The Wanderer

[SuperBuickGuy]

Got a new tool, this thing is cool

and it cuts quite easily

making chips

this was the coolest part.... square, no heat.... large chunk, didn't take 30 seconds to go through it

and it came with 2 blades for less then $200 - do wear safety glasses, it tends to through chips all over the place

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

Now that I have something to make smaller scrap metal pieces, let's get to it


first, practicing my balance

I'm still not sure I can go out this door with the rack on (I like to live dangerously)

so today's choice was go to get a scaffold or build a ladder... went with a ladder

dang, it almost looks like I know what I'm doing.... trust me, it's nothing but smoke and mirrors

and grinding dust - yes, the rungs are straight, there's a good optical illusion going on here because the top isn't level and the ladder is perpendicular to the bumper

eventually, there will be a hole for the a/c in the middle of this.... but it's so much easier to build it this way then cut it out - though it wastes a lot of metal

balance trick again

and back on top

and the painted ladder

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

More parts to integrate

it's kind of interesting, when I bought it there were several people who remarked at how noisy it is and there isn't a variable speed. A couple suggested PCM switches, so I bought one, the interesting bit is the manufacturer says don't use them with it.... yeah, another ignored suggestion
time to get serious about roof mounting

loving my new chop saw - perfect miters

created a hole for the vent

when I put a RTAC on, I'll frame the opening in the same was as the vent.... which is why there is cross bars on top - those are above the Mach 8 I'm planning on installing (so I can still haul a canoe or whatever)

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

Onward.
The point of the rack is a place to mount lights, hold the foxwing, hold the solar panels and provide a spot to put a RTT if needed.


Today's test fit was to verify that this iteration was good to go

I also welded handles/tie downs (you can never have enough of those)

tomorrow's task will be mounting it securely. coming up with a wiring plan and affixing all the other bits (lights, awning)


for those counting.... the door is about 1" too low... why I didn't put the big door on that side is beyond me... oh well, next shop I'll know better

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

THE WANDERERS #15

MISTAKEN IDENTITIES - THE MIAMI SAGE, PART III

By Rick Sieman

When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just gotten severely lost on their way to Miami and had blasted The Whale through a grapefruit grove at flank speed. Covered with juice, seeds, grapefruit rind, and drawing more and more flies by the minute, Carl was forced to stop and wash off The Whale, during which time he lost whatever sense of proper direction he had left.
After wandering around the sugar sand back roads of Florida for hours, Carl got on the CB and asked for directions, identify*ing himself, as usual, as The Whale. A voice possessing a dis*tinct Spanish accent told him to look for a red flare in the sky.
We join them now as the red flare burst into the sky:

***

Carl thumbed the CB mike again. "Gotcha. We saw the flare and are headed in that direction. What should I look for?"
"Just look for the usual stuff, Senor Whale. Guns and air*planes." A harsh laugh followed.
Carl looked at Emma. Emma looked at Carl. Carl scratched his chin. "Hmmm. Wonder how he knew we were driving The Whale? Well, whatever. We'll find out soon enough."

Ten minutes later, The Whale lurched over a rise in the two-track sand road and pushed aside enough brush to see a rather large clearing. In the clearing were a number of trucks, two small airplanes, one Quonset hut building and a few small sheds. A number of rather rough-looking men lounged around with all sorts of weapons slung over their shoulders. Netting was stretched over the trees and sunlight barely filtered through the branches and leaves stuck in the netting.
Emma turned to Carl with a puzzled look on her face. "Dear, what do you make of this? These men with all those guns?"
Carl lobbed a medium-size wad of tobacco out the window of The Whale and nailed a beautiful tropical flower dead center. It quickly curled, turned brown and slumped to the ground.
"Emma, don't you know nuthin ? This here's clearly a huntin' and shootin' club. Betcha there's plenty of deers and such in these deep woods."

A tall man obviously in charge waved The Whale to an area to park, then walked over and stuck his head in the open window. "Senor Whale? My name is Carlos. I'm so glad to see you. Won't you please step into my office - humble as it is - and I'll give you the directions you are going to need?"
Carl stuck a meaty hand out the window. "Glad to meet you, Charley. A person could get lost out here real easy."
"Carlos. The name is Carlos."
"Yep, that's what I said. Anyways, let's go look at some maps. I'd like to make Miami before tomorrow."

Carl and Emma followed Carlos into the Quonset hut and he mo*tioned for them to sit. He picked up a stick and pointed to a large map. "You are here now, amigo. Here is where you want to be manana. "And this," he pointed out a red line, "is the route you'll want to take."
Carl shifted his tobacco from one cheek to the other and scratched his head. "Hey, Charo, it looks like the main highway is only about five, maybe six miles from here. Wouldn't that be the hot way to go?"
"Carlos, please ... the name is Carlos. Ahh, Senor Whale, you have a sense of humor that I like. Hot, indeed. There would be police all along that road ... and you know what that means."
Carl smiled. "Yup. Tickets. Don't need any of those. You see, I usually drive a little bit over the speed limit."
Carlos slapped his thigh and let out a roaring laugh. "Oh, Senor Whale, you are indeed a very funny man. I like that. I take it, then, that we will be able to do business? You will deliver my package for me in Miami?"
Carl beamed. "Sure, Charo. It's the least I could do. After all, you guys got me un-lost."
"It's Carlos."
"Right. Now, what about this route here? What are we dealing with?"
"It's tough driving. Mostly narrow sandy roads, with lots of water crossings and some mud. But the good thing is almost all of it's under cover of trees or heavy brush. That way, no one can see you from the air, which is good."
Emma looked puzzled. "Why is that good?"
Carl sighed loudly. "Emma, don't you know nuthin'? Them traf*fic cops can give you a ticket from an airplane."
Carlos laughed loudly again, but Carl couldn't quite figure out why.

Two hours later, after Carl and Emma had eaten and freshened up, Carlos came up to them with a map marked with the correct route. It was one of those neat topo maps that Carl really liked; the kind that had gotten him lost many times in the past. He also handed Carl a small suitcase. "Here's the address and the man you should give this to is named Tito. Give it to no one else. And for your troubles, good friend Whale, here are 50 big ones for you." With that, he tucked an envelope in Carl's shirt pocket, and winked.
Carl was embarrassed. "Gee whiz, Casper. You didn't have to do that. You folks have been so nice to us ..."
"No, no, no, my friend ... I insist. Why, it would cost me at least that much to Federal Express it." With that, Carlos roared with laughter again and smacked Carl on the shoulder as though they'd been friends for years.

A half-hour later, The Whale was lumbering through the dense foliage in second gear, in 4-L, and the big Gumbo Mudder tires were churning comfortably through the crusty sand, that did, indeed, look like sugar.
The map that Carlos had given Carl was excellent. It showed every fork in the trail and even gave exact distances. Many of
the trees were marked with orange spray paint, just about at eye level.
Carl was amazed. "Jeez, Emma, this map is so good that even a blind man couldn't get lost."

Fifteen minutes later, Carl got lost, hopelessly lost.

In desperation, he looked at the compass on the dash and said, "Well, when in doubt, go back to basics. It's late afternoon and as far as I know, the sun still sets in the west, right?"
Emma nodded.
"Then, we just head due east until we hit the Pacific Ocean and the highway runs right alongside the ocean."
"You mean the Atlantic Ocean, dear."
"Yeh, that's what I said. Your ears goin' bad in your old age, woman?"

Carl sighted on the compass and headed dead-nuts due east. He crashed through the brush, forded small streams, almost got stuck in the mud and nearly had a heart attack when a snake fell on his windshield. He quickly flicked the wipers on and flipped the confused reptile about 20 feet into the jungle where it decided to take a long rest underneath an old rotten log.
Success was realized, however, when Carl finally broke through the brush and was greeted with the welcome sight of a paved road with the ocean on the other side. The Whale was a filthy mud and leaf-covered mess. Carl could barely see through the windshield.

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

They rumbled down the road at a comfortable speed until the metropolis of Miami came into view. Emma shifted in the comfort*able captain's chair and said, "You know, dear, the Whale looks a mess. Why don't we stop in at the first truck wash place we can find and get it cleaned up before we drop the suitcase off with Mr. Frito?"
"That's Tito, Emma. But that is a good idea. No sense pulling up to a place looking like a garbage truck."

After a few minutes, Carl found a car/truck wash and pulled in. The manager looked over the filthy Whale and said, "Mister, no way am I going to clean that rolling swamp for the $12.00 price up there on the sign. It's going to cost you 40 bucks, and that don't include the interior. Take it or leave it."
Carl's face grew crimson in hue. "Forty bucks? I'm not asking you to paint the damn thing! I just want it cleaned!"
Emma stepped in between the two men and calmed down her hus*band. "Now dear, don't worry. After all, we do have that $50 Mr. Carlos gave us back at the hunting place."
"Yeh, good idea, Emma. Funny I didn't think of that." With that, Carl thumbed open the envelope and extracted the bills ... all 50 of the $1,000 bills!
He looked at it dumbly, the facts still not registering yet, and with a puzzled look on his face, asked the truck wash manager, "Uhh, you got change for $ 1,000? Seems to be the smallest thing I've got on me."

***

An hour later, Carl was in the Miami County jail, in the maxi*mum security section, next to a cell occupied by Emma. Carl picked up a tin cup and rattled it against the bars. "Saw this in a movie once and always wanted to do it."
Emma broke into loud, wailing crying. Carl realized that his joke had not helped much.
The detective looked at Carl in his best no-nonsense look:
"Let me get this straight, Al ..."
"Carl. The name's Carl."
"Right. Now listen up. We got you on some pretty serious charges here. First off, you try to pass a counterfeit $1,000 bill. Then, when the cops stop you on the tip from the truck wash manager, we find 49 more of them and a suitcase full of coke. Would you like to explain?"
"Coke? In a suitcase? That's a stupid way to transport the stuff. You should always put it in a cooler with lots of ice. "
The detective jumped with glee and said, "Could you please repeat that into this tape recorder? And maybe the judge will give you a reduced sentence for co-operating with the law. And maybe your girlfriend here would like to spill the beans, too."
Emma wailed loudly and Carl looked at the ceiling, hoping it would fall in on him.
An FBI agent shuffled through the stack of papers on the desk, turned to the detective and spoke. "Not a chance. This guy has a totally clean record and everything checks out, no matter how weird it sounds. Plus, we think he's too dumb to transport drugs."
Carl bristled. "I am not too dumb to smuggle drugs, I ... ooof!"
Emma had just elbowed him smartly in the rib cage.
Carl got a sheepish look on his face. "Well, after second thought, maybe I am."
The FBI men turned to Carl like they were mounted on gears, and one of then said, "Now, if you'll work with us on this, per*haps we can ..."

***

Two days later, The Whale was headed north, exactly at the speed limit. Carl was swearing under his breath and spitting tobacco juice out the window at a prodigious rate.
Emma quietly commented: "Carl, you ought to be happy that we were able to get that Tito and all those dope fiends caught and put in jail. And the FBI men said you were a real hero for deliv*ering that codeine to the ..."
"Cocaine, Emma. lt's cocaine, a terrible drug."
"That s what I said, dear. Anyways, why didn't we stay there in Miami and finish our visit?"
" What? And hang around all those old, retired people? Not me. We're gonna head somewhere new ... someplace different ... we're going to Mexico! I'm just curious to see if The Whale could navigate that Baja 1000 course they're always writing about in the magazines. Buenos airhose. Hasta Garbonzo! Viva Las Vegas. Watch out, Mexico, here come the Wanderers!"

Emma sighed and said nothing at all, which seemed like good idea at the time.

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

not much done just got started on paint

 

[JPaul]

Lookin' good!

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

A vent, installed

and roof rack on... not attached, but on

All this shuffling around is so I can put the 'burb back on the lift and install the batteries and this

there is a slight issue, I think I'm going to have to put a remote fill on it.... we'll see tomorrow.

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

Onward

to be completely honest, I have a pathological problem with stuff hanging below the frame - so this may not last.... it'll last though the rally, but in the end I may go with something smaller. And yeah, I know, this is basically an RV with clearance... so perhaps a skid will do.
if the tank stays in place, I need to figure out whether it will be a remote fill or a cut in the body....

and 200 lbs more cargo

believe it or not, it should be a nice fit....

tomorrow is going to be a bastard of a day, so we'll see if I actually get these both mounted ...
and something random.... why did they install this piece of flat steel?

 

[JPaul]

Have you thought about a body lift to let you push those all up further inside the frame? That propane tank looks to be hanging awfully low, and I'd be loathe to hit something like that on a sharp rock, as well as those batteries.

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

it is, but it's actually not the lowest point... I think the only solution is a smaller tank but since this took 2 weeks to get and isn't returnable; I'm going to go with it for now.

With all that said, it will be at least another inch further off the ground when I put the 35s under it - and since this is not my trails rig, rather, a rig to go explore ghost towns in the Southwest (for example)... I may just deal with it. I still think a 1/4" plate skid plate and a hoop around it would provide far more protection then most other RVs enjoy.

all of that is thinking outloud - and I welcome thoughts.... I even entertained the notion of moving the fuel tank forward and putting it in the back between the frame rails... (fully protected, of course).

The batteries will be above the bottom of the rails and surrounded on 3 sides by 1/4" plate.

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

A water tank. 10 gallon, soon it gets its home...

but first

battery boxes

The order of events was going to be propane tank - because it really doesn't take much to install (heh) - then finish the battery system. Problem is I'm not in love with the tank hanging down so I moved onto something I know what needs doing and will finish it up. The propane tank doesn't 'have' to be in place by June 16 but the water and electric do as does the shelves, roof mounts, and the bed frame - I can run my camp stove off a propane canister, on the table I've yet to make. I'm leaning towards cutting the floor. If I do, I may also solve what I think is a GM issue with the raised seat pedestal. Why they just didn't make the floor flat from the step to the kick panels is beyond my comprehension - all that lost space, space I can use for comfy semi-truck floatation seats... I digress, at that time I can make a spot for the tank along with the tool wall (Eventually, this will be a 3 door egress suburban with the 4th door opening to a utility box).... anyway, preview of things to come.
thanks for watching

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

more on the battery mount

drill some holes

and didn't even drill a line that didn't need drilling (yay)

now to design the bottom half.... ttfn

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

THE WANDERERS #16


ON THE ROAD TO MEXICO… MORE OR LESS!

By Rick Sieman





When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just gone through their confused version of Miami Vice. For the moment, the wandering couple had seen enough of the orange juice state to last them a decade or three. Carl figured a complete change of climate was in order and they had always wanted to see Mexico anyway.

***

We join them now as they head west through Louisiana, toward the Left Coast. The day is warm, the sun shining brightly and The Whale is rumbling smoothly along at exactly two miles an hour over the speed limit. The day is so perfect, that all the windows on the giant Suburban are rolled down. No air conditioning needed today.
Carl shifted the plug of Red Man chewing tobacco to the right side of his mouth so he could control the spit from the left side. A good chewing man learns effective spitting techniques early.
A roadside speed sign was in sight up ahead and Carl concentrated mightily as The Whale approached. He pursed his lips, allowed sufficient lead and aimed just so... and let loose with a brownish wad of juice that flew in a flat arc. The wad hit dead center right between the two “5s” and Carl grunted with satisfaction. Sure, the legs get old, but some things got better with age.
Emma sighed and looked up from her knitting.
"Dear, I wish you wouldn’t spit all over the landscape. Who knows what kind of terrible things could happen?”
Carl let out a big booming laugh.
"What kind of trouble? Will the spit patrol give me a ticket? Haw, haw!"
Emma wrinkled her nose and thought for a moment. "Well dear, there could be a sudden gust of wind and it could blow all that stuff right back in your face."
"Winds? On a warm day like this in Louisiana? Did you stick one of those knitting needles in your brain, Emma? That’s a laugh! Whatever... why don t you take a break from making that three-necked sweater and git me some good country sounds on the radio?"
Emma stared at the intimidating sound system that cost more than the average car, and hesitated.
Carl barked, "The red button, Emma, the big red one that says "ON". I told you a hunnert times that's the one that fires it up. Jeez!”

Emma sighed and gingerly pressed the button. A bewildering array of multi-colored lights blinked wildly and LED bars climbed up and down like monitors on a nuclear reactor on steroids. A blast of sound pounded through the cab of The Whale:

"Ooooooh babeeee, bayd, baby, baby, I wanna jump on your lips! Ya, ya, ya, down with the pigs and up with giant bags of dope and I'm gonna lick you on the..."

Carl yelled over the music. “I don't think that's Willy Nelson, Emma. Just mebbe you ought to try a few more stations." Emma located the big dial that changed stations and rotated it:

…dial, dial, dial...
"...so now is the right time to invest in gold and silver. Sure, the market has been down, but that means it's ready to go up, so you ought to take all of your money out of the bank and get ready to make some real interest. Stop down at the Gold and Silver Euphorium and ask for Lefty or...”


…dial, dial, dial...
"...no matter how long you’ve been bald, new Danish Formula Bush Head Number Seven will bring in a crop of hair. And we offer a money back guarantee, so just send $29.95 to P.O. Box...”

…dial, dial, dial...
"...gosh, the big band sound really brings back memories of Benny Goodman and the.."

…dail, dial, dial...
"...the right time to plant okra is just after the last frost and right before the …”

…dial, dial, dial...
"...add one cup of butter to the milk and stir it in. Then, chop up the tuna into one inch squares, making sure it's dead first, then add two cups of bread crumbs and one teas...”

…dial, dial, dial...
"...the smallest bible ever made. Do send your love offering to Brother Love, cause if you don’t, chances are pretty good you are gonna burn forever in...”

…dial, dial, dial...
"...which brings us to the effect that modern dance has had on the political system..."

…dial, dial, dial...
"...city council meeting have been changed from Monday evenings to…”

…dial, dial, dial...
"...strangest weather conditions we've had in Louisiana in 40 years. While the weather is near perfect, there are odd gusts of wind up to 60 mph coming in over the Gulf. Wind warnings are in effect on all major roads and..."

Carl's eyes opened wide and he removed the plug from his cheek and placed it in an empty Big Mac styrofoam container. Jeez, was he in the Twilight Zone or something?

…dial, dial, dial...
"...so heavy metal history will be made this weekend when the Iron Butterflys and the Deaf Lepers join the Satanic Angels and the Rabid Bats in the Rock Your Guts Out Bash at the …”

..dial, dial, dial...
"...and that's Lester Dank and the Soggy Hollow Swamp Suckers with 'Don't Sit On My Hood If n You Ain't Gonna Treat Me Good. Next up will be the Blue Grass Corn Shuckers with their hit album...”

…dial, dial, dial...
“ Whiskey River don't run dry... ohh, Whiskey..."

Carl smiled. "Well, Emma, it looks like you finally got a decent station. You ain't gonna do much better than Willy singin' Whiskey River. I think you finally got that radio figured out.”
Emma blushed, and figured that maybe that being married to Carl had its high points now and then.
Carl stretched his legs out and let the cruise control take charge. He took a deep breath in and was at peace with the earth.

The melodic sounds of Willy Nelson drifted through the huge interior of The Whale, and a tear started down Carl’s left cheek. Then his right eye misted up. Carl looked over at Emma. Her eyes were moist, too.
Carl thought for a nanosecond or two.
"Emma? When's the last time you cried your heart out over Whiskey River?"
"Well, I can get a good cry out of an old Hank Williams song, but usually Willy Neslon makes me want to dance with a fat guy."
Carl grunted. "Just as I thought! When I listen to a Willy Nelson song I want to get in a fight. This can only mean one thing.”
Emma looked confused. "What?"
"We got a gas leak under the hood. That’s gotta be what's makin’ our eyes water. Or maybe an exhaust leak. Good thing I got an eagle nose"
"You mean an eagle eye, dear."
"Don't be dumb, Emma. How can you smell with your eyes? Lemme pull over and check out the problem. Shouldn't take more n a minute or two."

Carl popped the hood and poked, prodded, diddled, fiddled, tweaked, twisted, hunted and searched, all to no avail. All the while, tears streamed down his cheeks.
Emma stood alongside Carl, eyes full of tears. "Carl, has it occurred to you that if we're out of the truck and the motor's not running, that perhaps it's not a gas leak."
Carl rubbed his eyes, trying to clear some of the tears away. "Well, then, Missus Know It All, what do you figger it is? Maybe we re riding through a tunnel of methane gas?"

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

Emma pointed off across the field. "Almost as bad, dear. I think those are hot peppers over there drying in the sun."
Carl peered through the wet haze and sure enough, there was a huge field of fiery-looking peppers placed on racks to let the sun do its job. Wavy lines distorted the air above the peppers like a cartoon drawing.

Carl slammed the hood shut and a minute later, they were back on the road. Both sides of the two-lane road were now lined with peppers of all different colors and shapes. In spite of keeping the windows tightly shut and the air conditioning on full blast, the smell of hot stuff permeated the cab.

Up ahead, a sign proclaimed, "NEW IBERIA".
Carl's eyes brightened. "Hey woman. Open up the fridge and
get out that bottle a hot sauce we got on the top shelf. See where that stuff is made."
Emma sighed and did as asked. "It's made in...
Carl interupted. "No wait. Lemme guess. It’s made in Blue Iberia, right?”
"You mean New Iberia, dear."
"Yeh, 'at's what I said. You got wax in your ears, Emma? Way I figure it, this here's got to be the hot sauce capital of the universe.”

A billboard flashed into view. "NEW IBERIA. HOT SAUCE CAPITAL OF AMERICA!
Carl got a satisfied look on his face and headed West, at exactly two miles per hour over the speed limit.

Texas took forever to cross, or so it seemed to Emma. Whenever Carl got bored with driving on the lonely, empty stretches of highway, he'd pull off on a dirt road and just wander in the general direction of the Pacific Ocean.
Emma let him get lost a good half dozen times, but lost patience when they ended up back in Louisiana again and demanded that he get back on roads with numbers on them.

To pass the time, Carl suggested that they try to learn some Spanish, so that when they got to Mexico, they would have an edge over the locals when it came time to buy things.

Emma shuffled through her Spanish/English book as The Whale rumbled smoothly down the road. "Alright dear. I’ll say the word or phrase in English, and you say it to me in Spanish. All righty? Good day, sir."
Carl scratched his chin. "Ahh, that’s easy. Beunos Airhose, burrito.”
Emma sighed. "No, dear. The correct phrase is: Buenas dias, senor.”
“Hellsfire , woman, It was close enough. Give me another one.”
"OK. How much is that, please?"
"Uhhh; Tonto samba tengo taco, porky flavor... or something real close to that. Anyways, enough of that. I figure I learned a proper amount of the lingo to get by. Let's put some miles under the frame rails."

They crossed the California border some days later and eventually hooked into the main road that led into San Diego and eventually south to Tijuana and Mexico.
Carl followed the signs carefully and soon the International border came into view. "Looka that, Emma. Mexico! The Land of the Rising Sun.”
“That’s Japan, dear.”
"What are you, nuts? We ain't nowhere near Japan."

The whale rolled up to the guard and Carl leaned out of the window. "Yup?"
The border guard smiled professionally. "Are you here for vacation or business, senor? Or possibly are you here for the racing?"
"Racing?"
"Si. The Baja 500. It is this weekend. You wish to spectate, senor?"
Carl let out a big booming laugh. "Specate? Hellsfire, son...I might just up and enter the thing. After all, I got me a 454 under the hood."
Emma let out a painful sounding moan and buried her head under her knitting.
The guard looked concerned. "Is the senora sick?"
Carl shook his head. "Naw. Musta been somethin' she ate in Texas.”
The guard waggled a finger. "No, senor. It was probably the water. We are taught here as children never to drink Texas water. Anyway, senor, have a good time in Mexico and good luck in the Baja 500!"
Emma made a pitiful sound like someone stepping on a hamster.

***

Could it be? Will Carl enter the Baja 500 and risk The Whale? Spooky times could be ahead. St

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

First half of weekend build (while I'm cooling off a bit)
I got the boxes built and painted

so glad for my transmission lift

one battery in place

second in place with some temp straps to hold them in place while I move the truck about

next is tie downs, and box protectors - but not until I'm done wiring
as for the propane tank.... I'm not letting perfect get in the way of using this in 15 days.
it will change, eventually

brackets

there it is, and no, I cannot fill it in the vehicle.... no worries, I have illegal plans to solve this issue. I have a friend who knows people who do things. I figure that's a summer's worth of propane when full so I will circle back, later

and it doesn't hang that low

batteries seem good too

 

[RamRod]

That's pretty good! I am looking forward to seeing it at the show ( & the 40)

Sent from my SM-G935W8 using Tapatalk

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

time to tie the rack down
lift, drill holes, put rubber seal on, then vulcanized rubber caulking, then 1/4" washers or plates under then bolt down...

I have such a love/hate relationship with this Warn lift. It has the strength of 10 wet noodles, but it is pretty handy when it works

now I can test the awning (and give the truck a much-needed bath)

now I can insulate the roof.... this stuff works really well (well, it adheres really well.... dang)

peel the backing off and it will stick to everything

installed

60 feet and this is what was left

for the inevitable question

I like these steering wheels better...

tomorrow, inner frame work

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

maybe it was the migraine last night (imagine a headache with concussion-like-symptoms), but I'm still seriously considering wiring this for 24 volts, then running a second inverter and battery charger so that if the solar panels are not keeping up, that I can plug in the battery charger to the engine-based inverter or a gas generator.... everything I have so far works on 12 or 24 volt, and the benefit of 24 volt seems that simply adding a second, 12v inverter is making more sense then it should....

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

Amenities
everything is built off the bulkhead so here it goes

close

this stuff goes here (it's really close to the batteries)

notched

the plan is a sliding table that gives a prep surface when it slides out....

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

THE WANDERERS #17



BLUNDERING THROUGH BAJA WITH CARL AND EMMA

By Rick Sieman





When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just crossed the border heading into Mexico. While chatting with the border guard, Carl found out that the Baja 500 race was being held the upcoming weekend and jokingly said that he just might enter the event. Or was he joking?

We join them now as they wave goodby to the border guard and head in to beautiful downtown Tijuana.

Carl looked up at the signs with the foreign names and arrows pointing here and there, and said to Emma, "Hokey dokey, the trick here is to ignore all those other signs and just look for the town we’re headin' for. And that town is Ensentango.

Emma peered at the map. "You mean Ensenada, dear."

"At’s what I said. You got bean dip in your ears, woman? Now just keep your peepers peeled for Enchilada. I don't want to take a wrong turn and end up in Texas.

The huge Whale lumbered through the streets of Tijuana, sharp contrast to same of the aged taxis and oil spewing cars that roamed the streets. Emma sat on the edge of her seat like a nervous bird and pointed out the correct turns and lanes.

Remarkably, Carl was able to navigate the twisting lanes and turn-offs, and reached the main highway that flanked the beautiful Pacific Ocean, heading south.

Carl bit off a plug of Red Man tobacco and moved the wad over to his left cheek. "How 'bout that, Emma? Got through that border town clean as a whistle."
"Yes, dear. You did real good."
"Yeah, didn't I though? Ya see, Emma, the secret is being able to read the signs. Like that one up ahead that says CURVA PELIGROSA'. That means DANGEROUS PELICANS, so you gotta watch out for large birds that nest here close to the ocean and …”
Emma shrieked and pointed straight ahead! A sharp curve was directly in front of them and The Whale was going way too fast. Carl slammed on the brakes and the big tires howled in protest. At the last micro-second, Carl got off the brakes and pitched the steering wheel hard left.
The Whale slewed sideways like a dirt tracker and Carl sawed at the steering wheel, trying to keep control. Inside The Whale, loose items started to obey the Law Of Gravity. A half-eaten bowl of Sugar Frosted Flakes slid across the sink top and blasted into the side of refrigerator. A small radio fell off the shelf and landed on the head of Ace the Wonder Dog, who was busy sleeping and dreaming of big bones at the time.
Ace yelped in stark raving terror and leaped into Carl’s lap, which did not help steering accuracy. The Whale left the edge of the paved road and hit a nasty rut. More things flew around inside the huge Suburban.
A copy of the World Wrestling Federation Magazine fluttered though the air and landed on top of Carl’s head, effectively cutting off his vision. Forty or so empty beer cans split open a paper bag and danced around the cab like popcorn in a popper. A half dozen knitting needles flitted through the air and ended up quivering like arrows in the back of the seat cushions.

The Whale bounded into the air and Ace the Wonder Dog howled
mournfully and slobbered a whole bunch of dog spit all over Carl’s
face. Emma clasped her hands together and started reciting the Lord's Prayer.
A loud popping sound told Carl that a tire just blew, and The Whale teetered sharply over. Through sheer instinct, Carl steered hard on opposite lock and The Whale thumped back down hard on all four wheels and, thankfully, came to a stop.

Carl switched the key off and let out a sigh of relief. Ace the Wonder Dog quivered with fear, then his kidneys sort of lost control arid he wet all over Carl’s lap. Carl pushed the dog off his lap, and let out a long sigh. "Emma? We got three things to do here. First, I gotta changed a busted wheel. Second, I gotta check out The Whale and get us back on the road. Third, I gotta get my shotgun out and kill this mutt extremely well."
Emma got a tough look on her face and pointed a finger at Carl. "If you touch one hair on Ace's head, I will get very mad and I will stay very mad forever, Carl. And one more thing. That sign back there did not mean DANGEROUS PELICANS, it meant DANGEROUS CURVES. I read that in the book the AAA gave us about driving in Mexico. That's the book you didn't want to read.
Remember?"
Carl sighed. "OK. OK. I got the message, but I ain't too happy about life in general right now. Think about it. I damn near crashed The Whale, I ruined a wheel, maybe tweaked somethin’ underneath, made a mess inside the cab and the mutt slobbered spit all over me and then took a leak on my lap. To top it all off, I just swallowed my tobacco and I think I'm gonna be sick."
It was Emma's turn to sigh. "Well, you just go ahead and do what you have to do dear, I'll tidy up inside The Whale.”

A half hour later, Carl and Emma were rolling down the highway once again, with Carl looking a little pale around the gills. A few minutes later, a toll booth rolled into view. Carl reached into the little tray on the dash for some coins and then did a double take. "Emma! They want 1200 bucks to use the toll road! I'm headin' back to the states quick as I can!"
Emma thumbed through her handy dandy little guide book. "Don't panic dear. That means pesos, not dollars."
"Pesos, dollars, what's the difference? We're talking big bucks here."
Emma got out her pocket calculator and smiled. "One dollar is worth 2700 pesos, dear. That means that 1200 pesos is worth about 45 cents."
Carl got a puzzled look on his face. "So, you mean if I give a Mexican bank a couple of quarters they're gonna give me over a thousand of their dollars back? Emma, if that's true, we're rich!"
"No dear. The buying power of a peso is quite a bit different than the dollar. Let me give you an example. How much would a new Suburban cost?"
"A stock one, with four wheel drive? I dunno... maybe $25,000.”
Emma punched some numbers in her calculator. "That Suburban
would cost you... oh, about sixty seven million, five hundred thousand peosos.”
"What! That's outrageous! Where do they get off asking that much?”
"Never mind, dear. Give the nice man at the toll booth two quarters, please.”
Carl leaned out the window and handed the tollkeeper two quarters. "Hey, buddy. I'm payin you in good old U.S. money. You ain't gettin any pesos out of me."
The man gave Carl a nickle back in change and smiled.
"Whatever you say, senor. Enjoy your stay in Mexico. Buenas dias.”
"Yup. And buenas airhose to you."

They rumbled slowly south, keeping the ocean to their right and marveling at the contrast. On the ocean side, there was greenery, white beaches and brilliant blue water. On the left, baked dry mountains and hostile-looking desert terrain.

Carl looked off the to left. "Ya know, Emma, there's some dirt roads over there that are just beggin' to be explored. And it looks like some of em head south in the direction we're goin’ . Let’s give it a shot; I'm gettin' tired of this pavement."
Emma fidgeted in her/seat. "Now, dear. We could get lost. Remember the time you got us lost in Ohio. Then there was that time in West Virginia... and three or four times in Texas and once in Nevada and..."
"Jeez, put a lid on it, woman. There's no way to get lost here. All I have to do is keep the ocean on my right side and I'm headin' in the right direction. Only a pinhead could get lost with an ocean in sight."

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

Thirty minutes later, Carl was hopelessly lost. He was in a canyon with tall walls all around him. The terrain was brown and the only vegetation was stunted scrub brush and the odd cactus.

Emma had a concerned look on her face “Carl, what are we going to do? We're in the middle of Mexico and we're lost."
Carl smiled. "What else? We eat. Let's have us a good meal and see if maybe we can catch some wrestling on the TV. Tell you what... you start the cooking and I'll crank the satellite up. But first, let's park The Whale right in the middle of this here fireroad. That way, when somebody drives by here, they gotta stop and then we can get some directions out of here Hey, if worse comes to worse, we just camp out for a few days. Now, quit jawin' and fry me up a pound or two of bacon and somethin' to go with it."

All things considered, they had a delightful evening. The meal was simple, good tasting and filling, and Carl sucked down a 12 pack of beer while Emma sipped a small glass of wine. Then they watched Wrestlemania on video tape (for the fourth time) and folded the bed down for a good nights sleep.

It was dawn when the sound of a snarling engine woke them up. Carl peered out of the window and saw a very odd looking truck sitting there. It sat poised high in the air and sported a whole bunch of shocks and big, gnarly tires.
There was a roll cage visible and inside the cab sat a man with a helmet on. He waved at Carl. Carl pulled on his sweat pants and stumbled outside. "Hi there. Name’s Carl and we're sorta lost. Think you might point us in the right direction?"

The big man inside the truck got out. "Sure thing. The name's Ivan Stewart. Be glad to get you to the highway."
"Thanks, Alan. Appreciate it. Why don't you take a break and have a cup of coffee with us first."
"Sure thing, Carl. The name is Ivan."
"Yeah, I heard you the first time, Evan. Come on in and meet the missus."

The two men stepped inside the roomy Suburban and Ivan let out a whistle. "Nice set-up. Looks like you’ve got most everything you might need for camping out."
"Thanks, Elvis. Say hullo to Emma."
"Pleased to meet you. The name is Ivan. Uhh, here's my card."
Emma studied the card for a moment. "Oooooh! Why, you're Ivan Ironman Stewart. I saw you on those Toyota commercials. Carl, this here is the famous racer Ivan Ironman Stewart."
"Hey, this is quite a thrill. Imagine meeting Ironjaw Stewart in the middle of Mexico. What you doin down here, anyways?"
"The name is Ironman, Carl, and I was down here practicing for the race. We call it pre-running."
"Wow, that's neat, Ironbutt. Tell me a little bit about this here race."
"The name is Ironman, and the race is the Baja 500. It starts in Ensenada, wanders around for about 500 miles, then ends up back there."
"Ensenada? Is that anywhere near Enchilada? That's where we're goin'."
Emma sighed. "Carl, the name of the town is Ensenada, not Enchilada."
"Whatever. Say, listen Ironhead, I was thinkin' of entering the race. What class would I have to run in?"
"What would you be racing?"
"What else? This. The Whale. My Suburban. It’s got a 454 under the hood that runs about 550 horsepower. Course, I realize that I'd have to take the boat off the roof and remove the satellite dish, and maybe duct tape the stove and fridge door shut..."
Ivan's eyes got real wide.
"Uhhh, yes, and you might have to take those two trail bikes off the bumper racks, and most of us racers usually remove the outside awnings before we roll up to the starting line. And I'd probably leave most of the fishing rods somewhere before I hit the first turn. And there will probably be some modifications needed to meet the rules, so maybe you better check with the race promoters before you start ripping stuff out."
Carl scratched his chin. "Yeah, you might be right, Ironlips. Say, do you mind if me and Emma follow you in to Enchilada and maybe you can introduce me to the race promoters?"
Ivan smiled. "No problem. Let’s have that coffee and then head for Enchilada."
Carl poured some coffee. "You mean Ensenada, Irongut. All you racers have trouble with names?"
Emma sighed. This was going to be a long trip.

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

THE WANDERERS #18



HITTING THE TRAILS WITH "THE IRONMAN"

[h=1]By Rick Sieman[/h]





When we last left Carl and Emma, they had gotten lost in Baja on the way
down to Ensenada to see (and possibly race in!) the Baja 500. After
camping out overnight, Ivan Ironman Stewart stumbled across their camp in
the early hours of the morning while pre-running for the event. After
sharing coffee, Ironman agreed to lead Carl out of the back country into
the town of Ensenada.

Carl quickly broke camp as Emma did the dishes, then went out to inspect
Ivan's truck. "Say, Ironbutt, that there's a funny looking truck you got
there. Ain't enough room in the back for a sheet of plywood. Hope you
didn't pay too much for that unit. What's it worth, anyways?"
Ivan smiled. "Oh, I'd guess maybe four or five hundred thousand at the
outside. Of course, the radio's extra."
Carl let out a low whistle. "Hooooeeee'. Man, you coulda got a whole bunch
of Suburbans for that kind of money. And you can only get one person in
the front. Whattsa matter? They charge you extra for seats?"
Ivan bit his lip to keep a straight face. "You see, Carl, this is a
special kind of racing machine. It's made to do one thing, and that's to
go fast over bumpy ground."
Carl scratched his chin. "That means you gotta have some good shock
igsorbers under them fenders."
"You mean shock 'absorbers ..."
"Yeah, that's what I said. All them races affect your hearing or
something? Anyways, I found that if you can't afford a good set of
Ranchos, you can take some Monroe Adjusto-matics like they used to run on
El Caminos and drill a hole in 'em and take the old oil out and pour in
some Motor Honey instead. You can't hardly bottom them suckers then. No
charge for that tip, Ironhead.
"Uh, yes... well, thanks Carl. Listen, why don’t we get rolling here real
soon. I want to get back into town and have my crew make some changes to
the truck. Tell you what, I’ll just go nice and slow and you hang back
about a hundred yards so don't have to drive in the dust and..."
Carl cut in. "Listen up, Ironlips. Don't you worry none about me keepin'
up. I got a 454 under the hood and it ain't exactly stock. Whadda you got?
One of those four bangers? Or maybe a six? Your biggest problem will be
worrying about me banging into your rear end if I can't get on the brakes
quick enough. So you just get that Nissan up to speed and..."
"It's a Toyota..."
"That's what I said. Anyways, let's head for Enchilada and have a couple
of manzanitas to cool us down."
"You mean margaritas and ... oh, never mind."

***

Ivan fired up the nasty sounding race truck and smoothly got under way.
Carl lit off the 454 and threw up a fine looking pair of rooster tails.
Ivan drove easily and munched on some dried fruit as he enjoyed the sights
of the rugged back country.
At the same time, Carl was hammering the throttle and yanking wildly on
the steering wheel. Emma let out a squeal: "Carl, you slow The Whale down
or I'm going to poke one of my eyes out with this knitting needle. How do
expect me to finish this sweater if you drive like a wildman?"
Carl glanced over at Emma and yelled over the roar of the engine: "Hey,
put that sheep hair away and keep your seat belts tight. This here's good
practice if I up and decide to enter the Baja 600."
"You mean the Baja 500, dear."
"Yeah. That one, too, soon as I get done with the 600 first. Anyways, that
Irongut fella can sure drive. It's takin' everything I got to stay with
him."

Meanwhile, up front, Ivan was turning map pages with his right hand, while
steering with his left and balancing a bag full of dried fruit on his lap.
The Toyota had been in second gear for 20 minutes and the engine was
burbling just above idle.
Back in The Whale, magazines were fluttering through the air, fishing rods
were banging against the roof liner like limp celery, bags of chips were
splitting open, Ace the Wonder Dog was yelping as his food bowl clonked
him on the head, the refrigerator door flapped open and closed, the boat
on the top clanked up and down and the chemical toilet started flushing
itself every 20 seconds.

Up front, Ivan yawned and adjusted his sunglasses as the morning light
streamed through his windshield. The ancient two-track road wandered
through some canyons flanked by tall walls. Scrub brush and gnarly little
cactus dotted the landscape here and there.

The odd looking team of vehicles crested a rise and before them the mighty
Pacific Ocean came into view. It was a breathtaking sight. Ivan stopped
and hopped out. Carl screeched up behind the Toyota and tumbled out of The
Whale. A toaster, 11 magazines, five cans, a pair of binoculars, several
fishing reels, one box of Kelloggs Corn Flakes, a jar of peanut butter,
one tennis shoe and a medium-sized mutt fell out of the door well to the
dusty ground.

Ivan pointed to the ocean, which was hundreds of feet below. "Thought you
might enjoy the view."
Emma gushed. "Oh Carl, it's gorgeous! I don't think I've ever seen
anything quite as beautiful!"
Carl bit off a plug of Red Man chewing tobacco and offered Ivan some,
which he politely declined. "Yup. The Mighty Gulf of Mexico," said Carl.
"It sort of takes your breath away."
Emma looked at Ivan and Ivan just held both hands at shoulder level, palms
up, and didn't even bother to correct Carl.

Twenty minutes later, they intersected the main highway heading into
Ensenada, where Ivan met his Toyota/PPI crew. Ivan gave directions to Carl
on how to find the SCORE people who were running the race, and they shook
hands and parted company.

Carl shifted his plug of chew from his right cheek to his left cheek.
"Nice guy, that Elvis Stewart. Hope he does good in the race. Speaking of
that, why don't we just wander down to find those SNORT officials and see
what it takes to enter this here race?"
Emma got a worried look on her face. "I'm not so sure about this, dear.
Racing is dangerous and the people who do it are professionals, maybe we
shouldn't risk our rolling home-away-from-home?"
Carl let out a big booming laugh. "Hey, don't you worry none, honey pot.
I'm sure these SNORT people wouldn't let some inexperienced yahoo out
there on the course to mess up good drivers like me and old Ironbutt.
Anyways, I got directions here and we're supposed to look up some guy
named... let's see … Sal Fish. He's the head of SNORT."

Carl and Emma eventually found the SCORE headquarters and asked for the
boss. A tall man in a cowboy hat pointed. "That's him. Guy with the black
mustache in the white shirt. His name is Sal Fish."
Carl wanderered (what else?) over and stuck out his hand. "Hidee doo, Mr.
Shellfish. My name is Carl and I want you to take a look at my rig and see
if I can enter your race?"
"Glad to meet you, Carl. By the way, the name is Sal. Sal Fish"
"Right. 'At's what I said. This sun got to your ears? So come on over
here, Sailfish, and check out my truck."
"The name is Sal Fish."
"Right. Well, here it is, Al. Whattaya think? Is she ready to roll?"
"Sal. Please, the name is Sal. Hmmm, let me see here. We haven't had many
race trucks with a boat on the roof and trail bike lashed to each end. And
I don't think our tech inspectors would let you race with that satellite
dish on the roof and all those rolled-up awnings on the sides."
"Hells-fire, Mr. Tuna, I know that!"
"Fish. The name is Fish. See if you can get it right. Tell you what, we
couldn’t let you race in the regular classes with a stove and fridge
inside, but we do have a class that might fit you just fine. It's called
our Safari class."
"Holdit, Flash. I don't wanna go for a stroll through the jungle. I came
here to do some serious off-roading."
"Carl, this is serious stuff alright. The Safari Class starts after all
the regular racers, and instead of racing each other, they're on a timed
schedule. Show up late at a check, and you lose points; show up too early,
and you lose points, too. The team with the least points wins. And you run
on most of the same course as the pros. Simple as that."
Carl beamed. "I like it, Cal. That means that the missus can ride along
with me as I go for the gold. Isn't that great, Emma? You get to be a
big-time racer. Whattaya think?"
Emma let out a small squealing sound like someone had just rammed a sharp
pencil up her nose.
Carl slapped Sal Fish on the back heartily. "This sounds like a great
idea, Al. C'mon, take a break and me and Emma will buy you a manzanita.

** *

Will Carl really enter the Baja 500 Safari Rally? Will Emma ride along
with him? Will Mexico ever be the same again? Next month should reveal all
these mysteries, and perhaps a few surprises. Stay tuned.

 

[SuperBuickGuy]

Not much done today - spent most of it picking up a motor for another project (yeah, I needed another project... not)
but a bit. I'm glad I put the fridge back in to test fit.
Slide out for cook top and potentially a wash basin

and the aforementioned fitting

I should have the insert done by Wednesday, then wiring and it's good enough for this trip...I picked up the rest of the metal on Friday and I did pick up the wood today so no more delays.