll have to be in Sheridan, Wyoming tomorrow and Bozeman, Montana the following day. Not impossible, just not what I'd hoped.
Following our supply run to Applejacks adult beverage emporium, Steve and I try to make the most of the evening by multitasking. Steve is a former 40 owner and a twelve banana mechanic. I have no doubt that if anything was missed by George and Lennie in Pueblo, he'll find it, so I ask him to give The Turtle a complete physical. We also know that wrenching will require considerable energy so we load up on carbohydrates as though we're preparing to run a marathon. We do this the old fashioned way, by swilling several bottles of high carb stouts, Colorado's finest. Just like eating a mountain of pasta and washing it down with vitamin filled smoothies. Bottled energy.
Steve's sharp eye identifies several minor concerns. There's a loose Pitman arm, TRE zerks that require grease, a battery that needed securing, and the jerry-rigged doorbell-horn button wiring has come loose and has to be tweaked. Because a functioning horn will be critical out in the wide open spaces, where the buffalo roam, right? I don't know squat about Weber carbs, but The Turtle has a Weber 38 and while we're foolin' around under the hood I see a blue wire coming from the carb sitting atop the valve cover, insulation melted through. We determine that it's the electric choke power lead and needs to be replaced, which only takes minutes. Next comes the major operation of the evening--weatherproofing. If the Oklahoma monsoon rain that flooded The Turtle was bad, what lies ahead could be even worse. And that duck tape I bought at Zinger a couple of weeks ago, the tape I said I faithfully took on every road trip? Well, apparently I was so unhinged by the Zinger girls encounter that I left it at home. Steve comes to the rescue and donates a fresh roll of tape from his garage stock. We thoroughly seal the windshield frame to hard top junction with several overlapping layers of tape. When we're done there's enough protection there to withstand anything short of armor piercing rounds. Since I won't be traveling through northern Idaho, stray bullets shouldn't be a concern.
They say the average adult requires eight hours sleep per day. I don't usually sleep that long and tonight I doubt I'll get in four after Steve and I finish swapping yarns and complete our carb loading. However that isn't a concern, because of the narcolepsy suite. That's the name Steve and Suzy have given their guest room, and it fits. It's a dark basement hideaway with a bed worthy of a five star hotel, and it's very quiet. Once you crawl into that bed, it's like returning to the womb. I've slept here before and there's some sort of weird multiplier effect which results in three hours of rest for every hour of sleep. I don't understand how that works, but it works. As best I recall, Steve and I finish applying bandaids to The Turtle around 0130, and I wake up at 0600 feeling refreshed and ready to get underway. I follow the smell of freshly brewed coffee up the stairs and find Steve already up and checking the weather forecast. He says I may see rain, freezing rain, and snow through northern Colorado and on through Wyoming, with temperatures not rising above the low 20's. They call it a Winter mix. Fortunately The Turtle's old heater works like a champ and the windshield gap is sealed so this doesn't cause me any worry. Even if it did, I don't have a choice. Thanks to Suzy, I feast on a home cooked breakfast and after fortifying myself by drinking all the coffee I can hold, I can't put off leaving any longer. I already have a room booked in Sheridan and according to my GPS it's 425 miles due north on Interstate 25, a six hour drive. Allowing for one gas stop and driving 65 rather than the 75 speed limit, I figure I'm looking at something like a seven hour drive, door-to-door. I bid my good friends farewell, back The Turtle out of Steve's garage, and once again we're rollin'. It's 0830.
After I leave, Steve talks with his friend Dave from Colorado's Rising Sun 4WD club about my Texas to Hawaii road trip. He later posts Dave's comments to the 3FE forum. Dave eloquently describes the Land Cruiser community in a few simple words:
"Cruiserheads are a unique bunch for sure! I suppose it's like any hobby that is enjoyed, taken to the highest levels and then twisted into a lifestyle that totally encompasses you and all your money. It's ugly if someone with indifferent logic takes a look at the cult. But to those who pray to the deities known only to the faithful as the Cruiser Gods, it all seems so normal.
Why wouldn't I help a guy I've never met by driving a truck that would make the toughest of demolition derby drivers say 'No Thanks' half way across the country?"
Indeed!
to be continued...