That's one tour of Duty none of us deserve , Army. Keep up the fight !
Sarge
Sarge
Saving The Old Rustbucket--My 1982 FJ40 Tale
- Thread starter Sea Knight
- Start date
This site may earn a commission from merchant affiliate
links, including eBay, Amazon, Skimlinks, and others.
- Status
myquestoyota
SILVER Star
Boy, went through the same vigil with my 85 year old Dad. Sitting by that hospital bed was no picnic but I wouldn't trade it for the world. He was a WWII vet and I grew up an Army brat from being born in Alaska to his tour in South Carolina, I know the man we speak of as Army well enough to have shared that quiet cup of coffee with. Just did a full shift at Harborview in Seattle for my wife's ninth spine surgery and I'm glad to report she is doing fine. Hospitals are not fun but I can report that so far I've always been the one in the chair, not the bed. Hang in there, best wishes and prayers for Army. Get back to the tale as soon as you can, it's therapy for all of us.
Thanks for sharing! More
and 
Thanks for sharing! More
and 
Lee,
Sorry to hear that your dad is back in the hospital. It is evident in the narrative how important he is in your life.
It's funny how becoming a father changes your views on how to be a good son. All my life, through my various adventures around the world, it has been my parents that have grounded me and given me that sense of home. Whether I was calling from Africa where I was building schools or Central America where I was fighting fires (and aparently an insurgency) every phone call home ended with 'call us when you get to....' or 'call us in a couple days so we know you aren't laying in a ditch somewhere' (my dad's sense of humor). I smiled when you mentioned in the story where you call home and give your dad an update, your mom's out shopping, and Army gives you his signature short send off. When he tells you to call your mom soon you can tell he's counting the minutes to your next call, not that he'd admit it.
Army must be proud of the son he's raised. To sit by his bed day after day shows a set of values that any dad would be proud to see in his son. I'm sure it gives him great peace to know he succeeded in the only job that really means anything in life.
I think I'll go call my parents.
Pat
Sorry to hear that your dad is back in the hospital. It is evident in the narrative how important he is in your life.
It's funny how becoming a father changes your views on how to be a good son. All my life, through my various adventures around the world, it has been my parents that have grounded me and given me that sense of home. Whether I was calling from Africa where I was building schools or Central America where I was fighting fires (and aparently an insurgency) every phone call home ended with 'call us when you get to....' or 'call us in a couple days so we know you aren't laying in a ditch somewhere' (my dad's sense of humor). I smiled when you mentioned in the story where you call home and give your dad an update, your mom's out shopping, and Army gives you his signature short send off. When he tells you to call your mom soon you can tell he's counting the minutes to your next call, not that he'd admit it.
Army must be proud of the son he's raised. To sit by his bed day after day shows a set of values that any dad would be proud to see in his son. I'm sure it gives him great peace to know he succeeded in the only job that really means anything in life.
I think I'll go call my parents.
Pat
Dunbar
SILVER Star
Hospitals are not a fun place to hang out. Get some Clint Eastwood movies on DVD.
- Joined
- Sep 29, 2010
- Threads
- 131
- Messages
- 1,835
- Location
- San Antonio, TX 78253
- Website
- www.facebook.com
Dunbar said:
X2...
I just spent a couple of days in the hospital, wish I would have thought of that!!! Hope Army gets to feelling better soon Lee.
Well. Two days ago while stumbling through the forum looking for a hood, I ran across a davegonz post and noticed on his signature line "best thread on mud" or something like that. I gave it a shot....
In two evenings, in three hour shifts ( slow reader), I am caught up and have read all 22 pages. I have laughed out loud, gotten misty, and also placed faces with all the characters in the story similar to the people in my life that share those same characteristics.
I live in Wichita, but have spent a great deal of time in SW Kansas, OK, and NM. You paint a perfect picture of the landscape and I like others, I feel like I am along on the ride with you.
Thanks for sharing your story. Now that I am caught up with the reading, I am off to Itunes to check out Townes Van Zandt. I have a pretty extensive music rolodex (John Prine, Old Jimmy Buffett, Asleep at the Wheel, Willie, etc...) But have never listened to TVZ.....sounds like a good dude.
Will be checking for updates.
In two evenings, in three hour shifts ( slow reader), I am caught up and have read all 22 pages. I have laughed out loud, gotten misty, and also placed faces with all the characters in the story similar to the people in my life that share those same characteristics.
I live in Wichita, but have spent a great deal of time in SW Kansas, OK, and NM. You paint a perfect picture of the landscape and I like others, I feel like I am along on the ride with you.
Thanks for sharing your story. Now that I am caught up with the reading, I am off to Itunes to check out Townes Van Zandt. I have a pretty extensive music rolodex (John Prine, Old Jimmy Buffett, Asleep at the Wheel, Willie, etc...) But have never listened to TVZ.....sounds like a good dude.
Will be checking for updates.
This is one of the best stories I've read in my youngish life!! I've just started to bring my cruiser back to life and after reading all 22 pages in one night I want to be done building and go on a road trip. If that day ever comes I hope it will have a story to go along with it like this, or a fraction of it would be acceptable haha. SUBSCRIBED!!!
You will not be disappointed with Townes. He is arguably one of the best songwriters EVER.
myquestoyota
SILVER Star
I have to make a road trip to Portland this morning so I just bought Road Songs by TVZ. Thanks for the tip, I'm sure it will fit well in my collection. I suggest the latest from John Hiatt to all of you. Dirty Jeans and Mudslide Hymns really goes back to his roots, probably his best album since Crossing Muddy Waters. Good road trip music as well.
Best wishes for Army.
Best wishes for Army.
1911
chupacabra
Hope your dad is improving cuz.
TCSTARK
Master Debater & Cunning Linguist
1911 said:
X2
Sent from my iPhone using IH8MUD
So after a late night of reading I realized I hadn't actually read it all! NOW I'm caught up. My prayers are with you and Army.
- Thread starter
- #434
I want all of you to know that Army and I appreciate your kind words, thoughts and prayers. I take a laptop to the hospital daily and read your latest comments to him. To say that he's touched would be an understatement.
Yesterday afternoon Army asked his doc when he might be discharged. She told him that the recovery time for pneumonia was typically 2-4 weeks and given his age, probably not soon. He told her, and I want to be sure I have this exactly right:
"You're obviously not used to dealing with anyone as tough as me."
That was yesterday. Today he seems worse. This morning he had a pleural tap and 2.3 liters of fluid was removed from his right chest. He's breathing with great difficulty and when he's awake he's very confused. He sleeps most of the time. Confusion is a common symptom of pneumonia and I'm trying not to make too much of it, but the poor guy isn't in good shape. As long as he's here, I'm here with him.
Thanks again guys, and keep up the positive thoughts.
Lee
- Thread starter
- #435
Pat, your comments about being a parent are so insightful and so eloquent that they bear repeating. With your permission:
"It's funny how becoming a father changes your views on how to be a good son. All my life, through my various adventures around the world, it has been my parents that have grounded me and given me that sense of home."
and concerning being a father--
"....the only job that really means anything in life."
Thanks for reminding us.
Lee
Pat, your comments about being a parent are so insightful and so eloquent that they bear repeating. With your permission:
"It's funny how becoming a father changes your views on how to be a good son. All my life, through my various adventures around the world, it has been my parents that have grounded me and given me that sense of home."
and concerning being a father--
"....the only job that really means anything in life."
Thanks for reminding us.
Lee
ABSOLUTELY agree 100%
Lee, Dad was asking about my truck and it's current state at dinner and I told him about this thread and mentioned you were a Sea Knight pilot. I don't remember his exact comment but something to the effect of "those helo pilots have ALL my respect...while I was orbiting at 10,000 ft waiting on the call or running a mission they were orbiting at 500 ft looking for us when we screwed up!!"
- Thread starter
- #437
TVZ FJ40 Road Music
Townes is in a class all his own.
That's a fine collection but keep in mind that all those tunes are Townes covers. For your next purchase I'd highly recommend Live At the Old Quarter, TVZ at his best. It was an epic performance.
Amazon.com: Live at the Old Quarter: Townes Van Zandt: Music
Live at the Old Quarter, Houston, Texas - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Townes is in a class all his own.
x2You will not be disappointed with Townes. He is arguably one of the best songwriters EVER.
That's a fine collection but keep in mind that all those tunes are Townes covers. For your next purchase I'd highly recommend Live At the Old Quarter, TVZ at his best. It was an epic performance.
Amazon.com: Live at the Old Quarter: Townes Van Zandt: Music
Live at the Old Quarter, Houston, Texas - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
- Thread starter
- #438
Fire and Ice
I refresh my memory. Yeah, like it needs refreshing....Elle Macpherson look alike. Lives 10 miles north of Fort Collins. In a remote little cabin. Probably has a fire burning in the fireplace. Bearskin rug. Hot buttered rum. Oatmeal stout in the fridge. I know she has a collection of old John Prine, Keen and Van Zandt tunes, and she also mentioned Diana Krall. I know about that kinda music. If I went to her cabin to wait out the storm, I could be snowed in for days. Dammit! Didn't I just have this conversation with myself less than a week ago?
Even though I already know how this is gonna go, my brain doesn't cooperate and forces me to go through the exercise. I guess it's a test.
Pros: A warm, comfortable refuge from the storm, with the added bonus of enjoying the company of my new friend. Completely innocent, right?
Cons: A warm comfortable refuge from the storm, with the added bonus of enjoying the company of my new friend. Completely innocent? Who am I kidding?
After all, I'm not dead yet. Men are men, and best intentions aside, it isn't tough to figure out where this could go. But all that analyzing is nothing but background noise. There's really just two things I need to remember and this conversation is over. First is my Grandfather's wise observation that you can learn everything you need to know about a man's character by watching what he does when he thinks no one is looking. And second, I'm not enjoying this adventure simply because of Yooper and Uncle Meldon. I'm here because my wife gave it the green light without a second of hesitation. She said "Do it, have fun, take notes, and come home safely." My wife rocks, and only a fool would intentionally screw up a situation as good as mine. As the song says, my Mama didn't raise no fool. I turn on the hazard flashers, stop and sit on the shoulder until the next 18 wheeler comes along, then lock in on its tail lights and keep driving.
Following semis seems to be working, but only in small increments. Even with virtually zero visibility, they're all blitzing along at 60 mph plus, and I'm trying to hang back at a safe distance driving considerably slower. I follow one for a few miles, lose it, pull over and wait for the next one. The scary thing is, the road is completely covered with snow and when I stop, I can't tell whether I'm smack in the middle of the highway or safely on the shoulder. Most of us like to flatter ourselves by thinking we're unflappable and fearless, the macho thing, but of course that's a lie. We all have our private fears, and there certainly are some things that scare the crap out of me. Rattlesnakes and grizzly bear come to mind, but if you're careful they're easy to avoid. But then there are those other fears that aren't so easy to avoid. I remember once having a conversation with Yooper about helo landings. I told him that I'd never have confessed this when I was younger, but feet wet approaches and shipboard landings in rough seas always scared the living $hit out of me. Now that I'm a grownup, I'm not ashamed to admit it. Snow blindness and not knowing whether you're sitting in the path of a 40 ton semi ranks right up there on my scaredy-cat scale. I'm not ashamed to admit that either. Fear aside, of the options on the table, playing chicken in a blizzard clearly takes a back seat to lounging in front of Gayla's fireplace. Not that I'd know anything about that, but I do have a vivid imagination and it keeps my mind off the immediate problem. Coasting on good luck and accumulated Cruiser karma, we continue creeping along and after following something like a dozen 18 wheelers, a few miles at the time, we make it to Cheyenne. It's almost noon. We've covered 100 miles in a little under three hours, the last forty in two hours, but we're here and still in one piece so there's no room to complain. The weather hasn't improved and we need gas. I decide to sit tight in Cheyenne for a while.
The last semi we follow leads us directly to a friendly looking Love's Truck Stop just outside the city limits. I fill The Turtle and go inside to thaw out and find some coffee. I'm wearing my only pair of big boy pants and a couple of long sleeve shirts but I still don't have a coat. If this weather persists across Wyoming and Montana, I'm gonna need to come up with warmer attire. I talk to a trucker filling his thermos at the coffee bar and he says conditions are about the same from here all the way to Sheridan. Possibly a bit less snow, but it's colder and there's freezing rain in the mix. The restaurant is almost empty but inside I find a guy who looks like he might be a local. I introduce myself and tell him I need to source a heavy coat. He asks if I know about Sierra Trading Post. A light comes on; of course I do. I've bought from Sierra through their web site for years, but didn't know they had a walk in store. He gives me directions and advises me to go upstairs and check their clearance racks. He says there's odd sizes of name brand gear there for 80% off retail. Excellent.
Maintenance crews in Cheyenne have managed to keep the local roads clear and I have no trouble getting to Sierra Trading Post on the east side of town. It's a new but rustic looking building that resembles a ski lodge, only a half dozen cars in the lot. Directly in front of the door is the best looking Defender 90 I've ever seen, yellow with a black soft top, covered with just enough snow to make it look like a staged scene. I park beside the Defender. I'm well aware of the litany of complaints about no-good Range Rovers, but I've always felt the D-90 was one of the very few vehicles that rivals an FJ40 in coolness and seeing this one up close does nothing to change my mind. If I were Bill Gates I'd already own one, or several. I ogle it for a few minutes but can't stand the cold, so I go inside and take my time warming up while plundering the bargain racks. They have every name brand of outdoor gear I've heard of and some I haven't. It's not difficult to find what I need. A medium-heavy weight Patagonia jacket for twenty dollars, and a pair of Gore-Tex lined Scarpa boots for thirty. Not a bad score, fifty bucks for a jacket and boots that would have easily cost around four hundred in Austin.
I pay and go outside, and standing by The Turtle is the most perfect looking couple I've seen outside of magazines. He's handsome and she's beautiful and they're both dressed to the nines in designer outdoor duds, wardrobes by Ralph Lauren. They look like models for Elle and GQ, and apparently they belong to the D-90. Mr. Handsome says something about admiring my Land Cruiser. He says he's always wanted an old FJ40 but hasn't had time to look around. I don't know if he's serious or just being polite but at least he knows it isn't a Jeep. His wife (I assume she's the wife) is shivering and looks impatient. She says "Honey, if you like it, why don't you just buy this one, from him?" What the hell? Her suggestion is so presumptuous that I don't even know what to say. Is this the way wealthy people operate--see something they want and just assume they can buy it? I don't say anything, and to his credit, Mr. Handsome looks embarrassed. He tells her that the gentleman (me) hasn't said it was for sale and besides, they need to be on their way to Jackson Hole if they hope to get in before dark. I happen to know that its well over 400 miles to Jackson Hole. There's no way they'll make it by dark, and I think he knows it, but that shuts her up, and they leave. They probably have an ad to shoot, then cocktails with Brad and Angelina.
It looks like the snow is over but according to the thermometer outside the trading post door, it's twelve degrees and now there's a freezing drizzle coming down. Visibility isn't impaired by snow or rain, but the windshield is iced over and I'm sure the streets are well on their way to icing. I fire up the 2F and scrape the windshield. When the defroster begins doing its thing, I turn the wipers on and notice a new problem. The blades are an inch too long and at the top of their sweep, the rubber blade bumps over the top of the windshield gasket. This wasn't an issue when clearing wet snow off the glass, but it doesn't cut it for rain and ice pellets. I leave the engine running and go back inside where I get directions to a nearby Auto Zone. There's one on my way out of town and easy to find. I'm there in minutes and fortunately they have the correct size wiper blades. Normally changing blades is a five minute chore; today nothing is that easy. I return to the parking lot and find the blade rubbers already frozen to the windshield. They aren't just frozen; they're embedded in a quarter inch sheet of ice that formed in the short time I was inside buying blades. I crank the defroster on again and begin scraping. Freeing the rubber from the windshield is accomplished quickly, but there's a chunk of ice that's formed around the point of attachment between wiper blade and wiper arm and I can't get it to break loose. I go back inside and explain my predicament, and one of the clerks hands me a little mini-torch and describes the proper way to melt the ice without cracking the windshield. It sounds like they do this all the time. The torch procedure works and while I'm struggling to swap blades, a pickup does a sliding u-turn in front of Auto Zone and pulls into the parking lot. A kid who looks about fifteen gets out and walks over to me. He asks a few questions about The Turtle's suspension, then tells me that he has a '67 FJ40. He pulled the F and says he just dropped in a Chevy 350. While I'm standing there fumbling with wiper blades, with no feeling in my fingers, he wants to talk about hot rodding a 40. He's a nice enough kid, excited about his first ride, and I don't want to dampen his enthusiasm but if I'm out here much longer I'll be completely frozen. Fortunately I was trained by the master when it comes to terminating conversations so I know just what to do. In response to his questions I use my Dad's technique of long silences, grunts and one syllable answers. He finally gets the message and wanders into the store. After an hour I get the blades swapped out and while I'm at it, I take Steve's roll of tape and seal around the outside of the drivers side door, eliminating another cold draft. I'll only have one more stop and don't mind crawling through the passenger door a couple of times, if it'll help keep me warm and dry. So now it's 1400 and we're on the highway again, freezing drizzle and occasional snow flakes falling, 325 miles to Sheridan's flagship motel. As before, the only vehicles on the road are The Turtle and 18 wheelers.
Cheyenne to Sheridan is uneventful. I stop in Casper for gas and coffee. I try to stay behind semi rigs as much as possible, letting them run interference. There's a number of obvious icy patches in all the places you'd expect, overpasses and bridges, and there's also black ice that I can't see until I'm on top of it. I'm happy to let the truckers find it first. Even with the heater running full blast, at these temps it's ineffective as a defroster and the interior glass stays fogged. I dig a t-shirt out of my duffel and begin to wipe the windshield and side window glass in order to see the road. This gets tedious and before long I'm only wiping a small patch of the windshield directly in front of my face, but that's enough. By the time we reach Sheridan I've used all my shirts as windshield rags and they're all soaked but it worked. We pull into the motel parking lot just after 2100. Denver to Sheridan, 425 miles, twelve hours, and if my ass wasn't frozen it would probably be killin' me. Instead, I'm just hungry.
Me: "I have a reservation, Armstrong"
Clerk: without looking up.. "Credit card and driver's license."
Me: "Is there a nearby diner that would still be open?"
Clerk: "No"
Me: "How about in town?"
Clerk: "I wouldn't know."
Me: "You wouldn't happen to have a relative working at Motel 6 in Pueblo?"
Clerk: "No. Why?"
Me: "Oh...No reason."
If it isn't genetic, then it must be the training.
I drive two blocks and find a Subway, take my sandwich back to the room, call my wife, call my parents, then call Steve. He posts this update to the 3FE list:
Commander Armstrong Update
The Commander earned his "Intrepid" stripes today. Just got off the phone with Lee and he was calling from his day's destination: Sheridan, Wyoming. He hit the highway this morning at 9:00 am and arrived in Sheridan at 9:00 pm. Twelve hours to go 425 miles - with a two hour delay in Cheyenne, WY due to whiteout blizzard conditions.
The roll of duct tape I donated to the cause came in handy to seal off some of the sources of heavy winds inside the cab as the winds were strong quartering headwinds and snow was blowing all around. The Cruiser putted right along and the defroster allowed for a small window of vision for Lee to navigate by. After a switch to smaller, OEM-sized blades, the windshield wipers did a pretty fair job of letting the Commander see where he was going and Lee said the scenery was pretty sweet once the clouds abated somewhat as he drove further north. The weather maps indicate the worst of the wet weather should be behind him although the truck's heater will still be put to the test tomorrow. Lee mentioned that, as has occurred everyday of his journey thus far, people have approached him, asking questions about "his" Cruiser and today was no exception as a 16 year old kid at Auto Zone asked what year the beast was and claimed to have just installed a small block Chevy in his '67 40. Lee said he started to chant the OEM mantra but thought better of it, choosing to save energy for the voyage still in front of him. I will update as reports filter in. Rock on, my friend.
--Steve
to be continued...
When you're safe at home, you wish you were having an adventure.
When you're having an adventure, you wish you were safe at home.
--Thornton Wilder
When you're having an adventure, you wish you were safe at home.
--Thornton Wilder
Within minutes of leaving Steve and Suzy I've gassed up The Turtle and found my way to Interstate 25. By 0900 we're humming along at an easy clip, with Sheridan, Wyoming 425 miles due north. In keeping with my cheapo travel plan I've booked a room at a new Motel 6 in Sheridan, fifty bucks and change. It must be pretty elegant because it's more than twice as expensive as the same Motel 6 room in Pueblo. At the very least I'm expecting fresh flowers and chocolates on my pillow. Possibly even a complimentary champagne brunch. Or since it's Wyoming, a beer brunch. I pass through only three cities of any size before reaching Sheridan. Fort Collins is sixty five miles north of Denver; Cheyenne is another forty miles, just across the state line, and Casper is slightly more than halfway to Sheridan. I've been averaging around 13 mpg and with a 16 gallon tank, I'll need to refuel in Cheyenne and again in Casper. That should get me to Sheridan with a few drops to spare. My butt usually can't tolerate more than 300 miles a day in a 40 but this drive is all smooth interstate highway and stretching the distance doesn't seem unreasonable. Weather radar is showing only spotty precipitation across northern Colorado and Wyoming. This looks like an easy drive, and The Turtle and I are about due for one.
An hour later and we're approaching the outskirts of Fort Collins when snow begins falling. Clear skies to this point, and there was no snow in the forecast. None. But here it comes, and not little flakes floating on the wind, but more of those fat sloppy flakes like we saw on Raton Pass three days earlier. First there's only a few of them splatting on the windshield, but the makeshift duck tape weatherstrip works as we intended and I'm enjoying watching it snow. It doesn't seem to be sticking, the heater is blowing like a little furnace, and I have a fully functional clutch. With absolutely nothing to worry about, I keep driving.
"I generally avoid temptation, unless I can't resist it."
--Mae West
--Mae West
I begin seeing exits for Fort Collins and within minutes of the first flakes, we pass a sign for Colorado State University. The occasional flakes from only minutes earlier have become a squall, and visibility is now a serious problem. I slow to 30 and begin hugging the right shoulder, trying to stay on the road by following the tail lights of an 18 wheeler. This doesn't work for long as this guy is haulin' ass and I watch his lights quickly disappear into the white. Not good. I'm barely an hour out of Denver and I begin considering options. If this is a small weather system I can probably drive through it, which is my preference. I can also backtrack to Denver, or I can find a place to stop until the weather clears. I'm thinking about the best course of action when I notice that I'm sweating and feeling lightheaded, and my right leg feels hot. Strange, because it isn't that warm inside the truck, and I know I'm not ill. I don't smell anything unusual that would signal a mechanical problem, and for a moment I wonder if the heat I'm feeling is coming off the tranny. But that can't be it. I would have noticed earlier. Then I have another epiphany, my second one of this trip. The heat is coming from inside the Tuffy and it's about to burn a hole in my leg. It's that slip of paper, Gayla's kryptonite paper.
Gayla, the road stop girl from Colorado State...
"She hands me a folded sheet from her spiral notebook. 'My phone numbers. If you're ever near Fort Collins and need a place to stay...or just want to meet for coffee. Or a beer...' She leans in and gives me a little peck on the cheek, turns, and leaves. I toss her sheet of paper into the Tuffy"
I refresh my memory. Yeah, like it needs refreshing....Elle Macpherson look alike. Lives 10 miles north of Fort Collins. In a remote little cabin. Probably has a fire burning in the fireplace. Bearskin rug. Hot buttered rum. Oatmeal stout in the fridge. I know she has a collection of old John Prine, Keen and Van Zandt tunes, and she also mentioned Diana Krall. I know about that kinda music. If I went to her cabin to wait out the storm, I could be snowed in for days. Dammit! Didn't I just have this conversation with myself less than a week ago?
"What goes around comes back around
And I've been around a few times by now
I've seen it all before and I've paid my dues
Well my Mama didn't raise no fool"
-- Firehouse
And I've been around a few times by now
I've seen it all before and I've paid my dues
Well my Mama didn't raise no fool"
-- Firehouse
Even though I already know how this is gonna go, my brain doesn't cooperate and forces me to go through the exercise. I guess it's a test.
Pros: A warm, comfortable refuge from the storm, with the added bonus of enjoying the company of my new friend. Completely innocent, right?
Cons: A warm comfortable refuge from the storm, with the added bonus of enjoying the company of my new friend. Completely innocent? Who am I kidding?
After all, I'm not dead yet. Men are men, and best intentions aside, it isn't tough to figure out where this could go. But all that analyzing is nothing but background noise. There's really just two things I need to remember and this conversation is over. First is my Grandfather's wise observation that you can learn everything you need to know about a man's character by watching what he does when he thinks no one is looking. And second, I'm not enjoying this adventure simply because of Yooper and Uncle Meldon. I'm here because my wife gave it the green light without a second of hesitation. She said "Do it, have fun, take notes, and come home safely." My wife rocks, and only a fool would intentionally screw up a situation as good as mine. As the song says, my Mama didn't raise no fool. I turn on the hazard flashers, stop and sit on the shoulder until the next 18 wheeler comes along, then lock in on its tail lights and keep driving.
Following semis seems to be working, but only in small increments. Even with virtually zero visibility, they're all blitzing along at 60 mph plus, and I'm trying to hang back at a safe distance driving considerably slower. I follow one for a few miles, lose it, pull over and wait for the next one. The scary thing is, the road is completely covered with snow and when I stop, I can't tell whether I'm smack in the middle of the highway or safely on the shoulder. Most of us like to flatter ourselves by thinking we're unflappable and fearless, the macho thing, but of course that's a lie. We all have our private fears, and there certainly are some things that scare the crap out of me. Rattlesnakes and grizzly bear come to mind, but if you're careful they're easy to avoid. But then there are those other fears that aren't so easy to avoid. I remember once having a conversation with Yooper about helo landings. I told him that I'd never have confessed this when I was younger, but feet wet approaches and shipboard landings in rough seas always scared the living $hit out of me. Now that I'm a grownup, I'm not ashamed to admit it. Snow blindness and not knowing whether you're sitting in the path of a 40 ton semi ranks right up there on my scaredy-cat scale. I'm not ashamed to admit that either. Fear aside, of the options on the table, playing chicken in a blizzard clearly takes a back seat to lounging in front of Gayla's fireplace. Not that I'd know anything about that, but I do have a vivid imagination and it keeps my mind off the immediate problem. Coasting on good luck and accumulated Cruiser karma, we continue creeping along and after following something like a dozen 18 wheelers, a few miles at the time, we make it to Cheyenne. It's almost noon. We've covered 100 miles in a little under three hours, the last forty in two hours, but we're here and still in one piece so there's no room to complain. The weather hasn't improved and we need gas. I decide to sit tight in Cheyenne for a while.
The last semi we follow leads us directly to a friendly looking Love's Truck Stop just outside the city limits. I fill The Turtle and go inside to thaw out and find some coffee. I'm wearing my only pair of big boy pants and a couple of long sleeve shirts but I still don't have a coat. If this weather persists across Wyoming and Montana, I'm gonna need to come up with warmer attire. I talk to a trucker filling his thermos at the coffee bar and he says conditions are about the same from here all the way to Sheridan. Possibly a bit less snow, but it's colder and there's freezing rain in the mix. The restaurant is almost empty but inside I find a guy who looks like he might be a local. I introduce myself and tell him I need to source a heavy coat. He asks if I know about Sierra Trading Post. A light comes on; of course I do. I've bought from Sierra through their web site for years, but didn't know they had a walk in store. He gives me directions and advises me to go upstairs and check their clearance racks. He says there's odd sizes of name brand gear there for 80% off retail. Excellent.
Maintenance crews in Cheyenne have managed to keep the local roads clear and I have no trouble getting to Sierra Trading Post on the east side of town. It's a new but rustic looking building that resembles a ski lodge, only a half dozen cars in the lot. Directly in front of the door is the best looking Defender 90 I've ever seen, yellow with a black soft top, covered with just enough snow to make it look like a staged scene. I park beside the Defender. I'm well aware of the litany of complaints about no-good Range Rovers, but I've always felt the D-90 was one of the very few vehicles that rivals an FJ40 in coolness and seeing this one up close does nothing to change my mind. If I were Bill Gates I'd already own one, or several. I ogle it for a few minutes but can't stand the cold, so I go inside and take my time warming up while plundering the bargain racks. They have every name brand of outdoor gear I've heard of and some I haven't. It's not difficult to find what I need. A medium-heavy weight Patagonia jacket for twenty dollars, and a pair of Gore-Tex lined Scarpa boots for thirty. Not a bad score, fifty bucks for a jacket and boots that would have easily cost around four hundred in Austin.
I pay and go outside, and standing by The Turtle is the most perfect looking couple I've seen outside of magazines. He's handsome and she's beautiful and they're both dressed to the nines in designer outdoor duds, wardrobes by Ralph Lauren. They look like models for Elle and GQ, and apparently they belong to the D-90. Mr. Handsome says something about admiring my Land Cruiser. He says he's always wanted an old FJ40 but hasn't had time to look around. I don't know if he's serious or just being polite but at least he knows it isn't a Jeep. His wife (I assume she's the wife) is shivering and looks impatient. She says "Honey, if you like it, why don't you just buy this one, from him?" What the hell? Her suggestion is so presumptuous that I don't even know what to say. Is this the way wealthy people operate--see something they want and just assume they can buy it? I don't say anything, and to his credit, Mr. Handsome looks embarrassed. He tells her that the gentleman (me) hasn't said it was for sale and besides, they need to be on their way to Jackson Hole if they hope to get in before dark. I happen to know that its well over 400 miles to Jackson Hole. There's no way they'll make it by dark, and I think he knows it, but that shuts her up, and they leave. They probably have an ad to shoot, then cocktails with Brad and Angelina.
It looks like the snow is over but according to the thermometer outside the trading post door, it's twelve degrees and now there's a freezing drizzle coming down. Visibility isn't impaired by snow or rain, but the windshield is iced over and I'm sure the streets are well on their way to icing. I fire up the 2F and scrape the windshield. When the defroster begins doing its thing, I turn the wipers on and notice a new problem. The blades are an inch too long and at the top of their sweep, the rubber blade bumps over the top of the windshield gasket. This wasn't an issue when clearing wet snow off the glass, but it doesn't cut it for rain and ice pellets. I leave the engine running and go back inside where I get directions to a nearby Auto Zone. There's one on my way out of town and easy to find. I'm there in minutes and fortunately they have the correct size wiper blades. Normally changing blades is a five minute chore; today nothing is that easy. I return to the parking lot and find the blade rubbers already frozen to the windshield. They aren't just frozen; they're embedded in a quarter inch sheet of ice that formed in the short time I was inside buying blades. I crank the defroster on again and begin scraping. Freeing the rubber from the windshield is accomplished quickly, but there's a chunk of ice that's formed around the point of attachment between wiper blade and wiper arm and I can't get it to break loose. I go back inside and explain my predicament, and one of the clerks hands me a little mini-torch and describes the proper way to melt the ice without cracking the windshield. It sounds like they do this all the time. The torch procedure works and while I'm struggling to swap blades, a pickup does a sliding u-turn in front of Auto Zone and pulls into the parking lot. A kid who looks about fifteen gets out and walks over to me. He asks a few questions about The Turtle's suspension, then tells me that he has a '67 FJ40. He pulled the F and says he just dropped in a Chevy 350. While I'm standing there fumbling with wiper blades, with no feeling in my fingers, he wants to talk about hot rodding a 40. He's a nice enough kid, excited about his first ride, and I don't want to dampen his enthusiasm but if I'm out here much longer I'll be completely frozen. Fortunately I was trained by the master when it comes to terminating conversations so I know just what to do. In response to his questions I use my Dad's technique of long silences, grunts and one syllable answers. He finally gets the message and wanders into the store. After an hour I get the blades swapped out and while I'm at it, I take Steve's roll of tape and seal around the outside of the drivers side door, eliminating another cold draft. I'll only have one more stop and don't mind crawling through the passenger door a couple of times, if it'll help keep me warm and dry. So now it's 1400 and we're on the highway again, freezing drizzle and occasional snow flakes falling, 325 miles to Sheridan's flagship motel. As before, the only vehicles on the road are The Turtle and 18 wheelers.
Cheyenne to Sheridan is uneventful. I stop in Casper for gas and coffee. I try to stay behind semi rigs as much as possible, letting them run interference. There's a number of obvious icy patches in all the places you'd expect, overpasses and bridges, and there's also black ice that I can't see until I'm on top of it. I'm happy to let the truckers find it first. Even with the heater running full blast, at these temps it's ineffective as a defroster and the interior glass stays fogged. I dig a t-shirt out of my duffel and begin to wipe the windshield and side window glass in order to see the road. This gets tedious and before long I'm only wiping a small patch of the windshield directly in front of my face, but that's enough. By the time we reach Sheridan I've used all my shirts as windshield rags and they're all soaked but it worked. We pull into the motel parking lot just after 2100. Denver to Sheridan, 425 miles, twelve hours, and if my ass wasn't frozen it would probably be killin' me. Instead, I'm just hungry.
Me: "I have a reservation, Armstrong"
Clerk: without looking up.. "Credit card and driver's license."
Me: "Is there a nearby diner that would still be open?"
Clerk: "No"
Me: "How about in town?"
Clerk: "I wouldn't know."
Me: "You wouldn't happen to have a relative working at Motel 6 in Pueblo?"
Clerk: "No. Why?"
Me: "Oh...No reason."
If it isn't genetic, then it must be the training.
I drive two blocks and find a Subway, take my sandwich back to the room, call my wife, call my parents, then call Steve. He posts this update to the 3FE list:
Commander Armstrong Update
The Commander earned his "Intrepid" stripes today. Just got off the phone with Lee and he was calling from his day's destination: Sheridan, Wyoming. He hit the highway this morning at 9:00 am and arrived in Sheridan at 9:00 pm. Twelve hours to go 425 miles - with a two hour delay in Cheyenne, WY due to whiteout blizzard conditions.
The roll of duct tape I donated to the cause came in handy to seal off some of the sources of heavy winds inside the cab as the winds were strong quartering headwinds and snow was blowing all around. The Cruiser putted right along and the defroster allowed for a small window of vision for Lee to navigate by. After a switch to smaller, OEM-sized blades, the windshield wipers did a pretty fair job of letting the Commander see where he was going and Lee said the scenery was pretty sweet once the clouds abated somewhat as he drove further north. The weather maps indicate the worst of the wet weather should be behind him although the truck's heater will still be put to the test tomorrow. Lee mentioned that, as has occurred everyday of his journey thus far, people have approached him, asking questions about "his" Cruiser and today was no exception as a 16 year old kid at Auto Zone asked what year the beast was and claimed to have just installed a small block Chevy in his '67 40. Lee said he started to chant the OEM mantra but thought better of it, choosing to save energy for the voyage still in front of him. I will update as reports filter in. Rock on, my friend.
--Steve
to be continued...
Last edited:
awesome.....brilliant writing...i feel cold....gonna go stoke the fire
1911
chupacabra
Suggested sound track: "Ten Degrees and Getting Colder" by The Great One
, Gordon Lightfoot.gordon lightfoot 10 degrees and getting colder live in concert bbc 1972 - YouTube
Last edited:
- Status
