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Had a small leak in the rear axle cover area of my 2002 Ford SuperCrew F-150 with 5.4 liter.

It's the 12 bolt model similar to what the F-250's use.


Anyway, pulled the cover and see that Ford Motor Co. used some type of RTV in place of a gasket.

I have a Fel-Pro gasket for it and was wondering what some of you guys use for sealer?

Got CopperCoat, non-hardening Permatex and black RTV (fresh) in stock.

[Friday]

2009 Route 66 Fun Run

Three days of fun the first days of May, a small misadventure and a few pics.


Friday

Friday, ran the 25 miles to Hackberry to see hot rods and customs pass by on their way to Kingman from Seligman.

Seligman is about 70 miles south of Hackberry.

Hackberry, which I've posted about before is a good destination just for the heck of it.
Runnin' the 25 miles takes just about the right amount of time in hot weather to get ready for an ice cream or Route 66 Root Beer - a local brand.

This pic of my 32 and shows the front tires flopped so the WW's are to the inside.


I'd gotten used to the WW's on the outside, ran that way since last summer when I did the WW experiment all the way round.
Still dinking around with the 4 ½" x 15 slot mags for the front and have new BW's for those, but have been getting a little wear from the WW's which are on 5 ½" x 14" wheels.
Anyway, I came to the realization that the WW's up front made the car look shorter in that area.
An area on the Deuces, especially so the roadsters where shortness doesn't look right.


Here's a couple of interesting cars found at Hackberry.
This first one, a six-wheeler.


The owner builds some interesting stuff along these lines and this car is as well done as the others.

An old Dodge that's up for sale.


They were asking 10K for it although I'm guessing it may go for less.
Neat old car, all there far as I could tell and it's supposed to be a good runner.
Got the largest speedometer I ever saw in a car . . . inclding cop cars.


Shown here, about 25-30 miles out of Seligman headed south.


And a shot of the dash et al showing where things settle out running 70 mph on a 90* F day.


This shot is a little closer to the east/west ridge line and shows part of the rather majestic landscape just north of Seligman.


The area is accessible for the public, all you have to do is sign in at the ranch headquarters.
Arizona game and fish works hard with the big ranches so the public does have access.
We hear there is a large ground squirrel population that needs thinning out so we need to get in there with the 4x4's.
The area is so huge that taking two 4x4's is a decidedly good idea.

Last time I made the Seligman run in the roadster - tail end of last summer if I remember right - I wrote it up in a little missive titled Days of Whine and Roadsters.
I ran down to Seligman on Route 66 (95 miles from Kingman going that route) and came back on I-40 (70 miles from Kingman going that way).

This time I rolled through town, saw quite a few cars with perhaps eight of them lined up to get their Fun Run packages.
I think most may have signed in and made the Seligman-Kingman run on Saturday.

I ran back to Hackberry on Route 66, had a Polish dog and root beer, then back to Kingman.

Open carry is legal in Arizona and it was interesting to watch some of the Europeans reactions when they spotted the store owner's 9mm auto he had on his side.

A lot of folks from other countries tour Arizona, Hoover Dam, Grand Canyon, Skywalk etc. and if it's not a tour bus pulled in for a break, it's folks in rental cars or an organized bike tour.
Rent a Harley if you will.


Saturday

The day started out innocently enough.
Plans were to run to Hackberry, meet some folks from Prescott then back to Kingman for the car show.

CK's 46 conked out about halfway there and we didn't know it till we saw a roadster belonging to one of the guys in our little group headed back to Kingman.

I didn't realize the passenger was CK until we spotted a big white blob up the two laner a ways.
We spotted the 46 with CK's sweetie sitting patiently and she told us what was going on.
The guys had run back to get CK's car trailer.



As you can see, she wasn't too bothered by it all.

Another view, looking north cuz it was a *' day to be runnin' the Dez.


The skies here are most beautiful and clouds bring in cooler weather.
The weather was just about perfect for all three days.

CK got back with his open tandem trailer and big Dodge pickup and was a touch worried that the 46 wouldn't run good enough to drive on the trailer.
A reasonable worry since the car was running so rough when he slowed down to pull a U-turn, the engine quit and he had just enough speed on to get off the highway.

Looked to be a carb problem, but with some of the weird things the previous owner had done to it, thinking was to get it off the road and take it back to CK's shop where we could work on it in a safe manner.

The engine lit off, but ran rough.
CK ran it up on the trailer, tied it down and we took off for Kingman.

Him, headed for home and shop.
Us headed to my house to grab a Carter 750 - known to be a good one - that we could stick on the 302 SBF in place of the Edelbrock 600 that was giving us problems.

The swap took the two of us about 20 minutes, the engine lit off, idle speed was adjusted and we were in business.

Granted, the 750 was jetted/rodded for 350' altitude and a 462" engine, but it worked well on the little Ford with it's moderate cam, headers and aluminum intake.

My guess was that the pump was putting out too much pressure, but that idea was shelved - albeit temporarily - since the 750 wasn't flooding the engine at idle like the 600 did.


The run to the car show went off without a hitch and we enjoyed the day.

Surprising to me, there were just under 600 cars there.
Thinking back on Hackberry and the few cars that went by in a two hour period on Friday as well as Seligman not being as loaded with cars as it usually was, I figured the car show count would be down.

Not to be though.
A lot of locals do the Saturday only car show . . . which is a shame since there's a lot fun in making a partial or full run to Seligman on Friday, Car show on Saturday and the run to Oatman and Topock on Sunday.


A few pics of cars - and a truck - that I liked.





This last one, a sweet little 54 Ford coupe.
Started life as a business coupe, but got the trim, back seats etc. from the more expensive model.
I think the mileage total on the car was well under 100K including all the driving the long-time owner had done with it.
302 SBF fwiw.

I had one of these in the early 60's.
239 Y-block, auto trans and power steering which was a bit of a rarity on the 54's.
Sky Blue in color, I got it for $90. from a co-worker who'd bought it for his daughter for $125.
The front end had a shimmy in it when it reached highway speeds and he deemed it too expensive to have it fixed.
All it took was a new idler arm which cost $9.00 and a few days later a set of new blackwalls had the sky blue coupe looking good.

Since I was still building my Rocket powered Shoebox coupe, I let my bother-in-law talk me out of it.
Made sense because Sweetie had her 11,000 mile 53 Ford 4-door her grandparents had give her and the 50 wasn't too far from running.

I made a small profit on the car and two days later bother-in-law slid sideways into a rock wall in front of the Ventura School for Girls out on the Avenue.
The car was totaled and dragged off to the junkyard.



Sunday


I think CK was a little worried about breaking down on Sunday doing the Oatmn/Topock bit.
And for good reason perhaps, it's a narrow and winding road headed to Oatman and no place to have a breakdown so he elected to stay home.

And to answer your wondering about what was wrong with the carb, I went up to his shop Monday with my pressure tester and it showed exactly 5#.
Within limits for pump and carb.

My next thought was gunk holding the needle off the seat.
The fuel filter looked clean, but since he and another pal had rebuilt the carb a few weeks back, I was thinking the float setting could be off, but kinda doubted it cuz the guy wielding the screwdrivers and wrenches knows his way around a carb pretty good.
He's patient and does good work.

Anyhoo, they took it apart a few days later and found a drowned float.
I thought they coulda drained it and soldered it back up, done that a few times my own self, but CK elected to buy new floats which were cheap enough at $16.


Everyone seemed to be burned out and turned down the Sunday stuff, but I'd been enjoying the now long-legged roadster with its 3.00 diff so much that I decided to do the last part of the run on my own.

Got off to a late start so I missed the big parade and start at the car show site near locomotive park, but that was ok.
Last year running the twisty's up the hill got a bit slow and crowded, but traffic kept rolling - 15-25 per - so no big deal, but this year I kinda had the road to myself.

First stop before it got windy was at Cool Springs.
Found this neat 55 Ford wagon out front when I stopped in to see how the tourist oriented store was doing with it's new building.
Lots of good stuff and Sweetie missed some good shopping.



Next stop was just down from the summit on the Oatman side.
Quite a view of the winding downhill and the desert & mountains off to the S/W.

Couple of pics.


My roadster and a local roadster run by a guy who volunteers for a lot of hot rod stuff in town.
The roadsters nice, but his kickass 38 Chevy panel with - I think - built 383 small block is a hard runner.
He'd been there since 0830 and I stopped in at 1:00 PM or so.


Another view showing some of the cars that stopped in.


The stocker belongs to the local paper's photographer and you can see it's a great place to grab some on the road pics of the Fun Run.

Shown here is the red roadsters good looking wheel.
I think it's from a late Explorer or similar.
What's different is the center hub.


Never seen one like it and it sets the wheel off pretty good.

Here's a roadster I know you're gonna like.


The owner is reputed to be quite the flathead builder and if the sounds from the engine are any indication, I agree.

A view of the engine.


Neat, neat car.


When things slowed down a bit and most of the folks had come by, the red roadster owner and I took off.
Him for Kingman and me for Oatman.
Gettin' kinda thirsty out and the next stop was Oatman just a few miles down the road.
The 32 in it's on Main Street parking which can be a rarity.


Last year we ended up parking my 32 part way up a dirt mound.
Sorta 4x4 like, ya know?

I hit the small and old hotel after finding there was an ATM inside.
After that, a few steps to the bar next door and you can see the . . . umm . . . decorations.



Note the old and yellowed with age bills on the ceiling and the newer stuff is stapled on top of them and hangs down in the breeze.
The bar ceiling, all the walls, the doorways and bannisters down the steps into the adjacent restaurant are covered with bills.
I'll bet there's five grand in ones covering everything.

Still can't find Lone Star so I had a Stella Artois which wasn't bad at all.

Kinda hard to judge a beer when it's so hot and dry out.
Any old beer works then.

Weather, as noted was pretty ideal for the run.

Summer is coming on, but it's only running in the low 90's and it's not a big deal if you're somewhat acclimated to it.
The low humidity helps as well.

Went rocking down the hill to Topock, perhaps another 30 miles or so.
Once out of town the sweeping, but not overly sharp curves were fun.
I started out leading maybe ten cars and when we rolled into Topock there was one yellow sporty type car behind me and the others were way back.

We weren't pushing it that hard, but the 32 corners pretty good and it's fun to push it a little bit.
Safe stuff on the mostly deserted road.

Shown here is a nice 32 that is based in either Laughlin or Lake Havasu.


Nice little car and it's near the front of the Community Center parking lot where the run ends, burgers, dogs, beer, soda and ice cream is served and the award plaques passed out.

I shot the pics to show the narrow radials up front.
Not meant to start a radials vs bias argument/war/discussion, but just to show that you can find narrow radials.
The little roadster has a nice stance and I like his tires better than the slightly fatter ones on the front of my 32.

A close-up of the tire size.



This roadster also photographed to show its narrow tires, although not quite as narrow as the 32's.


A close-up of its tire size.


I don't know why the drivers side fender is off, it was on at the Saturday show.

After a burger, a Bud and some ice cream, that was enough for me.
About 4:00 PM and they were still handing out awards and most of the raffle was over.

On the way from Topock to the river.
You can see a pipe line crossing and some of the railroad river crossing bridge.


On the small grade up to the frontage road and on to the I-40 freeway overpass.



This area hasn't changed much since we crossed it in dad's new 50 Ford sedan.
And before that, his 47 and 42 Fords.
In summer . . . running a flathead . . . they'll do it, just gotta keep em running right.

Running the frontage road on the left side of the freeway.


Shown is the Arizona State sign although the border is in the center of the river.

A shot of the river turning away from the crossing - which is between Needles, about 15-20 miles up the road and Kingman, about 60 miles down the road.


Running for home at 75 per with the 75 mph speed limit sign up the road a bit.


The roadster used to have some speeds it liked to settle out at when it ran 3.70's.
With the 3.00's it just keeps gaining speed unless you watch it.
It seems now that it settles out in a smooth run at just about any speed.

For the most part, all about balance.
Balanced engine, balanced driveshaft, balanced and true running wheels.

Not to mention a good balance of activities spread over three days and about 370 miles all told.

Way better than hanging out at the Saturday night rod run.

The Saturday night runs are fun, but gimme a few hundred miles any time over just standing around at a run that's about 4 miles from the house.
In fact, I had so much fun, that a few days later, I did a 130 mile round trip for a cheeseburger at Rosie's which is about 20 miles south of Hoover Dam on Hwy 93.

Good trip, good cheeseburger and all in all another good day....

Bought a used Snugtop bed lid for the 2002 F-150 SuperCrew a few days back.

Have it installed, locks in . . . except for the lift cylinders.

Does anyone have one of these that they can measure for me?

I need the measurement and placement of the lower lift cylinder brackets.

I did a lot of looking on the Internet and I can't find a soul that's driving a SuperCrew with one that I could look at.

Looks like the brackets go along the inside of the upper bed rail so you can access the bracket bolts.

As well as the lower part of the lift is forward of the glassed in upper bracket.

A little info on slots and cleaning up same.

We've talked about my foray into the world of WhiteWalls before, but the pics are up to show what some haven't seen.


One of the 10" x 15" American wheels bought new in 1985.


It's pretty much as it was when new.
A nice bright satin, not polished.
It gets hit with Mothers or Wenol once in a while, but mostly just washed.



A US Indy Mag 4 1/2" x 15" I'm working on now.


This is as found condition.



A pair of 7" x 15" in an after and before shot.

                     
The finish on the after wheel is about where I'm at with the narrow rims noted above.


The 7" x 15" wheels were part of the WhiteWall tire experiment I did on the 32 about the tail-end of last summer so they weren't brought to a high polish.



I did go back to the BlackWalls after a few weeks.



I ran the blue powdered steel wheels from the 31 on the 32 for a while, decided I liked the look of the narrow 5" x 15" steel wheel and scrounged up a set of 4 1/2" x 15" slots.



A head-on view of the 32 with the 5" x 15" steelies.



One thing about the blue powder color chosen, it's a heckuva lot brighter than I thought it would be.
I shoulda taken the sample out into the sunlight.
Geez, the blue is so bright that it makes red look not so bright.


The 4 ½" wheels are cleaning up ok and I'd like to get the high polish on them like the 32's 5 1/2" x 14" wheels have, but I'll probably do another pair later.

The 5 ½" wheels.


Polished at the chrome shop some years back and they still look good.




I buy the slot mags when I find them in the sizes I want.
Anything wider or narrower than 7" x 14" or 7" x 15" can be hard to find.
And like anything else, sometimes you just stumble across them.
So far, prices run from $5. each to $100. a pair for 10" x 15".

You really want to know your tire shop.
I searched for the second set 10" wides for five years, found a nice pair, had them "in stock" for 3-4 years and decided to dismount the roller tires since they took up too much room in my small shop.
Walmart had been doing a good job, but the new kid promptly screwed them up on the new tire machine by gripping the rim by the outside polished surface.
I can live with them and do have the gouges sanded flush, but they'll always be there.

Two stripped pan plugs and the chingered up wheels =
Walmart 4
C9 zero.


The kid down the street had a pair of 8 1/2" x 15" Uni-Lugs on a Chevy wagon he's putting together and decided that trading for a pair of 7" x 15" would work better for him.
I was happy to make the trade and I'd been looking for a pair of 8 1/2" wides for a while.



I have a couple of orphans I'm looking for a mate for.
An Ansen 8 1/2" x 15".
A Western 5 1/2" x 14".

The Western wheel will probably end up as a spare tire in the 31 since it has so much trunk room compared to the 32's pain in the backside rumble seat . . . unless I can find a mate.

Funny thing with the slots, you never know where or when you're gonna find them.


Fwiw cleaning up the 4 1/2" wheels went like this:

Washed with Simple Green and water.

Started sanding dry with medium grit looks like a form of emery cloth on a standard size sheet - gets ripped into quarters.

More sanding with fine grit emery cloth.

Nice thing about the larger sheets of emery is, it doesn't seem to lose a chunk of grit like the narrow rolls do and end up putting deep scratches in the aluminum surface.

Next up was sanding with a 220 grit foam sanding block, used wet with water that has a few drops of dishwashing liquid soap it it.
These foam blocks are finer grit than indicated and 220 is as fine as I could find.

Next up, a little power buffing with a small Scotch-Brite rotary disc.
These work great and so far it's all I've used on the 2nd wheel.
It's looking as good as the first one after all the hand sanding.



One thing you want to look for with the slog mags - and perhaps others - is the machining pattern from the lathe tool bit.
The 4 1/2" wheels look like they were finish cut with a dull or broken carbide tool.
Kinda stupid there, but I've seen a few wheels that looked ok, but close inspection showed machining marks.

I've found when machining aluminum that if the tool is sharp, speed fairly fast and if you don't run into harmonics the finish from the lathe cutting tool leaves a virtually polished surface.

Unless the wheel was polished, you'll see faint machining marks on most mags so don't turn down a desirable pair just cuz they do show marks.
They'll sand and polish out if desired.

And . . . fwiw, the 10" x 15" wheel shown at the top is in it's as-received, machined form and it shows a nice, bright satin almost shiny finish.

Once I get the tires on the 4 ½" wheels, I'll shoot some pics.
There are some very narrow radials out there and careful selection will net you a pair or four of them that are similar in size to bias plies....

Are the front seals the same parts number in all of the T-400's?

Not sure what year I have.

Gettin' a little confused about what fits what.

455 Buick.

I found a couple of converters at Summitt that indicate they are for T-400's.

They also say "For Chevy" in the details section.

Along with that a dual bolt pattern flex plate is required.
This part is not a problem as my new flex plate has dual bolt pattern.


My 32 has a B&M 2400 rpm stall.
I found it at Pep Boys, they had a great price on them and all I remember seeing on the was, "T-400."
Slid onto the trans ok, bolted right onto the flex plate, no probs.

Am I correct in assuming that any converter labeled "T-400" will fit my 455 Buick and the Buick T-400?


Along these same lines I'm looking at getting a Chevy T-400 for spare internal parts in case my B-O-P core needs some things.
I don't believe there are internal parts interchange problems between Chevy and B-O-P.

The Chevy T-400 is out of a pickup and was working ok.

Don't know the history of my junkyard T-400 B-O-P core other than it's a short shaft and pretty clean.
(The salvage yard doesn't clean anything fwiw.)

Sometimes I can't believe all the pain in the butt problems I've had with the fuel tanks in my 32 roadster.


First time around was the standing on it's edge in-trunk tank from LTL.
Sorta similar to the standing on edge, inside the cab tanks found in 50's and 60's pickups.
It had it's problems and potential problems.
Along with costing $400. plus shipping in 1992.


The saddles that came with it have very sharp edges and it looked like it would wear through the poly tank - or whatever kind of soft waxy plastic it was cast from.
I took that into account and made some soft pads, but not soft that they'd wear through in no time.
The main idea was to get the tank up off the saddles an eighth of an inch or so.


The LTL tank had a couple of 1/4-NPT brass fittings molded in at the bottom corners.
Fairly well done, but if you get a leak you're gonna have 15 gallons or so of gas sloshing around the car floor.


The really bad part about the LTL tank was the filler pipe.
It was nothing more than a short piece of about 2" diameter black plumbing pipe with pipe threads at the bottom and fine threads for the aluminum cap at the top.
LTL's instructions called for wrapping the plumbing pipe with Teflon pipe and screwing it directly into the top left corner of the tank where there was an opening that had threads cast in.


Like you'd think, it didn't work worth a *.
Gas leaked out into the car via the poor thread seal.
Same thing happened again, this time with a few more - within reason - wraps of Teflon tape.


This 2nd time around, a lot of gas leaked out into the car.
A scary deal, but I pushed the car off to the side of the lot, when it quit dripping I moved it again, fired it up, took it home and pulled the LTL tank.
All the while casting many bad words toward the idiots at LTL and vowing nevermore.




So . . . a few days later, I sprung for a JAZ fuel cell.
A much better setup, but it constantly weeped a small amount and the capacitance fuel sender died about the 3rd year out.
No big deal, keep track of the gas stops via the re-settable trip odometer and fuel pressure gauge.
The gas stop deal worked well for a long time then the odometer hung up on the VDO speedo and I ended up "borrowing" the new SW speedo from the 31 . . . which was replaced with another new SW speedo.
I told myself I wouldn't be swapping things back and forth between the 32 and 31 roadsters and so far, that's the only thing I have swapped/borrowed/stole outright.


I did regasket the JAZ fuel cell three times - with new gaskets - and it still weeped.
Potentially dangerous which is kind of funny since it's supposed to be a safety device.


The problem with the JAZ fuel cell is two-fold.
The outer skin of the cell is cast with a pebbled finish and they didn't have the brains to cast a smooth finish in where the gasket would sit.


The other problem is the inside the tank retainer ring.
It's an about 1/8" thick ring with 1/4" bolts or studs welded to it and the poor welds allow fuel to come up the studs - since they're not sealed - and weep out over the filler neck at the flange.


I don't seem to be alone in owning a weepy JAZ fuel cell.
Talking to several drag racers, they've commented, "They all weep a little bit."
A strange sounding comment to me since I believe safety devices should not introduce their own dangers.


So JAZ is pretty much off my shopping list.




Last thing tried was a Summit RCI fuel tank.
They call it a fuel cell in the catalog and online, but it has absolutely none of the attributes of a fuel cell.
Unless you want to count the flange leak.
I say leak, but it was more like a small waterfall.


The Summit tank had no baffles like a fuel tank should have and no foam like a fuel cell should have.


Kinda ticked me off that the Summit tank leaked so bad.
My pal had one of these in his roadster and it worked great and to an extent is what convinced me to give the Summit tank a try.


I did wonder about the brilliance of selecting a 90 ohm fuel sender instead of the more common 233 ohm sender which would've matched my 233 ohm SW gauge already in the car.


I ordered an SW 90 ohm gauge at the speed shop and dinked around for two months before me and the speed shop guy cancelled the order since SW said they only made special runs of the 90 ohm gauge and weren't going to do it for a while.


So I ordered an Autometer 90 ohm gauge from Summit, quick delivery, good service like always and 20 minutes after the UPS truck dropped off the Autometer gauge, the speed shop called and said the SW 90 ohm gauge was in.


Before I get too much further along, let me say that I'm still dealing with Summit, never had a problem with them before.


I decided to fix the fuel flange setup myself and here's how it went . . . pics and all....



This first pic shows the inner retaining ring with bolts - incompletely welded so just like the JAZ cell, fuel poured out from the stud holes on the supplied tank flange that carries the filler tube and aluminum cap.
Interesting part about the tank flange was that it was 5/16" off flat.
It's for sure a 1/8" thick rubber gasket is not gonna seal that much of a non-flatness (to coin a word) as well as seal off the many small holes in the bolt/flange interface where the studs were poorly welded not to mention that several of the studs were leaning.


The ring is cut when installed so it can "roll" into a smaller hole than the rings outer diameter.
There is no gasket of any kind between tank and inner stud ring.
So what we have here is one lonesome gasket trying to seal off two tank/flange interfaces.




These next two pics are just a quick look at machining a 1/4" thick round disc from flat plate.
Use 6061 T6 aluminum for the flange discs.
The big hole saw saves a lot of time boring a large hole.
Plus, you end up with a smaller disc you can save for other projects.
Beats heck out of making a pile of chips that nobody can use.





The pic of the finished flanges shows the home-made gaskets Copper-Coated on.
The gaskets are .030 thick rubber/fiber composition that you can find at CarQuest and NAPA stores.
US made, the stuff is easy to cut and works well.
In fact I made a set of intake gaskets for the 462" Buick in the 32.from the gasket material.
They're still working great.
Way better than the thin sheet metal gaskets supplied by most of the gasket manufacturers.




Shown here are the flanges.
Note that the outer flange carries twelve 1/4" - NC one end, NF the other - studs and is also drilled as well as being countersunk for twelve 1/4-20 stainless FH buttonhead allens in between the studs.
The studs are installed with Permatex . . . #2 I think it is.
Whatever it is, it remains soft.
I would have used a hard cure Permatex gasket shellac, but so far this is working fine.



The inner flange was drilled and tapped to accept the1/4-20 (NC) stainless FH allens.


You'll note that a fairly wide part of the inner ring was cut away.
Reason being, the thicker 1/4" aluminum doesn't flex at all and the wider piece allows for two very narrow slots when assembled so that will help keep the gasoline from getting between the inner ring and underside of tank top.




This pic shows the initial part of the install.
You can see the inner ring 'key' that gets bolted in with one bolt as well as all but one of the FH allens in place.
The wider slot cut in the inner flange is just about the minimum size for rolling the inner flange into the tank hole.





This shows the completed installation.
The tank has a feed line fitting installed, a vent fitting with safety blockoff - for upside down - and a return line fitting that is not in use here.
The large cast JAZ 45 degree filler neck has a 2 ½" diameter tube for the filler tube.
Nice part about the cast aluminum filler neck is that it has a safety block off that shuts off the filler tube if the car gets upside down.
Not shown is the 18 gage sheet aluminum firewall between trunk and cockpit.
Even with that, I still don't care for fuel tanks or cells in the trunk of a car, but I kinda backed myself into a corner with this one when I used the room where a couple of underbody, within the frame tanks would go for the battery and fuel pumps.




I'm pleased to report the fuel flange no longer leaks.


The thinking behind the double flange setup was that three gaskets would be sealing off three flange interface areas as well as isolating the studs from any potential leaks in the studs proper.
The inner ring's gasket goes up against the underside of the tank's top skin.
The outer ring's gasket goes down against the topside of the tank's top skin.
The FH allens clamp the two together.


Since the studs are 15 degrees away from the FH allen bolt tops, the gasket has a fairly wide area to seal any potential leaks from the FH allens, but since we're not dealing with shoddily welded, exposed to gasoline  inner ring studs there's really nothing to leak.


The cast filler - with it's own gasket - draws down on the outer rings 1/4" studs and seals that area.
Again, incoming gasoline can't get to the studs and since they're well sealed even if some gas got over there, they wouldn't leak due to the stud seal at the threads..


Finishing touches were 1/4-28 (NF) nylocks holding the 45 degree cast filler's flange down.


I realize there's five hose clamps holding the rubber hose - genuine gas filler rubber tubing - but eventually there'll be eight.
I like double hose clamps in critical areas and ran out because the original fuel cell installation only had two filler tubes instead of the three shown.



These last two pics, the result of driving home in a thunderstorm in a once clean car.
Never missed a beat even with all the hood louvers.
Forded a pretty deep and wide gutter with the car too.


Heck, I even stayed dry except for one little place where the rain came in the open - like in non-existent - side window.




It's flat amazing how fast running water builds up out here in the dez.
Once the rain has been on for a while, runoff can get pretty deep, but when the cloudburst hits, you really need to think about the route you're taking because the streams, crossings and rivers fill up pretty quick.
We have some well traveled areas that will swallow a car in no time.


I'm pleased at how well the project turned out.


In retrospect, Summit would more than likely have sent me a new tank or given me credit.
They're a good outfit to deal with, but in this case, the Quality Control people were seriously lacking.


They did remember to hang the "Tested for Leaks" tag on the tank though....

Who makes a good one?

455 Buick & T-400.


I have a 2400 rpm stall B&M holeshot converter in my 32 roadster and it's doing ok.
Flash stalls at 2800 rpm fwiw

Even so, I think I'd like to try a stock converter in my 31 roadster.

Planning on starting the car with a stock 455 low CR engine and doing the hopup/rebuild later.

Here's a pair of cutouts a little different from the usual two and three bolts you see on some cars.


Five bolts to follow a theme I use on both roadsters.


I'm fortunate to own a dividing head so that makes life easy.
Even so, there are ways to lay out bolt circles and patterns without a dividing head or rotary table and obtain a fair degree of accuracy.


Cutting out the 1/4" cold rolled flange, cap and gasket is easy on the lathe.
Make the steel flange first.


As noted, this design or a slightly different one can be done sans lathe and like always a little more work is involved.


Aside from the savings in work time, with the dividing head and lathe all parts are interchangeable.
If you're laying out everything by hand etc., drill one flange and use it for a master to make the other components.
It will probably come out accurate enough to swap parts from side to side if you're careful.
Transfer punches and transfer screws work well here.



The cutout on it's 2 ½" piece of exhaust tubing.




A view from the side.



The flange will be TIG'd on the inside.
If you're careful you can keep the bead small and not much filing will be required to end up with a flat plate.


Tack in three places and do short runs so you don't tweak the flange out of shape.
A little care here will pay off in way less work when you're ready to assemble with gasket etc.



Here's a view of the individual component pieces.
The cap is 1/4" 6061 T6 aluminum and the gasket is .025 - 24 gage I believe - soft aluminum sheet.




The sheet aluminum for the gasket can be purchased at Ace or True Value.
It seems to be pretty soft and should work well as an exhaust gasket.


Exhaust heat shouldn't hurt the cap.
We used to run 3/8" thick commercially made - with fins - cutout caps back in the day and I never heard of one getting burned through nor compromised by the heat.
These were fairly short tubed cutouts as well.


Pure aluminum melts at 1100* F if I remember right and alloys take it even higher.


The cap and gasket are easily made using the steel flange as a jig.
The flange gets pattern drilled with a #7 drill for the 1/4-20 stainless allen screws.
The aluminum in roughed out shape is clamped to the steel flange and the aluminum through drilled with the #7 drill.
Tap the steel flange 1/4-20.
Drill the aluminum cap to 1/4".
This makes the clamp setup for the next hole to be drilled and tapped.


Repeat until all ten holes are drilled in the cap and tapped in the flange.
Add bolts as you go.

My machinist pal recommends very highly to use a 2-flute US made tap on smaller sizes.
There's a lot of stress on the usual hardware store 4-flute taps.
Not to mention the best tap I could find locally was a Chinese made 4-flute and Tin coated.
The Tin is a metal lubricant and you still need tapping fluid, even so, it was a nail-biter getting all ten holes tapped without breaking a tap.
I like to use a new tap on important jobs.
Seems like the smaller sizes go dull in no time.


Bolt flange and cap together and trim the aluminum cap to round and to size in the lathe.
A disc sander should work well in lieu of a lathe.


No names, but one of our carries sheet metal, but is a different type business shop quoted me $1450. for a 1' x 2' piece of thin perforated sheet metal.
I balked a little bit, she re-calculated and came up with $74.
We talked a little bit and she stood her ground.
I dunno if she can add or not, but she sure as hell couldn't use a calculator.


I gave up and went to the steel supply outfit down the street and bought a whole sheet of the stuff for $26.
Expensive for what little I needed, but it'll get used when I make a screen door for the shop.


The gasket - shown at an angle to show how thin it is - is shown in this pic.
I would have used thicker, but this is about as thick as you can buy sheet aluminum locally unless you go to a sheet metal shop.



Note also, the cap holes are countersunk with a regular drill (3/8") so the standard head allen bolts can sink in a bit - about 1/16".
This does two things.
Appearance imo is a little better.
And you won't end up with aluminum mushroomed out after several install and remove cycles.


The gasket is easy to make.
Use the flange as a template, transfer punch hole locations and drill to size.
Leave it a bit large so you can clamp it without damaging the area where it has to seal.


Clamp the whole magilla together and trim the gasket to round and to size.
In fact this is a good time to cut perhaps .005 off all three pieces so that everything is the exact same size


Now that they're done, not sure if I'm going to use them or not.


Thinking was that they would be convenient to use at the street drags next weekend.
Already tech'd and numbered as you can see.



The problem I ran into at last November's Airport drags was that I couldn't pull the collector bolts and swing the exhaust to the side due to lack of room and ground clearance if I hung them low due to the H-pipe.
So I pulled the whole exhaust system off the car.
Easy to do, the removal of 10 bolts does it.


I have to pull the whole exhaust system whether I install the cutouts or not.
Thinking I'll probably cut the H-pipe in the middle and install a couple of three bolt flanges.
The exhaust pipes would swing to the side and get re-bolted ok if done one at a time.


If you do a cutout, no matter what flange you use, be sure and cut the cutouts exhaust tubing on the curve so you get a streamlined transition as well as better performance.
Plugging the cutout into the exhaust tube at a 90 degree angle doesn't help all that much.


The roadster gets trailered to the races - 4 miles away.
Not to inclined to drive an open-headered car across town and if it breaks we're set to take it home the easy way.
Not to mention with the Soccer Mom van seat - looks like a short couch - in the trailer and a potty room for the girls we got er made.


Anyway, fun project.

Thinking of getting a set of 205/75-15 trailer tires in a couple of months.

I hear good and bad about the Goodyear Marathon radial.

Same with Kelly and Cooper bias plies.


Trailer is a Haulmark 20' (20' 6" inside floor length, about 24' overall) that weighs 3000# empty.
Gross is 7000#.
Roadster weighs 2300# and there's perhaps another 500# of 'stuff.'

So gross is generally under 6000#.

C range tires are rated 1820# each and total load rating is 7280#.

I've thought of going up to the D rated tire which is rated 2540 lbs, but max pressure on it is 65#.

The C rated tire is 50#.

And . . . the 15" steel trailer wheels have a tag on them that says they're limited to 50#.

I don't care to spring for another set of wheels.

What I would like to know is what experiences some of you have had as far as the radials vs bias goes.

And perhaps a brand recommendation.

I have a new floor style auto trans jack and was wondering if anyone has used one of these to pull or install a nine inch diff?

I've done ok with a floor jack, but it can be a little spooky at times.
Wouldn't take much to let it get away from you.

The Route 66 Mother Road Fun Run takes place every spring.
This year, May 2nd, 3rd and 4th.
   
We had in excess of 800 cars this year from I understand.

First day, Friday, sign-up if you haven't done so already, an all day party along with a little show & shine and a sock hop in the evening.
This part in Seligman, Arizona about 65 miles east of Kingman.

Saturday, the cars starting in Seligman cruise Route 66 to Kingman.
Lots of cool places to stop on the way, more than a few BBQs going, but probably the most interesting place to stop is at the Hackberry General Store where they have a rock & roll band, BBQ, some great old cars to look at in the General Store area along with all the folks who drive out to meet some of the cars coming in as well as watch the cars cruise along on their way to Kingman 25 miles away.

Kingman has a good car show, more than a few food vendors and a few other vendors selling stuff . . . not necessarily car oriented, but the girls like it and if they have to put up with hot rods for a few hours having shopping right there is ok with them.
There's another sock hop at the WhataBurger Saturday evening, but after spending all day in the sunshine we're pretty much done.

There's a little more to the story, but the bit alluded to in the title, on-board diagnostics and the like has to do simply with instrumentation.

I realize that a lot of folks like minimal instrumentation, but growing up, I saw more than a few roadsters and coupes, many of them built by GI's who spent time around aircraft and most of these cars had quite the dashboard.

Henry Gregor Felsens book, Hot Rod circa 1950's had quite an affect on me and I figured when I had a car, any car, but eventually a roadster, it was gonna have a bunch of Stewart-Warners in the dash and other places if necessary.
To that end, I have nine instruments in the car.
The usual plus tach, vacuum gauge, trans temp and fuel pressure.


So aside from a little story about the Fun Run, a short piece about on-board diagnostics, how they can save the day, keep you from tearing your hair out and in general make life easy.

My little roadster is a fun car and I drive it at least every other day.
It's just plain fun to drive and I never have understood guys who want a nice little hot rod and never drive it anywhere.
Granted, they get dirty and most of the dirt seems to get on the car a few days in front of an event, but it only takes a half hour to wash it and dry it off with a little "Wax While You Dry" - an Eagle 1 product that works well.

The car has more than a few rock chips in the paint along with a small chip in the windshield that hasn't grown any larger than it originally was when I got hit by a rock that took a small chunk of paint out of the hood top just about dead center and skipped up into the windshield when running the LA freeways at 80 per during our little 8-9 car caravan on the June 2000 Haute Cuisine and Hot Rods tour.

The car is hanging in there, always a pleasure to drive and the only problem that brought it to a halt was when the Holley electric fuel pump burned up on a 100 degree day in Visalia, California summer of 2001.
My fault entirely since the fuel pump was supplied with a long run of wire that dragged the voltage down about 1.5 - 2 volts under battery voltage.
A relay fed from a 10 gage wire close to the battery source - the main cable in fact, where it terminates to the Ford starter solenoid under the seat - and the under seat relay is physically close to the fuel pump and fed with a short run of 14 gage wire.
Voltage at the pump is the same as the battery.

And I have to admit the fuel pump is close to the left side FlowMaster muffler.
There's a lot of heat there and I do have aluminum sheet metal heat shields, but it appears these could be improved.
I'm thinking of covering the bottom area with a combination underneath the fuel pump aluminum sheet metal shield that has an airscoop that will pick up fresh air and direct it at the bottom area of the pump and the cooler air will probably flow up and around the fuel pump motor.

A couple of pics of the fuel pump and heat shields as viewed from fore & aft.
The more astute among you will no doubt see that the fuel pump is bypassed.
That's a small part of the story as well and explained further down the line.



   
So we'll see what happens there.
One thing about hot rods, besides being a small exercise in engineering is you learn a lot of stuff along the way and not all the improvements are visible to the casual bystander.

To back up a bit, back to Summer of 2001 and after the electric fuel pump failure I installed a new Holley electric pump where the old one had been.

For some reason, after doing a bit of swapping and buying parts for different projects I ended up with four new Holley pumps.
And then, for some cotton picking reason or the other I bypassed the Holley electric pump and went to a mechanical pump.
There's advantages and disadvantages with both electric and mechanical pumps, but I did miss the convenience of shutting down the electric pump and running the gas out of the carb & fuel lines so I could fool around with the fuel system without having to worry about gas all over heck and gone when I cracked a fitting open.
A bit of a moot point since I have a shut-off valve so I can swap fuel filters without getting drowned.  (You can see the fuel filter in both photos above.)

Problem with the mechanical pump was, when the car sat for a couple of weeks in rainy season, fuel would evaporate out of the float bowls and it would take a bit of cranking to fill the bowls so the car would start.
A lot easier on things to spin the electric pump for a short bit and once fuel pressure was observed on the gauge, light er off.

I liked the mechanical pump ok, all except for startup after the car sat for a while.

About three weekends back, we spun out to Rosie's Café on Hwy 93 which is a north/south four laner between Kingman and Hoover Dam.
The café, good eats, interesting place and a popular stop for many, especially the Harley runners usually had a pretty good pinstriper on the premises.
We'd stopped in there the weekend previous - getting confused? - on the way to Viva Las Vegas and talked to the pinstriper.
CK, who owns the bulbous white 46 Ford sedan was the one doing the talking to the pinstriper.
The car has a nice flame job on it and he wanted some pinstriping on nose & deck to finish things off.

CK's 46



On the way back from Rosie's Café we stopped at the wrecking yard with the old cars.
(I posted a bit on this along with pictures after the trip to Rosie's.)
When we left CK nailed the little 302 in the 46 and pulled out pretty hard.
I entered the road and realized I better nail it as well since it was a busy day and lots of traffic.
When I hit third gear the engine stumbled and I noticed fuel pressure was zero.
Backing out of it brought the pressure back up, but it wasn't running 4 - 4.5# like it usually did.
It hovered at 3# or so and no other problems on the way home.

I thought perhaps the fuel filter could be getting clogged up, but it didn't seem like it should have since I'd just changed it 10 months and maybe 2000 miles back.
Most times it gets swapped at the three year and 9000 mile mark.

Pulling the filter and inspecting it showed no problems and in fact it looked brand new inside.
With the mechanical pump running lower pressures than usual and looking like it was sliding down the hill toward failure I decided to go back to the electric pump.
A job made easy since the lines for both the electric pump and the line from the frame bulkhead fitting to the splitter were in the car it was a reasonably easy swap.

A pic of the left side of the engine showing mechanical pump and the splitter which mounts to the left head.



The Holley electrics have an internal regulator and it settled out at 5#.
No capacity problems, it kept the big Buick engine well supplied with fuel during a short full throttle run through the gears up to 75 mph - which is the freeway speed limit here.

You'll note in this pic the small fuel pressure gauge isolator,
You don't want to run a pressurized fuel line into the cockpit of any car and the racing organizations especially don't like it.
Plus - it's beyond stupid.



Along with the fuel pressure isolator you'll need on oil pressure safety switch that cuts power to the fuel pump when oil pressure is zero.
Don't forget to install a spring loaded primer button so you can pressurize lines and fill the carb float bowls with the engine off.
The two terminal 48 or so style Ford starter button works well in this application.

Along with the diagnostic instruments - in this case, the fuel pressure gauge is the main one, but the vacuum gauge is handy since you can see the engine start to die before you can feel it.
Most times it's enough to catch the engine going down and keep it running instead of getting into a restart with mucho starter cranking.

I'd planned to wash the car on Wednesday before the start of the Fun Run on Friday.
Turned out to be cold with a north wind so I put it off until Thursday since we had planned to pick up our goody bag with the car show stuff and have a Friday afternoon BBQ.
All that was done after washing the car was to fire it up and drive it into the garage.
No problems there.

Saturday morning, the gang was headed down the hill to meet up at my house, drive out to Truxton which is on Route 66 a little ways past Hackberry and check out one of the Fun Run stops.
When I fired the roadster it was running bad, but would clear up at 1500-200 rpm and I figured the ignition was probably damp.
Never had that problem before, but everything looked ok and I decided that driving the 25 miles to Hackberry then on to Truxton the engine should clear up ok.
Probably within the first few miles.

It did, but a little ways past Hackberry it started running rough again and I noted the fuel pressure was now at 5.5#.

Some time back I'd installed a bypass style fuel filter and it worked well with the electric pump in the car at the time, but it was bypassing too much fuel so I made up a pill holder that worked similar to the pill holders in mechanical fuel injection setups.
Basics on those are, the eight individual stacks carry butterflies only and have no provisions for jetting.
Air/fuel ratio changes are accomplished by swapping pills - similar to carb jets - with a bigger pill to lean er down and a smaller one to richen the misture.
Sounds backwards, but when combined with the pressure changes due to the mechanical pump and considering the pill is in the return line, it's easy to see why it works the way it does.

Pretty much the same for me.
The pill holder on my 32's 462" Buick engine takes Holley jets.
You may wonder what a Carter/Edelbrock guy is doing with Holley jets, but they were what was available at the speed shop at the time and all I wanted was a restriction device so no problem for me to use Holley jets - except for having to buy a 1/4-32 tap which isn't locally available most places.

A pic of the pill holder which is easily accessed.


The Holley jet is inside and pulling the fitting on the big end allows access with a screwdriver for pill swaps.

What enters into the equation here is; as noted, the mechanical pump couldn't supply enough fuel with the bypass holder in operation and I'd blocked it off with a Holley jet that was soldered shut.
That worked well for quite a while, at least until the run home from Rosie's Café as noted above.

It was obvious the bypass had to be back in operation to get the Holley fuel pressure back to reasonable.
5# - 6# pressure seems to be the make/break point for the Carter/Edelbrock series of carbs and it was pretty obvious the needle was coming off the seat due to excess pressure.
I realize a lot of guys run these carbs without a regulator - as I did with the mechanical pump - with no problems, but with an electric pump you need a regulator of some kind.

Deadhead regulators like the Holley regulators that most guys use are reasonable in price and work well.
They are a little bit hard on the pump in my opinion since they're always pumping up against the top limit of the pumps pressure capabilities.
A bypass regulator is a little easier on them since the pump isn't up at its top pressure limit.

Keep in mind the Holley electric pumps have an internal regulator and these can create other problems.
I had one stick at about the ½# level, but driving easy I made it the six miles home.
Disassembling the pump and pulling the Teflon piston and spring along with polishing the bore with some worn 400 grit wet/dry did the job.

A lot of story so far, but what I want to point out is, with the fuel pressure gauge on board and realizing what was going on in the fuel pressure system made for an easy fix.
A couple miles past Hackberry I pulled over and after explaining to the gang what was going on, Sweetie got into the back seat of CK's roomy 46 and they took off for Truxton.
I did a U-turn and ran the 2 miles or so back to Hackberry where I met another member of our gang.
He was meeting with some friends from Flagstaff and they were going to wait there until we were all there then we'd go to the car show together.

It took about 15 minutes of easy work - the hardest of which would be very familiar to Dr J - was finding the 9/16" wrench.
I yanked the blanked off Holley jet out of the pill-holder and after reassembly the fuel pressure floated between 3# - 3.5#.
The engine ran fine and 3# was more than enough to run the 60 mph back to Kingman and the car show.

Here's a few pics on the way to the car show while waiting for one guy to show up with his car.


This is a British Scout Car complete with - deactivated - 30 caliber machine gun.
Powered with a Rolls Royce inline six, four all wheel drive all the time with 5 forward and 5 reverse gears with a maximum speed of 35 mph.
Some ask, why would you want to go 35 mph backwards?
Seems to me the answer is simple, if someone was shooting at me, maybe 80 per in reverse wouldn't be enough.
The Scout Car garnered more attention than any other car at the show and there were some good ones.
Nice write-up in the Sunday paper as well.

This pic shows this years Fun Run license plate . . . cool part about Arizona is no front plate required and you can run what you want up there.
Best plate so far, flamed and matches my black roadster quite well.


CK with an unrestored 58 Vette behind his white 46.


The Vette.


My favorite car at the car show, he passed us on the way to Hackberry.
Cool little car.



Since the last day of the three day Fun Run is on Sunday and part of it is to the small tourist town of Oatman on Route 66, famed for it's friendly burros and the re-enacted gun fights in town, not to mention ice-cold amber colored beverages, that was a fun break on the way to Topock down by the Colorado River crossing from California to Arizona below Needles.

Geez, one of the gunfighters was carrying a pair of 45's, one in a regular gunslinger rig and the other in a cross-draw holster.
Then I saw that the bad guy was carrying two 45's in a similar rig, plus a shoulder holster/cross draw kind of rig with another 45.
Three guns total and he used em all . . . very skillfully as well.

No pics in Oatman proper, but here's a few on the way out of town.

The Colorado river side of Oatman looking N/E although it's another 20 miles or so to Topock.


Waiting for the gang to catch up, this is where the above pic was taken from.


Abandoned and falling down house right across from where we stopped.


A little further down the road and we spotted a few of the Oatman burro herd.
They weren't too impressed until they saw the kids get out with baggies of carrots.
Once they spotted those, the rest of the herd came in.


Note the vertical stripe above the burros front legs.
One of our group told us that it was a mark directly traceable to the burros from the herd that Mary rode on her trip to Bethlehem.


Running down the hill and across some more desert to Topock the fuel pressure gauge showed ½# to 1 ½#.
Not sure at the time what was going on, but we were running about 50 mph and keeping up ok.
I'm guessing that the pump was bypassing internally with its own regulator.

Made it to Topock ok, even with the gauge registering zero a couple of times.

Once the car was parked, I felt the underside of the fuel pump and it was pretty hot.
Probably due to getting heat soaked by slow running and the hot desert highway.
Along with no restrictions in the bypass line so a whole lot of fuel was being bypassed.

After the car sat for a couple hours at the Topock show & shine and trophy presentations along with a couple of sodas and a cheese-burger the pump was found to be cool.
We took off ahead of the gang cuz Sweetie was tired from three days of too much fun and I wasn't far behind.
I figured if the pump started acting up and pumping low pressure we could run at 50 mph or so and we wouldn't be holding anyone up on the 55 mile drive home.
Darned thing held 3# - 3.5# at 80 per so no problems there.
Even so, I'll do a few things in an effort to get some airflow to the pump and protect it a little better from the hot muffler that's nearby.

Long story, but there can be a lot to say on a three day hot rod weekend.

Here's our Corvette guy trying to find that imaginary noise we all hear when we get out of town a ways.
Nothing found, good running little car.



The end . . . in more ways than one....

Last post I made on my pals car was that he'd found the cam retarded one tooth.
Got that straightened out and replaced the timing cover with a new one and all seems well.

The car runs better, but more importantly it shifts to third like it's supposed to.

He did shoot the vacuum levels with a gauge and came out with 12"at idle, but the gauge was old and beat up and originally cheap so he's not sure if thats right or not.
First chance we get we'll pop my gauge on the engine and see how it compares.

The cam doesn't seem too big, if it was we'd understand the 12" vacuum level at idle.
From the sounds of it - not any "lumpity-lumpity" - at idle it should probably idle at a minimum of 15" at this altitude.

A couple pics of the 46 running Hwy 95 north toward Hoover Dam.
We were headed for Rosies Cafe about 25 miles south of the dam so the 46 could have some pinstriping done.
Fun place to stop, lots of interesting cars and bikes, good food.




A few pics of theHwy 95 junkyard on the way home.




The 41 has a Camaro? front clip and who knows what for a rear axle.
Old hot rod.


And one of my 32 that I liked.


Picture seems a little strange though....

A touch off topic perhaps, but life in SoCal wasn't always about hot rods.
   With that in mind, here's a little story you can perhaps identify with . . . and maybe even wish you were there.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
      Cold beer, hot days, the blue, blue Pacific and Huntin' Calico's
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




   We bought our sailboat, a Columbia 23, hull #2 in June of 73.  It was a really nice boat.  The V-berth up front had angled and well cushioned upholstered foam pads about 7' long and 7' + wide at the bulkhead.  As you can imagine it tapered toward the front becoming about 3' wide up there and there was another bulkhead up front and the storage area forward of that was where we stored swim fins, masks etc.  There was a removable foam cushioned plywood piece in the center of the wide end of the V-berth where the Porta-Potty was.  It made for a nice wide area and sleeping in there with your favorite girl and the two of you inside a zipped together couple of sleeping bags was more than nice.

   When I bought the boat I thought no one would want to sleep just over the top of the Porta-Potty, but the chemicals used in them were not offensive and the potty sealed up so well you couldn't smell anything.

   The Main cabin had a pair of bunks, one on each side.  They were about 3' wide at the front a touch wider at the rear and close to 8' long.  You could sleep oriented fore or aft, but most opted to sleep with heads forward.  With the four big bunks it handled four guys quite well, but the guys only fishing trips were best with three.  That way we could fill the unused V-berth bunk with sacks of groceries, jackets, duffle bags and the like.  Not to mention one big ice box with a couple of 25# ice blocks within and a bunch more chipped off so that box was completely full of ice.  There was also a medium sized ice box that doubled as a step when going down into the cabin.  That one had the food in it.  A small ice box that held the squid we used for bait was in the right side locker - which was also the cockpit teak seat that hinged upward to access one of the three anchors and close to a 1000' of anchor rope.  Two anchors were for overnight use and the other was smaller and called the lunch hook.  The idea behind that was to use it for easy anchoring when day fishing.  Easy to get up as well.  In this right side locker we had a couple of medium sized ice boxes.  Beer in one, more beer in the other and some food if there was room.  We usually took a case of beer per guy plus a spare and always brought quite a bit back.  Cept when our 6'7" tall Boulder, Nevada friend came along.  He'd drink his share and still have a day to go.  When he did that little trick, we'd let him suffer for a while and then share our beer with him.  The extra cases of beer and soft drinks went underneath the cockpit sole (floor) and sat on the inner hull which was cool.




   The left side seat locker held two 6 gallon fuel tanks and was constructed so that it was isolated from the rest of the boat.  It had a vent system as well.  Natural air flow carried away fuel fumes with an inlet and outlet that plugged into a pair of 3" vents on the top of the transom.  The exhaust vent faced aft and the inlet vent faced forward.  The tanks were well sealed and we never smelled gas fumes in the tank locker or at either vent.  Nice part about the fuel locker was that the tanks sat on a reinforced plywood shelf I built and the 6 horsepower Evinrude outboard would slide into the locker and under the tanks plywood floor.  Originally the boat had a single tank shelf setup, but I knew we'd be doing quite a bit of motorsailing at the islands.  Turned out to be a good decision, we spent three days out there once and it was so calm that motorsailing is all we did.  We burned 9 gallons on that trip and could have sailed back in the light winds, but it would have been an all day trip.  The 6 horsepower motor doesn't sound like much, but it was enough to drive the boat at hull speed which is the maximum speed a displacement hull can attain.  I'd made a point to consult with Evinrude for the recommended prop for my boat.  Turned out to be a three blade fine pitch prop.  It really worked well and helped conserve fuel because it allowed the motor to run in it's most efficient range.  The standard two blade coarse pitch prop worked fine on a 12' aluminum fishing boat, but when used on a heavy hulled sailboat - comparatively speaking - it lugged the motor down badly.  I'd see similar sailboats running the same engine and listen to them lug their way across the harbor.

   The displacement hull theory works for most boats, but the bottom of the hull on my boat had a long flat run and it would get up on a plane of sorts and really fly down some of the long swells when the wind was blowing hard.  Hull speed on my boat calculated out to 5.99 knots which is right at 7.0 mph.  Sometimes we surfed down some pretty big waves and the boat was probably doing 10-12 knots.  Doesn't sound like much, but it was thrilling stuff and you had to pay attention or you'd slide out going down a wave and end up with the windows in the water and a little further over the mast spreaders would be touching the water.  Times like that if you were dumb enough to leave the cabin slides out of the cabin door, it was possible to get a boat load of water inside.  We made a point to install the slides and lock em in place when we were really clicking off the knots.


   Somewhere along the line I'd learned to buy the 25# ice blocks 3-4 days in advance and stick em in the freezer.  Ice house ice most times is right around 26-28 degrees.  A few days in the zero degree freezer meant the ice lasted for a long time.  Most times we never had to tap into the spare ice, icebox.  It stayed solid as a rock for 3-4 days.  In fact, ocean going sailboats that have built-in ice boxes that are well insulated with 2-3" of high tech insulation have top opening lids which means the cold stays inside the box when the lid is open.  200-300# of ice in these large ice boxes would last about two weeks.  Just about the right amount of time to sail from California to Hawaii.


   The boat was pretty basic when I bought it.  For two reasons.  I could buy a lot of the stuff - like sail winches - drill a dozen holes and install them myself for about half the price the factory wanted.  In the end I had a better boat because I bought better quality and heavier duty stuff than the factory used in most places.  The basic bit means the cabin was a little spartan, it had the bunk cushions and that was about it.

   I made a table using camper type table mounts and that allowed us to have the table stored away out of the way when sailing for the islands or simply day sailing.  When dinner time came, we'd put the table up and use it.  When we were doing the two couples island trips, we'd put the table down between the bunks - it was sized to fit there and lock in place - drag the center cushion out and end up with a bed that was almost 8' long and just under 8' wide.  Enough room for two couples in fact.  That worked well because groceries, jackets, sweaters etc. could be in the V-berth and the potty would be available for the girls at night.  * over the transom was the general drill for the guys.

   We put curtains on the side windows and they rode on shock cord which allowed them to slide fore and aft as desired.  A new beach towel was sewn at one end to make a sleeve for the support rope and was hung from a taut horizontal rope on the main bulkhead which was the fore end of the main cabin bunks and the aft end of the V-berth bunks making for a privacy curtain for the potty.

   The main cabin had some nets strung below the side decks and parallel to the windows.  Camera's, sweaters etc. went in those.  You could access storage under the main bunks by simply lifting the cushions, lifting the trap doors and that's where the cooking gear, extra sailboat parts etc. went.  The tool box rode aft of the cabin floor step icebox underneath the cockpit sole.

   The small storage area up front worked out well because the twin deck vents were right above and stuff stayed dry there due to the good air flow.  We always dried out the diving gear stuff before we stored it away anyway, so moisture wasn't really a problem.  And if it got rough we had plugs that fit in the vent holes.  Kinda glad there cuz I figured if we ever took on green water a couple of 4" diameter vents could dump a lot of water into the boat.  Green water being nothing more than solid water and not the spray that came off the front of the boat in heavy going.  Even in medium rough waters, the vents could stay in since the upper part faced to the rear and spray didn't get in.  Funny part was, as long as I had the boat - 14 years - and running in some pretty rough seas we never took solid water over the bow.  Maybe we could have if things had gotten really rough, but we've sailed in heavy winds with gusts exceeding 45-50 mph according to my wind gauge.

   Looking back, if I had stuck the bow of the boat into a solid chunk of water it would have been a mistake.  There are lots of things you can do to take it easy on the boat and the occupants at times like that.  The biggest one being, don't drive the boat straight off a wave and let it fall into the trough.  I did it once in not-too-rough seas just off the coast of Channel Islands Marina to give Sweetie a bad time.  She was using the potty and I drove the boat up and over a 6' swell and let it fall all the way into the trough.  When the boat hit bottom it sounded like a loaded dish cupboard that had fallen off the wall.  Lots of screaming and bad words came forth from behind the V-berth privacy curtain.  I don't think I ever had my ancestry questioned so strongly before.

   The trick when running large swells is to drive the boat up the swell at a somewhat steep angle - not head on though - turn almost parallel to the wave at the top and when the top of the wave slides under the boat, turn the boat so it's going down the backside of the wave at an angle, but not straight down the back of the wave.  Both of these maneuvers stay pretty close to the course you want and the overall ride is smooth and safe.  What I did to Sweetie was run up the swell at an angle and instead of turning at the top, I drove the boat straight off the swell.  The bow of the boat must have dropped eight feet or so.  It wasn't too bad for those of us in the cockpit, but up front it was a long drop.  I'm a fast learner though.  Never did it to her again . . . not that I wasn't the same fun-loving boy as before, I just didn't think I'd live through another one of those....

   We ran a similar set of swells one time - except they were eight footers - when we were traversing Prisoners Harbor which is a big open bight of water at Santa Cruz island.  Winds, as mentioned, were running 30-35 and gusting to 45-50 mph.  It was scary stuff and the boat was soaking wet clear up to the top of the mast which was 30' off the water at the top.  Looking at the backs of the waves after they'd gone under us we saw that they were covered with white spindrift.  A mistake there would have rolled the boat and the consequences could have been
disastrous.


   As a small matter of information, a lot of folks don't know how to judge the height of a swell or wave.  You'll hear stories of 25 to 50' waves from people who've been out in the channel on a moderately rough day.  What they're doing is looking at the face of the wave and measuring the almost horizontal component that runs from top of wave to bottom center of the trough.  Wave height is measured vertically from the bottom of the trough to the top of the wave.  It's not hard to do.  All you need do is estimate the height your eyes are off the water when you're seated in the cockpit or standing on the cockpit sole (floor).  My eyes were about 4'6" off the water when I was seated in the cockpit.  If the horizon just disappears when you drop into the trough, you can figure the wave height is about 5' and so on.
                        
   Some of the more interesting wave/swell patterns were when an Aleutian storm had come and gone - which generally leaves the wave pattern running in the usual/normal direction off the California coast - and then having a storm start up in Mexico.  Tropical storms right after an Aleutian storm are not too common, but they do happen.  What happens to the wave patterns is, you have the normal one running down from the N/W and the Mexican one running up from the S/W.  With the patterns crossing at right angles, you can see how the wave patterns mix.  What makes these real interesting is that sometimes the troughs from both directions meet and you get the height or drop from both combined and you'll either be on top of a really big swell or drop into a fairly deep hole in the water.  This has been the cause of more than a few powerboats being lost in the channel because they're usually running at a higher speed than the sailboats - although not by much in storm conditions - and they drive off into the hole hitting the bottom of the combined trough with a lot of way on and they'll either pitch-pole (headfirst, * over teakettle) or slam the windshield into the water.  Either one creates a lot of damage, sometimes the engines go off line and most times a lot of water is taken on board.  A few more waves and that's it for the displacement vessels.  They sink.  For boats small enough to have foam flotation in them, they remain floating, sometimes upside down, but if right side up, the water is up to the deck and the occupants have a very real danger of dying from hypothermia.  Even in summer.

   I know I got off on a tangent about storms and the like, but it's good for you to know what goes on out there and what can happen.


   This little story is about the first time I took the boat to the islands and the fishing we did while there.  Your favorite part I would guess.

   There were four of us on the trip.  I figured if I got totally lost and the Coast Guard found me and the guys out in the middle of the ocean, it would be a little embarrassing, but no big deal.  I'd done a lot of reading and had a reasonably good feel for navigating as well as I'd done some practice navigating along the coast, but there's nothing quite like setting off into the fog and haze.  It would seem like how the heck could a guy miss the islands, but when they're shrouded in haze it would be easy for an amateur navigator to miss all of em and by the time the day had gone by conclude he was well and truly lost.  Course, by the time night falls, turning east always works.  Somewhere along the line you'll hit the west coast of America.

   There are a lot of ways to navigate, electronically for one and it's too easy.  Nice, but you can get yourself into trouble relying on a gadget that could fail at any time.  Something I saw when pilots, experienced ones, but stupid to my eyes, flying Loran or GPS equipped planes took off without the proper sectional's (airplane talk for airplane maps) which are required to be on the airplane as well as be current.  Sectional's are only good for a six month period so the hot setup is to subscribe to a supply house and get the new ones when they come out.  Sextant, you know about that or at least know the basics.  I can explain that if you wish.  And dead reckoning which involves taking bearings, triangulating same, noting times and speed traveled and if you do a good job you'll come out very close.  Loran if I remember right is accurate to about a half mile or less.  GPS is good to several feet although the military only allows privately owned GPS units to be accurate to about 20' nowadays.

   The guys on board were a couple of brothers who worked at the same power station I did as well as their friend from Northern California.  Jerry & Jimmy were the brothers and Buddy was their friend.  They were good guys, but Jerry, the ringleader, could be a pain in the * sometimes.
You may remember him from my little dirt bike in Baja story.


   So . . . in June 74 after having owned the boat for one year, doing a lot of coastal sailing as well as a trip to Lake Powell in early August of 73 and doing a lot of reading and studying as well as endured some strong winds and high waves in the interim I decided the time was right for a trip to Santa Cruz island.  Jerry and Jimmy, both avid fisherman were all for it and since Buddy  - an out of towner - was visiting Jerry he came along as well.  Nice guy and no problem for me.


   I felt like the boat was pretty well equipped, life raft, lots of life preservers, extra water and food on board, flare launcher, three anchors with sufficient line for each and with a little bit of experience under my belt we launched early on a Saturday morning.  Destination; Little Scorpion anchorage at the S/E end of Santa Cruz island on the mainland side.  It was about a 17 (statute) miles trip out there and visibility was 2-3 miles.  I thought things would clear up, but it didn't.  I forget the exact course, but I cranked in an extra 5 degrees to windward as well as another 5 degrees for the Littoral Current drift.  Keep in mind as well that a sailboat sails at a cocked angle aiming into the wind when beating into the wind.  I felt the 5 degrees to windward would do it.  We ended up on what is called a close reach which translates to about as far into the wind as you're gonna get.

Here's a translation:
Close reach = approx 45 degree angle into the wind.
Broad reach = 90 degree angle to the wind, a good point of sail since you get all the benefits of the sail pushing as well as pulling.
Run = the wind directly behind the boat which is a nice point of sail.  No spray coming over the bow and the jackets & sweaters can come off.  Nice time to drink beer too, it can get pretty warm since in most cases the (apparent) wind over the boat is lessened by the boat's speed and the cockpit can get to be a warm place with the sun beating down, reflecting off the water and white sails as well as off the white hull.  Overcast days can be even worse.

   (Short explanation on true and apparent wind.  True wind is exactly as it sounds.  It's the wind generated by weather patterns.  Apparent wind is the wind generated by the movement of the boat.  Power or sail although this explanation is for a power boat because it's easier to envision.  If you're in a power boat making 10 knots and a 10 knot true wind is blowing directly behind you the apparent wind will be zero.  If you turn 180 degrees and head directly into the 10 knot true wind at 10 knots of speed the apparent wind will be 20 knots.  Angling into or away from the true wind brings in the vector factor, but roughly speaking you can cut the wind speed in half and add or subtract from the true wind - depending on the direction you're headed - to attain apparent wind velocity.)

   One method of sailing a boat is called motor sailing.  Pretty much as it sounds and it's used a lot in light winds and also as a method of steadying the boat.  As you can imagine, with the weighted keel down low and the mast & rigging up high you can get quite a pendulum effect when running under motor with no sails up.  Having a least one sail up - the main - dampens the pendulum effect and adds drive to the boat so you get a little more speed out of the boat than you would under motor alone.  Look close at 45-60' & up trawler type diesel powered boats and you'll see a small sail rig up high and out of the way.  This is for roll damping, but if it came to it you could get into a port somewhere depending on the wind direction involved.

   Maybe all this is more than you want to know, but I think it helps you to understand what's going on.  Like many other things sailing can be as simple or as complex as you want to make it.


   Our boat was fairly simple at first, but with my tendency to learn about things and get the most performance out of them I can, the boat was changed to a considerable degree.  We did race the boat and a lot of the stuff was racing oriented.  Suffice to say, at the first we had only three ropes in the cockpit.  Port and starboard jib sheets and the main sheet  A couple of years later the cockpit looked like an explosion in a rope factory.  Not gonna name em all, but we had about a dozen ropes in the cockpit.  Sounds confusing, but it wasn't.  Woulda been simpler if I'd bought colored ropes and set up a color code.  Lots easier to say, "pull the green rope" instead of saying, "tighten up on the boom vang . . . the second one from the left coming over the cabin top, no . . . not that one, the other one...."

   Anyway, we got the boat squared away and headed for Santa Cruz a little before noon.
An early leave didn't really help when sailing cuz the wind didn't fill in till one o'clock or so and it was only a 4-5 hour trip out.  Nice and fun part was the wind filled in strongly when you got about 6-7 miles from the islands and there was some fun sailing to be had.  Not this time though.  It was fairly calm as I mentioned so we motorsailed most of the way.

   Funny part was, I wouldn't let anybody else steer the boat since I was sticking close to the course and paying attention.  Potty breaks - sailboats run on beer you know - were about the only time I let somebody else steer.  I was worried about hitting Santa Cruz near the east end and it's conceivable with the overcast and fog we had that I could have slid right between Santa Cruz and Anacapa ending up headed for Hawaii.  A two week trip that I wasn't set up for.  Not to mention that Jerry and Jimmy could steer the boat ok, but they tended not to pay attention and were a couple of classic type guys who didn't worry about much.  Their main interest was fishing and sailing out there was simply something to be endured far as they were concerned.  Course, like you'd think they drank their share of the beer.  As well as ate their share of our traditional sailing breakfast of boiled eggs and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that Sweetie always packed for us.
      

   Close to four o'clock we could see the outline of the island.  When we got close enough I saw the pier at Big Scorpion harbor and turned a bit to the east because we were about a quarter mile from the western end of Little Scorpion anchorage.  Made me feel good that all that navigation stuff worked out ok.  Especially after sailing most of the afternoon in the fog and haze.

   Little Scorpion is an ok anchorage most times.  It's open to the sea and there's not really any place to hide from storms and the like, but as far as fishing went, it was the place.  Especially for us after we'd learned a few things.

   The learning didn't take long.  We got anchored fore and aft - as is traditional at the islands -  pointing west and were parallel to and about a hundred yards from the big kelp bed that surrounds most of the island.  We got the boat squared away for the hanging out end of things,  blew up the life raft,  launched it and tied it to the aft end of the sailboat.


   We fished off the sailboat for a while and around dusk we decided to row the life raft across the kelp and up close to the big rock cliff at the east end of Little Scorpion.  The life raft was a six man model, which made it about the right size for four guys, a beer cooler and a small cooler full of bait.  Bait in this case being frozen squid from the market.  Equipment used was a combination of salt water spinning rods & reel as well as a smaller salt water bait casting rod and reel.  I especially liked the bait casting rig, my dad won the reel at a golf tournament and gave it to me.  It was a beauty with it's strong white plastic trim & knobs and chrome plated components.  I was just about as happy with my long Berkeley salt water spinning rod and the big Garcia salt water spinning reel.  The bait casting rig was loaded with green dacron line and the spinning rod & reel carried monofilament.  I forget the line weights, but they were sufficient for most all of the stuff we caught.  At the end of the line on all the spinning rigs was a hook, fairly large one and no weights.  The bait caster had a small lead weight and a short monofilament leader.

   We rowed the life raft to the kelp bed, rowed right over it with no problems and on the other side of it we were about fifty yards from the almost sheer rock cliff.  We tied the painter (raft tow line) to a wad of kelp and that was our anchor.  A small trick that always stood us well.

   The fishing was simple stuff, we'd stick a piece of squid on the hook and that was enough weight to allow casting with no problems.  It kept the bait up off the ocean floor as well.  We were fishing for Calico Bass - also called Kelp Bass.  They're a beautiful fish with pale olive colored skin and purple splotches.  Once you get em out of the water the purple fades away rapidly.  I've seen these fish cruising along underwater, always near the kelp.  They use their coloration to blend into the kelp and it's an excellent camouflage.  You can be 20-25' down - free diving - and cruise right by one without seeing it.  The general drill was to pick a large one, shoot it with the spear gun and get out of the water.  That due to the sharks hear the struggling fish and home in on it.  I read up on sharks, their habits and the like and found that - even in summer - it was a good idea to wear a black wet suit.  A person swimming at the surface looks like a wounded fish to a shark.  Pale on the underside, clumsy movements which mimic a wounded or hurt fish and the shark figures lunch is on.  Sometimes I'd go back in later and get another Calico, but most times we caught enough fish with the rods that we had plenty for dinner so spearing another one wasn't necessary.

   The guys I was with, at least the two brothers were most times blind to the beauty of nature and the world around them.  Part of it, they were absolutely avid fisherman and once they got rolling with it, nothing else existed.  I liked the fishing ok, especially so in the ocean.  You always caught something there and after I started salt water fishing I never went fresh water fishing again.

   After dark, which wasn't too dark due to a quarter moon, it was really something to be sitting there in the raft about a hundred yards from the anchored sailboat and watch the ocean swells run up and down the sheer rock wall of the cliff.  Add to that the sounds of the swells when they passed as well as the mysterious booming inside the many water level caves starting a quarter mile or so to the east of where we were tied off to the kelp bed and ending at the eastern tip of the island.  The booming was caused by air compressing inside the caves and when the swells went further into the cave, the trapped air compressed and blew out through the water.  If the cave was open on both ends it blew a strong air current all the way through.  Many of the caves went all the way through the narrow tip of the island and if the swells were coming in from the ocean side it could be a little scary and quite impressive if you were inside the cave in the liferaft.  A few weeks after the trip I'm talking about here, Jerry and I took the girls to the island for the weekend, put them in the life raft and rowed them inside one of these open on both ends caves when the swells - modest ones - hit the island tip and blew air all the way through.  Gotta admit it was kind of spooky, the chill air blowing through the somewhat dark cave and watching the water level rise toward the roof.

   We did well - the guys and myself - fishing for Calico's.  I think the fishing was good because the big boats wouldn't go over the kelp bed and the little boats didn't care to anchor up near the cliff.  All of which left a fairly large area that was seldom fished.  Sort of a secret fishing hole right out in plain view.

    That trip was a three day fishing extravaganza and once we filleted all the fish - aside from the ones we'd eaten for dinner two nights running - we had 37# of fillets.  All of which was within limits.  Although we did screw up and later found that multi-day trips need to be registered with fish and game if you expect to bring back more than a one day limit.  We did get away with it, but thought for a while we would be inspected since the game wardens were doing a surprise inspection of boats returning to the launch ramp.  Funny part was, since we were in a sailboat they didn't look twice at us.  Everyone knows that sailboat people don't fish . . . even if four guys in wrinkled clothes and four day old beards show up at the launch ramp late in the afternoon..


   The times when we were sailing the coast, if winds were light, we'd toss out a couple of lures behind the boat and troll for Bonita.  Most times without success, but we caught a few.  Most interesting was when we caught a 2' long Barracuda.  I had no idea they were to be found on the west coast.  We let the Barracuda go.

   I think the lack of success most times was due to the boat was running too fast for the lures even if the winds were light.  Most times we trolled running downwind which had us heading S/E and east to return to Ventura.  We did better if the wind was up by lowering the sails and letting wind pressure on hull, mast and rigging drive the boat at a slow pace.


   Anther place where we fished was at Richfield Island near La Conchita just down from the Ventura/Santa Barbara line.  The island is artificial as you probably know and constructed of large cast cement Tetra-Pods with smaller boulders, rocks and cement filling in the middle so there was a flat area to build on.  The Tetra-Pods resembled very closely the jacks that grammar school girls played with.  Instead of six points like a jack had, the Tetra-Pods had four points.  Once they were lifted into place, they settled in and locked together.  They weren't oriented any particular way nor did they have to be.  They were an elegant engineering solution to building an artificial island.  If they were standing on flat land, the point that went straight up was probably 15-20' high.

   Before I got the sailboat, Buddy - Jerry's friend mentioned above - worked at Richfield Island and he would take us onto the island at night and on weekends.  In fact, later on he worked on Platform Helen offshore from Goleta and we went out there for a night's fishing.  It was really weird walking around on the big steel beams about 5-10' above the water at night and fishing.  Most fishing was done from the main deck.  Safer and way less spooky.  Specially considering it was so foggy when we went out at midnight the boat had to use radar to find the platform.  

   Getting off and on the boat was a trick as well.  You'd time the rise of the boat, grab a large knotted rope and swing onto the platform.  Same thing going back.  Time it wrong and you'd find yourself dropping 6'-8' down onto a deck that was coming up and that could hurt.  More than a few platform workers got hurt with the crude dock setup.  I don't know why the platform didn't have a floating dock.

   Funny thing too, all the platform workers had short pole salt water bait casting rigs in their lockers.

   Strangest thing that happened in all this coastal fishing stuff was about a year before I got the sailboat.  Jerry had an all wood 20' long outboard cabin cruiser.  The boat was an accident waiting to happen, but Jerry thought it was cool since he could go fishing off the coast if he wanted to.  The thing leaked water like a sieve and you had to bail it out every hour or so.  The water collected at the transom and there was a seat back there so when the water started lapping at your feet it was time to bail.  The boat had a beat up old motor that ran pretty good, but I always worried about it.

   The boat's bulkhead mounted compass was pretty worthless because it constantly spun when the motor was running.  To that end . . . and knowing it was going to be foggy the first time I went out on the boat I brought my pocket compass.  Kinda saved our butts.  We could follow the swells and find the beach, but even with the compass, Jimmy and Jerry didn't have a clue where we were other than west of Ventura toward Santa Barbara.  There was a lot of zigging and zagging into and out of the coast because if we were where I thought we were, we were in a rocky area and I told em so.

   Jerry was the kind of guy who relied on his luck and he truly was a lucky guy.  Seemed like he got away with everything.  He didn't believe me, but he turned seaward anyway.  We were along the Rincon seawall a ways west of the group of beach cabins above the Solimar beach cabins and I'd been swimming and skindiving there quite a few times.  Not trying to say I was always right here, but when I was with the Jones boys, I was right more often than I was wrong.  They weren't dumb - most times - but could get insistent.  Especially Jerry.  Jimmy was the more easygoing of the two and a lot of the time he'd sit back, grin and watch the . . . almost an argument.  We got along well, just that it bugged me when Jerry would fall back on his luck yet again.  Luck is nice, but my thinking is you make your own luck.

   So we fished around Richfield Island without much luck and came home with no problem.  It was interesting to see water pour out of the boat when we parked in Jerry's back yard, got the trailer unhooked, tipped it back and found water coming out of the hull.  We'd pulled the plug and thought it had drained well on the ride home, but apparently there was a lot of water trapped under the cockpit sole inside the hull.  Took a while for it all to drain out.


   A few weeks later, Jimmy and another Edison guy - Bill - took off for the islands.  They were headed for Anacapa and fished with a fair degree of success.  And like you'd think, they bailed pretty often.  I think the shark packs they ran through along with the area close to the islands on the mainland side - that locals call windy lane - getting a pretty good chop and some winds late in the afternoon kinda spooked em both and they were wondering if they were gonna make it back or not.

   A few more weeks down the road and after some ambitious work along with some more than ambitious beer drinking by the brothers, the boat's problems were declared fixed.  I think between the two of them they'd come to an understanding that maybe they ought to stick to coastal waters in the little cruiser and not venture out to the islands.  Their safety equipment consisted of four beat up old life preservers, a fire extinguisher of dubious appearance and a life raft that was conspicuous in it's absence.  Absent because it didn't exist.  Did I mention the brothers were cheapskates?  They were generous when it was their turn to pay, but they preferred not to spend money on stuff they weren't gonna need anyway.  Given the fabulous luck that Jerry enjoyed most times and nothing ever happened anyhow why spend good money on safety equipment?

   Now it may look like I'm leading up to a disaster here along with a learning experience for the brothers, but it didn't happen.  Many years later the chickens came home to roost and to an extent Jerry's luck deserted him.  No one died or even got hurt, but life stepped in and slapped Jerry a good one.  A whole other story and not relevant here.

   So with the boat declared in good repair, the engine all tuned up - I think they stucki a new set of spark plugs in - we figured an overnight trip to Richfield Island would be fun.

   This time around our mutual friend Ed, another Edison guy - all of 6' 7" tall and a total klutz - came along.  The two brothers and myself made a crew of four and we were well equipped with six fishing rod/reel setups, bait in an old Styrofoam icebox, four sleeping bags and jackets for all plus food and that all important accessory to fishing and sailing . . . beer. Nice part about the cruiser was that it had a small cabin with a raised floor and thick foam cushion so things stayed dry in there.  Probably because once the water got to licking at your heels if you were sitting in the transom seat we started bailing and didn't let the water get high enough to flood the cabin.

   We took turns bailing, but more than a few times I asked myself what the hell I was doing out there.

   Along with the brothers cheap-skatedness, the boat didn't have an anchor aboard.  When I asked Jerry what we were going to use for anchors he pointed out a short string of 66kv power line insulators with rope tied to them.  Borrowed from the company insulator junk pile.  He'd had success in using a single bell off the same insulator string when he had his 14' - old - outboard powered ski boat that we used at Piru Lake for fishing.  Most times we'd anchor over mud and the insulator bell tied to a rope upside down would settle into the mud like a good mushroom anchor and half the time we had to cut the rope to get loose.  Really good rope too.  (Disregard tongue in cheek here.)  Yellow 3/8" polyethylene the district used to pull in the big rope for an underground cable pull.  The rules were they could only use it once.  With so much not in the best shape rope kicking around just about everyone in the district and power station had their own 200-300' supply of the stuff.  The price was right though.  Free is hard to beat.

   Like you'd think, underwater at Richfield Island and up and down the coast for that matter was a hard sand bottom.  The insulator string - with 5-6 bells on it - didn't hold worth a darn.  Jerry, like a lot of non-boaters thought it was weight that held the boat in place.  Hell, he didn't have enough rope to give the anchor line - known as a "rode" in boat terminology - a 45 degree angle let alone the recommended 6 or 10 to one ratio (depending on wind strength) of anchor rode to depth so the anchor could hook onto the bottom with a shallow angle on the rode.  We were in 40' - 50' of water so 100' of rope didn't cut it.

   We ended up drift fishing until after dark.  Somewhere in here, Ed dropped Jerry's favorite fishing pole overboard and we lost it.  (On a later trip to Santa Cruz island, Ed insisted on sitting on the cabin top trying to get his fishing pole/reel squared away with new line and dropped my long time owned Marine K-Bar knife overboard in about 3000' of water.  After that, we didn't let Ed have anything of ours unless he was in the cabin or cockpit.  Funny thing was, Ed never dropped a beer overboard.  Too valuable I guess.  Although he did throw one of my brand new, neatly spliced light blue colored 40' nylon dock lines overboard near the entrance to Baby's Bay at Santa Cruz island.  Jerry was rowing the raft in so we would know where to cross the reef without hitting a rock.  The raft painter was being slowly pulled off the sailboat as Jerry rowed out and Ed thought he'd help.  He picked up the aft dock line that was lying in a pile next to the painter (which was white), bundled the painter together with the dock line and threw the whole thing overboard.  The dock line sunk to the bottom in maybe 20' of water, but it was too rough near the reef to attempt to recover it.  Cest' La Vie and all that stuff.)

   As you can imagine, Jerry's boat had no running lights and we couldn't anchor so we ran up to the Richfield Island dock, tied off to a piling sticking out about 20' from the dock, motored up to where the pier from the beach/highway area turned right and down to the island and tied off to one of the pier pilings, let the boat back out on the line and we were neatly tied off between pier and dock.

   We fished a while, got a few bites, caught nothing, said to hell with it around one in the morning and decided to get some shuteye.  We drew straws to see who would get the cabin . . . the nice comfortable cabin . . . and Ed & Jimmy won.  I thought I heard laughing for a while, but it must have been fate planning the next move.

   Jerry and I opened up one sleeping bag, put on our jackets, sat down on the transom's hard wooden seat, laid the sleeping bag over us to keep the fog off, leaned into the hard wooden corners on each side and tried to sleep.  Listening to Ed snoring away in the cabin didn't help any and when Jerry started snoring I figured I wasn't going to get any sleep.  I swear, those guys could sleep anywhere.  I do ok there, but if there's something to worry about - like the boat sinking among other things - I don't sleep very well at all.  I was consoled by the little thought that if the boat did sink I'd be outside and it wasn't a very long swim to the dock ladder so what the heck.  Jerry and I took turns bailing.  Me because I was sorta keeping an eye on the water level and about every hour it needed sloshing out.  Jerry took his turn regular-like cuz I let the water get deep enough to get his feet wet, he'd wake up, glare at me and bail.  Jerry was quick to take advantage and probably figured he'd sleep through the night and let me worry about things.

   About seven in the morning I woke up to a subdued light due to the heavy fog that was in, looked over at one of the tetra-pods and saw a light brown haired girl in a green bikini walking over the horizontal leg of a Tetra-Pod.  Geez . . . I had to look two or three times until I figured out I really was awake and that really was a girl in a bikini.  Nice bikini too, not one of the not much there wonders of today that leave nothing to the imagination.  Every year I wonder where bikini's are going and every year a little more of them gets lost to the designers who are attempting to be more daring than the other designers.  Not to mention that they don't wear their minute little creations.  Anyway, that was a more than interesting way to wake up and what was going on was, Moorpark College ran a Marine Biology class and once a month they took a field trip to the island to monitor algae growth, the starfish and abalone population and the like.  Diving for abalone on the island was prohibited, but fishing was ok.

   Not long after I'd seen the young lady in the bikini, other college age kids started showing up.  After a while, some of them donned Scuba gear and dove the island.

   After a while we figured we weren't going to be fishing there because we'd just be in the way so we untied the boat and headed down the coast toward Ventura.

   That was the last trip I did on Jerry's little cruiser.  Jimmy and Jerry did a couple more trips along the coast day fishing with it, did a little fishing at Lake Piru and Jerry sold the boat to another avid fisherman who thought he could fix the leaks and knowing Jerry he probably didn't lose any money on the deal and more than likely turned a profit.


   One of the better days spent fishing on my sailboat was when Jerry and I took it out to Richfield Island.  Not to go fishing at the island, but we'd heard that halibut were being caught in the big cove off County Line beach the surfers frequented and we figured we'd get us some of that good eatin' fish.


(Richfield Island is just above the beach in the photo, but you can't see it through the haze.) (County Line Beach - made famous by the Beach Boys and long reknowned by SoCal surfers is just around the corner to the left.)



   Nice part about a sailboat is they're self-tending if you set em up right.  We hove up out to sea a ways, took the sails down, tied the tiller to one side, the boat turned sideways to the very light wind, got the poles out, baited the hooks, tossed em over and after a half hour or so we'd drifted close enough to the beach where we fired up the motor and ran back out to sea where we'd do it again.  Sometimes we'd have the tiller tied off to the other side and along with drifting into shore we'd work from one side of the large cove to the other.  Since it was a weekday and the surf was non-existent, we had no conflicts with the surfers.  And if the surf was up, we wouldn't be there anyway.

   The fishing was easy, spinning or bait casting rig with a few of the larger split shots on the line, bait a hook with anchovies, let the line out till it was dragging on the bottom and drift along hoping all the while that a halibut would latch on.  We didn't catch a thing.  Got sunburned, drank beer and had a nice day as well as a fun sail back downwind in the fairly hard winds.

   The only halibut I ever caught was on the pier near the railroad trestle that goes over the campground where Highway 101 turns to the north headed away from the coast toward Santa Maria.  Darned thing wrapped itself around a pier piling in the light surf, broke the line and that was my one and only shot at a halibut.

   We had hope though.  I even had the life raft marked off with Magic Marker which showed the legal minimum length for halibut.  We never caught a one.



   About the second to last trip out to the islands, Jerry, Buddy and I were anchored at Little Scorpion anchorage near the east end of the island on the mainland side.  After a good nights sleep we woke up and discovered to our horror that we had no coffee.  They were a little ticked off about the whole thing.  Didn't bother me too much since I didn't drink much coffee at the time.  Nothing like those guys did.  Seemed like they couldn't function until they'd had their morning fill-up of caffeine.

   I couldn't handle the whining and * and figured a cup of coffee would hit the spot on a cool and slightly foggy morning so I got in the life raft and rowed over to a 35-40' ketch that was anchored about a hundred yards away.  A nice lady came out, said hello and I asked her if she had any coffee she could spare.  She smiled, went below and came up with a brand new unopened jar of Tasters Choice and gave it to me.  I thanked her and asked if she liked fish.  She said she did and in fact, her husband and the other couple they were with had fished all the previous evening, caught nothing and were highly disappointed since they'd all been looking forward to a fish dinner.  We'd done our usual trick of anchor the sailboat a little ways off the kelp bed, row the life raft in, drink beer and haul Calico's in like nobody's business till about one in the morning.

   I told the lady I'd be right back, rowed over to our boat, snagged a double bread bag about half full of fillets and rowed back to her boat.  I think there was more than enough for two dinners for four.

   She said thank you, smiled her beautiful smile and a few seconds later the sun broke through the fog.



   What more could a guy ask for?  Anchored in the blue, blue Pacific, next to one of California's most beautiful islands, coffee on the stove, the promise of a bright and sunny day, a fondly remembered smile from a beautiful woman and we still had three days to go before heading home....

                                                                      -<>-

Or . . . what I did this weekend.

You may have noticed the narrow WWs on the front of the 32 in previous posts.
Ended up with them cuz I was looking for a narrower tire for the 32's front end and all I could find was a WW.

I wasn't wild about running the WW on the inside of a highboy styled car so I decided to give it a shot on the outside.
Decided it was ok looking and ordered a pair of similar WWs for the back.

The new back tires are smaller (235/75R-15 & 29" diameter) than are the old tires (285/70R-15 & 30" diameter).
Along with that I dragged an old pair of slot mags out of the dusty and dark recesses of the garage, checked em over and started polishing them.
That was five months ago.

Got one fairly well cleaned up, the weather turned really cold and I got tired of the buffer throwing cold air in my face.
Figured I'd wait till warmer weather, but like many times for all of us, the job was shunted aside for a while.

Few days back got the other one cleaned up to match.
Neither of the rear wheels polished up like the professionally done ones in the front, but for now they'll do.
This WW thing is kind of an experiment anyway.

Along with the tire swap the wheel sizes were swapped as well.
The old wheels are 10" x 15" with 2 7/8" backspace.
The new ones are 7" x 15" with 3 3/4" backspace.
I woulda rather had 8" wide wheels, but didn't have any, couldn't find any at my pals shop or either of the junkyards.
So the 7" wheels are it for now.

The change in backspace almost screwed things up.
I got fooled because I had measured all my wheels when I stored them, marked the size etc. and thought they had 3" backspace.

I noticed my little screw-up after I had the tires mounted & balanced and installed the first one.
Got a little close to the 4-bars, but there is sufficient clearance there and no conflicts other places.

The deeper backspace on the rear has the tires sitting in close to the body.
Which makes me think a pair of 8" wide wheels would be just about right for these tires.

Running 32# in front and 31# in the back.
Rides pretty good.


The only bad part in all this is the about 3% change in the overall rear gear ratio.
The diff in the car is a 3.70 and spins along about 3000 rpm @ 70 mph.
Now it will be running about 3100 rpm at the same speed.
Not too bad, but I prbably need to start shopping for a 3.25 diff which would be ideal, but what seems to be most commonly available is the 3.00 diff.

I hate to pull the good performing 3.70's, but with the long desert highways we have it sure wouldn't hurt to slow the engine down a bit and the gas mileage would be improved as well.

Anyway, here's a few before and after pics for your perusal.











So far I'm liking it and one thing that made me think about changing to narrow WWs was that these were the tires we lusted after when we were running our Shoeboxes.

If I get tired of them I can always swap back to BWs, but it strikes me that having a couple sets of wheels and tires for the 31 would be neat.

The other thing that strikes me is that here is a heckuva set of wheels & tires for a Shoebox coupe.

If I only had one....

Along with the no shifting C4 in the other post, my pal and I hit the junkyard yesterday.
He's looking for a two sheave pulley so he can add A/C later on.

We didn't find one, but I spotted a pair of rear brake drums on a 1/2 ton 1978 Ford pickup that may have had an I-6 in it.

Couldn't get em off to measure, but they look like they might be the right ones for my 31 on 32 rails roadster project.

To back up a bit, the 31 has an about 62 Ford 1/2 ton rear axle, 9" diff, 11" x 1 3/4" brakes, but it came with 5 on 5 1/2" bolt pattern axles.
They've been replaced with Dutchman alloy axles with 5 on 4 1/2" pattern.
So far, all I can find information-wise is that 57-59 Ford pass car drums will work.

Measuring from the outside cuz we didn't have the tools to pull the drum it looks like that drum may fit.
11" diameter, 5 on 4 1/2" pattern.
Lining width looks like a 2" brake shoe would work.

So far I understand that the common brake shoes in the nine inch diff axles are 1 3/4" or 2 1/4".

I'm hearing that there is a 2" wide brake shoe for the Ford nine inch 11" drums.
The thinking there was that the 2" wide drums may work fine with the 1 3/4" brake shoes.
And . . . since the pickup at the junkyard probably had an I-6 there may be something to the rumor about 2" wide shoes.

I'd like to use the 1 3/4" brake shoes cuz I already have a set of new ones on hand, but I also want the smaller rear brake . . . but not too small....

If you've been following the C4-that-won't-shift-into-3rd escapades of my pals 46 Ford with 302 SBF engine, here's where we are so far.

Trans guy installed the low vacuum modulator, no help.

(The engine would only pull 10" at idle and go to 15" when spun up a bit.)

We yanked the radiator a couple days back - an interesting job due to the less than brilliant way the brackets etc were put together.
Anyway, he got the timing cover off and found the cam one tooth retarded.

So we have our hopes up there and I'll keep you posted.

My pal who owns the SBF powered 46 Ford with the low vacuum and no shifting into high gear probs has the car at the trans shop now.

I'm beginning to think the cam may be a tooth off and perhaps retarded.

Anyone ever stuck a vacuum gauge on an engine that was found to have a severely retarded cam?

Right now, I think he's grasping at straws . . . he needs to run a compression check, firing order check on the plug wires etc.

He doesn't seem to have a vacuum leak.

The engine runs pretty good and pulls the big ol tub along pretty good.

I'm beginning to think the guys who put things together do hot rods as a sideline and their real job is at the circus wearing big shoes and lots of make-up....

My long-time pal traded his 29 full fendered roadster a few months back.

Now he's got a 46 Ford two door sedan with SBF 302, automatic and 8" rear axle.
Nice car on the outside, paint & upholstery etc., underneath some work shoddily done, but he's getting that ironed out pretty good.

Anyway the trans had a problem so he pulled it and had it rebuilt by a local trans shop touted by many to be the best in the city.
A non-OD trans fwiw.
(C4?  It's physically small.)

When he got the trans back in, it wouldn't shift into high.
Took it back, trans guy found a leaking vacuum modulater and replaced it.

It still won't shift into high.

I'm thinking there's an external vacuum line problem, but we didn't have a vacuum gauge with us and the car's too low too crawl under.

He's thinking vacuum leak, I'm thinking line disconnected somewhere and for all I know the line could be plugged into ported vacuum.
And, ported vacuum shouldn't be a problem since it follows manifold vacuum fairly close once you come up in rpm a bit.
The previous owner's a nice guy, but a bit lacking in automotive knowledge.
He trades cars, drives em for a few months and trades again.


I had the vacuum modulater vacuum line fall off my T-400 once and all that happened there was that shifting occured earlier rpm-wise than it had been.


Another question I have pertains to the 8" rear axle.
I believe these came in passenger cars, Granada, Maverick, etc.

What's the lowest ratio they could come in?

It's conceivable that if . . . the diff ratio was low enough he could be getting fooled because the car is so quiet.
I haven't driven it or ridden in it yet.
He's clocking 3000 rpm at 50 mph.
The rear tires are 26" and running the formula with a 4.11 ratio indicates he should be doing about 57 mph with that combo of tires and diff.

It's not a large speedo error like you'd think since three of us went on a 120 mph poker run yesterday and were the only hot rods in the midst of maybe 200 Harleys.
We were passed by everyone since the 46 was floating between 50 and 60 mph which was verified by the speedos in my roadster and the other car.
Fwiw, my speedo is pretty accurate.
I went to a lot of trouble to get the right carrier/adapter/whatever you call it and gears right.

The Harley gang was cool, but kinda funny.
When I asked how come so many Harleys were on a hot rod run they just laughed..... :?

Off topic, but since I'm asking questions about my Ranger 4x4 heres one recent experience with it along with some plans for the future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                    Pre-Running the Hualapai

   Ya know, I used to think the 44 Magnum was some kind of cannon.
I thought too, that I understood why some of the manufacturers are making even larger caliber handguns.
And maybe even understood a bit why some African hunters use their 458 Winchesters for plinking.
Ok, just kidding here.

Any round that can vaporize a sealed soda can and turn the liquid within, into a soft and subtle fog has got my attention.
Then again, strikes me that a good backup for hunting some of the large by huge - and tough - African animals, a Warthog flying low cover would be about right for backup.

What brought all this subtle thinking about unsubtle calibers like the 458 to mind was a small, but interesting experience I had a few days back.
As y'all know, experience, like beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Maybe too I was lucky.

Big lead-in for a small story, but any learning experience is a good one long as ya don't leak too much blood after the dust settles.


As I've noted before, my pals and I like to explore the desert and mountains in the vicinity.
Said vicinity being anything within a hundred miles or so.

In a small way, like when I used to run around with a fishing nut.
He was forever hearing about a new hot spot, we'd take off on our four days off, travel half the state to the north, spend a bunch of time finding the * place, and most the of time learning our way around, catch a few fish and that was about it.

Then . . . next four days off, we'd go fishing.
Not to the hot spot we'd hit last time out, but a new one.
Never made sense to me, I always thought we shoulda gone back to where we knew our way around a bit and really do good.

Nope, we always went to the newest fabled hot spot.
Most times it was an interesting trip and aside from sinking the boat in the Mexican surf down in the Baja, mostly uneventful.
And like always, the locals would tell us, "Ya shoulda been here yesterday...."


Anyhoo, me and the guys have been hearing about this castle that was built in a somewhat hidden place in the dez.
The first version of the story I heard was that Don Laughlin, the founder of Laughlin, Nevada who'd got his start running a small fish camp at the end of a dirt road next to the Colorado River had built the castle as a getaway for VIP and other very special guests from his casino.

The castle, reputed to have been abandoned for the last 20 years or so had a lot of stories about it and we heard about lots of different places it could have been, but to tell you the truth I think we already found it on our very first trip to the dez as far as exploring went.

It's a fairly large ranch with hotel looking main building, dirt airstrip, lots of water in a big pond that was almost a small lake and not all that far from civilization.
Not for a guy with an airplane or a Jeep and a guy with a low-slung Caddy Convertible could probably get there without too much trouble.

Distances are all about perceptions and it's the guy on foot who figures he's a long way from the bright lights of the city, a chilled bottle of beer and a hot meal.

A week or so ago I picked up a couple books on Arizona Jeep trails to go along with my growing collection of Arizona related books and other stuff.
Reading through information on some of the local Jeep trails, each of which had a couple pages of history along with it I found some info and photos of an interesting old building at the Gold King Mine
The mine, long abandoned, but still interesting historically.

It was originally the Joseph Stickles mine and its seven claims were sold in the mid 1920's and renamed the Gold King Mine.

The big two story building was constructed in 1929 and what made it interesting was that it was fairly large
Buildings in the dez that were built near that time were nowhere near the size of the building.
It didn't take long for the building to become known as the Gold King Mansion.

Depending on which history book you're reading it was inhabited by the owners or the mine foreman.
More than likely both stories are true with the owners living there the first few years then moving back to town and letting the foreman take over the place.
With Kingman, Arizona being 27 miles away and the closest bit of civilization, not much of interest went on at the mine other than the day to day operations and I imagine the boredom factor was high.
VIPs and investors were entertained at the mansion and it looks big enough in the photos I've seen to hold family, foreman and several visitors at once.

The mansion was poured cement construction which pretty much explains why it's lasted so well over the years.
A poured cement building is no big deal now, but back in the day, all the lumber, cement and other construction materials had to be hauled in by mules.

That's the story anyway, but I'm pretty sure the mules were pulling a wagon.

What did help, in both the mining and building bit was the small stream nearby that runs year round.
The water comes off the back side of the Hualapai (wall-uh-pie) mountains which are named after the indian tribe that lived in the area.
Hualapai translates to Pine Tree Folk.

Learning local history is always interesting because you can reach out and touch it many times.
True here in Sunny Arizona and also true in Southern California with its rich history of Spanish exploration, the Channel Islands, the old coast road and the many Missions the Catholic Fathers built


So the drill was going to be, we'd do a little pre-running and find the start of the actual trail into the mansion.
We'd found that the trail head to the mine turned off of a major trail which was really a good dirt road about 30 miles long running through the area so that was a help.

I'd done a bit of research with several books, BLM maps and satellite views of the area, my pal talked to a guy who'd actually been there, but about all he could get out of him was that we'd been on the wrong trail last time we tried to find the place.
Trouble with the satellite views available to the general public, many times they're not clear enough to see what you need to see.

It's surprising how many people knew about the mansion, thought they knew where it was, but they'd never been there.
And to be fair, there are a heckuva lot of trails branching off the main trail and to an extent, they
all look alike.

In fact one trail that looked to be little-used, overly narrow and overgrown with brush at the start turned out to be a good trail wide enough for just about any 4x4 and was a reasonably easy jaunt for anyone with a little four wheel drive experience.

We'd done that one last year, drove to the top of the Hualapai from the back side which is on the east, into the small community near the top of the mountain and had a great BBQ sandwich along with a cold mug of beer for lunch at the lodge where elk come to visit.

Along with that, we met a local at the bar where they serve lunch until the lunch crowd picks up enough to open the main dining room.
He was telling us about some trails that headed south off the Hualapai and mentioned he lived a couple of houses up the hill from the lodge where we were.
I commented that it would be nice to live close to a pub where you could walk down, have a cold one, talk to a few friends and walk home.
He said that he'd driven.
I guess I had a strange look on my face then he explained they'd been having a mountain lion problem in the area.

The darned lion had been on his porch and others, a few dogs had disappeared, so not many people on foot wandered the area at night.
He didn't say so outright, but I got the impression he had a firearm in his pickup that was sitting just outside.
I hope so.

A few days back, I got tired of waiting for my pal to get out of his winter couch potato mode, quit fooling around with his hot rod 46 Ford, too * cold in the garage anyway, do some more pre-running and if things looked ok we'd pack a lunch, toss the girls into the 4x4's and make a 2-4 vehicle trek to the mansion and make a day of it.
Three Jeeps and my 4x4 Ranger would make up the little safari if everybody could make it.

One reason I wanted to make a pre-run was to determine if Sweetie could manage the ride.
She's got a really bad back and can't handle too much swaying around if the trail is rough.
Although she could handle 4-5 miles of trail in and back and it looked to be about 2-3 miles in to the mansion.

The trail is on a big loop of 14 miles and is considered difficult on a scale of easy-moderate-difficult.
Probably true in the upper reaches of the trail where it loops up into a huge rock field on the side of the mountain, but down where the mansion is it more than likely falls into the moderate category with one or two stream crossings.
The way I understand the ratings is that easy means an SUV with 4WD.
Moderate, a stock Jeep or 4x4 pickup and a driver with some four wheeling experience.
Difficult, a more serious Jeep or pickup along with a fairly experienced driver.
Like most men, we figure we're somewhere between the moderate and difficult levels far as offroading in the dez goes.

One thing that helps is we have many years of riding and racing dirt bikes under our belts so we have a feel for things desert as well as some experience in reading the lay of the land as far as how the trails gonna be and other things along those lines.
We do realize we have a lot to learn and do respect the desert greatly.
Me, probably more than the other guys.
I carry stuff to survive or have a rough camp sans vehicles if it came to that.
Rations, quite a bit of water, space blanket, light rope, very light nylon shelter like a tarp and meant for shade, but it'll keep the rain off.
Nice part is, we know where a couple of streams that run year round are that are close to where we'll be.

So . . . with my pal not getting off his dead * I elected to do the pre-run by myself.
Not too bad a deal, I had minimal equipment with me if it got down to survival mode, people knew where I was going, the Ranger is a good running little truck and if I had to walk out from the trail head - which was as deep as I planned to go since this was a pre-run and all I was looking for was where the trail started.

Five miles to the north would have taken me to a ranch headquarters that is staffed year-round.
Fifteen miles the other way is a major highway.
Nice thing about that is, lots of hunters use the highway side into the area as that's where most of the deer hunting seems to take place so maybe I could hitch a ride out that way if it came to it.

Animals in the area are deer, mountain lions, coyotes, javelina and elk who tend to stay at the higher altitudes.
Not to mention small game animals along with rattlers and Gila Monsters.

Now here's where the stupid part comes in.
Not the running alone bit, but my choice of weapons to take along.
I thought about the P89 semi-auto pistol in 9mm and its convenience in carry along with ease of ingress and egress from the Ranger - which can be a pain in the backside cuz it ain't the biggest pickup in the world and I'm a 195# six footer.

I decided against the 7 ½" barrel 44 mag Super Black Hawk since it's a bit more bothersome getting in and out of the Ranger or Jeep with it strapped on.
Thinking I might do some plinking while I'm out I decided to take my 40 year old, bought new, still in very good shape 6" barrel 22 Long Rifle Ruger standard semi-auto pistol.
Hadn't shot it in a while so it seemed like a reasonable thing to do.

Now here's the part where it could have been bad.
And a small reward for reading so far, but I'll have more to report in a few weeks and I'll remember to take the camera this time.

I'm rolling down the main road about 15-20 mph headed south.
Not making much dust due to not much speed and also because the roads not completely dry from a rainstorm a few days back.
I spotted a white water tank ahead and on the left.
Now water tanks are pretty common and you don't always know when you're gonna run across one, but this one struck me as being in a strange place.

The mountain on the west side took off from the road and a half mile or so that way it got pretty steep.
To the east, a pretty steep rise and then after 200'-300' it leveled off into a narrow ridge.
When I got closer I saw the ravine below the tank area and realized I was looking at what was probably a collection area for the open range cattle that run wild in the area.
The only cattle I'd seen on the big ranch were usually down near the gated entrance next to the highway about 12 miles away.

When I got close I could see two bulls in a corral about a hundred feet off the road and down an easy incline from the main road where I was.
They ran out of the corral one behind the other and I thought for a moment that they'd busted the gate down, but when I looked closer I saw that the gate was tied open.
For a few seconds I wondered where the bulls were going in such a big rush, but when they hooked a 180 degree turn and were starting up the incline I realized they were coming toward me and the Ranger.

Geeze Louise . . . they were PO'd and they were big.
Forget that meat on the hoof stuff, these guys were testerone laden steer hides in the large size.
Did I mention they were in a state of  bad temper?

Probably because they were wild as hell and maybe because all the cows were down the hill 12 miles away and they were . . . lonesome.
To their way of thinking, perhaps I was a potential competitor or simply a transgressor in their territory.

Not much of a tale to be sure, but I learned several things from this little adventure.
Just cuz you know what animals to expect to see doesn't mean that's all there's gonna be.
And the other . . . 22's have their place and time, but this is one time I wished the 44 mag had come along for the ride.
And maybe that I had one of those Great White Hunters from Africa along.
It says something about a guy when he figures a 458 Winchester isn't enough gun for some situations.
I know, the 458's have brought down a lot of African big game, but I note as well they sometimes carry rifles up to and including 600 caliber and at times were probably wishing it was a 900.

Those two were the biggest * bulls I ever saw and even being a city boy, I've seen a few.
I think one of them could have chased a water buffalo back into the river and both of them woulda had an African lion thinking twice about jumping these bad boys.
I'm really glad that I didn't find out about these guys the hard way and on foot.
The trees in the immediate area are just barely tall enough to call trees.

Kinda funny, the dry lake where we like to shoot, there's a big ol longhorn bull that hangs out there.
He probably got away from the ranch up on the hill to the west and I haven't got a clue what he thinks he'll find out on the big dry lake.
Ever since we saw him, we've been keeping a better eye out than we used to.
The main paved road through the area is only a mile and a half or so up a mild grade, but if the truck quit I'd hate to have to walk out.
And if I do, I ain't goin' up the bulls favorite road down to the lake.
The brush ain't that thick.

Can't quite get over the two bulls.
I'll be thinking about them for a while.

I know one thing though, I always had respect for the Mexican Matadors who walked into the bullring to face down these big guys and the American Cowboys who rode off into the mountains and canyons by themselves to chase down open range cattle and bring em back for branding, the cattle drive or whatever.

Sometimes respect isn't a big enough word, but then again, perhaps it's enough to realize that I have a lot of it for these men.

There's not as many of them as there once was, but they're out there.

I tip my hat to them....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No photos of this particular trip, but here's a few taken in the general area to give you an idea of what the area looks like.            

Easy part of the trail up to the lodge.


One of the year-round streams in the area.


Again, the trail to the lodge with a Javelina barely seen up ahead.


Overgrown part of the trail


I realize the trees shown here are taller than those described in the story, but we have a little more altitude here than down by the main trail, corral and trail head to the mine.


The dry lake shooting area looking south.


At the south end looking west.

Off topic, but since I'm asking questions about my Ranger 4x4 heres one recent experience with it along with some plans for the future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                    Pre-Running the Hualapai

   Ya know, I used to think the 44 Magnum was some kind of cannon.
I thought too, that I understood why some of the manufacturers are making even larger caliber handguns.
And maybe even understood a bit why some African hunters use their 458 Winchesters for plinking.
Ok, just kidding here.

Any round that can vaporize a sealed soda can and turn the liquid within, into a soft and subtle fog has got my attention.
Then again, strikes me that a good backup for hunting some of the large by huge - and tough - African animals, a Warthog flying low cover would be about right for backup.

What brought all this subtle thinking about unsubtle calibers like the 458 to mind was a small, but interesting experience I had a few days back.
As y'all know, experience, like beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Maybe too I was lucky.

Big lead-in for a small story, but any learning experience is a good one long as ya don't leak too much blood after the dust settles.


As I've noted before, my pals and I like to explore the desert and mountains in the vicinity.
Said vicinity being anything within a hundred miles or so.

In a small way, like when I used to run around with a fishing nut.
He was forever hearing about a new hot spot, we'd take off on our four days off, travel half the state to the north, spend a bunch of time finding the * place, and most the of time learning our way around, catch a few fish and that was about it.

Then . . . next four days off, we'd go fishing.
Not to the hot spot we'd hit last time out, but a new one.
Never made sense to me, I always thought we shoulda gone back to where we knew our way around a bit and really do good.

Nope, we always went to the newest fabled hot spot.
Most times it was an interesting trip and aside from sinking the boat in the Mexican surf down in the Baja, mostly uneventful.
And like always, the locals would tell us, "Ya shoulda been here yesterday...."


Anyhoo, me and the guys have been hearing about this castle that was built in a somewhat hidden place in the dez.
The first version of the story I heard was that Don Laughlin, the founder of Laughlin, Nevada who'd got his start running a small fish camp at the end of a dirt road next to the Colorado River had built the castle as a getaway for VIP and other very special guests from his casino.

The castle, reputed to have been abandoned for the last 20 years or so had a lot of stories about it and we heard about lots of different places it could have been, but to tell you the truth I think we already found it on our very first trip to the dez as far as exploring went.

It's a fairly large ranch with hotel looking main building, dirt airstrip, lots of water in a big pond that was almost a small lake and not all that far from civilization.
Not for a guy with an airplane or a Jeep and to tell the truth a low-slung Caddy Convertible could get there without too much trouble.

Distances are all about perceptions and it's the guy on foot who figures he's a long way from the bright lights of the city, a chilled bottle of beer and a hot meal.

A week or so ago I picked up a couple books on Arizona Jeep trails to go along with my growing collection of Arizona related books and other stuff.
Reading through information on some of the local Jeep trails, each of which had a couple pages of history along with it I found some info and photos of an interesting old building at the Gold King Mine
The mine, long abandoned, but still interesting historically.

It was originally the Joseph Stickles mine and its seven claims were sold in the mid 1920's and renamed the Gold King Mine.

The big two story building was constructed in 1929 and what made it interesting was that it was fairly large
Buildings in the dez that were built near that time were nowhere near the size of the building.
It didn't take long for the building to become known as the Gold King Mansion.

Depending on which history book you're reading it was inhabited by the owners or the mine foreman.
More than likely both stories are true with the owners living there the first few years then moving back to town and letting the foreman take over the place.
With Kingman, Arizona being 27 miles away and the closest bit of civilization, not much of interest went on at the mine other than the day to day operations and I imagine the boredom factor was high.
VIPs and investors were entertained at the mansion and it looks big enough in the photos I've seen to hold family, foreman and several visitors at once.

The mansion was poured cement construction which pretty much explains why it's lasted so well over the years.
A poured cement building is no big deal now, but back in the day, all the lumber, cement and other construction materials had to be hauled in by mule.

That's the story anyway, but I'm pretty sure the mules were pulling a wagon.

What did help, in both the mining and building bit was the small stream nearby that runs year round.
The water comes off the back side of the Hualapai (wall-uh-pie) mountains which are named after the indian tribe that lived in the area.
Hualapai translates to Pine Tree Folk.

Learning local history is always interesting because you can reach out and touch it many times.
True here in Sunny Arizona and also true in Southern California with its rich history of Spanish exploration, the Channel Islands, the old coast road and the many Missions the Catholic Fathers built


So the drill was going to be, we'd do a little pre-running and find the start of the actual trail into the mansion.
We'd found that the trail head to the mine turned off of a major trail which was really a good dirt road about 30 miles long running through the area so that was a help.

I'd done a bit of research with several books, BLM maps and satellite views of the area, my pal talked to a guy who'd actually been there, but about all he could get out of him was that we'd been on the wrong trail last time we tried to find the place.
Trouble with the satellite views available to the general public, many times they're not clear enough to see what you need to see.

It's surprising how many people knew about the mansion, thought they knew where it was, but they'd never been there.
And to be fair, there are a heckuva lot of trails branching off the main trail and to an extent, they
all look alike.

In fact one trail that looked to be little-used, overly narrow and overgrown with brush at the start turned out to be a good trail wide enough for just about any 4x4 and was a reasonably easy jaunt for anyone with a little four wheel drive experience.

We'd done that one last year, drove to the top of the Hualapai from the back side which is on the east, into the small community near the top of the mountain and had a great BBQ sandwich along with a cold mug of beer for lunch at the lodge where elk come to visit.

Along with that, we met a local at the bar where they serve lunch until the lunch crowd picks up enough to open the main dining room.
He was telling us about some trails that headed south off the Hualapai and mentioned he lived a couple of houses up the hill from the lodge where we were.
I commented that it would be nice to live close to a pub where you could walk down, have a cold one, talk to a few friends and walk home.
He said that he'd driven.
I guess I had a strange look on my face then he explained they'd been having a mountain lion problem in the area.

The darned lion had been on his porch and others, a few dogs had disappeared, so not many people on foot wandered the area at night.
He didn't say so outright, but I got the impression he had a firearm in his pickup that was sitting just outside.
I hope so.

A few days back, I got tired of waiting for my pal to get out of his winter couch potato mode, quit fooling around with his hot rod 46 Ford, too * cold in the garage anyway, do some more pre-running and if things looked ok we'd pack a lunch, toss the girls into the 4x4's and make a 2-4 vehicle trek to the mansion and make a day of it.
Three Jeeps and my 4x4 Ranger would make up the little safari if everybody could make it.

One reason I wanted to make a pre-run was to determine if Sweetie could manage the ride.
She's got a really bad back and can't handle too much swaying around if the trail is rough.
Although she could handle 4-5 miles of trail in and back and it looked to be about 2-3 miles in to the mansion.

The trail is on a big loop of 14 miles and is considered difficult on a scale of easy-moderate-difficult.
Probably true in the upper reaches of the trail where it loops up into a huge rock field on the side of the mountain, but down where the mansion is it more than likely falls into the moderate category with one or two stream crossings.
The way I understand the ratings is that easy means an SUV with 4WD.
Moderate, a stock Jeep or 4x4 pickup and a driver with some four wheeling experience.
Difficult, a more serious Jeep or pickup along with a fairly experienced driver.
Like most men, we figure we're somewhere between the moderate and difficult levels far as offroading in the dez goes.

One thing that helps is we have many years of riding and racing dirt bikes under our belts so we have a feel for things desert as well as some experience in reading the lay of the land as far as how the trails gonna be and other things along those lines.
We do realize we have a lot to learn and do respect the desert greatly.
Me, probably more than the other guys.
I carry stuff to survive or have a rough camp sans vehicles if it came to that.
Rations, quite a bit of water, space blanket, light rope, very light nylon shelter like a tarp and meant for shade, but it'll keep the rain off.
Nice part is, we know where a couple of streams that run year round are that are close to where we'll be.

So . . . with my pal not getting off his dead * I elected to do the pre-run by myself.
Not too bad a deal, I had minimal equipment with me if it got down to survival mode, people knew where I was going, the Ranger is a good running little truck and if I had to walk out from the trail head - which was as deep as I planned to go since this was a pre-run and all I was looking for was where the trail started.

Five miles to the north would have taken me to a ranch headquarters that is staffed year-round.
Fifteen miles the other way is a major highway.
Nice thing about that is, lots of hunters use the highway side into the area as that's where most of the deer hunting seems to take place so maybe I could hitch a ride out that way if it came to it.

Animals in the area are deer, mountain lions, coyotes, javelina and elk who tend to stay at the higher altitudes.
Not to mention small game animals along with rattlers and Gila Monsters.

Now here's where the stupid part comes in.
Not the running alone bit, but my choice of weapons to take along.
I thought about the P89 semi-auto pistol in 9mm and its convenience in carry along with ease of ingress and egress from the Ranger - which can be a pain in the backside cuz it ain't the biggest pickup in the world and I'm a 195# six footer.

I decided against the 7 ½" barrel 44 mag Super Black Hawk since it's a bit more bothersome getting in and out of the Ranger or Jeep with it strapped on.
Thinking I might do some plinking while I'm out I decided to take my 40 year old, bought new, still in very good shape 6" barrel 22 Long Rifle Ruger standard semi-auto pistol.
Hadn't shot it in a while so it seemed like a reasonable thing to do.

Now here's the part where it could have been bad.
And a small reward for reading so far, but I'll have more to report in a few weeks and I'll remember to take the camera this time.

I'm rolling down the main road about 15-20 mph headed south.
Not making much dust due to not much speed and also because the roads not completely dry from a rainstorm a few days back.
I spotted a white water tank ahead and on the left.
Now water tanks are pretty common and you don't always know when you're gonna run across one, but this one struck me as being in a strange place.

The mountain on the west side took off from the road and a half mile or so that way it got pretty steep.
To the east, a pretty steep rise and then after 200'-300' it leveled off into a narrow ridge.
When I got closer I saw the ravine below the tank area and realized I was looking at what was probably a collection area for the open range cattle that run wild in the area.
The only cattle I'd seen on the big ranch were usually down near the gated entrance next to the highway about 12 miles away.

When I got close I could see two bulls in a corral about a hundred feet off the road and down an easy incline from the main road where I was.
They ran out of the corral one behind the other and I thought for a moment that they'd busted the gate down, but when I looked closer I saw that the gate was tied open.
For a few seconds I wondered where the bulls were going in such a big rush, but when they hooked a 180 degree turn and were starting up the incline I realized they were coming toward me and the Ranger.

Geeze Louise . . . they were PO'd and they were big.
Forget that meat on the hoof stuff, these guys were testerone laden steer hides in the large size.
Did I mention they were in a state of  bad temper?

Probably because they were wild as hell and maybe because all the cows were down the hill 12 miles away and they were . . . lonesome.
To their way of thinking, perhaps I was a potential competitor or simply a transgressor in their territory.

Not much of a tale to be sure, but I learned several things from this little adventure.
Just cuz you know what animals to expect to see doesn't mean that's all there's gonna be.
And the other . . . 22's have their place and time, but this is one time I wished the 44 mag had come along for the ride.
And maybe that I had one of those Great White Hunters from Africa along.
It says something about a guy when he figures a 458 Winchester isn't enough gun for some situations.
I know, the 458's have brought down a lot of African big game, but I note as well they sometimes carry rifles up to and including 600 caliber and at times were probably wishing it was a 900.

Those two were the biggest * bulls I ever saw and even being a city boy, I've seen a few.
I think one of them could have chased a water buffalo back into the river and both of them woulda had an African lion thinking twice about jumping these bad boys.
I'm really glad that I didn't find out about these guys the hard way and on foot.
The trees in the immediate area are just barely tall enough to call trees.

Kinda funny, the dry lake where we like to shoot, there's a big ol longhorn bull that hangs out there.
He probably got away from the ranch up on the hill to the west and I haven't got a clue what he thinks he'll find out on the big dry lake.
Ever since we saw him, we've been keeping a better eye out than we used to.
The main paved road through the area is only a mile and a half or so up a mild grade, but if the truck quit I'd hate to have to walk out.
And if I do, I ain't goin' up the bulls favorite road down to the lake.
The brush ain't that thick.

Can't quite get over the two bulls.
I'll be thinking about them for a while.

I know one thing though, I always had respect for the Mexican Matadors who walked into the bullring to face down these big guys and the American Cowboys who rode off into the mountains and canyons by themselves to chase down open range cattle and bring em back for branding, the cattle drive or whatever.

Sometimes respect isn't a big enough word, but then again, perhaps it's enough to realize that I have a lot of it for these men.

There's not as many of them as there once was, but they're out there.

I tip my hat to them....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No photos of this particular trip, but here's a few taken in the general area to give you an idea of what the area looks like.            

Easy part of the trail up to the lodge.


One of the year-round streams in the area.


Again, the trail to the lodge with a Javelina barely seen up ahead.


Overgrown part of the trail


I realize the trees shown here are taller than those described in the story, but we have a little more altitude here than down by the main trail, corral and trail head to the mine.


The dry lake shooting area looking south.


At the south end looking west.

Got an 89 Ranger 4x4, 2.9 Liter V6 engine with power steering.
The power steering makes a buzzing noise when turning now and then.
Oil was full first time I noticed it.

After parking the car for a few minutes a month or so back,  no more buzz.
Pump oil was at the proper level at the time.

Couple days ago, the buzz came back, comes and goes.
The oil level was down this time around.

The steering is still smooth when the PS pump is buzzing and not "catchy" like they get sometimes when they have a problem.

The pump pulley shaft will move in and out about 1/8", but no axial slop or bearing noise.

Other Ranger power steering pumps I checked in the junkyard don't have any play at all as far as in and out on the pump shaft.

I thought for a while that maybe a snap ring had broken, seals seem ok, no leaks just a touch of seepage.

I got the bright idea to rebuild the pump myself.
Seal kits run $11. or $19. depending on which kit you get as far as completeness goes.
The bigger kit probably has seals for the reservoir.

Bearings if needed could be purchased at the local bearing house.

Along with snap rings if one of those was broken.

I see rebuilt pumps available with and without the plastic reservoir.

The problem I've run into is "How does the reservoir come off?"

I don't see any bolts or hold down devices on the outside.

I'm guessing a strong putty knife may go under the edge and the reservoir simply pops off.

I need a little advice before I try that one.

Sometimes I can't believe all the pain in the butt problems I've had with the fuel tanks in my 32 roadster.


First time around was the standing on it's edge in-trunk tank from LTL.
Sorta similar to the standing on edge, inside the cab tanks found in 50's and 60's pickups.
It had it's problems and potential problems.
Along with costing $400. plus shipping in 1992.


The saddles that came with it have very sharp edges and it looked like it would wear through the poly tank - or whatever kind of soft waxy plastic it was cast from.
I took that into account and made some soft pads, but not soft that they'd wear through in no time.
The main idea was to get the tank up off the saddles an eighth of an inch or so.


The LTL tank had a couple of 1/4-NPT brass fittings molded in at the bottom corners.
Fairly well done, but if you get a leak you're gonna have 15 gallons or so of gas sloshing around the car floor.


The really bad part about the LTL tank was the filler pipe.
It was nothing more than a short piece of about 2" diameter black plumbing pipe with pipe threads at the bottom and fine threads for the aluminum cap at the top.
LTL's instructions called for wrapping the plumbing pipe with Teflon pipe and screwing it directly into the top left corner of the tank where there was an opening that had threads cast in.


Like you'd think, it didn't work worth a *.
Gas leaked out into the car via the poor thread seal.
Same thing happened again, this time with a few more - within reason - wraps of Teflon tape.


This 2nd time around, a lot of gas leaked out into the car.
A scary deal, but I pushed the car off to the side of the lot, when it quit dripping I moved it again, fired it up, took it home and pulled the LTL tank.
All the while casting many bad words toward the idiots at LTL and vowing nevermore.




So . . . a few days later, I sprung for a JAZ fuel cell.
A much better setup, but it constantly weeped a small amount and the capacitance fuel sender died about the 3rd year out.
No big deal, keep track of the gas stops via the re-settable trip odometer and fuel pressure gauge.
The gas stop deal worked well for a long time then the odometer hung up on the VDO speedo and I ended up "borrowing" the new SW speedo from the 31 . . . which was replaced with another new SW speedo.
I told myself I wouldn't be swapping things back and forth between the 32 and 31 roadsters and so far, that's the only thing I have swapped/borrowed/stole outright.


I did regasket the JAZ fuel cell three times - with new gaskets - and it still weeped.
Potentially dangerous which is kind of funny since it's supposed to be a safety device.


The problem with the JAZ fuel cell is two-fold.
The outer skin of the cell is cast with a pebbled finish and they didn't have the brains to cast a smooth finish in where the gasket would sit.


The other problem is the inside the tank retainer ring.
It's an about 1/8" thick ring with 1/4" bolts or studs welded to it and the poor welds allow fuel to come up the studs - since they're not sealed - and weep out over the filler neck at the flange.


I don't seem to be alone in owning a weepy JAZ fuel cell.
Talking to several drag racers, they've commented, "They all weep a little bit."
A strange sounding comment to me since I believe safety devices should not introduce their own dangers.


So JAZ is pretty much off my shopping list.




Last thing tried was a Summit RCI fuel tank.
They call it a fuel cell in the catalog and online, but it has absolutely none of the attributes of a fuel cell.
Unless you want to count the flange leak.
I say leak, but it was more like a small waterfall.


The Summit tank had no baffles like a fuel tank should have and no foam like a fuel cell should have.


Kinda ticked me off that the Summit tank leaked so bad.
My pal had one of these in his roadster and it worked great and to an extent is what convinced me to give the Summit tank a try.


I did wonder about the brilliance of selecting a 90 ohm fuel sender instead of the more common 233 ohm sender which would've matched my 233 ohm SW gauge already in the car.


I ordered an SW 90 ohm gauge at the speed shop and dinked around for two months before me and the speed shop guy cancelled the order since SW said they only made special runs of the 90 ohm gauge and weren't going to do it for a while.


So I ordered an Autometer 90 ohm gauge from Summit, quick delivery, good service like always and 20 minutes after the UPS truck dropped off the Autometer gauge, the speed shop called and said the SW 90 ohm gauge was in.


Before I get too much further along, let me say that I'm still dealing with Summit, never had a problem with them before.


I decided to fix the fuel flange setup myself and here's how it went . . . pics and all....



This first pic shows the inner retaining ring with bolts - incompletely welded so just like the JAZ cell, fuel poured out from the stud holes on the supplied tank flange that carries the filler tube and aluminum cap.
Interesting part about the tank flange was that it was 5/16" off flat.
It's for sure a 1/8" thick rubber gasket is not gonna seal that much of a non-flatness (to coin a word) as well as seal off the many small holes in the bolt/flange interface where the studs were poorly welded not to mention that several of the studs were leaning.


The ring is cut when installed so it can "roll" into a smaller hole than the rings outer diameter.
There is no gasket of any kind between tank and inner stud ring.
So what we have here is one lonesome gasket trying to seal off two tank/flange interfaces.




These next two pics are just a quick look at machining a 1/4" thick round disc from flat plate.
Use 6061 T6 aluminum for the flange discs.
The big hole saw saves a lot of time boring a large hole.
Plus, you end up with a smaller disc you can save for other projects.
Beats heck out of making a pile of chips that nobody can use.





The pic of the finished flanges shows the home-made gaskets Copper-Coated on.
The gaskets are .030 thick rubber/fiber composition that you can find at CarQuest and NAPA stores.
US made, the stuff is easy to cut and works well.
In fact I made a set of intake gaskets for the 462" Buick in the 32.from the gasket material.
They're still working great.
Way better than the thin sheet metal gaskets supplied by most of the gasket manufacturers.




Shown here are the flanges.
Note that the outer flange carries twelve 1/4" - NC one end, NF the other - studs and is also drilled as well as being countersunk for twelve 1/4-20 stainless FH buttonhead allens in between the studs.
The studs are installed with Permatex . . . #2 I think it is.
Whatever it is, it remains soft.
I would have used a hard cure Permatex gasket shellac, but so far this is working fine.



The inner flange was drilled and tapped to accept the1/4-20 (NC) stainless FH allens.


You'll note that a fairly wide part of the inner ring was cut away.
Reason being, the thicker 1/4" aluminum doesn't flex at all and the wider piece allows for two very narrow slots when assembled so that will help keep the gasoline from getting between the inner ring and underside of tank top.




This pic shows the initial part of the install.
You can see the inner ring 'key' that gets bolted in with one bolt as well as all but one of the FH allens in place.
The wider slot cut in the inner flange is just about the minimum size for rolling the inner flange into the tank hole.





This shows the completed installation.
The tank has a feed line fitting installed, a vent fitting with safety blockoff - for upside down - and a return line fitting that is not in use here.
The large cast JAZ 45 degree filler neck has a 2 ½" diameter tube for the filler tube.
Nice part about the cast aluminum filler neck is that it has a safety block off that shuts off the filler tube if the car gets upside down.
Not shown is the 18 gage sheet aluminum firewall between trunk and cockpit.
Even with that, I still don't care for fuel tanks or cells in the trunk of a car, but I kinda backed myself into a corner with this one when I used the room where a couple of underbody, within the frame tanks would go for the battery and fuel pumps.




I'm pleased to report the fuel flange no longer leaks.


The thinking behind the double flange setup was that three gaskets would be sealing off three flange interface areas as well as isolating the studs from any potential leaks in the studs proper.
The inner ring's gasket goes up against the underside of the tank's top skin.
The outer ring's gasket goes down against the topside of the tank's top skin.
The FH allens clamp the two together.


Since the studs are 15 degrees away from the FH allen bolt tops, the gasket has a fairly wide area to seal any potential leaks from the FH allens, but since we're not dealing with shoddily welded, exposed to gasoline  inner ring studs there's really nothing to leak.


The cast filler - with it's own gasket - draws down on the outer rings 1/4" studs and seals that area.
Again, incoming gasoline can't get to the studs and since they're well sealed even if some gas got over there, they wouldn't leak due to the stud seal at the threads..


Finishing touches were 1/4-28 (NF) nylocks holding the 45 degree cast filler's flange down.


I realize there's five hose clamps holding the rubber hose - genuine gas filler rubber tubing - but eventually there'll be eight.
I like double hose clamps in critical areas and ran out because the original fuel cell installation only had two filler tubes instead of the three shown.



These last two pics, the result of driving home in a thunderstorm in a once clean car.
Never missed a beat even with all the hood louvers.
Forded a pretty deep and wide gutter with the car too.


Heck, I even stayed dry except for one little place where the rain came in the open - like in non-existent - side window.




It's flat amazing how fast running water builds up out here in the dez.
Once the rain has been on for a while, runoff can get pretty deep, but when the cloudburst hits, you really need to think about the route you're taking because the streams, crossings and rivers fill up pretty quick.
We have some well traveled areas that will swallow a car in no time.


I'm pleased at how well the project turned out.


In retrospect, Summit would more than likely have sent me a new tank or given me credit.
They're a good outfit to deal with, but in this case, the Quality Control people were seriously lacking.


They did remember to hang the "Tested for Leaks" tag on the tank though....

A Christmas Tale


Sometimes, when I'm sailing down the road in the 32 I think about a lot of things, but one of the best is an old, but very short story a retired 747 pilot passed on to me.
Like a lot of good stories, a kernel of truth within, but this particular one, completely true.
Fitting I think, this time of year with cold weather in most places, good feeling toward man in most other places and simply . . . just folks looking forward to Christmas, family and friends.

The pilot used to be one of the highest seniority guys on the LA to Hawaii route for a major airline.
He told some riveting and sometimes funny tales about flying the Pacific, putting in at some of the fields large and small that had some more than interesting approaches.


This tale is quite simple and in a way parallels part of my own life.

We'll just call him Rick here, not really his name, but it'll do.

Like most pilots he'd danced all the dances the FAA laid out for him, studied hard, went to more than a few company schools and eventually got into the big jets and flew routes from one coast to the other with more than a few stops in between.

One hot summer day, Rick was flying over Kentucky and thought about his life as a young man and also the growing up bit of barefoot boy with cheek of tan and all the stuff that goes with it.
Since the copilot was doing the flying and he was monitoring a most peaceful flight, his mind drifted back to his 11th summer and fishing on one of the creeks near the farm he grew up on.
The scene was quite clear and he could remember the cool waters of the spring fed creek and the good fishing to be found there most times.
He was doing ok, but needed a few more panfish before he had enough for the evening meal when he heard the sound of a four engine airplane.

It was easy to identify as a DC-6 Constellation with its somewhat drooped nose, four radial engines and triple rudders.
When the planes came over the ridge area where he lived they only had about 3000' or so of altitude.
Actual altitude, above the ground, none of this above average sea level stuff like real pilots used, but a good estimate from the ground by a kid who was very good in estimating distances.

The big planes were fairly common in his area, but what drew his attention was the sound from the unsynchronized engines.
Sounded like just one was off, but that old familiar beat note was there and most times he wondered why the pilots didn't get it squared away.
The answer was probably that they were on the approach and one engine singing a little bit off key was a little way down on the list of important things to take care of.

Anyway, for some reason he had one of those life changing little flashes of inspiration that happen to all of us.
Right there he wished to God he could be a pilot and be up there flying the big Connie as well as seeing the world from the cockpit of a great airplane.

Funny part was, later on in his life he found himself flying over the same area he grew up in, sitting in the warm sunshine of the Captains chair, looking down and wishing to God that he was 11 years old, fishing in the creek near the old farm and wondering where he'd go in life.

One thing I'd learned from this brilliant man, who was actually a classmate of mine in high school, was the same thing my dad had taught me early in life.
It went along with the mans word is his bond stuff and it had to do simply with sharing.
Rick was good about sharing and usually brought something back from some far away place on every trip he did.
He never really said anything about it, he'd just do it and you'd hear about it in a roundabout way when the recipient told you about it.

Taking a note from Ricks personal life, about the sharing and all, I did what I could along the way.

I'm not trying to take credit, make myself look good or anything like that.
This little tale is just relating things that sometimes happened in my life.


Many years later, somewhere in the early 90's, a few days short of Christmas, I found myself in the 32, topless at the time, rumble lid sitting open and 7-8 lugs of really good naval oranges in the no-got-cushions rumble trunk and cranking off an honest 65 mph on Hwy 198 which ran between Hwy 99 and Sequoia National Park as well as cutting right through Visalia.
Made for quite a scene.

I was in my early 50's at the time, had my usual winter beard which was longer than normal and like you'd think, almost a pure gray.
I'd bought the lugs of oranges from a small and somewhat famous citrus ranch near Exeter, California which is about ten miles east of Visalia.

It does sound strange to hear that there are orange groves in Central California.
I was a SoCal boy and used to driving through miles and miles of orange groves to get from one town to the other whether near Santa Barbara and south or inland to La Habra and eventually Brea, California where my grandparents lived and dad and his brothers along with one sister grew up in an oil field company house in Carbon Canyon.
Learning about a belt of orange and lemon groves up against the Sierra from Bakersfield and running past Fresno a ways was a new one on me.

I'd dropped off some oranges, a lug at a time at a couple of places and was spinning down Hwy 198 for Visalia airport to do the same at the flight school, the rebuild shop and the gas line office in an effort to say thanks to all for the extra mile they were always going for me.
This, whether during flight training or just looking for airplane stuff that would work on the roadster during the build.


Listening to the smooth running 462" dual quad, big cam Buick spinning out it's music on a quiet and partly foggy day I realized that the way I was dressed, red sweatshirt, red knit cap, glasses, gray beard and all, I probably looked a bit like Santa Claus.
The bright orange colored oranges sitting in the rumble with its lid open and the black 32 roadster probably made for quite a sight.
Got more than a few looks and waves.

At the time, Hwy 198 didn't have too much traffic during the mid-day.
I got to thinking, just like Rick did when he flew over his old Kentucky home and did a bit of reminiscing my own self.

I've related before about the black highboy 32 with white top and mildly built flathead that a teacher drove to work at the high school when I was a sophomore and that was the car that got me interested in roadsters.
I used to sneak out of gym class touch football and walk up to the upper El Jardin parking lot just so I could sit on the guardrail, look at the little roadster, think about things and mutter that one word . . . someday.

It was a bit of a stunner when I realized that today, right now, cruising 198 was the someday I'd promised myself long ago.


Now cruising the 100 miles from Ventura to grandma's house in Brea we'd get lucky and see a hot rod or custom and if we were really lucky we'd see a roadster.
The one I remember best was a simple dark blue 32 highboy with the sweetest sounding engine I'd ever heard when he went sliding by dad's 50 Ford sedan.
It didn't look as good as the Santa Barbara teachers 32, but it had the sounds.
A hard runner too, it pulled around the sedan which was right at the 55 mph speed limit and sailed off into the dusk.

If the roadster owner saw me he didn't bat an eye.
Even at 14 years old, quite sophisticated and knowledgeable about cars in general and hot rods in particular, my thoughts anyway, I didn't have any problems pressing my goggle eyed self up against the rear window.
More than likely the roadster owner had seen it before and it was nothing new.

A lot of that came to mind when a Soccer Mom van slid alongside, she in the left lane and me in the right and started pacing the roadster.
Looking over I saw three little kids with their faces pressed up against the window.
I don't know what they thought, but I was pretty sure they thought I was Santa Claus.
And maybe I was dressed the way I was and with red knit cap flitting about in the wind.
Not sure what they thought about the oranges, but in sunny SoCal oranges are a typical Christmas gift whether to child or adult.

I rolled the 32's throttle on fairly hard, pulled ahead of the Soccer Mom van and it was way back in the distance when I took the offramp for Newberry's muffler shop.

I parked, got out, watched the Soccer Mom go by, the kids were back in their seats and mom never did see me parked right out front with some of the hot rods and muscle cars you'd find at Newberrys.

I gave Elroy, the muffler shop owner a lug or oranges and took off for the airport.

Once in a while, usually during the Christmas season I think about cruising along Hwy 198, lookin' like Santa Claus, a few presents and a lot of oranges on board the 32 and wonder if that one little guy in the van is driving a roadster nowadays.
Seemed like he didn't see Santa Claus, what he saw was a roadster and who knows?
Maybe it was one of those watershed events in life that we all have now and then.

Sometimes they affect your life and other times they're simply a sweet memory.
Even so, I'll bet the little guy is driving a roadster now and I'll further bet it's a black one.

I haven't seen Rick in a long while, but somehow, I think he'll approve....



Merry Christmas one and all.

From a once upon a time Santa Claus who still carries Santa Claus in his heart....
__________________
C9

The 17" nearly square monitor that was part of the package with my HP computer I bought new about 3.5 years ago conked out.

I bought a new 19" wide one, reminds me of the letter box screens you see on some DVD's.

Anyway, how the heck do I set the screen size so pictures aren't stretched so far in the horizontal mode?

I went into control panel, display then settings, but there's only two choices and both of them still show the stretched pics.

I thought I was getting a relatively square screen at the time.

I kinda like the wide-screen bit, but as noted, it's kinda worthless unless I can set it for proper viewing.

A bit of a sissy question I suppose, but I'm wondering what you guys in colder climes do as far as washing cars in cold weather goes.

I'm somewhat forced to wash the vehicles in the earyl morning or very late afternoon hours due to lack of shade.
In the winter months the water coming out of the faucet is pretty darned cold.

Is there an insulated glove available that's designed to be immersed?

It would help if there was.
I have mild arthritis in my hands and they can get pretty painful in cold water.


Yeah, I know, get the carport done, but that's gonna take a while.
And in the meantime I still need to wash the cars . . . especially the 32.

Drags next Sunday . . . would be nice to look good . . . or at least not look dirty....

El Dorado Dry Lake S/E of Las Vegas on Hwy 95.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turned out to be an interesting day.

Maybe I got there too early . . . hit the lake about 1100 figuring I was late.
Some of the off-road troops I talked to hadn't seen any car's running

Locally, if you don't get your dry lake stuff in early, generally speaking you'll get blown off the lake.

Along those same lines, I drove the "road" across and part way down the lake and saw that most of the lake was way too rough and rocky to run most any car.
Driving the lake was an exercize in patience, idling along in low was almost too fast.

Quite a few erosion ditches criss-cross the lake so all in all my opinion is that this is not a good place to run a fast car at any speed.

What it does need is some rain and flooding of the lake to bring it up to smooth and reasonable.

I'd look around for another dry lake that's a way's out of town.
The 25-30 mile trip to our big dry lake keeps many from getting out there and raising too much hell.

A few pics.
These first two of the 32 on the lake near the north end.



The lake looks smoother than it is by a long way.

A through the windshield view heading down the hill from Boulder City to the dam.
The lake is really low as is the river.


A couple of views of the dam area and turbine intakes.



You can see the construction for the bridge dam bypass in the 2nd pic.
When completed it will be the highest bridge in the US at 1040' above the river.

These last two pics taken at the upper view site on the way home.
Take note of the vehicle on the road.



Fun day.
One of those spur of the moment trips.
Checked the oil in the 32 and took off.

Nice and cool in the morning requiring jacket and gloves.
First stop at the dam, got rid of the jacket & gloves.

Warmer at the dry lake, got rid of the sweatshirt.

After the dam view site stop on the way home, pulled into Rosie's Cafe - a somewhat famous place on Hwy 93 at Mile Marker 28.
Great cheeseburger and cold root beer.

Running home was quick.
Sunday traffic can get to rocking along pretty good on the long desert highways.
Ran 80-85 on the way home and still getting passed.
I did pace one new Vette that was clicking off 90 after he slowed down.
Probably doing a hundred when he went by me.

Ran 70-75 on the way out and got just under 17 mpg.

Not sure what the mileage was on the way home.
I keep track of the mileage out of curiosity on the 32, but on the other cars it's an easy way to tell if the car is running ok.
Drop a few miles per gallon on those and there's usually a probem.

Put about 220 miles on the roadster.
Fun trip.
Solo all the way, but sometimes you just gotta get behind the wheel of a roadster, point er north and take off....

A few pic's showing what I think is a brake riveting tool.

It has a Raybestos decal on the post as well as an ID tag stating "Wadell Equipment."

It may be aircraft oriented, but most of the brake riveting tools I've seen in automotive brake shops hve been bench mounted.

One pic shows the mandrels etc. that came with it along with a couple of slothead screws that fit one of them.
There are a couple of what look to be short anvil's as well.
The rivets look to be a little small for automotive use.

The extra pieces were all in the cool old Rislone can that was hanging on the press.

Would probably be a better tool for a restoration shop than for a hot rodder since we can buy most of what we need ready to go.

Anyone familiar with this press?

Interview with Skinny Jim


This will probably be one of only a few interviews with the local roadster runner known as Skinny Jim.
                        
In fact, Skinny Jim, bein' an older guy and not in the best of health, it's conceivable this could be the only interview. We'll just have to see how he does and how he feels about things.


It's apparent, at least to me, that Skinny Jim is one tough son-of-a-*. The little fact that he's still out there running the highways in his topless 25 Dodge roadster during the blistering hot summer heat of the Arizona desert is the proof of the pudding as they say. Skinny Jim puts a lot of modern day coupe and roadster running guys to shame. Not to mention some of the fat fendered sedans running windows and air conditioning.

Like he says, "I wonder why they don't use their cars to go somewhere other than the Saturday night rod run. It's not like they're gonna suffer much."

So . . . rather than try to remember exactly what Skinny Jim said, and since I used a small tape recorder to get this interview, I'll just take the easy way out and quote directly from the tape.

The participants are, me, who you know as JC and Skinny Jim who we'll call SJ so's life will be easy during the transcribing.

JC: Mr. SJ, how come I don't see you around town much?

SJ: I don't hang around town too much. Seems like it sets folks off and they can't figure out what I'm all about. You can skip that mister stuff, at least you better if you want to talk to me.

JC: What are you all about?

SJ: Well, I sure ain't all about running errands in little black roadsters like the one you drive.

JC: Is that a shot SJ?

SJ: Only if you want it to be. I gotta give you credit though, hittin' the donut run in 16 degree weather and seeing only half of the locals turn out and then they're drivin' their daily's with plush seats, electric windows and butt heaters.

JC: Well, thanks SJ.

SJ: It wasn't a compliment, not egzactly anyways.

JC: Well, what was it then?

SJ: Just a poke in the eye for the daily runners. I mean, Geez, these guys want hot rods most of their life and when they finally get one, it sits in the garage most of the time. A little dirt and water ain't gonna hurt them is it?

JC: No, it won't, but let's get back to you and find out a little more about who you are, where you came from and where you're going.

SJ: Looking from here, it looks like Hell will be a stop somewhere along the line.

JC: Maybe, but it looks like you've done ok so far.

SJ: Looks ain't everything kid.

JC: I wouldn't call me a kid, I'm retired and enjoying it.

SJ: Yeah, I can see that, but to me you're just a kid. Gotta say though . . . I've read some of your writing and you talk about young women a lot, hell . . . to you they're all young women.

JC: To an extent, but most of it's just trippin' down memory lane. This interview is about you though and not about me.

SJ: Yeah, kinda forgot. It's easy to do at my age and I ain't got as many brain cells as I used to have.

JC: So there are no fondly remembered young women in your past?

SJ: Sure there are. What kinda dumb * question is that? Women make the world go round and in fact they're what life is all about.

JC: Want to explain that?

SJ: If you ain't got it figured out now, you ain't never gonna figure it out.

JC: Alright, we'll let that one slide. How about you tell the folks where you came from and a little bit about your life.

SJ: I can do that, but it would probably bore hell out of em.

JC: I don't think so, you're pretty much a one of a kind character and people would probably like to know.

SJ: Yeah . . . why not? Always did like to talk about myself. Trouble nowadays, not many will take the time to listen.

JC: Now's your chance. Why not start with where you were born and maybe a little bit about your early life?

SJ: I was born on a big ranch just to the west of the Comanche grasslands in S/E Colorado. A little ways out of Trinidad and north of the New Mexico border. My folks owned the ranch and they ran a helluva lot of cattle on it. Some of them Commanche's would steal a few head now and then, but my ol man figured it was only fair since we'd more or less stolen their land from them. Or at least the government did and then let it out for homesteading.

JC: Where did your folks come from?

SJ: I don't remember if I ever knew or not, besides this here interview's about me, right?

JC: Yes, but a little background never hurts.

SJ: Only big thing I remember about my dad, besides him bein' a helluva big guy and all was that some folks thought he'd rustled his way to the big herd. Not true. Somehow he hung onto a lot of the money he'd saved when he was in the Union Army and once the war was over, he got out, collected my mom, bought three or four cows and dragged em from Missouri to Colorado. He got a young bull in Pueblo and things took off from there.

JC: The Union Army?

SJ: Yeah, the Union Army. Dint they teach you nothing in school?

JC: So if he was in the Union Army, that makes him a participant in the civil war. Right?

SJ: Well I hope so, where the hell did you ever hear of another Union Army?

JC: Let's back up a bit, when were you born?

SJ: Right at the stroke of midnight between December 31, 1899 and January 1, 1900. They always told me my birthday was on New Years day. Mom and dad argued about it once in a while, but it didn't make me no difference.

JC: So your mom and dad must have been 60 years old when you were born.

SJ: Naww. Things were different back then. Dad was a big kid as well as being a big guy later on. During the war, they Shanghaied 12 years old into the Union Army. Hell, they'd come onto a farm and take the father and the sons. They didn't give a good * as long as the inductee's could carry and fire a rifle. Inductee's. Haw. Don't get me started there. They wuz just Army slaves that's all. Like I said, my old man was a big kid and they snatched him up when he was nine or ten years old. Kind of a sad story, he never saw his mom or the farm again. Just the way things worked out back in them days. Just so you don't have to do the arithmetic, I'll make it easy for you. Dad was 14 when he got out of the Army and mom was 13 when he met her. Long story, but she wanted out of her family and was more than willing to run away. Dad was 49 when I was born and mom was 48. And before you ask, I got three sisters and six brothers. All of em older'n me.

JC: Ok, so how does the Dodge roadster fit into all this?

SJ: Like I said, the folks cattle ranch was a big un. Dad bought a new car every couple of years. He started with an old Ford, somewhere around a 1909 model and when he got tired of them he'd give them to one of the boys and buy himself a new one. When my turn came, he gave me the Dodge and it sure * off my brothers. Only fair though, it was my turn.

JC: What about your sisters? Didn't they get a car?

SJ: What the hell did they need a car for? Hell, wimmin didn't drive in those days. In fact, they hardly ever got off the ranch. Dad figured they'd get married and if they wanted a car then their husbands could buy it for them.
Don't get me wrong here, the old man loved his daughters, more than he did us sons it seemed, but he figured a woman's place was in the home and he'd be Goddamned if he'd go against the laws of God and nature. His story anyway.  Looking around nowadays, seems God had a plan of his own for wimmin.

JC: Tell us a little bit about the Dodge roadster if you will.

SJ: Sure, next to wimmin and drinkin' the ol Dodge is one of my favorite things. It was a fast car, hell, it had 40 horsepower at 2400 rpm and once you slid that ol shift lever into third, you could go anywhere and climb most anything without having to shift gears or slow down at all. Damned thing outran most cars, at least it did on the long highways in S/E Colorado.

Geezus, I outran a Caddy one time and the old boy who owned it was so * off that he followed me to town. I parked the Dodge in front of the bar, got out and here's this * Cadillac owner who figures he was gonna kick my *. Now I gotta admit here, I'd been called Skinny Jim ever since I was a kid and the big old fat boy in the Caddy was like most bullies.

He figured he could whip up on me and go merrily on his way.

It didn't work that way, when he sidled up, all mean and tough looking I let him start talking and when he started telling me how he was gonna beat up on me, I kicked him in the nuts hard as I could. He sorta doubled over, lost his balance and sat down on his butt real hard, him being such a big guy and all. His eyes sorta crossed and he lay back on his back real hard which kinda banged his head into the dirt. He was lookin' pretty sad at that point so I kicked him in the nuts again. I could see he wasn't gonna get up, drool and spit coming out of his mouth, moaning and all that going on. I guess he forgot that old male truism, a good kick or a good fastball will get you every time.

I went into the bar and had old man Henry pour me a beer. We called him old man Henry cuz he always kept a big ol Henry rifle under the bar, never could figure out why he didn't use a shotgun, but that Goddamned big ol rifle put the fear of God into most and the buttstock was a little bloodstained and had taken out more than a few teeth. Ol man Henry had a real name, but I'm damned if I can remember what it was. Anyway, I figured if Cadillac man came in after me, he'd either kick my * or I'd kick him into the soprano department or ol man Henry would drag the fearsome rifle out and chase him off. Seen that happen a few times over the years.

Ol man Henry was a good ol boy and he'd taken an interest in me long ago. First time I went into his bar, I was fourteen years old and ordered a beer. I put my money on the bar, ol man Henry looked me square in the eye and said the first one was on him. I guess he figured a little ol skinny fourteen year old wouldn't be able to handle the big ol glasses of beer he sold. I drank that one and two more that I paid for. I bought another one and bought one for ol man Henry. That was kinda the way you did it, if somebody was good to you then you did em a good un right back. Course then, the hard part was walking out of there. Second hardest part was finding a place to take a *. I finally gave up and walked down to the livery corral and * on a corner of the fence. I figured that was better'n a piece of *. Course, I hadn't had a piece of * yet, but it sure did feel good to get rid of all that beer.

JC: Sounds like things were tough when you were growing up.

SJ: Not so tough. Well, maybe. The main thing was, be a gentleman around the ladies - I had good manners, mom saw to that and dad boxed my ears a few times until I caught on.

JC: That's an easy rule to follow around the ladies, still works today.

SJ: Of course it does. Wimmin haven't changed that much, cept for the clothes they wear. What the hell is the deal with the Goddamned shoulder pads? They look like football players walking down the sidewalk. And wearing their underclothes on the outside? Geezus, wimmin are a gift from God and having a little bit of unwrapping to do makes it all the more fun.
JC: Aside from the delights of the fair sex, the good manners and all, how did the dealing between men go.

SJ: Only two rules to follow there and they're still good ones. Do your share and keep your word. In those days a man's word was his bond and by God if he said he would, he would. Every once in a while someone would find a body out in the sticks and once the story was out about who he'd cheated and all that, it wasn't too hard to figure out why he was layin' out there face down in the dirt with the ants chewin' on him.

JC: The sheriff didn't investigate that kind of stuff?

SJ: Just far enough to figure out who it was. Most times they'd just leave it lay.

JC: It?

SJ: The body, the story, everything. Most times the guy'd brought it on himself and most times people figured he got what he deserved.

JC: Not much in the way of gun control in those days?

SJ: Gun control? Are you stupid? The only gun control I needed was holding the sight steady on the target until the hammer fell and sent the bullet on it's way.

JC: So you know a lot about guns do you?

SJ: I know enough to hit what the hell I'm aiming at and that's all you need to know.

JC: Ok, back to the Dodge. How did the Dodge end up the way it is today and for that matter how about how you are?

SJ: Do you believe in ghosts or spirits?

JC: If I didn't I wouldn't be here.

SJ: Yeah, I know. I don't show myself to many let alone talk to em. I talk to you cuz you're such an interesting fella.

JC: I think I'm just a good listener.

SJ: That's ok, that's all you need sometimes.

JC: So what about the Dodge?

SJ: The old Dodge is doing what every car ever built is doing or will do. Even the ones in museums. It's rusting it's way back to the earth. Taking a helluva long time to do it though. The Dodge has a soul of it's own and somewhere along the line it seems to have gotten tangled up with mine. Seems too like I should be long gone, but here I am, just a shadow of my former self.

JC: How is it that the Dodge rolls around on these old wooden spoked wheels without tires and just keeps going?

SJ: Just part of the spirit world kid. See, when I get behind the wheel and take off, me and the ol Dodge aren't like you see us here. The Dodge looks like it did when it was new. Nice dark blue paint that looks like you could dive right into it, beautifully lacquered wood rim steering wheel, leather upholstery and that big ol six cylinder engine yanking us down the highway with a sound like nothin' I ever heard. It always did sound nice, but a couple years after I got it, I put a big ol truck muffler on it which made it sound real good. Must have picked up at least a horsepower with that deal. The ol Dodge never ran that fast before. See, it was pretty regular stuff to run close to wide open on those long deserted highways and once in a while we'd let er rip. Hell, the speedometer would go clear past the end and end up with a set screw showing through the window. After I put the big muffler on, the setscrew would almost go out of sight. We must have been doing close to 90 at least.
I don't see myself like you see me now. I can feel the wind hitting my skin, blowing my hair and see my hands like they always wuz. A nice white shirt, clean levi's, good boots and I was set for a night in town.
Times like that I feel like a regular fella, at least I do until I look in the reflection of a store window or one of those shiny luminum tankers and see the Dodge like you see it now. The wheels are turning, but not touching the ground and the old Dodge is just floating along. I don't see myself though, not in the reflection anyway, but I know what I am.

JC: Do other people see you when you're driving?

SJ: Hardly ever. Once in a while some old timer will see me, but most times it's some old lady who starts making the sign of the cross while she's looking and trying not to look. Hell, I ain't gonna hurt her and I don't even want to scare her. Sometimes the driver of one of the big cross country diesel rigs sees me and it's usually locking up the brakes time for them. Had a couple of them sail off the highway, but no one got hurt. Now and then a carload of kids, some of them anyway and it's usually the girls who see me, they'll start screaming.
Geezus, where do wimmin get those high pitched voices? Especially the young ones? *, if I had eardrums they'da ruptured by now. In fact, I think that's where the Dodges headlight glass went. One of those high pitched screams could take out a glass factory in my opinion.

JC: You don't mind if I post some photos of you and the ol Dodge do you?

SJ: Why not? Oughta be educational for some and interesting for others.

JC: This shot of the wheel shows the wheel to be in pretty good shape. Where's the tire?




SJ: That Goddamned tire flew off the rim somewhere between Pueblo, Colorado and Santa Fe, New Mexico. Screw it. Don't need the * thing anyway.

JC: This front view shows the radiator shell gone. What happened there?




SJ: I had the car parked out near the old ranch and I guess some fat assed dumb son of a * figured it was abandoned since it was bent up, rusty and all. When I showed up, he screamed and ran off. Trouble with that was, he still had the radiator shell in his hands. Damned shame too. It was a deluxe model made of polished stainless steel. The stupid * left his tool box so I guess it was an even up trade even if I didn't need the tools. Gotta say though, when Mr. Fat * took off, he was really laying down tracks. That old boy coulda put some Olympic runners to shame. Too bad there's not a hundred yard sprint carrying stolen radiator shells. He'da been a national hero.

JC: This interior shot should give the folks a good idea of what life was like behind the wheel.




SJ: Yeah, that sorta gives the flavor of the car and what it was like. Makes me sad to see the floorboards rotted and gone. The busted instrument faces kinda * me off too. What is it with people who gotta break everything they see? You see a vandal and you see a * liar. And like I said before, about a man's word being his bond and all that, vandals are just stupid sons of * that ought to be shot. Never had much vandalism back in my time. Nobody tried to figure out their feelings or thoughts, if they were tearing up your stuff that was proof enough. Beat the * out of em and send em on their way and if things were bad enough, shoot em and let em lay. All they're good for is ant food anyway.

JC: You're a little tough on people aren't you?

SJ: Hell, I'm easy on people. All they gotta do is act civilized. Ya know, you get where you want to get in life by working for the things you want. Keep on coddling these little criminal scumbags and the country is gonna turn into something you don't want. Goddamned trouble is, all the rules favor these Goddamned * and they know it.

JC: Here's a shot that gives an idea of what the world looks like through the windshield.




SJ: Looks more like the view a guy too drunk to hold his head up would see. Are we about done here? I'm ready for a nap.

JC: One last one, here's a shot from the back. What's the deal with the sheet metal cut out of the trunk lid?




SJ: Hell, that's easy. I pack a few cases of beer in there when I travel. The goddamned latch gets hung up if a case of beer is sitting on it. I cut the hole so I can just reach in and grab a few beers.

Seems like I have to stop all the time so's I can get a fresh beer. Damned stuff just goes right through me nowadays.

JC: Thanks for taking the time to talk to me Jim.

SJ: You're welcome. Next time bring that little black roadster. I'd like to go for a ride in that.

JC: I will. Any particular time?

SJ: Long as it ain't snowing. You probably couldn't find me in a snowstorm anyway. Hell, half the time I can't find me . . . snow or not . . . long as I can find the beer though....

I don't think I ever posted this here.
Originally done for a writer's board.
As you can see, a touch different for me.
I kinda like it though and as you can see, Skinny Jim's an interesting guy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



                   Interview with Skinny Jim

This will probably be one of only a few interviews with the local roadster runner known as Skinny Jim.
                        
In fact, Skinny Jim, bein' an older guy and not in the best of health, it's conceivable this could be the only interview. We'll just have to see how he does and how he feels about things.


It's apparent, at least to me, that Skinny Jim is one tough son-of-a-*. The little fact that he's still out there running the highways in his topless 25 Dodge roadster during the blistering hot summer heat of the Arizona desert is the proof of the pudding as they say. Skinny Jim puts a lot of modern day coupe and roadster running guys to shame. Not to mention some of the fat fendered sedans running windows and air conditioning.

Like he says, "I wonder why they don't use their cars to go somewhere other than the Saturday night rod run. It's not like they're gonna suffer much."

So . . . rather than try to remember exactly what Skinny Jim said, and since I used a small tape recorder to get this interview, I'll just take the easy way out and quote directly from the tape.

The participants are, me, who you know as JC and Skinny Jim who we'll call SJ so's life will be easy during the transcribing.

JC: Mr. SJ, how come I don't see you around town much?

SJ: I don't hang around town too much. Seems like it sets folks off and they can't figure out what I'm all about. You can skip that mister stuff, at least you better if you want to talk to me.

JC: What are you all about?

SJ: Well, I sure ain't all about running errands in little black roadsters like the one you drive.

JC: Is that a shot SJ?

SJ: Only if you want it to be. I gotta give you credit though, hittin' the donut run in 16 degree weather and seeing only half of the locals turn out and then they're drivin' their daily's with plush seats, electric windows and butt heaters.

JC: Well, thanks SJ.

SJ: It wasn't a compliment, not egzactly anyways.

JC: Well, what was it then?

SJ: Just a poke in the eye for the daily runners. I mean, Geez, these guys want hot rods most of their life and when they finally get one, it sits in the garage most of the time. A little dirt and water ain't gonna hurt them is it?

JC: No, it won't, but let's get back to you and find out a little more about who you are, where you came from and where you're going.

SJ: Looking from here, it looks like Hell will be a stop somewhere along the line.

JC: Maybe, but it looks like you've done ok so far.

SJ: Looks ain't everything kid.

JC: I wouldn't call me a kid, I'm retired and enjoying it.

SJ: Yeah, I can see that, but to me you're just a kid. Gotta say though . . . I've read some of your writing and you talk about young women a lot, hell . . . to you they're all young women.

JC: To an extent, but most of it's just trippin' down memory lane. This interview is about you though and not about me.

SJ: Yeah, kinda forgot. It's easy to do at my age and I ain't got as many brain cells as I used to have.

JC: So there are no fondly remembered young women in your past?

SJ: Sure there are. What kinda dumb * question is that? Women make the world go round and in fact they're what life is all about.

JC: Want to explain that?

SJ: If you ain't got it figured out now, you ain't never gonna figure it out.

JC: Alright, we'll let that one slide. How about you tell the folks where you came from and a little bit about your life.

SJ: I can do that, but it would probably bore hell out of em.

JC: I don't think so, you're pretty much a one of a kind character and people would probably like to know.

SJ: Yeah . . . why not? Always did like to talk about myself. Trouble nowadays, not many will take the time to listen.

JC: Now's your chance. Why not start with where you were born and maybe a little bit about your early life?

SJ: I was born on a big ranch just to the west of the Comanche grasslands in S/E Colorado. A little ways out of Trinidad and north of the New Mexico border. My folks owned the ranch and they ran a helluva lot of cattle on it. Some of them Commanche's would steal a few head now and then, but my ol man figured it was only fair since we'd more or less stolen their land from them. Or at least the government did and then let it out for homesteading.

JC: Where did your folks come from?

SJ: I don't remember if I ever knew or not, besides this here interview's about me, right?

JC: Yes, but a little background never hurts.

SJ: Only big thing I remember about my dad, besides him bein' a helluva big guy and all was that some folks thought he'd rustled his way to the big herd. Not true. Somehow he hung onto a lot of the money he'd saved when he was in the Union Army and once the war was over, he got out, collected my mom, bought three or four cows and dragged em from Missouri to Colorado. He got a young bull in Pueblo and things took off from there.

JC: The Union Army?

SJ: Yeah, the Union Army. Dint they teach you nothing in school?

JC: So if he was in the Union Army, that makes him a participant in the civil war. Right?

SJ: Well I hope so, where the hell did you ever hear of another Union Army?

JC: Let's back up a bit, when were you born?

SJ: Right at the stroke of midnight between December 31, 1899 and January 1, 1900. They always told me my birthday was on New Years day. Mom and dad argued about it once in a while, but it didn't make me no difference.

JC: So your mom and dad must have been 60 years old when you were born.

SJ: Naww. Things were different back then. Dad was a big kid as well as being a big guy later on. During the war, they Shanghaied 12 years old into the Union Army. Hell, they'd come onto a farm and take the father and the sons. They didn't give a good * as long as the inductee's could carry and fire a rifle. Inductee's. Haw. Don't get me started there. They wuz just Army slaves that's all. Like I said, my old man was a big kid and they snatched him up when he was nine or ten years old. Kind of a sad story, he never saw his mom or the farm again. Just the way things worked out back in them days. Just so you don't have to do the arithmetic, I'll make it easy for you. Dad was 14 when he got out of the Army and mom was 13 when he met her. Long story, but she wanted out of her family and was more than willing to run away. Dad was 49 when I was born and mom was 48. And before you ask, I got three sisters and six brothers. All of em older'n me.

JC: Ok, so how does the Dodge roadster fit into all this?

SJ: Like I said, the folks cattle ranch was a big un. Dad bought a new car every couple of years. He started with an old Ford, somewhere around a 1909 model and when he got tired of them he'd give them to one of the boys and buy himself a new one. When my turn came, he gave me the Dodge and it sure * off my brothers. Only fair though, it was my turn.

JC: What about your sisters? Didn't they get a car?

SJ: What the hell did they need a car for? Hell, wimmin didn't drive in those days. In fact, they hardly ever got off the ranch. Dad figured they'd get married and if they wanted a car then their husbands could buy it for them.
Don't get me wrong here, the old man loved his daughters, more than he did us sons it seemed, but he figured a woman's place was in the home and he'd be Goddamned if he'd go against the laws of God and nature. His story anyway.  Looking around nowadays, seems God had a plan of his own for wimmin.

JC: Tell us a little bit about the Dodge roadster if you will.

SJ: Sure, next to wimmin and drinkin' the ol Dodge is one of my favorite things. It was a fast car, hell, it had 40 horsepower at 2400 rpm and once you slid that ol shift lever into third, you could go anywhere and climb most anything without having to shift gears or slow down at all. Damned thing outran most cars, at least it did on the long highways in S/E Colorado.

Geezus, I outran a Caddy one time and the old boy who owned it was so * off that he followed me to town. I parked the Dodge in front of the bar, got out and here's this * Cadillac owner who figures he was gonna kick my *. Now I gotta admit here, I'd been called Skinny Jim ever since I was a kid and the big old fat boy in the Caddy was like most bullies.

He figured he could whip up on me and go merrily on his way.

It didn't work that way, when he sidled up, all mean and tough looking I let him start talking and when he started telling me how he was gonna beat up on me, I kicked him in the nuts hard as I could. He sorta doubled over, lost his balance and sat down on his butt real hard, him being such a big guy and all. His eyes sorta crossed and he lay back on his back real hard which kinda banged his head into the dirt. He was lookin' pretty sad at that point so I kicked him in the nuts again. I could see he wasn't gonna get up, drool and spit coming out of his mouth, moaning and all that going on. I guess he forgot that old male truism, a good kick or a good fastball will get you every time.

I went into the bar and had old man Henry pour me a beer. We called him old man Henry cuz he always kept a big ol Henry rifle under the bar, never could figure out why he didn't use a shotgun, but that Goddamned big ol rifle put the fear of God into most and the buttstock was a little bloodstained and had taken out more than a few teeth. Ol man Henry had a real name, but I'm damned if I can remember what it was. Anyway, I figured if Cadillac man came in after me, he'd either kick my * or I'd kick him into the soprano department or ol man Henry would drag the fearsome rifle out and chase him off. Seen that happen a few times over the years.

Ol man Henry was a good ol boy and he'd taken an interest in me long ago. First time I went into his bar, I was fourteen years old and ordered a beer. I put my money on the bar, ol man Henry looked me square in the eye and said the first one was on him. I guess he figured a little ol skinny fourteen year old wouldn't be able to handle the big ol glasses of beer he sold. I drank that one and two more that I paid for. I bought another one and bought one for ol man Henry. That was kinda the way you did it, if somebody was good to you then you did em a good un right back. Course then, the hard part was walking out of there. Second hardest part was finding a place to take a *. I finally gave up and walked down to the livery corral and * on a corner of the fence. I figured that was better'n a piece of *. Course, I hadn't had a piece of * yet, but it sure did feel good to get rid of all that beer.

JC: Sounds like things were tough when you were growing up.

SJ: Not so tough. Well, maybe. The main thing was, be a gentleman around the ladies - I had good manners, mom saw to that and dad boxed my ears a few times until I caught on.

JC: That's an easy rule to follow around the ladies, still works today.

SJ: Of course it does. Wimmin haven't changed that much, cept for the clothes they wear. What the hell is the deal with the Goddamned shoulder pads? They look like football players walking down the sidewalk. And wearing their underclothes on the outside? Geezus, wimmin are a gift from God and having a little bit of unwrapping to do makes it all the more fun.
JC: Aside from the delights of the fair sex, the good manners and all, how did the dealing between men go.

SJ: Only two rules to follow there and they're still good ones. Do your share and keep your word. In those days a man's word was his bond and by God if he said he would, he would. Every once in a while someone would find a body out in the sticks and once the story was out about who he'd cheated and all that, it wasn't too hard to figure out why he was layin' out there face down in the dirt with the ants chewin' on him.

JC: The sheriff didn't investigate that kind of stuff?

SJ: Just far enough to figure out who it was. Most times they'd just leave it lay.

JC: It?

SJ: The body, the story, everything. Most times the guy'd brought it on himself and most times people figured he got what he deserved.

JC: Not much in the way of gun control in those days?

SJ: Gun control? Are you stupid? The only gun control I needed was holding the sight steady on the target until the hammer fell and sent the bullet on it's way.

JC: So you know a lot about guns do you?

SJ: I know enough to hit what the hell I'm aiming at and that's all you need to know.

JC: Ok, back to the Dodge. How did the Dodge end up the way it is today and for that matter how about how you are?

SJ: Do you believe in ghosts or spirits?

JC: If I didn't I wouldn't be here.

SJ: Yeah, I know. I don't show myself to many let alone talk to em. I talk to you cuz you're such an interesting fella.

JC: I think I'm just a good listener.

SJ: That's ok, that's all you need sometimes.

JC: So what about the Dodge?

SJ: The old Dodge is doing what every car ever built is doing or will do. Even the ones in museums. It's rusting it's way back to the earth. Taking a helluva long time to do it though. The Dodge has a soul of it's own and somewhere along the line it seems to have gotten tangled up with mine. Seems too like I should be long gone, but here I am, just a shadow of my former self.

JC: How is it that the Dodge rolls around on these old wooden spoked wheels without tires and just keeps going?

SJ: Just part of the spirit world kid. See, when I get behind the wheel and take off, me and the ol Dodge aren't like you see us here. The Dodge looks like it did when it was new. Nice dark blue paint that looks like you could dive right into it, beautifully lacquered wood rim steering wheel, leather upholstery and that big ol six cylinder engine yanking us down the highway with a sound like nothin' I ever heard. It always did sound nice, but a couple years after I got it, I put a big ol truck muffler on it which made it sound real good. Must have picked up at least a horsepower with that deal. The ol Dodge never ran that fast before. See, it was pretty regular stuff to run close to wide open on those long deserted highways and once in a while we'd let er rip. Hell, the speedometer would go clear past the end and end up with a set screw showing through the window. After I put the big muffler on, the setscrew would almost go out of sight. We must have been doing close to 90 at least.
I don't see myself like you see me now. I can feel the wind hitting my skin, blowing my hair and see my hands like they always wuz. A nice white shirt, clean levi's, good boots and I was set for a night in town.
Times like that I feel like a regular fella, at least I do until I look in the reflection of a store window or one of those shiny luminum tankers and see the Dodge like you see it now. The wheels are turning, but not touching the ground and the old Dodge is just floating along. I don't see myself though, not in the reflection anyway, but I know what I am.

JC: Do other people see you when you're driving?

SJ: Hardly ever. Once in a while some old timer will see me, but most times it's some old lady who starts making the sign of the cross while she's looking and trying not to look. Hell, I ain't gonna hurt her and I don't even want to scare her. Sometimes the driver of one of the big cross country diesel rigs sees me and it's usually locking up the brakes time for them. Had a couple of them sail off the highway, but no one got hurt. Now and then a carload of kids, some of them anyway and it's usually the girls who see me, they'll start screaming.
Geezus, where do wimmin get those high pitched voices? Especially the young ones? *, if I had eardrums they'da ruptured by now. In fact, I think that's where the Dodges headlight glass went. One of those high pitched screams could take out a glass factory in my opinion.

JC: You don't mind if I post some photos of you and the ol Dodge do you?

SJ: Why not? Oughta be educational for some and interesting for others.

JC: This shot of the wheel shows the wheel to be in pretty good shape. Where's the tire?




SJ: That Goddamned tire flew off the rim somewhere between Pueblo, Colorado and Santa Fe, New Mexico. Screw it. Don't need the * thing anyway.

JC: This front view shows the radiator shell gone. What happened there?




SJ: I had the car parked out near the old ranch and I guess some fat assed dumb son of a * figured it was abandoned since it was bent up, rusty and all. When I showed up, he screamed and ran off. Trouble with that was, he still had the radiator shell in his hands. Damned shame too. It was a deluxe model made of polished stainless steel. The stupid * left his tool box so I guess it was an even up trade even if I didn't need the tools. Gotta say though, when Mr. Fat * took off, he was really laying down tracks. That old boy coulda put some Olympic runners to shame. Too bad there's not a hundred yard sprint carrying stolen radiator shells. He'da been a national hero.

JC: This interior shot should give the folks a good idea of what life was like behind the wheel.




SJ: Yeah, that sorta gives the flavor of the car and what it was like. Makes me sad to see the floorboards rotted and gone. The busted instrument faces kinda * me off too. What is it with people who gotta break everything they see? You see a vandal and you see a * liar. And like I said before, about a man's word being his bond and all that, vandals are just stupid sons of * that ought to be shot. Never had much vandalism back in my time. Nobody tried to figure out their feelings or thoughts, if they were tearing up your stuff that was proof enough. Beat the * out of em and send em on their way and if things were bad enough, shoot em and let em lay. All they're good for is ant food anyway.

JC: You're a little tough on people aren't you?

SJ: Hell, I'm easy on people. All they gotta do is act civilized. Ya know, you get where you want to get in life by working for the things you want. Keep on coddling these little criminal scumbags and the country is gonna turn into something you don't want. Goddamned trouble is, all the rules favor these Goddamned * and they know it.

JC: Here's a shot that gives an idea of what the world looks like through the windshield.




SJ: Looks more like the view a guy too drunk to hold his head up would see. Are we about done here? I'm ready for a nap.

JC: One last one, here's a shot from the back. What's the deal with the sheet metal cut out of the trunk lid?




SJ: Hell, that's easy. I pack a few cases of beer in there when I travel. The goddamned latch gets hung up if a case of beer is sitting on it. I cut the hole so I can just reach in and grab a few beers.

Seems like I have to stop all the time so's I can get a fresh beer. Damned stuff just goes right through me nowadays.

JC: Thanks for taking the time to talk to me Jim.

SJ: You're welcome. Next time bring that little black roadster. I'd like to go for a ride in that.

JC: I will. Any particular time?

SJ: Long as it ain't snowing. You probably couldn't find me in a snowstorm anyway. Hell, half the time I can't find me . . . snow or not . . . long as I can find the beer though....

The new front tires on my 32 - no pics yet - are 185/75R-14 and have a max load pressure rating o 44#.

The wider 195/70R-14 - and a prior 185/70R-14 both had 35# rating at max load.

Just curious why the change.

I tried them out for the first time yesterday, just got the 32 back together after the drags at the Airport weekend before last.
They ride and handle ok, but perhaps won't corner as well due to the tread width is 5 compared to the BFG's 6" tread width.

And . . . what happened to the BFG 285/70R-15?
Not listed at the Tire Rack and a couple other places.

Any good substitutes?
The compound was somewhat soft and they did well at the drags.
Without a burnout, I just drive around the burnout box, park and wait.

Think it un-nerved the first guy, neither of us had staged yet, the starter smiled at the blown Camaro street runner mit big slicks and the Camaro nailed it.
I did as well, about one second late.
The tires bit well with just rolling on the throttle and I started reeling him in, but it would have been tough to catch in the quarter let alone the quarter mile.

If I get some more time, I'll write up the whole race from this roadster driver's viewpoint.
Some funny stuff from some people who should have known better.

Anyway, been fun week even if a lot of it was searching for and buying tires.
Ended up with two new ones for the trailer, need a couple more.

Along those lines, what would be wrong with running pickup tires with a higher load rating than what's supplied with the 7000# gross trailer?

Trailer tires were and still are radials....


The dry lake:



The 44 mag and the 22 mag.


The 44 is the one with the pimp pearl grips.
Back to a pair of standard Ruger grips with about 7 coats of Tru-Oil.

Anyone have a use for the Pearl grips?
They fit the New Model.
A freebie to an RRT regular - two Franks get first shot . . . so to speak.

29-31-32 Roadster Cockpit Measurements


Here's a set of cockpit measurements for 28-29, 30-31 and 32 roadsters.
Henceforth called, 29, 31 and 32 just to make life easy in the typing dept.

      
It took a few days to get the measurements because a 29 wasn't readily available, but yesterday my pal was home and I measured his.


A couple of things will impinge on these measurements.
One, we all read the tape a little different, but not too different.
The other, the 29 is a Gennie, the 31 is a Brookville and the 32 is a Wescott.


The Wescott 32 is recognized as being very accurate and in my case, the body dropped right over a stock specification re-pro Deuce Factory frame and the two front and two rear holes in the body lined up perfectly with the threaded bolt holes in the frame.
(You have to drill the center body holes yourself.)


The Brookville roadsters are right on the money from what I read and hear.
They bolt right up to stock A frames and other factory A pieces with no problems.


The 29 may have some differing measurements vis a vis cockpit width at the rear of the doors.
This is because whoever owned the car in the past leaned against the drivers side quarter panel when driving and over time the quarter panel sagged out away from the body a bit.
Easily rectified with a little cranking on a small come-along and the addition of some square tube bracing.


The car was a running, stock Model A roadster when it fell into my pal's hands.
It didn't take long to get the A running gear out from under and a TCI frame with SBC power installed.


You've probably seen me comment that my 32 is a tad short on legroom, but it's not bad.
Sweetie and I spend the day in it now and then with no problems.
We take breaks every hour or two depending on what we're doing and where we're going.


The 31 is a long term project and right now it's a roller with seating, pedals and steering installed.
It looks like it's going to be a more than comfortable car when you consider the good ergonomics of the mid-90's ChryCo Soccer Mom mini-van two passenger - true middle - seat.


As an aside, this particular seat can be ID'd by looking for armrests on both sides of the seat.
A while back I got another one at a garage sale, reputed to be from a later year ChryCo mini-van and it only had an armrest on the right side.
It's ok in the comfort dept., but not as cushy as the older version.
This particular seat could be useful to someone trying to get as low in the cockpit as possible since the seat bottom including frame is a bit thinner than the mid-90's seat I have in the 31.
Along with that, this seat has a simpler base that would be easier to adapt to the 30's era - and probably earlier - thin fender cars.


N/A (Not Available).



The measurements:


Length
From back surface of the eyebrow - which is the raised piece at the back of the cowl under the windshield - to the center of the top edge of the rear cockpit rail:
29 = N/A
31 = 40 1/2"
32 = 42"



Width
Across the cockpit at the front door gap:
29 = 42 3/4"
31 = 42 3/8"
32 = 41 1/2"


Across the cockpit at the rear door gap:
29 = 49"
31 = 49 3/8"
31 = 48"


Between the tabs that the middle arm of the top irons pivot on (just behind the rear door gap):
29 = 49"
31 = 51 ½"
32 = 49 5/8"


Width
Taken at floor level.
This measurement has a small bit of estimation factored in due to the tape measure being held at trans tunnel height, but it should be pretty close:


At the front door gap:
29 = 36"
31 = 37"
32 = 37"


At the rear door gap:
N/A due to all three cars have the seat installed.



Depth
Straight down, just to the right of the steering column and equal from the top of the eyebrow to the bare floor:
29 = 28 3/4"
31 = 28 1/2"
32 = 30 1/4"
(The 32 is has carpet, jute backing and a wood floor so this measurement is a bit of an estimate, but it should be close.) - (A height measurement taken in the center won't work here due to the differing height of the trans tunnels.)


Straight down from the lower edge of the rear cockpit rail to the floor:
29 = N/A
31 = 26 ½" (27 ½" to the top of the cockpit rail from the floor.)
32 = N/A
These figures are N/A due to the seats are installed and you can't get behind them without dis-assembly.


Vertical height of the door at the front door gap.  Measurement taken to the sill plate - or call it the body's frame support for the body and not the chassis proper:
29 = 22"
31 = 24"
32 = 26 3/8"


Vertical height of the door opening at the rear gap, again, taken to the sill plate:
29 = 22 1/2"
31 = 24"
32 = 25 ½"
A small bit of the disparity between front and rear measurements on the cars is due to the very front top of the doors sweeps up a bit or a bit more depending on the which car we're looking at.
The rear gap measurement was taken at the opening due to the sill plate - and floor - are not accessible with the door closed and the seat installed.



Length of the door top, measurement taken at the top of the belt line:
29 = 22 3/8"
31 = 24 1/8"
32 = 26 3/8"


Diagonal measurement taken from extreme left of toeboard/floor juncture going up the to middle of rear cockpit rail:
29 = 56"
31 = 58 3/4"
32 = 60 1/2"


Keep in mind that the cars the measurements were taken from all run 14 ½" steering wheels.
The 31 & 32 have Grant wheels, the 29 has an aftermarket wheel that's retained by eight machine screws to the adapter.


Steering column length from toeboard to bottom front edge of the steering wheel:
29 = 28 1/4"
31 = 27 3/8"
32 = 28"
Both the 31 and 32 have home-built aluminum ball bearing steering columns and the 29 runs a GM tilt column of unknown vintage and origin.
The 29 column is tilted up one notch due to the column proper is installed at a little steeper angle than the 31 and 32 non-tilt columns.
Since the 29 column was set where it's driven I left it as is and took the measurements.


Distance from the back edge of the eyebrow to the front top of the steering wheel:
29 = 4 3/4"
31 = 4 1/2"
32 = 4 3/4"


Distance from bottom edge of steering wheel to floor:
29 = 18 1/2"
31 = 15 1/2"
32 = 18 3/4"



Steering column
Taken from the front edge of the door top to the center of the column.  Keep in mind all three of these roadsters are modified from stock as desired by the owner, so this measurement won't be a whole lot of use to a stock steering column Model A roadster owner.
29 = N/A - lost this figure somewhere along the line, but it appears close to the 31& 32.
31 = 9 1/4"
32 = 9"



Center of seat back to top surface of brake pedal.
Realize that brake pedal height as well as angle and seat back cushion thickness will create a disparity in these figures:
29 = N/A
31 = 39"
32 = 39"


Center of seat back to top surface of throttle pedal - spoon type in the 32, similar aluminum round piece in the 31.
Throttle pedal travel is about the same in both cars:
29 = N/A
31 = 42"
32 = 41"


Center of seat back to toe board about 2" above the 45 degree juncture between toeboard and floor:
29 = N/A
31 = 45 1/2"
32 = 46"


The figures to the seat back center could be off a small amount as the seat back centers are in different places on the 31 and 32, but that was taken into account.
Even so, the same point on each car's seat back was used to take the three figures from both the 31 & 32.


A small bonus measurement:
Hoodtop centerline, measurement taken on the hood proper and not the opening:
29 = 27 3/4"
31 = 32 3/8" - note that this is not a stock measurement due to the 31 sits on a 32 frame and has a Rootlieb custom length hoodtop.  (Stock hood center line length on 31's is 31 5/8".)
32 = 32"




All in all, an interesting little project.
I was a little surprised to see how close the cars came in most areas.
Especially so when comparing my pal's 29 to my 31 & 32.
I'm 6' tall with a 32" inseam and weigh 195#.
He's 5'11" with a shorter inseam and about 40# heavier than I.


Even so, his 29 is comfortable for me to drive.
One of the reasons could be that his seat is tipped rearward a little more than is the seat in my 31.
My 32's seat back cushion is a little too vertical, but it works since it has good lumbar support and a raised area under the backs of the legs toward the knees.
The 32's seats are 3/4" birch veneer plywood - chosen due to higher quality and lack of voids as compared to regular plywood.
Price differences between the two types aren't a whole lot nowadays, all of which makes the birch veneer plywood price a little easier to take.


My pal complains about the lack of under knee support in my 32, but it works well for me.
My car, my choice.
His car his choice.
And Sweetie thinks the 32's seat is just right so maybe that's all that counts.


In any event, the drivers got it made in either of these little cars.


As a small aside, I have a 6'7" friend who put in about an hour driving my 32 roadster.
He did ok, but when we stuck him in the seat I was wondering how it was gonna work out.
Part of it, perhaps he was used to making do when it came to fitting into small cars, but he commented that it wasn't bad.
I noted that he had no problems operating the throttle or brake pedals as well as there was plenty of room for his legs under the steering wheel.
Even so, he'd be a lot happier in the 31 if I ran the seat all the way to back - which would gain 2".
That would be about as close to the rear cockpit rail as you'd want to go since you'd be lying against it when accellerating.
A thinner back cushion than the ChryCo mini-van cushion could help and you may be able to gain up to 4" more backspace.


I hope these measurements help some who are in the building stage or even in the making a choice of cars stage.
The roadsters aren't too difficult to set up for a big guy as long as you start thinking about it early on.
Coupes are just about as easy and - as we know - the sedan guys got it made.
Even when sedan seats are back a ways, the rear passengers still have a lot of leg room.


One place where I see a lot of conflict in these cars is, guys set the engine in - which is understandable because the engine pretty much has to go where it fits the best although you can gain some room on the drivers side by setting the engine over to the right a ways - in US cars.


Where a lot of guys run into problems is installing the exhaust manifold or header and then try to fit the steering around it.
Far better imo to install the steering where ergonomics dictate and then build the header around it.
And if you're using exhaust manifolds, most engines have other manifolds available which can get you to where you want to go.


In any event, don't let the engine or exhaust dictate where the steering, brake pedals et al have to go.
It will to an extent, but the main thing is to build the car with good ergonomics and build it to fit you.


If it's not reasonably comfortable and fun to drive, why bother?


Keep in mind these are my measurements with my tapes and someone else may come up with slightly different figures.


I did take a lot of care when measuring and if nothing else this list will give you a basis of comparison.

29-31-32 Roadster Cockpit Measurements


Here's a set of cockpit measurements for 28-29, 30-31 and 32 roadsters.
Henceforth called, 29, 31 and 32 just to make life easy in the typing dept.

      
It took a few days to get the measurements because a 29 wasn't readily available, but yesterday my pal was home and I measured his.


A couple of things will impinge on these measurements.
One, we all read the tape a little different, but not too different.
The other, the 29 is a Gennie, the 31 is a Brookville and the 32 is a Wescott.


The Wescott 32 is recognized as being very accurate and in my case, the body dropped right over a stock specification re-pro Deuce Factory frame and the two front and two rear holes in the body lined up perfectly with the threaded bolt holes in the frame.
(You have to drill the center body holes yourself.)


The Brookville roadsters are right on the money from what I read and hear.
They bolt right up to stock A frames and other factory A pieces with no problems.


The 29 may have some differing measurements vis a vis cockpit width at the rear of the doors.
This is because whoever owned the car in the past leaned against the drivers side quarter panel when driving and over time the quarter panel sagged out away from the body a bit.
Easily rectified with a little cranking on a small come-along and the addition of some square tube bracing.


The car was a running, stock Model A roadster when it fell into my pal's hands.
It didn't take long to get the A running gear out from under and a TCI frame with SBC power installed.


You've probably seen me comment that my 32 is a tad short on legroom, but it's not bad.
Sweetie and I spend the day in it now and then with no problems.
We take breaks every hour or two depending on what we're doing and where we're going.


The 31 is a long term project and right now it's a roller with seating, pedals and steering installed.
It looks like it's going to be a more than comfortable car when you consider the good ergonomics of the mid-90's ChryCo Soccer Mom mini-van two passenger - true middle - seat.


As an aside, this particular seat can be ID'd by looking for armrests on both sides of the seat.
A while back I got another one at a garage sale, reputed to be from a later year ChryCo mini-van and it only had an armrest on the right side.
It's ok in the comfort dept., but not as cushy as the older version.
This particular seat could be useful to someone trying to get as low in the cockpit as possible since the seat bottom including frame is a bit thinner than the mid-90's seat I have in the 31.
Along with that, this seat has a simpler base that would be easier to adapt to the 30's era - and probably earlier - thin fender cars.


N/A (Not Available).



The measurements:


Length
From back surface of the eyebrow - which is the raised piece at the back of the cowl under the windshield - to the center of the top edge of the rear cockpit rail:
29 = N/A
31 = 40 1/2"
32 = 42"



Width
Across the cockpit at the front door gap:
29 = 42 3/4"
31 = 42 3/8"
32 = 41 1/2"


Across the cockpit at the rear door gap:
29 = 49"
31 = 49 3/8"
31 = 48"


Between the tabs that the middle arm of the top irons pivot on (just behind the rear door gap):
29 = 49"
31 = 51 ½"
32 = 49 5/8"


Width
Taken at floor level.
This measurement has a small bit of estimation factored in due to the tape measure being held at trans tunnel height, but it should be pretty close:


At the front door gap:
29 = 36"
31 = 37"
32 = 37"


At the rear door gap:
N/A due to all three cars have the seat installed.



Depth
Straight down, just to the right of the steering column and equal from the top of the eyebrow to the bare floor:
29 = 28 3/4"
31 = 28 1/2"
32 = 30 1/4"
(The 32 is has carpet, jute backing and a wood floor so this measurement is a bit of an estimate, but it should be close.) - (A height measurement taken in the center won't work here due to the differing height of the trans tunnels.)


Straight down from the lower edge of the rear cockpit rail to the floor:
29 = N/A
31 = 26 ½" (27 ½" to the top of the cockpit rail from the floor.)
32 = N/A
These figures are N/A due to the seats are installed and you can't get behind them without dis-assembly.


Vertical height of the door at the front door gap.  Measurement taken to the sill plate - or call it the body's frame support for the body and not the chassis proper:
29 = 22"
31 = 24"
32 = 26 3/8"


Vertical height of the door opening at the rear gap, again, taken to the sill plate:
29 = 22 1/2"
31 = 24"
32 = 25 ½"
A small bit of the disparity between front and rear measurements on the cars is due to the very front top of the doors sweeps up a bit or a bit more depending on the which car we're looking at.
The rear gap measurement was taken at the opening due to the sill plate - and floor - are not accessible with the door closed and the seat installed.



Length of the door top, measurement taken at the top of the belt line:
29 = 22 3/8"
31 = 24 1/8"
32 = 26 3/8"


Diagonal measurement taken from extreme left of toeboard/floor juncture going up the to middle of rear cockpit rail:
29 = 56"
31 = 58 3/4"
32 = 60 1/2"


Keep in mind that the cars the measurements were taken from all run 14 ½" steering wheels.
The 31 & 32 have Grant wheels, the 29 has an aftermarket wheel that's retained by eight machine screws to the adapter.


Steering column length from toeboard to bottom front edge of the steering wheel:
29 = 28 1/4"
31 = 27 3/8"
32 = 28"
Both the 31 and 32 have home-built aluminum ball bearing steering columns and the 29 runs a GM tilt column of unknown vintage and origin.
The 29 column is tilted up one notch due to the column proper is installed at a little steeper angle than the 31 and 32 non-tilt columns.
Since the 29 column was set where it's driven I left it as is and took the measurements.


Distance from the back edge of the eyebrow to the front top of the steering wheel:
29 = 4 3/4"
31 = 4 1/2"
32 = 4 3/4"


Distance from bottom edge of steering wheel to floor:
29 = 18 1/2"
31 = 15 1/2"
32 = 18 3/4"



Steering column
Taken from the front edge of the door top to the center of the column.  Keep in mind all three of these roadsters are modified from stock as desired by the owner, so this measurement won't be a whole lot of use to a stock steering column Model A roadster owner.
29 = N/A - lost this figure somewhere along the line, but it appears close to the 31& 32.
31 = 9 1/4"
32 = 9"



Center of seat back to top surface of brake pedal.
Realize that brake pedal height as well as angle and seat back cushion thickness will create a disparity in these figures:
29 = N/A
31 = 39"
32 = 39"


Center of seat back to top surface of throttle pedal - spoon type in the 32, similar aluminum round piece in the 31.
Throttle pedal travel is about the same in both cars:
29 = N/A
31 = 42"
32 = 41"


Center of seat back to toe board about 2" above the 45 degree juncture between toeboard and floor:
29 = N/A
31 = 45 1/2"
32 = 46"


The figures to the seat back center could be off a small amount as the seat back centers are in different places on the 31 and 32, but that was taken into account.
Even so, the same point on each car's seat back was used to take the three figures from both the 31 & 32.


A small bonus measurement:
Hoodtop centerline, measurement taken on the hood proper and not the opening:
29 = 27 3/4"
31 = 32 3/8" - note that this is not a stock measurement due to the 31 sits on a 32 frame and has a Rootlieb custom length hoodtop.  (Stock hood center line length on 31's is 31 5/8".)
32 = 32"




All in all, an interesting little project.
I was a little surprised to see how close the cars came in most areas.
Especially so when comparing my pal's 29 to my 31 & 32.
I'm 6' tall with a 32" inseam and weigh 195#.
He's 5'11" with a shorter inseam and about 40# heavier than I.


Even so, his 29 is comfortable for me to drive.
One of the reasons could be that his seat is tipped rearward a little more than is the seat in my 31.
My 32's seat back cushion is a little too vertical, but it works since it has good lumbar support and a raised area under the backs of the legs toward the knees.
The 32's seats are 3/4" birch veneer plywood - chosen due to higher quality and lack of voids as compared to regular plywood.
Price differences between the two types aren't a whole lot nowadays, all of which makes the birch veneer plywood price a little easier to take.


My pal complains about the lack of under knee support in my 32, but it works well for me.
My car, my choice.
His car his choice.
And Sweetie thinks the 32's seat is just right so maybe that's all that counts.


In any event, the drivers got it made in either of these little cars.


As a small aside, I have a 6'7" friend who put in about an hour driving my 32 roadster.
He did ok, but when we stuck him in the seat I was wondering how it was gonna work out.
Part of it, perhaps he was used to making do when it came to fitting into small cars, but he commented that it wasn't bad.
I noted that he had no problems operating the throttle or brake pedals as well as there was plenty of room for his legs under the steering wheel.
Even so, he'd be a lot happier in the 31 if I ran the seat all the way to back - which would gain 2".
That would be about as close to the rear cockpit rail as you'd want to go since you'd be lying against it when accellerating.
A thinner back cushion than the ChryCo mini-van cushion could help and you may be able to gain up to 4" more backspace.


I hope these measurements help some who are in the building stage or even in the making a choice of cars stage.
The roadsters aren't too difficult to set up for a big guy as long as you start thinking about it early on.
Coupes are just about as easy and - as we know - the sedan guys got it made.
Even when sedan seats are back a ways, the rear passengers still have a lot of leg room.


One place where I see a lot of conflict in these cars is, guys set the engine in - which is understandable because the engine pretty much has to go where it fits the best although you can gain some room on the drivers side by setting the engine over to the right a ways - in US cars.


Where a lot of guys run into problems is installing the exhaust manifold or header and then try to fit the steering around it.
Far better imo to install the steering where ergonomics dictate and then build the header around it.
And if you're using exhaust manifolds, most engines have other manifolds available which can get you to where you want to go.


In any event, don't let the engine or exhaust dictate where the steering, brake pedals et al have to go.
It will to an extent, but the main thing is to build the car with good ergonomics and build it to fit you.


If it's not reasonably comfortable and fun to drive, why bother?


Keep in mind these are my measurements with my tapes and someone else may come up with slightly different figures.


I did take a lot of care when measuring and if nothing else this list will give you a basis of comparison.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here's the 31 to give you an idea of how I fit.
6' with a 32" inseam.

A little less room in the 32 which is pleasant to spend the day in.
This car is even more comfortable and passes the "vroom-vroom" test quite well.

I hope I don't fall asleep driving it.
With 460 HP on tap and 220# along with skinny tires (radials) I don't think so....



My new car.

Dad bought it new, 56,000 original miles.

Yeah, it's a pee-dinker wonder, but 42 mpg on the highway ain't too shabby.
Heck of a parts hauler with the back seat folded down and running with the rear hatch open....

Run's good, needs a couple hoses replaced.


Although . . . bein' a hot rodder and all, I wonder if one of them Rice Rocket 4's would fit?

Then I'd have me a ricer . . . mit sauerkraut....

                  One Black and Foggy Night    

   Sometimes life was such a daze and other times it was merely confusing.  Now and then, things would happen that you couldn't hardly believe and other times things happened that nobody would believe.  Considering the people involved and what went on, maybe this little story should have been called the Single Six, the cow, the nylons and the Starlight.  One black and foggy night doesn't even begin to describe it.  Even if it was a little foggy and almost black.

   What it was all about, was life on the coast and even a little bit about romance, but the biggest thing was, was that it was quick and it was strange.  

            
   Runnin the coast in my dropped in front, dark shade of black 53 Ford coupe, little stock hubcaps, whitewalls and sweet sounding pipes, all of which was about it for the big time hot rod stuff . . . life could be pretty good.  Simple, but good.

   Every now and then, cruising the Rincon, slidin down Highway 101 a little after midnight with the car runnin a flat 55 per, the phosphorescence would be in and you'd be watching the eerie lime green glow of the breaking waves in the pitch black night.  Just sittin there, radio playing softly, listening to the sweet sounds of the glasspacks and the quiet flow of air around the car, wondering about life, thinking interesting thoughts about the sensuous young woman sitting beside you and all the while leaving beautiful Santa Barbara behind, headed east for Ventura.  

Once in a while, you'd get lucky and if your date was of like mind, you'd be looking for a place to park.  A really good place.

   Some of the guys -- guys who I thought were smart, seemed like they were always getting caught by the cops.  Most times with their dates less than fully dressed.  They'd pull over and park almost anywhere the mood struck them.  Truth was, parking places along the coast proper, a good parking place, a parking place where you weren't going to get bothered at the least or scared spitless at the most when the officer shined his flashlight in the window on account of you didn't even see him pull up and park cuz you were . . . busy.  Yeah, that's it.  Busy.  Those places were few and far between, but for a guy who paid attention, they were there.

   You know what's funny about all this cops vs. the lovers stuff?  No one I knew, including me, ever got told to go home after getting busted by the men in blue.  They always told us to go somewhere else.


   Anyway . . . I'd been watching this nice girl off and on for a while.  Nice in manner, nice in looks and simply put, pretty * nice.  We'll just call her Dixie here.  Not her name, but it'll do.

   Now Dixie, a girl I'd seen around and tried not to think about too much cuz I didn't think I stood a chance with her, somewhere along the line she got interested in me.  Sorta flattering it was, but the first I learned about it was when she gave me a pair of green & white fuzzy angora dice she'd knit.  I didn't know what to think about that, but it did set me to thinking.


   I carried the dice to the next class and was fortunate to have one of the Bobo twins explain to me just what it did mean.  The Bobo twins, a couple of nice girls, both smart as all get out and I'll be darned if I knew how they ended up being called the Bobo twins, but they didn't seem to mind.  They were so darned good looking, no one else seemed to mind either.  Heck, I felt privileged just to have one of them talk to me.  Having both of them talk to you at the same time could be kinda mind boggling.  More than a few times I saw the two of them talking to one guy and you could see that it was a one sided conversation.  They'd be talking and he'd be nodding his head up and down with this totally doofus smile on his face.  The Bobo's sorta had that effect on a guy.  I don't know if it was their winning smiles, total good looks or the way they filled out their sweaters.

   I don't know what Bobo translates to in your neck of the woods, but in our school it meant nothing but good.  Good like in desirable, * or any other mellifluous descriptive term you want to use.  Sometimes, when one of them walked by, everything came to a halt.  Everything.  Boys and girls.  The boys would be standing there like a pack of dogs with their tongues hanging out and the girls would be quiet and watching.  A few of the girls disapproved of the Bobo's, but most of the girls liked them just fine.  They really were nice girls and more than a few girls secretly or even outwardly wished they were like the Bobo's.  Especially in the looks department.

   The Bobo's had names, nice ones, but the only time you used them was if you were talking to them and not about them.  Not that we had much to talk about in talking about them, but as good looking as they were it was kinda hard not to say something when they walked by.  I guess they were like any other twins with parents who had a sense of humor.  At least their old man did the way I heard it.  One was named Merrilee and the other Darralee.

   The Bobo twin who talked to me about Dixie and the dice was Merrilee.  I'd had a crush on Merrilee for a long while, but it was one of those long distance deals.  You know, kinda like grade school where you had a secret girl friend.  Secret girl friends being those girls you secretly admired.  At least you did until you were dumb enough to tell somebody your little secret and then the teasing started.  Which of course made you drop that particular secret girl friend by simply stating, "Do not!"  The "do not" meaning you didn't really like her.  Even if you'd told someone minutes before that you did.  

Sometimes grade school survival hinged on a quick lie.  The relationship, what there was of it, was easily taken care of.  Once the secret was out you had to get yourself another secret girl friend.  Easily done, cuz the girl in question never knew anyway, so what the heck.  Nothing like having your pick of the school beauties....

   After talking to Merrilee and finding out the gift of the dice was a bit of a love offering, the light dawned.  I hung the dice on the 53's mirror, asked Dixie out and was a touch surprised when she said yes.  Pretty innocent stuff even if her dad did a little of that askance looking stuff when he asked where I was taking his daughter and I was stupid enough to tell him the truth.  The 101 Drive In.  Drive In like in movies.  The passion pit, the dance floor for the horizontal mambo, the . . . well, you get the drift.

   I guess her old man figured if I was dumb enough to admit we were heading for the Drive In then maybe I was too dumb to figure out what to do when we got there.  Maybe true, maybe not.  

   Dixie had it figured out though.  She damned near kissed my lips off.  I had no idea you could kiss a girl for three hours straight or however * long it was.  I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it, but it was a whole new experience for me.

   Talk about chapped lips, I felt like I'd laid a big smacker on a sanding belt.  Not that there was anything wrong with Dixie, other than her more than serious zeal for kissing.  *.  By the time we got to the end of that, I was ready to go home.  Screw second base or whatever the hell it was.

   That was the one and only date Dixie and I went on.  To be fair, maybe I should have offered to give the dice back, but I'd grown kinda used to them hanging there on the mirror and I liked the little fact that the dice made a statement that I couldn't make myself.  The little statement being that here was a guy that girls liked.  Some girls anyway.  Dixie never said anything about the dice and it wasn't long until I saw another pair of half finished knit dice hanging out of her purse and figured she was getting ready for the next guy.  Not sure how all that worked out, but Dixie was an ok gal and to a small extent I was sorry that I wasn't the right guy for her.  It was gonna be interesting though.  Interesting to see how the next guy made out and maybe even see if he bought out the Chapstick supply at the ASB store in the cafeteria.  *, I think I was licking my lips for three days straight after the date with Dixie.  Lord knows how the next guy was gonna fare.


   So after the Dixie deal, I'd wander into Mrs. Christiansen's English class, sit down next to Merrilee, glance over, get a nice smile in return and sit there like it didn't make any difference.  Sometimes I was so * cool that I was stupid.  Totally stupid.  I kept telling myself, this girl likes you.  She doesn't smile at anyone else like she does you.  At least not in English class.

   I wasn't dumb though.  A little slow maybe and after a few weeks went by, I finally got up the nerve to ask her out.  Like somebody said, all she could say was no.  Well, I knew that already.  It was getting your heart trampled on that hurt.  And once I thought about it a little bit, I realized that girls almost always turned down a date with the utmost grace.  At least they did if the guy was serious and polite to start with.

   One of the best looking cheerleaders on the squad said yes to a date with a totally geeky guy just because some of the guys were waiting for her to say no and then they could start razzing him.  She knew what was going on and said yes to their complete surprise and she especially surprised the geeky guy who'd screwed up his courage and asked her out in front of God and everybody.  In fact, after that first date, she decided she kinda liked him and much to the dismay of a couple of guys who felt they were God's gift to women, she took to running around with him.  The two of them showing up together at sock hops and the Christmas formal as well as at the beach on the good days of winter.  We all started looking at the geeky guy with different eyes.     Maybe there was more to this wimmin stuff than we suspected.  I mean, if a totally geeky guy could end up with a girl like that, maybe there was a chance for us plain old sorta respectable and not too bad looking guys.  We weren't the smartest guys around, but after that little bit we had hope.  More than a few of us started asking out girls that we'd thought about asking out in the past, but decided they'd probably say no and why bother.  Somewhere in here we were learning that the girls didn't always decide on accepting a proposition just because the guy was a handsome devil.  Bein a handsome devil didn't hurt, but we were finding it wasn't always necessary.


   After I drummed up the courage to ask Merrilee out, the toughest part was getting her to slow down long enough to talk to me between classes.  The Bobo twins were smart girls, got good grades and didn't waste time between classes.  Once I got her stopped somewhere between English and math class, tripped over my tongue and stumbled through my little speech, Merrilee said ok, told me to meet her after school and we'd talk about it some more.

   After school was no big deal.  For a while there I wasn't sure exactly what was gonna happen, but all it was, was ironing out the details, deciding where to go, the time and all that critical date stuff.

   Our first date was interesting.  Simple, but interesting.  We went to the Ventura theater on a Saturday night, sat in the balcony through a double feature, drank cokes, shared popcorn and held hands.  I was floating along in seventh heaven, but Merrilee seemed sorta matter of fact about it all.  Not bored or anything, just that she'd been down that road before.

   I took her home, walked her to the door as a young gentleman was expected to do and instead of going for the good night kiss when she paused at the door, I asked her out for the following Saturday night.  Her response absolutely floored me.

   She asked, "Got a gun?"

   "A gun?"

   "That's right, a gun."

   "You mean a real gun?"

   "Yes, a real gun.  One that shoots real bullets."

   "Yes, I have a Ruger 22 six shooter.  An old Single Six my cousin left behind when he went into the Army."

   "Good.  Bring it with you tomorrow when you pick me up."

   "Pick you up?"

   "Yes, pick me up.  I'll pack a picnic lunch and you be here at noon."

   "Noon?"

   "Yes, noon.  Are you an echo?"

   "Echo?"

   "Never mind, just be here at noon.  And bring the gun."

   With that said, she pressed herself against me, laid a smacker on me that lasted about three seconds, smiled, turned and went inside.  Jeezus . . . that three second kiss said more than three hours of locking lips with Dixie at the Drive In ever did.  For a few seconds I didn't know what to think, but after that kiss, I'd have delivered * near anything to Merrilee's door.  All she had to do was ask.

   I thought the request for a gun was strange, but Merrilee was a good girl far as I knew and I didn't think we were gonna embark on a life of crime or anything like that.  Even so, it looked to be interesting.


   Sunday morning dawned, bright and clear and fairly warm all things considered.  I dug out the six shooter and after a bit of rooting around, found three boxes of bullets and figured that oughta do it.

   I got cleaned up, put on a pair of levis, a button down short sleeved cotton shirt tucked in, a pair of loafers with white socks and that was about it for me as far as fashion went.  I stuck the gun and bullets in the pockets of my jacket, rolled it up, walked through the house and out the back door where I saw mom watering her roses.  Dad was long gone to the golf course.

   Mom looked at me and said, "A little warm for a jacket isn't it?"

   "Yes it is mom.  I'm just trying to be prepared like you're always telling me."

   She smiled and went back to her watering.  Geez . . . I hoped the next thing she heard wasn't that her son was sitting in jail cuz he'd been caught with a gun.


   Guns at the time were no big deal.  More than a few times my friends and I would walk through town with our 22 rifles, headed for the hills and no one seemed to mind.  Once in a while a cop would stop and ask if the guns were unloaded and they always were.  We'd heard about a few who were caught with loaded guns in town and they paid dearly for it.  Guns confiscated, arrested, mom and dad had to drag down to the police station to get you out and then there would be hell to pay at home.  Not to mention you didn't see the gun again for a long time.

   Pistols though, pistols were a whole other story.  Trick with them was to pack em away in the trunk and not get em out until you got to where the shooting was going to take place.  The locking the pistol in the trunk bit a rule I followed religiously.


   I pulled up to Merrilee's house and she was sitting on the porch swing waiting for me.  When she got up, I saw that she was wearing blue twill shorts and a white button front short sleeved cotton blouse.  A pair of white tennis shoes with bobby sox and that was it.  The weather was warm enough for shorts and the shorts weren't really short, they were what women usually wore in hot weather, but on Merrilee . . . son of a *.  I wasn't sure the blouse buttons were gonna hold up to the duty they were gonna be called upon to perform.  I guess I forgot to mention that Merrilee and her sister looked like they'd climbed onto the maturity bandwagon long before the other girls heard it was in town.  They had curves.  Everywhere.

   Merrilee smiled, got up walked down the walk with picnic basket in hand, stopped by the car door and asked, "Did you bring the gun?"

   I wasn't sure exactly what she had in mind and just nodded my head up and down.  Geez . . . it was hard enough to talk to this girl when she was fully dressed.  Wearing shorts . . . wow.  She really had a pair of legs, but the best part was her terrific smile.  It seemed like the whole room lit up when she smiled.  I know, we were outside, but she kinda had that effect on a guy.  I still couldn't believe I was here with her.

   She didn't say another word about the gun until after we'd driven out to the beach and up along the riverbed, parked, ate lunch and were sitting on a blanket in a most private place.  I didn't think anyone knew about the little bamboo grove I'd found a long time back.  Easy to walk to, it looked at first like it could be a tough drive.  Not too many were willing to take a chance on getting stuck, but I'd found there was only a short blast across some soft sand to get there and after that it was mostly good dirt road all the way.

   After a while, Merrilee asked if she could shoot the gun and since we were in one of the best spots around for plinking there was, I didn't have a problem with it.  She had a pretty good handle on shooting the darned thing, sent the tin can targets flying with just about every shot and it was enough for me to load it up and watch her pop off the rounds.  After the first box I thought she'd be bored with it, but she wasn't.

   About halfway through the third and last box she said, "We'd better save some of these."

   "What for?"

   "In case we need them."

   I wasn't sure what we'd need them for, but it wasn't long until I found out.  I say not long, but the way it worked out, several weekends slid by before I did find out.

   Our dates were simple enough.  Somewhere along the line I'd ask her out to the show and she would smile and say, "Bring the gun."

   I did, but I left it locked away in the trunk.  Surprising to me, she never said a thing about it when I picked her up or while we were at the show.


   So that's the way our dates went for a while.  The gun stayed in the trunk, but it was buried away pretty good.  We'd go to the 101 Drive In or the Ventura Theater and after the show, cruise over to Fosters Freeze or Merles Drive In to see what was happening, check out the latest fast car, have a coke & fries and then I'd take her home where she would lay one of those killer three second kisses on me.

   I don't know about you, but that was enough to keep me going.  There was a whole lot implied in those brief little kisses.  I hated to admit it to myself, but I looked forward to those few seconds of bliss every Saturday night more than I'd ever looked forward to anything.  
Christmas, birthdays, anything....


   The time finally came when I learned what she wanted the gun for.  So far, our relationship seemed like pretty normal stuff.  All except for her asking if the gun was in the car.  I figured I'd cross that bridge when I came to it and if she wanted to do something seriously illegal she'd be on her own.  I was smitten, but not that smitten.  Still though, I was curious what she wanted with the gun, but never asked.  It was all about those Saturday night good night kisses, ya know?  Sure you do.


   There were a lot of good places around Ventura to park with a beautiful young woman even if we weren't doing much parking.  Holding hands at the show and the good night kisses were about it.  At least they were until the night we got a Pizza at Tony's down by the Mission after the show and she suggested we drive up the hill to the "V" way up above town, park, eat pizza, drink beer and watch the city lights.  I was wondering where we were gonna get beer, but didn't say anything.  Once we got parked, she pulled a couple cans of beer out of her purse and plunked em down on the seat between us.  She'd swiped em out of her folks fridge.

   My thinking was calm and simple.  You know, hot pizza, beer and parked with a lovely young woman in a somewhat deserted place.  Life just couldn't have gotten any better.  Hell, I didn't care if the beer was a touch warm, the night was full of possibilities.  At least it was until we'd eaten our fill of the pizza, drank the beer and I was settling back in the seat with modest expectations and high hopes.

   Merrilee smiled, opened the glove box, looked inside and asked, "Where's the gun?"

   "Where's the gun?"

   "Yes, the gun.  Where's the gun?"

   "It's in the trunk."

   "Well, get it out."

   "Here?"

   "Yes, here."

   "We're too close to the houses to be shooting."

   "I know that.  Get it out, put it in the glove box and I'll tell you why."

   I got the * thing out, bullets and all.  I figured bullets would be the next thing she asked for so I may as well get them out now.

   First thing she asked was, "Is it loaded?"

   "No.  It's not loaded."

   "Well, load it and then put it in the glove box."

   "I don't think it's a good idea to have a loaded gun in the car and it's not a real good idea to keep it in the glove box."

   "Why?"

   "Why what?"

   "Why do you think it's a bad idea to keep it in the glove box?"

   "Geez Merrilee.  That's the first place a cops gonna look."

   "Well, you've gotten tickets before haven't you?"

   "Yes."

   "Did the cop look in the glove box then?"

   "No."

   "Well he won't look next time either."

   "Ok, but why do you want a loaded gun in the car?"

   "Remember Bobby Scott?  The guy I used to date?"

   "Yeah...."

   "Well, one night we were parked down at the beach in the pier parking lot and this bum walked up right next to the car and looked in the window.  He scared me to death."   

   "Maybe so Merrilee, but you can't go shooting people just cuz they scared you."

   "I know.  That wasn't the bad part.  After that happened, I didn't want to park down by the pier anymore.  We started going down to the river by the Montalvo golf course and it was a little scary, but at least we weren't going to have a bum stick his face in the window and scare us silly."

   "So if the bum by the pier wasn't the bad part, what was?"

   "I'm embarrassed to tell you this, but I will.  We were parked next to the river, Bobby was kissing me and I looked up and saw a cow stick its face through the open window and look in.  It scared me so bad that I just freaked out.  I started screaming and got a little hysterical and I almost couldn't stop.  Bobby was nice about it, but the next day he told his friends and they started teasing me so I broke up with him."

   "Ok, but you can't go around shooting cows either."

   "I know, but I feel better just knowing the gun is there."

   That was a more than interesting night.  Not a whole lot of necking going on, but I'd learned a few things.  At least she wasn't going to have me headed down the rough and rocky road of crime.  I figured for a while there she'd want to knock over a liquor store or something, but she was such a sweet girl I found it hard to believe she would do such a thing.  It was nice to know that all it was, was a fear.  A pretty well grounded one.  I think a bum sticking his face in the window would have scared me half to death.

   That's the way things went for a while.  I left the gun in the glove box and she pretty much quit asking about it.

   Somewhere along the line I learned that you could really impress a girl if you took her to Santa Barbara for dinner and a show.  The dinner didn't have to be anything fancy, just being out of town and especially being in Santa Barbara did the trick.  If you were early enough you could eat dinner at the coffee shop on the pier or do the seafood bit at Castagnola's on Cabrillo near the bottom of State Street.  If things were running a touch later, dinner at Carillo's great little restaurant a couple of blocks up State Street from Highway 101 was always a special treat.

 The best part of the whole thing was going to the movies at the Fox Theater.  It was a classy place that looked like it was patterned after an Italian opera house.  Taking a date to the show there never failed to make an impression.

   I figured doing the dinner bit in Santa Barbara and hitting the Fox would take our relationship a step up from the usual Saturday night at the movies and a coke afterward at Fosters Freeze or Merles Drive In.  On the way to school Wednesday morning, I asked Merrilee if she wanted to go to dinner in Santa Barbara Saturday night and go to the show at the Fox afterward.  She smiled and said yes.  It must have been the right thing to ask.  The next couple of days, every time she saw me she was smiling.


   Saturday night, driving down State Street after leaving the theater, I felt like things had gone pretty well.  Merrilee was in a good mood after dinner at Carrillo's and the show at the Fox was the topper to it all.

   Rolling home along the coast, headed east in the almost pure blackness of a dark night, the sky lit with stars and Merrilee sitting next to me made life darned near perfect.  She was leaning on my shoulder and singing softly along with the radio.  She had a good voice and it was most pleasant.

   When we hit the top of Carpinteria grade above County Line Beach, we could see that the phosphorescence was in and the breaking waves were glowing with a soft light.  The almost eerie, lime colored waves seen way down the beach and the fog bank sitting offshore near the islands were quite a contrast to the starlit sky.  It was natures own light show and like nothing we'd seen before.

   Merrilee put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Let's stop and watch the ocean for a while."

   "Ok."

   "Do you know a good spot?  Somewhere the cops aren't going to bother us?"

   "I know just the place."

   The entrance to the cattle ranch just up from the oil company where dad worked and a little ways down the road from where we were was ideal.  When we got there, the highway was empty and I swung the 53 across the other two lanes of the three lane highway, went up the short run of asphalt, rolled across the railroad tracks that paralleled the coast highway, through the wide opening in the brush, turned left and drove about a hundred yards west down a narrow dirt road to a large opening in the brush, turned left again and parked.  We were facing south, looking out over the ocean and the car was well hidden by the tall brush.  We couldn't be seen from the highway or by an oil company worker going through the gate and up to the wells on the hill behind.  It was, the perfect place.


   Somehow, things seemed different.  I felt like we were at a point in our relationship where things were going to change.  They did, but I didn't have a clue as to how much they were going to change.  Even so, I was willing to go along with wherever she wanted to go.

   Along with the change, that was the end of the little three second goodnight kisses that implied so much and left so many other things unsaid.  We'd parked before, but never like this.  Usually a few kisses and hugs along with a lot of talking was about it.

   Outside, the ocean was lost in the blackness of the night, small waves were breaking with a soft lime green glow onto the white beach and a sky full of stars was visible through the light fog.  Inside the car, we were warm and comfortable.  The radio was playing softly, the panel light gave off a gentle glow of illumination that lit the inside of the car with a soft light and Merrilee looked more beautiful than I'd ever seen her.  I was totally awed, I'd never seen anything like it.  She didn't say a word.

   I reached out to her, she turned toward me, kissed me and it seemed like no time until we were completely lost in one another.  Lost to the point where I had her dress and slips off and was fumbling with the clasp of her bra.  I'd heard guys talk about popping the * things loose with one hand, but I couldn't budge it with two hands.  She took mercy on me though.  She reached around back, popped it loose and with a shrug of her shoulders the bra slid down her arms, ended up lying on the floor and her * were . . . right there.  Right there in front of me.  It was beyond my wildest dreams.  I couldn't hardly believe it, I'd imagined what they would be like, but I didn't have a clue.  Even today I can't begin to explain it.  Perfection comes to mind and the best part was she seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was.

   I started fumbling with the clip or whatever the hell you call the garter belt thingy that held her nylons up.  I was on the road to the promised land and I wasn't gonna let a little thing like that stop me.  I popped one loose, reached for the other, she sat up, looked at the drivers side window and screamed.  I looked over and felt like screaming myself.  


There was a goddamned cow face right up against the glass and looking in the window.  That wasn't the bad part.  It would light up and go dark, light up and go dark, and now it seemed the whole car was lighting up.  I didn't see Merrilee get the gun out of the glove box and I didn't know what the hell was happening even after she started shooting.  Right in front of me and I didn't think to grab her hand.  All I could do was lean back in the seat, way back and stay out of the line of fire.  The old Ruger, which really wasn't that old, was a single action.  Just like the old six shooters the cowboys in the movies used and it had to be cocked every time you fired it.  I don't know where the hell Merrilee learned to fan the hammer with the trigger held down.  I sure as hell never showed her that little trick.  She emptied all six shots at the window before I had a chance to say anything.  Trouble was, the window was rolled up and right after the last shot, the cow reared up or back or whatever the hell it was, cut around the front of the car and went running up the tracks to the west like a one cow stampede.  Next thing we knew the whole world lit up, the concussion from the noise hit us like a bomb going off, the car shook and the cow went flying across the hood in front of us and disappeared out of sight.  When my mind returned to some semblance of normalcy, I realized it was the Southern Pacific Coast Starlight passenger train roaring by at 70 - 75 per about twenty feet away.

   I looked over at Merrilee and she was gone.  I looked in the back seat, no Merrilee.  I flipped on the headlights, got out of the car and there she was, just a few feet from the right front fender.  She was screaming, standing there in the cold night air, just standing there screaming wearing nothing but her high heels, nylons and panties.  Her * bobbled up and down with each scream and the bad part was, she was waving the gun around.  I wasn't real sure it was empty and I didn't know whether to stand there and look or try to get the gun away from her.

   I finally started thinking rationally.  Kinda hard to do for a while there.  My heart was going about nine hunnert miles an hour and Merrilee standing there half undressed didn't make it any easier.  I walked over, put my arms around her and pulled the gun gently out of her hand.  When I looked up at the rapidly disappearing Starlight I could see the light from the Mars headlight or whatever the hell you call it waving around and realized that was what caused the cows face to light up and go dark.  If we hadn't been parked down in the brush like we were we probably would have realized the train was coming.  As it was, the train was right on top of us before we knew what was happening.

   I let go of Merrilee and held the car door open for her.  I wasn't sure what to think, but it was obvious the fun and games were over and it was a touch chilly out.  After that little escapade, thoughts about sex were forgotten . . . well . . . more for her than for me, but I wasn't going to push her.

   I shut the door, walked around to the drivers side, got in and shut the headlights off.  Merrilee was sitting there in the dim glow of the panel light and not saying anything.  She looked like she was going to start crying.  That made about as much sense as anything else considering what had gone on in the last couple of minutes.  When I looked a little closer I could see her eyes were closed and she was holding her hands in her lap.  She didn't seem bothered in the least that she was still half dressed.  It looked like her mind was far, far away.  It wasn't long until the tears started rolling down her face.  She didn't make a sound, she just sat there.  Right up till then, it had been sorta pleasant even if it was a little confusing . . . ok . . . a whole lot confusing....

   I said, "Merrilee, you need to get dressed."

   She turned, looked at me and said, "I know."

   She didn't seem in any particular hurry to get dressed and finally she said, "Leave."

   "Leave?"

   "Yes, leave!  Start the car and get me out of here.  I don't want to be here anymore."

   I fired up the car, turned the heater blower on, reached into the back seat, retrieved her slips and dress, set them down between us, leaned down, picked her bra up off the floor and put it in her lap.

   I waited for her to start getting dressed, she sat there not saying a word and tears were still running down her cheeks.

   Finally I said, "Merrilee, get dressed."

   "I will, just start driving."

   Kinda strange to say the least, but whatever she wanted was ok with me.  I backed out, turned east, headed toward the crossing and had to stop just short of it.  Geez . . . there was the dead cow lying across the narrow dirt road and there was no way to go around it.  Merrilee looked at me and I looked at her and didn't say a word.  It was kinda tough to meet her eye to eye cuz she was still bare breasted and as appealing as ever if not more so.

   Merrilee got a little mad and said, "Drive over the * thing!"

   "I can't Merrilee, it's clear across the road."

   "Yes you can.  Just take a run at it."

   "No I can't.  The car will get hung up and then we'll be sitting on a dead cow."

   "Well, do you want to sit here until someone finds us and then puts two and two together?"

   "No."

   She sat there looking at me and I was looking at her.  I wasn't exactly sure what she was thinking, but me trying to put together a sensible plan of attack was kinda tough with her sitting there like she was.

   She said, "Are you worried about scratching the cars paint?"

   "Not really."

   "Well there's room to drive into the brush a little ways and then all you'll have to drive over are the cows legs."

   That seemed reasonable.  I was pretty sure someone would be along before too long.  It didn't seem like the Starlight engineer would have missed the sound of the engine hitting the cow.  He probably saw it as well.  Don't know why, the whole thing made me think about cowcatchers.  The Starlight didn't catch any cows, but it knocked em out of the way pretty good.

   Merrilee sat back in the seat, I put the car in gear and thought about what I was going to do.  The brush was about six feet high and I figured better to plow right on through than do the pussyfoot bit and get stuck in the brush.

   Jeezus . . . never in a million years did I think I'd be in a car out in the middle of nowhere with a more than beautiful bare breasted woman and about to run over a cow.

   I revved up the engine and took a little run at it.  It worked out pretty good considering.  The brush didn't let the car go in too deep and we ended up running over the cows back legs a little higher up than I thought.  Besides the cracking and crunching sounds along with the noise the brush made on the side of the car, the only bad moment was when the rear tire spun on the cow and the car went a little sideways.  Burning rubber on a dead cow was way down on the list of things I never thought I'd do.

   I guess I got the guiltys then.  I drove across the tracks, rolled to the bottom of the little hill, checked for traffic and took off for Ventura.  And Merrilee was still sitting there bare breasted and hadn't made a move to get dressed.  I had mixed emotions about that.  I mean, the view was great, no doubt about that, but I was a little guilty and figured we were gonna get stopped by the cops before too much longer.


   When we crossed the Rincon railroad bridge, I took one last look at Merrilee and somehow I knew this was the last time I'd ever see her this way and determined to stick the more than delightful sight into my memory.  A pleasant remembrance for a cold night I suppose.

   Merrilee looked at me like she was going say something and I said, "Get dressed Merrilee.  We're gonna be in town in just a minute."


   She didn't say anything, put on her bra, put her slips on over her head, got them squared away, pulled the dress over her head and was getting that squared away and then she pulled the dress and slips darned near up to her waist and was twisting things around so they were just right or comfortable or something.  I guess I was watching too close and when I looked up I wasn't far from hitting the abutment on the Ventura River bridge.  I cranked on the steering wheel so hard that the car started into a slide and when I overcorrected it went into a slide the other way.  I got it squared away after that one, looked at the end of the bridge and there was one of Ventura's finest sitting there in his black and white cop car with an expression on his face like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

   The cop car fired up, the red lights went on, the headlights went on and right there I knew I was screwed.  I didn't even try to play the innocent.  I pulled over near the Cottage Café and sat there waiting.  It didn't take long, seemed like it was just a few seconds and the cop car pulled in behind us.  I watched in the rear view mirror as the officer got out and then I looked at the side window.  Jeezus . . . there were six bullet holes through it, about two inches down from the top and they were all so close together a dollar bill could have covered them.  I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it until now.  I cranked the window down, hoping all the while I wasn't looking like a madman winding away on the window crank.

   The cop walked up and said, "Step out of the car."

   I did.

   He shined a flashlight in my face and asked, "Been drinking?"

   "No sir."

   "What are you doing out this late?"

   "Coming back from the show in Santa Barbara sir."

   "Let me guess.  You took your date to the Fox theater didn't you?"

   "Yes sir.  How did you know that?"

   "Think you're the first guy to try and impress a girl by taking her to the Fox?  Give me your license please."

   I gave him my license, he looked at it, looked in the car at the registration in the steering column holder and then looked at Merrilee.  She was smiling at him with her oughta be patented light up the room smile and didn't say anything.  The cop smiled back and didn't say a word to her.  Just tipped his hat with his hand a little bit.

   He looked at me and asked, "How come you almost hit the bridge on your way in?"

   Took me a few seconds to think up the answer to that one.

   I said, "I was talking to my girl friend and I got distracted."

   "Well . . . she's a pretty girl, but you ought to pull over somewhere and park if you're going to be paying that much attention to her."

   With that, he gave my license back, walked to the cop car and got in.

   I got in my car, the cop car red lights went out, he pulled around us and drove up Main Street.


   I looked over at Merrilee to say something and then I realized why the cop smiled at her and recommended we go park somewhere.  Her dress was still unbuttoned down the front, part of it was pulled up around her waist and part of it was pulled down over her knees, but you could see the side of her legs darned near all the way up to her panties.  It was pretty obvious that she'd given it a quick yank over her knees, but it didn't really cover up her legs like perhaps she thought it should.

   I guess the cop figured that was his treat for the evening even if it was two o'clock in the morning.  Merrilee smiled, covered up her legs with the dress, buttoned it up and didn't say a word the rest of the way home.

   When we got there, she gave me a kiss on the cheek, got out and went inside without a word.  Couldn't blame her I guess.  It had been one hell of an evening.

   It was a bit of a cool ride home with the window rolled down, but I wasn't taking any chances.  It was pretty obvious what the holes were and I figured any cop who saw them would be looking in the glove box not long after.

   I left the window rolled down when I parked the car in the garage as well.  No reason to let dad in on the little secret.  I could see myself walking for a couple weeks at the least and maybe for longer if he knew what had gone on.  I had the good sense to pack the Ruger away in the trunk before I went in.  It ended up in there for a while.  In fact, for quite a while and somewhere along the line the tip of the barrel got rustier than all get out and to my eyes the gun was pretty much ruined.

   Sunday morning, I got up right after dad took off for the golf course, got dressed, grabbed an old jacket I didn't much care for, went out to the garage, tossed the jacket into the car and took off.  I drove down to the bamboo grove beside the river just up from the beach where I'd taken Merrilee shooting.  After I made sure no one was around, I rolled the drivers window up and slammed a big rock against it.  It took a couple of tries before the holes from the bullets could be torn away, but I didn't want any evidence of what happened remaining on the car.  After that, throwing the old jacket into the slowly running trickle of water and watching it float away was no big deal and no big loss.  I wasn't going to miss the * thing.  

   When I got home I was picking up and sweeping the broken glass out of the car when mom came out.

   She looked at the broken window and asked, "What happened?"

   "Someone broke in and I guess the window was the easiest way to do it."

   "Did they take anything?"

   "Just that old green jacket of mine."

   "Well, thank goodness.  At least no one got hurt.  I never did like that jacket anyway.  It's not the right color for you and I don't know why your dad picked it out."

   Couple of days later I had a new window from the junkyard installed and a couple days after that mom bought me a new jacket.  

Proving I guess, that crime does pay.  Now and then anyway....


   Merrilee and I dated a couple more times, but something had gone out of the relationship and things weren't the same as they once were.  She was nice about it, but it didn't seem like she was really enjoying herself and we pretty much drifted apart.

   Not long after, high school came to an end when we all graduated.  Merrilee and her sister took off for college and I didn't see her again for a long time.

   Somewhere in here, I met a personable and beautiful young woman and not long after we got married.  I got a good job with a good company that promised a good future.  We moved away from Ventura and only went back once in a while to visit friends and family.

   On one of our visits, my mom handed me a clipping from the paper with Merrilee's picture in it.  It was an engagement announcement.  It surprised me, but not too much.  The real surprising part was that she was engaged to Bobby Scott.  Bobby was ok, but sometimes he was a touch dense around girls and about girls.  I wondered if he knew just how lucky he was.

   A while after that, I heard that Merrilee and Bobby were getting married at the Mission.  The Mission is one of the California Missions and had a rich history.  It was the right place for a good Catholic girl like Merrilee to get married.

   I wasn't invited, but I went to the wedding anyway.  The doors were closed when I got there so I waited on the steps outside.  The wedding came to an end, the doors opened, the bride and groom walked outside into the bright Ventura sunshine and I saw Merrilee for the first time in about five years.  If anything, she was more beautiful than ever.  She was so caught up in the moment that she never saw me.

   Bobby and Merrilee walked down the steps while people threw rice, smiled and  applauded.  While Bobby was helping her into the car, I walked down the steps, out onto the sidewalk and down the street for a little ways.  Just so I could have one more look.  Bobby got into the car, fired it up and started pulling away.

   I was standing a couple of car lengths up the sidewalk when Merrilee saw me.  She had a surprised look on her face and then she smiled her beautiful smile.  She leaned out of the car a little ways, formed her hand into the shape of a gun, pointed it at me, pulled the make believe trigger, blew the imaginary smoke from the imaginary barrel, waved and blew me a kiss.


   I never saw her again....

                                                                  * * *








Same gun, different barrel, new girl.   

                  One Black and Foggy Night    

   Sometimes life was such a daze and other times it was merely confusing.  Now and then, things would happen that you couldn't hardly believe and other times things happened that nobody would believe.  Considering the people involved and what went on, maybe this little story should have been called the Single Six, the cow, the nylons and the Starlight.  One black and foggy night doesn't even begin to describe it.  Even if it was a little foggy and almost black.
   What it was all about, was life on the coast and even a little bit about romance, but the biggest thing was, was that it was quick and it was strange.  
            
   Runnin the coast in my dropped in front, dark shade of black 53 Ford coupe, little stock hubcaps, whitewalls and sweet sounding pipes, all of which was about it for the big time hot rod stuff . . . life could be pretty good.  Simple, but good.
   Every now and then, cruising the Rincon, slidin down Highway 101 a little after midnight with the car runnin a flat 55 per, the phosphorescence would be in and you'd be watching the eerie lime green glow of the breaking waves in the pitch black night.  Just sittin there, radio playing softly, listening to the sweet sounds of the glasspacks and the quiet flow of air around the car, wondering about life, thinking interesting thoughts about the sensuous young woman sitting beside you and all the while leaving beautiful Santa Barbara behind, headed east for Ventura.  
Once in a while, you'd get lucky and if your date was of like mind, you'd be looking for a place to park.  A really good place.
   Some of the guys -- guys who I thought were smart, seemed like they were always getting caught by the cops.  Most times with their dates less than fully dressed.  They'd pull over and park almost anywhere the mood struck them.  Truth was, parking places along the coast proper, a good parking place, a parking place where you weren't going to get bothered at the least or scared spitless at the most when the officer shined his flashlight in the window on account of you didn't even see him pull up and park cuz you were . . . busy.  Yeah, that's it.  Busy.  Those places were few and far between, but for a guy who paid attention, they were there.
   You know what's funny about all this cops vs. the lovers stuff?  No one I knew, including me, ever got told to go home after getting busted by the men in blue.  They always told us to go somewhere else.


   Anyway . . . I'd been watching this nice girl off and on for a while.  Nice in manner, nice in looks and simply put, pretty * nice.  We'll just call her Dixie here.  Not her name, but it'll do.
   Now Dixie, a girl I'd seen around and tried not to think about too much cuz I didn't think I stood a chance with her, somewhere along the line she got interested in me.  Sorta flattering it was, but the first I learned about it was when she gave me a pair of green & white fuzzy angora dice she'd knit.  I didn't know what to think about that, but it did set me to thinking.

   I carried the dice to the next class and was fortunate to have one of the Bobo twins explain to me just what it did mean.  The Bobo twins, a couple of nice girls, both smart as all get out and I'll be darned if I knew how they ended up being called the Bobo twins, but they didn't seem to mind.  They were so darned good looking, no one else seemed to mind either.  Heck, I felt privileged just to have one of them talk to me.  Having both of them talk to you at the same time could be kinda mind boggling.  More than a few times I saw the two of them talking to one guy and you could see that it was a one sided conversation.  They'd be talking and he'd be nodding his head up and down with this totally doofus smile on his face.  The Bobo's sorta had that effect on a guy.  I don't know if it was their winning smiles, total good looks or the way they filled out their sweaters.
   I don't know what Bobo translates to in your neck of the woods, but in our school it meant nothing but good.  Good like in desirable, * or any other mellifluous descriptive term you want to use.  Sometimes, when one of them walked by, everything came to a halt.  Everything.  Boys and girls.  The boys would be standing there like a pack of dogs with their tongues hanging out and the girls would be quiet and watching.  A few of the girls disapproved of the Bobo's, but most of the girls liked them just fine.  They really were nice girls and more than a few girls secretly or even outwardly wished they were like the Bobo's.  Especially in the looks department.
   The Bobo's had names, nice ones, but the only time you used them was if you were talking to them and not about them.  Not that we had much to talk about in talking about them, but as good looking as they were it was kinda hard not to say something when they walked by.  I guess they were like any other twins with parents who had a sense of humor.  At least their old man did the way I heard it.  One was named Merrilee and the other Darralee.
   The Bobo twin who talked to me about Dixie and the dice was Merrilee.  I'd had a crush on Merrilee for a long while, but it was one of those long distance deals.  You know, kinda like grade school where you had a secret girl friend.  Secret girl friends being those girls you secretly admired.  At least you did until you were dumb enough to tell somebody your little secret and then the teasing started.  Which of course made you drop that particular secret girl friend by simply stating, "Do not!"  The "do not" meaning you didn't really like her.  Even if you'd told someone minutes before that you did.  

Sometimes grade school survival hinged on a quick lie.  The relationship, what there was of it, was easily taken care of.  Once the secret was out you had to get yourself another secret girl friend.  Easily done, cuz the girl in question never knew anyway, so what the heck.  Nothing like having your pick of the school beauties....
   After talking to Merrilee and finding out the gift of the dice was a bit of a love offering, the light dawned.  I hung the dice on the 53's mirror, asked Dixie out and was a touch surprised when she said yes.  Pretty innocent stuff even if her dad did a little of that askance looking stuff when he asked where I was taking his daughter and I was stupid enough to tell him the truth.  The 101 Drive In.  Drive In like in movies.  The passion pit, the dance floor for the horizontal mambo, the . . . well, you get the drift.
   I guess her old man figured if I was dumb enough to admit we were heading for the Drive In then maybe I was too dumb to figure out what to do when we got there.  Maybe true, maybe not.  
   Dixie had it figured out though.  She damned near kissed my lips off.  I had no idea you could kiss a girl for three hours straight or however * long it was.  I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it, but it was a whole new experience for me.
   Talk about chapped lips, I felt like I'd laid a big smacker on a sanding belt.  Not that there was anything wrong with Dixie, other than her more than serious zeal for kissing.  *.  By the time we got to the end of that, I was ready to go home.  Screw second base or whatever the hell it was.
   That was the one and only date Dixie and I went on.  To be fair, maybe I should have offered to give the dice back, but I'd grown kinda used to them hanging there on the mirror and I liked the little fact that the dice made a statement that I couldn't make myself.  The little statement being that here was a guy that girls liked.  Some girls anyway.  Dixie never said anything about the dice and it wasn't long until I saw another pair of half finished knit dice hanging out of her purse and figured she was getting ready for the next guy.  Not sure how all that worked out, but Dixie was an ok gal and to a small extent I was sorry that I wasn't the right guy for her.  It was gonna be interesting though.  Interesting to see how the next guy made out and maybe even see if he bought out the Chapstick supply at the ASB store in the cafeteria.  *, I think I was licking my lips for three days straight after the date with Dixie.  Lord knows how the next guy was gonna fare.

   So after the Dixie deal, I'd wander into Mrs. Christiansen's English class, sit down next to Merrilee, glance over, get a nice smile in return and sit there like it didn't make any difference.  Sometimes I was so * cool that I was stupid.  Totally stupid.  I kept telling myself, this girl likes you.  She doesn't smile at anyone else like she does you.  At least not in English class.



   I wasn't dumb though.  A little slow maybe and after a few weeks went by, I finally got up the nerve to ask her out.  Like somebody said, all she could say was no.  Well, I knew that already.  It was getting your heart trampled on that hurt.  And once I thought about it a little bit, I realized that girls almost always turned down a date with the utmost grace.  At least they did if the guy was serious and polite to start with.
   One of the best looking cheerleaders on the squad said yes to a date with a totally geeky guy just because some of the guys were waiting for her to say no and then they could start razzing him.  She knew what was going on and said yes to their complete surprise and she especially surprised the geeky guy who'd screwed up his courage and asked her out in front of God and everybody.  In fact, after that first date, she decided she kinda liked him and much to the dismay of a couple of guys who felt they were God's gift to women, she took to running around with him.  The two of them showing up together at sock hops and the Christmas formal as well as at the beach on the good days of winter.  We all started looking at the geeky guy with different eyes.     Maybe there was more to this wimmin stuff than we suspected.  I mean, if a totally geeky guy could end up with a girl like that, maybe there was a chance for us plain old sorta respectable and not too bad looking guys.  We weren't the smartest guys around, but after that little bit we had hope.  More than a few of us started asking out girls that we'd thought about asking out in the past, but decided they'd probably say no and why bother.  Somewhere in here we were learning that the girls didn't always decide on accepting a proposition just because the guy was a handsome devil.  Bein a handsome devil didn't hurt, but we were finding it wasn't always necessary.




   After I drummed up the courage to ask Merrilee out, the toughest part was getting her to slow down long enough to talk to me between classes.  The Bobo twins were smart girls, got good grades and didn't waste time between classes.  Once I got her stopped somewhere between English and math class, tripped over my tongue and stumbled through my little speech, Merrilee said ok, told me to meet her after school and we'd talk about it some more.
   After school was no big deal.  For a while there I wasn't sure exactly what was gonna happen, but all it was, was ironing out the details, deciding where to go, the time and all that critical date stuff.
   Our first date was interesting.  Simple, but interesting.  We went to the Ventura theater on a Saturday night, sat in the balcony through a double feature, drank cokes, shared popcorn and held hands.  I was floating along in seventh heaven, but Merrilee seemed sorta matter of fact about it all.  Not bored or anything, just that she'd been down that road before.

   I took her home, walked her to the door as a young gentleman was expected to do and instead of going for the good night kiss when she paused at the door, I asked her out for the following Saturday night.  Her response absolutely floored me.
   She asked, "Got a gun?"
   "A gun?"
   "That's right, a gun."
   "You mean a real gun?"
   "Yes, a real gun.  One that shoots real bullets."
   "Yes, I have a Ruger 22 six shooter.  An old Single Six my cousin left behind when he went into the Army."
   "Good.  Bring it with you tomorrow when you pick me up."
   "Pick you up?"
   "Yes, pick me up.  I'll pack a picnic lunch and you be here at noon."
   "Noon?"
   "Yes, noon.  Are you an echo?"
   "Echo?"
   "Never mind, just be here at noon.  And bring the gun."
   With that said, she pressed herself against me, laid a smacker on me that lasted about three seconds, smiled, turned and went inside.  Jeezus . . . that three second kiss said more than three hours of locking lips with Dixie at the Drive In ever did.  For a few seconds I didn't know what to think, but after that kiss, I'd have delivered * near anything to Merrilee's door.  All she had to do was ask.
   I thought the request for a gun was strange, but Merrilee was a good girl far as I knew and I didn't think we were gonna embark on a life of crime or anything like that.  Even so, it looked to be interesting.

   Sunday morning dawned, bright and clear and fairly warm all things considered.  I dug out the six shooter and after a bit of rooting around, found three boxes of bullets and figured that oughta do it.
   I got cleaned up, put on a pair of levis, a button down short sleeved cotton shirt tucked in, a pair of loafers with white socks and that was about it for me as far as fashion went.  I stuck the gun and bullets in the pockets of my jacket, rolled it up, walked through the house and out the back door where I saw mom watering her roses.  Dad was long gone to the golf course.
   Mom looked at me and said, "A little warm for a jacket isn't it?"
   "Yes it is mom.  I'm just trying to be prepared like you're always telling me."
   She smiled and went back to her watering.  Geez . . . I hoped the next thing she heard wasn't that her son was sitting in jail cuz he'd been caught with a gun.



   Guns at the time were no big deal.  More than a few times my friends and I would walk through town with our 22 rifles, headed for the hills and no one seemed to mind.  Once in a while a cop would stop and ask if the guns were unloaded and they always were.  We'd heard about a few who were caught with loaded guns in town and they paid dearly for it.  Guns confiscated, arrested, mom and dad had to drag down to the police station to get you out and then there would be hell to pay at home.  Not to mention you didn't see the gun again for a long time.
   Pistols though, pistols were a whole other story.  Trick with them was to pack em away in the trunk and not get em out until you got to where the shooting was going to take place.  The locking the pistol in the trunk bit a rule I followed religiously.

   I pulled up to Merrilee's house and she was sitting on the porch swing waiting for me.  When she got up, I saw that she was wearing blue twill shorts and a white button front short sleeved cotton blouse.  A pair of white tennis shoes with bobby sox and that was it.  The weather was warm enough for shorts and the shorts weren't really short, they were what women usually wore in hot weather, but on Merrilee . . . son of a *.  I wasn't sure the blouse buttons were gonna hold up to the duty they were gonna be called upon to perform.  I guess I forgot to mention that Merrilee and her sister looked like they'd climbed onto the maturity bandwagon long before the other girls heard it was in town.  They had curves.  Everywhere.
   Merrilee smiled, got up walked down the walk with picnic basket in hand, stopped by the car door and asked, "Did you bring the gun?"
   I wasn't sure exactly what she had in mind and just nodded my head up and down.  Geez . . . it was hard enough to talk to this girl when she was fully dressed.  Wearing shorts . . . wow.  She really had a pair of legs, but the best part was her terrific smile.  It seemed like the whole room lit up when she smiled.  I know, we were outside, but she kinda had that effect on a guy.  I still couldn't believe I was here with her.
   She didn't say another word about the gun until after we'd driven out to the beach and up along the riverbed, parked, ate lunch and were sitting on a blanket in a most private place.  I didn't think anyone knew about the little bamboo grove I'd found a long time back.  Easy to walk to, it looked at first like it could be a tough drive.  Not too many were willing to take a chance on getting stuck, but I'd found there was only a short blast across some soft sand to get there and after that it was mostly good dirt road all the way.
   After a while, Merrilee asked if she could shoot the gun and since we were in one of the best spots around for plinking there was, I didn't have a problem with it.  She had a pretty good handle on shooting the darned thing, sent the tin can targets flying with just about every shot and it was enough for me to load it up and watch her pop off the rounds.  After the first box I thought she'd be bored with it, but she wasn't.
   About halfway through the third and last box she said, "We'd better save some of these."
   "What for?"
   "In case we need them."
   I wasn't sure what we'd need them for, but it wasn't long until I found out.  I say not long, but the way it worked out, several weekends slid by before I did find out.
   Our dates were simple enough.  Somewhere along the line I'd ask her out to the show and she would smile and say, "Bring the gun."
   I did, but I left it locked away in the trunk.  Surprising to me, she never said a thing about it when I picked her up or while we were at the show.
   So that's the way our dates went for a while.  The gun stayed in the trunk, but it was buried away pretty good.  We'd go to the 101 Drive In or the Ventura Theater and after the show, cruise over to Fosters Freeze or Merles Drive In to see what was happening, check out the latest fast car, have a coke & fries and then I'd take her home where she would lay one of those killer three second kisses on me.
   I don't know about you, but that was enough to keep me going.  There was a whole lot implied in those brief little kisses.  I hated to admit it to myself, but I looked forward to those few seconds of bliss every Saturday night more than I'd ever looked forward to anything.  Christmas, birthdays, anything....

   The time finally came when I learned what she wanted the gun for.  So far, our relationship seemed like pretty normal stuff.  All except for her asking if the gun was in the car.  I figured I'd cross that bridge when I came to it and if she wanted to do something seriously illegal she'd be on her own.  I was smitten, but not that smitten.  Still though, I was curious what she wanted with the gun, but never asked.  It was all about those Saturday night good night kisses, ya know?  Sure you do.
   There were a lot of good places around Ventura to park with a beautiful young woman even if we weren't doing much parking.  Holding hands at the show and the good night kisses were about it.  At least they were until the night we got a Pizza at Tony's down by the Mission after the show and she suggested we drive up the hill to the "V" way up above town, park, eat pizza, drink beer and watch the city lights.  I was wondering where we were gonna get beer, but didn't say anything.  Once we got parked, she pulled a couple cans of beer out of her purse and plunked em down on the seat between us.  She'd swiped em out of her folks fridge.
   My thinking was calm and simple.  You know, hot pizza, beer and parked with a lovely young woman in a somewhat deserted place.  Life just couldn't have gotten any better.  Hell, I didn't care if the beer was a touch warm, the night was full of possibilities.  At least it was until we'd eaten our fill of the pizza, drank the beer and I was settling back in the seat with modest expectations and high hopes.
   Merrilee smiled, opened the glove box, looked inside and asked, "Where's the gun?"
   "Where's the gun?"
   "Yes, the gun.  Where's the gun?"
   "It's in the trunk."
   "Well, get it out."
   "Here?"
   "Yes, here."
   "We're too close to the houses to be shooting."
   "I know that.  Get it out, put it in the glove box and I'll tell you why."
   I got the * thing out, bullets and all.  I figured bullets would be the next thing she asked for so I may as well get them out now.
   First thing she asked was, "Is it loaded?"
   "No.  It's not loaded."
   "Well, load it and then put it in the glove box."
   "I don't think it's a good idea to have a loaded gun in the car and it's not a real good idea to keep it in the glove box."
   "Why?"
   "Why what?"
   "Why do you think it's a bad idea to keep it in the glove box?"
   "Geez Merrilee.  That's the first place a cops gonna look."
   "Well, you've gotten tickets before haven't you?"
   "Yes."
   "Did the cop look in the glove box then?"
   "No."
   "Well he won't look next time either."
   "Ok, but why do you want a loaded gun in the car?"
   "Remember Bobby Scott?  The guy I used to date?"
   "Yeah...."
   "Well, one night we were parked down at the beach in the pier parking lot and this bum walked up right next to the car and looked in the window.  He scared me to death."   
   "Maybe so Merrilee, but you can't go shooting people just cuz they scared you."
   "I know.  That wasn't the bad part.  After that happened, I didn't want to park down by the pier anymore.  We started going down to the river by the Montalvo golf course and it was a little scary, but at least we weren't going to have a bum stick his face in the window and scare us silly."
   "So if the bum by the pier wasn't the bad part, what was?"
   "I'm embarrassed to tell you this, but I will.  We were parked next to the river, Bobby was kissing me and I looked up and saw a cow stick its face through the open window and look in.  It scared me so bad that I just freaked out.  I started screaming and got a little hysterical and I almost couldn't stop.  Bobby was nice about it, but the next day he told his friends and they started teasing me so I broke up with him."
   "Ok, but you can't go around shooting cows either."
   "I know, but I feel better just knowing the gun is there."


   That was a more than interesting night.  Not a whole lot of necking going on, but I'd learned a few things.  At least she wasn't going to have me headed down the rough and rocky road of crime.  I figured for a while there she'd want to knock over a liquor store or something, but she was such a sweet girl I found it hard to believe she would do such a thing.  It was nice to know that all it was, was a fear.  A pretty well grounded one.  I think a bum sticking his face in the window would have scared me half to death.
   That's the way things went for a while.  I left the gun in the glove box and she pretty much quit asking about it.

   Somewhere along the line I learned that you could really impress a girl if you took her to Santa Barbara for dinner and a show.  The dinner didn't have to be anything fancy, just being out of town and especially being in Santa Barbara did the trick.  If you were early enough you could eat dinner at the coffee shop on the pier or do the seafood bit at Castagnola's on Cabrillo near the bottom of State Street.  If things were running a touch later, dinner at Carillo's great little restaurant a couple of blocks up State Street from Highway 101 was always a special treat.
 The best part of the whole thing was going to the movies at the Fox Theater.  It was a classy place that looked like it was patterned after an Italian opera house.  Taking a date to the show there never failed to make an impression.
   I figured doing the dinner bit in Santa Barbara and hitting the Fox would take our relationship a step up from the usual Saturday night at the movies and a coke afterward at Fosters Freeze or Merles Drive In.  On the way to school Wednesday morning, I asked Merrilee if she wanted to go to dinner in Santa Barbara Saturday night and go to the show at the Fox afterward.  She smiled and said yes.  It must have been the right thing to ask.  The next couple of days, every time she saw me she was smiling.

   Saturday night, driving down State Street after leaving the theater, I felt like things had gone pretty well.  Merrilee was in a good mood after dinner at Carrillo's and the show at the Fox was the topper to it all.
   Rolling home along the coast, headed east in the almost pure blackness of a dark night, the sky lit with stars and Merrilee sitting next to me made life darned near perfect.  She was leaning on my shoulder and singing softly along with the radio.  She had a good voice and it was most pleasant.
   When we hit the top of Carpinteria grade above County Line Beach, we could see that the phosphorescence was in and the breaking waves were glowing with a soft light.  The almost eerie, lime colored waves seen way down the beach and the fog bank sitting offshore near the islands were quite a contrast to the starlit sky.  It was natures own light show and like nothing we'd seen before.
   Merrilee put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Let's stop and watch the ocean for a while."
   "Ok."
   "Do you know a good spot?  Somewhere the cops aren't going to bother us?"
   "I know just the place."
   The entrance to the cattle ranch just up from the oil company where dad worked and a little ways down the road from where we were was ideal.  When we got there, the highway was empty and I swung the 53 across the other two lanes of the three lane highway, went up the short run of asphalt, rolled across the railroad tracks that paralleled the coast highway, through the wide opening in the brush, turned left and drove about a hundred yards west down a narrow dirt road to a large opening in the brush, turned left again and parked.  We were facing south, looking out over the ocean and the car was well hidden by the tall brush.  We couldn't be seen from the highway or by an oil company worker going through the gate and up to the wells on the hill behind.  It was, the perfect place.

   Somehow, things seemed different.  I felt like we were at a point in our relationship where things were going to change.  They did, but I didn't have a clue as to how much they were going to change.  Even so, I was willing to go along with wherever she wanted to go.
   Along with the change, that was the end of the little three second goodnight kisses that implied so much and left so many other things unsaid.  We'd parked before, but never like this.  Usually a few kisses and hugs along with a lot of talking was about it.
   Outside, the ocean was lost in the blackness of the night, small waves were breaking with a soft lime green glow onto the white beach and a sky full of stars was visible through the light fog.  Inside the car, we were warm and comfortable.  The radio was playing softly, the panel light gave off a gentle glow of illumination that lit the inside of the car with a soft light and Merrilee looked more beautiful than I'd ever seen her.  I was totally awed, I'd never seen anything like it.  She didn't say a word.
   I reached out to her, she turned toward me, kissed me and it seemed like no time until we were completely lost in one another.  Lost to the point where I had her dress and slips off and was fumbling with the clasp of her bra.  I'd heard guys talk about popping the * things loose with one hand, but I couldn't budge it with two hands.  She took mercy on me though.  She reached around back, popped it loose and with a shrug of her shoulders the bra slid down her arms, ended up lying on the floor and her * were . . . right there.  Right there in front of me.  It was beyond my wildest dreams.  I couldn't hardly believe it, I'd imagined what they would be like, but I didn't have a clue.  Even today I can't begin to explain it.  Perfection comes to mind and the best part was she seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was.
   I started fumbling with the clip or whatever the hell you call the garter belt thingy that held her nylons up.  I was on the road to the promised land and I wasn't gonna let a little thing like that stop me.  I popped one loose, reached for the other, she sat up, looked at the drivers side window and screamed.  I looked over and felt like screaming myself.  

There was a goddamned cow face right up against the glass and looking in the window.  That wasn't the bad part.  It would light up and go dark, light up and go dark, and now it seemed the whole car was lighting up.  I didn't see Merrilee get the gun out of the glove box and I didn't know what the hell was happening even after she started shooting.  Right in front of me and I didn't think to grab her hand.  All I could do was lean back in the seat, way back and stay out of the line of fire.  The old Ruger, which really wasn't that old, was a single action.  Just like the old six shooters the cowboys in the movies used and it had to be cocked every time you fired it.  I don't know where the hell Merrilee learned to fan the hammer with the trigger held down.  I sure as hell never showed her that little trick.  She emptied all six shots at the window before I had a chance to say anything.  Trouble was, the window was rolled up and right after the last shot, the cow reared up or back or whatever the hell it was, cut around the front of the car and went running up the tracks to the west like a one cow stampede.  Next thing we knew the whole world lit up, the concussion from the noise hit us like a bomb going off, the car shook and the cow went flying across the hood in front of us and disappeared out of sight.  When my mind returned to some semblance of normalcy, I realized it was the Southern Pacific Coast Starlight passenger train roaring by at 70 - 75 per about twenty feet away.
   I looked over at Merrilee and she was gone.  I looked in the back seat, no Merrilee.  I flipped on the headlights, got out of the car and there she was, just a few feet from the right front fender.  She was screaming, standing there in the cold night air, just standing there screaming wearing nothing but her high heels, nylons and panties.  Her * bobbled up and down with each scream and the bad part was, she was waving the gun around.  I wasn't real sure it was empty and I didn't know whether to stand there and look or try to get the gun away from her.
   I finally started thinking rationally.  Kinda hard to do for a while there.  My heart was going about nine hunnert miles an hour and Merrilee standing there half undressed didn't make it any easier.  I walked over, put my arms around her and pulled the gun gently out of her hand.  When I looked up at the rapidly disappearing Starlight I could see the light from the Mars headlight or whatever the hell you call it waving around and realized that was what caused the cows face to light up and go dark.  If we hadn't been parked down in the brush like we were we probably would have realized the train was coming.  As it was, the train was right on top of us before we knew what was happening.
   I let go of Merrilee and held the car door open for her.  I wasn't sure what to think, but it was obvious the fun and games were over and it was a touch chilly out.  After that little escapade, thoughts about sex were forgotten . . . well . . . more for her than for me, but I wasn't going to push her.





   I shut the door, walked around to the drivers side, got in and shut the headlights off.  Merrilee was sitting there in the dim glow of the panel light and not saying anything.  She looked like she was going to start crying.  That made about as much sense as anything else considering what had gone on in the last couple of minutes.  When I looked a little closer I could see her eyes were closed and she was holding her hands in her lap.  She didn't seem bothered in the least that she was still half dressed.  It looked like her mind was far, far away.  It wasn't long until the tears started rolling down her face.  She didn't make a sound, she just sat there.  Right up till then, it had been sorta pleasant even if it was a little confusing . . . ok . . . a whole lot confusing....
   I said, "Merrilee, you need to get dressed."
   She turned, looked at me and said, "I know."
   She didn't seem in any particular hurry to get dressed and finally she said, "Leave."
   "Leave?"
   "Yes, leave!  Start the car and get me out of here.  I don't want to be here anymore."
   I fired up the car, turned the heater blower on, reached into the back seat, retrieved her slips and dress, set them down between us, leaned down, picked her bra up off the floor and put it in her lap.
   I waited for her to start getting dressed, she sat there not saying a word and tears were still running down her cheeks.
   Finally I said, "Merrilee, get dressed."
   "I will, just start driving."
   Kinda strange to say the least, but whatever she wanted was ok with me.  I backed out, turned east, headed toward the crossing and had to stop just short of it.  Geez . . . there was the dead cow lying across the narrow dirt road and there was no way to go around it.  Merrilee looked at me and I looked at her and didn't say a word.  It was kinda tough to meet her eye to eye cuz she was still bare breasted and as appealing as ever if not more so.
   Merrilee got a little mad and said, "Drive over the * thing!"
   "I can't Merrilee, it's clear across the road."
   "Yes you can.  Just take a run at it."
   "No I can't.  The car will get hung up and then we'll be sitting on a dead cow."
   "Well, do you want to sit here until someone finds us and then puts two and two together?"
   "No."
   She sat there looking at me and I was looking at her.  I wasn't exactly sure what she was thinking, but me trying to put together a sensible plan of attack was kinda tough with her sitting there like she was.




   She said, "Are you worried about scratching the cars paint?"
   "Not really."
   "Well there's room to drive into the brush a little ways and then all you'll have to drive over are the cows legs."
   That seemed reasonable.  I was pretty sure someone would be along before too long.  It didn't seem like the Starlight engineer would have missed the sound of the engine hitting the cow.  He probably saw it as well.  Don't know why, the whole thing made me think about cowcatchers.  The Starlight didn't catch any cows, but it knocked em out of the way pretty good.
   Merrilee sat back in the seat, I put the car in gear and thought about what I was going to do.  The brush was about six feet high and I figured better to plow right on through than do the pussyfoot bit and get stuck in the brush.
   Jeezus . . . never in a million years did I think I'd be in a car out in the middle of nowhere with a more than beautiful bare breasted woman and about to run over a cow.
   I revved up the engine and took a little run at it.  It worked out pretty good considering.  The brush didn't let the car go in too deep and we ended up running over the cows back legs a little higher up than I thought.  Besides the cracking and crunching sounds along with the noise the brush made on the side of the car, the only bad moment was when the rear tire spun on the cow and the car went a little sideways.  Burning rubber on a dead cow was way down on the list of things I never thought I'd do.
   I guess I got the guiltys then.  I drove across the tracks, rolled to the bottom of the little hill, checked for traffic and took off for Ventura.  And Merrilee was still sitting there bare breasted and hadn't made a move to get dressed.  I had mixed emotions about that.  I mean, the view was great, no doubt about that, but I was a little guilty and figured we were gonna get stopped by the cops before too much longer.

   When we crossed the Rincon railroad bridge, I took one last look at Merrilee and somehow I knew this was the last time I'd ever see her this way and determined to stick the more than delightful sight into my memory.  A pleasant remembrance for a cold night I suppose.
   Merrilee looked at me like she was going say something and I said, "Get dressed Merrilee.  We're gonna be in town in just a minute."









   She didn't say anything, put on her bra, put her slips on over her head, got them squared away, pulled the dress over her head and was getting that squared away and then she pulled the dress and slips darned near up to her waist and was twisting things around so they were just right or comfortable or something.  I guess I was watching too close and when I looked up I wasn't far from hitting the abutment on the Ventura River bridge.  I cranked on the steering wheel so hard that the car started into a slide and when I overcorrected it went into a slide the other way.  I got it squared away after that one, looked at the end of the bridge and there was one of Ventura's finest sitting there in his black and white cop car with an expression on his face like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
   The cop car fired up, the red lights went on, the headlights went on and right there I knew I was screwed.  I didn't even try to play the innocent.  I pulled over near the Cottage Café and sat there waiting.  It didn't take long, seemed like it was just a few seconds and the cop car pulled in behind us.  I watched in the rear view mirror as the officer got out and then I looked at the side window.  Jeezus . . . there were six bullet holes through it, about two inches down from the top and they were all so close together a dollar bill could have covered them.  I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it until now.  I cranked the window down, hoping all the while I wasn't looking like a madman winding away on the window crank.
   The cop walked up and said, "Step out of the car."
   I did.
   He shined a flashlight in my face and asked, "Been drinking?"
   "No sir."
   "What are you doing out this late?"
   "Coming back from the show in Santa Barbara sir."
   "Let me guess.  You took your date to the Fox theater didn't you?"
   "Yes sir.  How did you know that?"
   "Think you're the first guy to try and impress a girl by taking her to the Fox?  Give me your license please."
   I gave him my license, he looked at it, looked in the car at the registration in the steering column holder and then looked at Merrilee.  She was smiling at him with her oughta be patented light up the room smile and didn't say anything.  The cop smiled back and didn't say a word to her.  Just tipped his hat with his hand a little bit.
   He looked at me and asked, "How come you almost hit the bridge on your way in?"
   Took me a few seconds to think up the answer to that one.
   I said, "I was talking to my girl friend and I got distracted."
   "Well . . . she's a pretty girl, but you ought to pull over somewhere and park if you're going to be paying that much attention to her."
   With that, he gave my license back, walked to the cop car and got in.
   I got in my car, the cop car red lights went out, he pulled around us and drove up Main Street.
   I looked over at Merrilee to say something and then I realized why the cop smiled at her and recommended we go park somewhere.  Her dress was still unbuttoned down the front, part of it was pulled up around her waist and part of it was pulled down over her knees, but you could see the side of her legs darned near all the way up to her panties.  It was pretty obvious that she'd given it a quick yank over her knees, but it didn't really cover up her legs like perhaps she thought it should.
   I guess the cop figured that was his treat for the evening even if it was two o'clock in the morning.  Merrilee smiled, covered up her legs with the dress, buttoned it up and didn't say a word the rest of the way home.
   When we got there, she gave me a kiss on the cheek, got out and went inside without a word.  Couldn't blame her I guess.  It had been one hell of an evening.
   It was a bit of a cool ride home with the window rolled down, but I wasn't taking any chances.  It was pretty obvious what the holes were and I figured any cop who saw them would be looking in the glove box not long after.
   I left the window rolled down when I parked the car in the garage as well.  No reason to let dad in on the little secret.  I could see myself walking for a couple weeks at the least and maybe for longer if he knew what had gone on.  I had the good sense to pack the Ruger away in the trunk before I went in.  It ended up in there for a while.  In fact, for quite a while and somewhere along the line the tip of the barrel got rustier than all get out and to my eyes the gun was pretty much ruined.
   Sunday morning, I got up right after dad took off for the golf course, got dressed, grabbed an old jacket I didn't much care for, went out to the garage, tossed the jacket into the car and took off.  I drove down to the bamboo grove beside the river just up from the beach where I'd taken Merrilee shooting.  After I made sure no one was around, I rolled the drivers window up and slammed a big rock against it.  It took a couple of tries before the holes from the bullets could be torn away, but I didn't want any evidence of what happened remaining on the car.  After that, throwing the old jacket into the slowly running trickle of water and watching it float away was no big deal and no big loss.  I wasn't going to miss the * thing.  
   When I got home I was picking up and sweeping the broken glass out of the car when mom came out.
   She looked at the broken window and asked, "What happened?"
   "Someone broke in and I guess the window was the easiest way to do it."
   "Did they take anything?"
   "Just that old green jacket of mine."
   "Well, thank goodness.  At least no one got hurt.  I never did like that jacket anyway.  It's not the right color for you and I don't know why your dad picked it out."
   Couple of days later I had a new window from the junkyard installed and a couple days after that mom bought me a new jacket.  Proving I guess, that crime does pay.  Now and then anyway....

   Merrilee and I dated a couple more times, but something had gone out of the relationship and things weren't the same as they once were.  She was nice about it, but it didn't seem like she was really enjoying herself and we pretty much drifted apart.
   Not long after, high school came to an end when we all graduated.  Merrilee and her sister took off for college and I didn't see her again for a long time.
   Somewhere in here, I met a personable and beautiful young woman and not long after we got married.  I got a good job with a good company that promised a good future.  We moved away from Ventura and only went back once in a while to visit friends and family.

   On one of our visits, my mom handed me a clipping from the paper with Merrilee's picture in it.  It was an engagement announcement.  It surprised me, but not too much.  The real surprising part was that she was engaged to Bobby Scott.  Bobby was ok, but sometimes he was a touch dense around girls and about girls.  I wondered if he knew just how lucky he was.
   A while after that, I heard that Merrilee and Bobby were getting married at the Mission.  The Mission is one of the California Missions and had a rich history.  It was the right place for a good Catholic girl like Merrilee to get married.
   I wasn't invited, but I went to the wedding anyway.  The doors were closed when I got there so I waited on the steps outside.  The wedding came to an end, the doors opened, the bride and groom walked outside into the bright Ventura sunshine and I saw Merrilee for the first time in about five years.  If anything, she was more beautiful than ever.  She was so caught up in the moment that she never saw me.
   Bobby and Merrilee walked down the steps while people threw rice, smiled and  applauded.  While Bobby was helping her into the car, I walked down the steps, out onto the sidewalk and down the street for a little ways.  Just so I could have one more look.  Bobby got into the car, fired it up and started pulling away.
   I was standing a couple of car lengths up the sidewalk when Merrilee saw me.  She had a surprised look on her face and then she smiled her beautiful smile.  She leaned out of the car a little ways, formed her hand into the shape of a gun, pointed it at me, pulled the make believe trigger, blew the imaginary smoke from the imaginary barrel, waved and blew me a kiss.

   I never saw her again....

                                                                  * * *





Same gun, different barrel, new girl.   

Had a great time at the annual Kingman Air & Auto show.

Airplanes and all that goes along with it.


Planes this year, several of some types.

US - Warthog, F-18, B-25 Mitchell's, F6F Hellcat, P-51D, F8F Bearcat, C-47's, AT-6's, Boeing/Stearman biplane trainers(5), T34 Mentors, T33.
The scheduled B-17G lost two engines Friday and didn't make it.

English - Hawker Sea Fury, Fairey Battle, Spitfire, I think a Typhoon.




The car show was great, saw all the cars didn't spend too much time there because I was doing the drag race Fandango.
A couple of pics for your perusal.

No one quite believed the first lineup.


One of my favorite pics.
That ain't engine smoke hazing off the tires at high gear at 82 or so.


Gotta admit, my first time on a 1/8th mile track.
Helluva long shutoff though.

Biggest diference I saw was after the launch you were so * busy you didn't have time to check oil press etc.
Not a problem, got an RPM chip in the MSD, but didn't bang up against it.
There's also an oil press safety shutoff switch.
It drops the fuel pump out at about 7-8 psi.
Course, by that time the bearings are gone and the fire started.

And there are conversion tables etc. if you want to see how you compare to 1/4 mile times.

At least I still hold the record as N/W Arizona's fastest Buick powered black 32 roadster on street tires.
The big BFG's are soft and work well.

And yeah, the rumors are true, I went straight to the local speed shop Monday morning and bought the Centerlines and slicks that had been sitting there for a couple of months.

I think some kind of bug bit me....

The Redheads and the Matched Pair of 1890's      

The oil patch along the SoCal coast - and any other oil lease areas - turned out some very muscular and confident young men.
Many of them deal with heavy weights in a dangerous, fast moving and slippery area.
Toss in some body surfing and ocean swimming along with a little skindiving, sandlot hardball at the college's well groomed diamond and it all added up over time,

More than a few beauteous young ladies were surprised to see some of these presumed to be poor and on the wrong side of the tracks guys strip down at the beach.
Surprised because they didn't realize they'd be so sexually attracted to them.

Now and then, they'd see them around town in an older, well cared for and well tuned car wearing either dirty oilfield levi's & t-shirt or their newer clean t-shirt.
Most times with their similarly dressed pal's.
Times like that there was no particular interest from the neatly turned out girls.

Sometimes a lucky oil field guy would get a date from one of these mostly unobtainable young ladies and who knows, maybe it was the young ladies who were the lucky ones.

Not long after, they'd go too far and some of the girls gained weight rapidly for a few months.
A few of the idiot townie's would ask why and usually the girl involved in that conversation answered that it was too many pizza's and beer and leave as soon as it was polite.

Yeah, pregnant or not, they were embarrassed and who the hell could blame them.
Some of the girls were gutsy and just told them that she was pregnant and that they could kiss her *.

More than a few of them figured that would be a great place to do some *-kissing and they'd be pleased to do so.
That was when the fights started and more than a few townie's got their butts kicked by the slender appearing and more than tough and strong oil field guys.

More than a few times the girl's with middle manager exec type father's would drag down the old hunting rifle or shotgun and go after the daughters boy friend.

Things happened sometimes.
Bad thing's.
Some father's died, some young men died, but most times each realized the futility of their position and went home after more than a few bitter words and recriminations.
Here it is fifty years later and the hurt and hate from one family to the other is still there.

The daughter did what pregnant, unmarried girl's have always done.
They went to school out of state if they could, but whether they went to school or not, they ended up living at an aunt & uncles until the dust settled.

Not long after their return you'd see them pushing a baby carriage or the like and once in a while there would be a happy ending with a marriage and a child new to the world.

Other times the new mom would end up single for a lot of reasons.
The Vietnamese war was heating up, the drug and hippie era was in full bloom, many young men were running off to Canada and it was easy for a * guy to disappear no matter the reason.
The fatherless child would grow up in the girls family home and once locals realized what had happened, the general thought was the child was better off in a stable home with a mom and two loving grandparents.

It was interesting to see - in this case - the girl's red haired child running with the red haired child of an oil field guy and a blonde girl new to the town and the state as well.
They were best friends and many times both families let it go and it was just another family skeleton in the big, muchly used closet that most families have.
Long hidden secrets could come to light years and generation's later.
Some of them exactly what the town thought, but didn't truly know and some that were a total surprise.


Strangest part about this story is the father of the girl, a Mr. Armstrong, the local bank president tried to shoot an oilfield guy named Michael, got a round off and the classic old Winchester pump 22WRF ended up with a barrel bent at about 90 degrees, a crushed receiver and a severely damaged walnut stock that was still beautifully figured, but now useless.

Out on the C.C.M.O. lease, well 19A, the lease just east of La Conchita near the Ventura-Santa Barbara county line is where Mr. Armstrong caught up with the perceived miscreant.

The old man didn't expect the big compressor at the plant down the hill to blow the relief valve and the loud noise scared him, but it was a commonly experienced noise in the oil fields.
Michael took the 22 rifle away from the old man without hurting him, stuck the barrel into a solid as a rock  4" guard pipe on the rig steps and bent hell out of it.
Then he crushed the receiver & stock in the big Wilton vise on the back of the electricians truck and handed it gently back to the old man.

That was the end of the Armstrong family's matched pair of octagonal barrel Winchester's.
The 22 caliber 1890 was ok, but the WRF was pretty much a goner.
The two rifles came down off their mantlepiece display and were stored away.
As far as I know the 22 caliber was never fired again and ended up lying at the bottom of the dresser drawer collecting a bit of surface rust in the humid and sometimes salty air of the Ventura, California coast.

Michael married the daughter and came to be accepted as a loved member of the Armstrong family.

Mr. Armstrong, a pretty lovable old guy his own self outlived Gail's mom by quite a few years.
He wasn't what you'd call a character, but he did have a strange sense of humor.
I don't know how old he was when he attended Michael's retirement party.
Michael, now 65 was completely stunned when he opened the long and slender package.
Inside were the two 1890's . . . the almost perfect 22 caliber and the almost totally destroyed 22 WRF.

The 22 WRF had a beautifully finished walnut stock, a straight and almost new barrel installed, but the old man couldn't find a new or even an old receiver to complete the repairs.
Just as well I suspect, it was almost to the point similar to the old story about Abraham Lincoln's old axe.

I'm pretty sure you know that story, but that's about all I'm going to say about Michael and Gail other than to mention I'm a redhead, still have the 1890's, my family still works in the oil fields and I grew up in Ventura, California.....



The 1890's.


An interesting area of old Ventura.


An author photo for a book written around the three bracelets in the photo.
Done as a couple since a lot of Gail is in the book and the bracelets are key players over 50 years and two continents.


A photo of me circa 1949 or so.




Translucent can be very clear at times....

Maybe it's always done it and I never noticed it, but I note on startup all the instruments swing to full deflection on the high end after the engine is running then all return to zero and finally go to the normal indications.

Nothing else is going on and the engine runs ok, all accessories work fine and the mileage - which I keep track of - is the same.

Some kind of self-diagnostic deal?

Or am I just not paying attention? :oops:  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Does someone have a source for the computerized ignition keys?

You can program them yourself if you have both keys.
If only one - or none - Ford $$$$ has to do it.


I'm wondering too if a junkyard key could be over-written like a tape recorder does to the same tape time and again?

My daughter got a nice little Ranger pickup a few weeks back.
Club cab, 6' bed, etc.

We're noticing a vibration that comes in at 60 mph and smooths out a couple mph faster.

I thought at first it was a bad balancing job on the new tires we just put on, but re-balancing didn't help.

This morning I checked the wheels and tires for runout and they were ok.

Took a look at the driveshaft to see if it had too much runout and to my surprise found a two piece driveshaft.

The intermediate bearing looks to be fairly sloppy and I'd guess they're not supposed to be that way.
(First one I was ever involved with.)
It moves around quite a bit inside what looks like a seal . . . as viewed from the rear.

The vibration is definitely coming from the drive train area, we jacked up the truck and spun it up to 70 mph and could feel the vibration come and go.

I would think that a bad intermediate bearing would vibrate at any speed, but apparently not.

Do they tend to come in and out of vibration like a mis-balanced tire will do sometimes?

Light Tech


Here's something that may be of interest to those of you who run early cars with early taillights.
A pair of 39's in this case, but we'll also take a quick look at the ever popular 50 Pontiac lights.

What you'll see is some direct comparisons to the old faithful #1157 bulb as well as candlepower listed for each bulb tested.
I probably should have taken some amp readings, but Candlepower (CP) will tell you pretty much the same thing.

All incandescent non-Halogen light bulbs were purchased at WalMart.
Which, translated, means you can get them at most places that sell auto oriented bulbs.

All CP readings were taken from 5" away in an attempt to preclude ambient light from having an affect.
All CP readings were on the taillight circuit.
CP read was directly from the bulb with the red lense removed.

Voltage for the lights was sourced from my pickup parked nearby.
It's a 2002 Ford F150 SuperCrew and has a large capacity battery.
Along with that, the taillights on the 31 were fed with 8' of 14 gage wire which comes close to approximating the typical taillight wire length and size in most hot rods.

Voltages noted with each photo pair were taken with a digital voltmeter connected to where the taillight wiring was connected to the source wiring.
An 8' long single 14 gage ground wire was run and connected to the right side taillight body.
The 31's body is primered steel fwiw.
As is obvious, the taillights and stoplights would have been 5% - 8% brighter if the engine was running, but voltages with the engine off were fairly close so test indications compare favorably with one another.

Before we get too far along, a comment on what some vendors call "Bright Bulbs."
It would be interesting to see what these actually are, but imo they're nothing more than a bulb designed and manufactured to reach it's rated maximum brilliance at a lower voltage than the usual auto combo taillight/stoplight bulb.
Bulbs that fit a particular socket or receptacle are manufactured in many different voltage ratings.

When I worked at the power company it was common for newbies to stick a 24 volt bulb into a 48 volt socket.
The results were always interesting, either a bright flash or a growing brilliance for 2-3 seconds until the bulb blew it's filament.
Other way round, a 48 volt bulb in a 24 volt socket would barely glow.
When a slightly lower voltage bulb was installed into a higher voltage socket, light bulb brilliance was sufficient and they lasted a long, long time.
The bulbs of differing voltage ratings were used as indicator lights so a loss in brilliance didn't
affect things too much.
It would be interesting to see just how long Bright Bulbs last.
Imo, not as long as a standard bulb.

Want a house incandescent bulb that'll last a long time?
Buy bulbs rated at 130 volts instead of the more common 120 volt bulbs.
Available at Home Despair and like places.


The garage - where the pics were taken - has all lights off and it's somewhat dim in there.
In other words, not quite as bright as shown in the pics due to the camera tries to make up for the lack of light.
The camera - a small digi-cam by Canon, Model #A540 - had the flash turned off for all pics.
Sorta like early dusk in the garage in a manner of speaking.

This first photo shows four of the lights we'll be testing.
Set up in a home-made fixture.
I thought we'd get some good comparisons here, but in the pic all the bulbs look about the same.
All bulbs on the taillight circuit.
Bulbs used (left to right) 1157, 1157LL, 2057 & 2357LL
I believe the LL stands for Long Life.



Photo #2 showing three bulbs - also on the taillight circuit - are (left to right) 1157, P21-5W & a 5 watt Halogen.
The Halogen bulb available at Bob Drake re-pro parts.
It's a well made unit and will stand a bit of handling compared to some of the fragile looking double Halogen bulbs on one base.
Like always, if you want the Halogen bulbs to last, don't touch them with your bare fingers.
Latex gloves seem to work well and the original pair of Bob Drake Halogens I had in the 32 lasted 3-4 years before one of them failed.


As you can see, the Halogen bulb throws a lot of light.
Seen in the pic and also seen in CP readings . . . more on that in a bit.


The photos will be self-explanatory to an extent.
Additional things listed will be bulb type, CP (CandlePower) and voltage.

Keep in mind the left taillight will be the one with differing bulbs.
The right taillight will run a standard #1157 bulb as supplied by Bob Drake who also supplied the 39 taillights . . . which are very nice lights.

The first photo of the pairs posted will be taillights and the second photo will show the stoplights.


This first pic in the series has a P21-5W bulb installed.
Voltage = 11.94
CP = 10





Photo pair #2, 2357LL bulb installed.
Voltage = 12.34
CP = 9





Photo pair #3, 2057 bulb installed.
Voltage = 12.26
CP = 5





Photo pair #4, 1157LL bulb installed.
Voltage = 12.24
CP = 6





Photo pair #5, Halogen bulb installed.
Voltage = 12.02
CP = 70 - not a misprint, 70 is the CP.





Photo pair #6, 1157 bulb installed, a match both brand-wise and age-wise to the 1157 bulb in the right side taillight.
Voltage = 12.27V
CP = 9






Here's a small bonus to see how the popular 50 Pontiac taillight compares to the 39.
Visual only, no voltage or CP readings were taken.
I did this test because my pal's full fendered 29 roadster with Pontiac taillights - with blue dots to boot - look brighter than the 39 taillights in my 32.
And in fact I bought a pair of Pontiac taillights - sans blue dots - with the thought that I'd have a nice bright taillight.

I was surprised to see the Pontiac taillights were about the same size as the 39's and brightness seemed the same.
Both the Pontiac and 39 taillights in these photos have black painted buckets.

To top it off, my pal's (equipped with the original 1157 bulbs) has a black painted bucket as well.
My 32 has a bright silver painted bucket.
Paint used was "Chrome" as noted on the label and it's pretty reflective.
Even so, Digger Dave ran some tests some time back and reported that white paint has the best reflectivity as measured by his light meter.
It'll be white paint for me whenever I can get to it.

Here's the Pontiac vs the 39 taillight.





Most of you probably know this, but when you buy re-pro Dietz or King Bee headlights as utilized by A's, 32's etc. they usually come with a standard seal beam light.
For about $9. you can get a Halogen sealed beam at WalMart that's a direct easy to bolt in replacement.
Same plug etc.
The difference in light between the two styles is flat amazing.      


I learned a few things about light bulbs during this little investigation.
Some bulbs do better than others, but the Halogen bulb is the hands down winner.
I understand the Halogen bulb pulls 5 amps and the standard 1157 pulls 1 amp on the taillight circuit.
Fuse your system accordingly.
Use adequate size wiring as well, 14 gage should do it for most of us.

One thing I think would help extend the life of the Halogen bulbs would be to vent the taillight housing.
Early car housings are quite small compared to the large taillight housings found on modern cars and heat doesn't dissipate as fast as it should.
To that end some kind of filtered air exchange device would help to extend the life of the Halogen bulbs.
Filtered to keep dust out of the housing.
If dust is allowed in, the taillight's light output will be diminished.
Lots of ways to do it so I'll leave that part to your imagination.


Over the years I've seen some beautiful cars that were equipped with too-small taillights.
Sorta asking for it to an extent.
It behooves us to use as bright a light as possible and as large as is aesthetically pleasing.
The cars we run are usually small, many times with dark non-reflective - read flat - paint and they're difficult to see.

The third stoplight is a viable option and a good idea imo.
I have one, rather ugly and billety, but I think it's saved the day more than a few times.

A good looking third stoplight is easy to set up so it's bright and blends in with the lines of the car.

More on that another time....

Am I correct that the older - but not too old, 15-20 years - Stewart Warner fuel level gauge takes a 0-90 ohm sender?

Need to swap fuel tanks and the new one comes with a 0-90 ohm sender.

Part of the thinking about this oil/air separator is getting a little altitude into the PCV system as well as pulling the air/oil mix through a separation medium.

Altitude seems to help some competition cars that weep oil at the breathers.
Owners will mount a pair of breathers up high on the firewall and plumb them individually to the rocker covers on each side.
Many times the aftermarket cast aluminum breathers don't have adequate baffling and a little added height helps.

Height is part of the deal for the comp car guys and adding a semi-filtration medium to a closed PCV system seems to help on the street.
Said medium needing to flow air without much resistance.

The overall length of the separator body is 9".
Body length sans caps is 7 3/4"
The body is 2" OD x .120 wall aluminum tube.

The bottom cap is tapped 1/4-NPT and a right angle Earls aluminum fitting installed.

The fitting is pipe thread to 3/8" fuel line hose.
The bottom cap is epoxied to the body with JB Weld which is an excellent way to do some of this stuff.
TIG is nice, I have one, but JB is a lot quicker than dragging the TIG out and setting it up.

Upper cap has a single O-ring groove machined into it.
The upper part of the body ID has a smooth chamfer to give the O-ring an easy entrance.
A touch of engine oil is used to make things easy.

The upper cap is also machined to accept a PCV valve - SBC in this case -and the Buick grommet seen in one of the pics.

The mount bracket is machined 1/4-20 for a set screw, but an allen was used since I was out of set screws.

The separator is a little rough, especially the bracket and that's because it's in prototype form.
No use polishing things up if it turns out not to work.

Filtering medium is one full hunk - two come in a box - of stainless Brawny brand pot scrubber easily obtained at most any grocery store.
You can get copper pot scrubber if you prefer, look for Chore-Boy brand.
Both of these products look a bit like a pile of lathe cuttings/shavings and won't cut your hands.

Un-sophisticated testing - as in blowing through the hose, separator and PCV Valve with the separator body empty and doing it again with the body packed with the Brawny stainless steel stuff shows very little added resistance to air flow.

Along with having to run uphill, the oil is further impeded by the filtering medium - which is not there to filter, but to catch oil as the oil/air mix passes through and allow drainback.


This first pic shows the home-made fittings that plug into the original PCV grommet at the rear of the intake manifold
The straight fitting was used and as you can see in the 2nd pic, the line runs uphill to the fitting then turns down which isn't good because oil will collect and probably enter the intake manifold on start up.

The bottom line needs to be downhill all the way so oil will drain back from the separator at low speeds and when the engine's shut down.
The line in the pic ended up going uphill.



I ended up making another fitting, this one with a 90 degree turn built in so the line would run downhill.



The next two pics are an overall view.



As you can see, crankcase oil/air is picked up at the bottom of the separator via the hose plugged into the original PCV valve grommet at the rear of the intake manifold.

The PCV valve at the top of the separator feeds mostly oil-free air into the PCV bib at the back of the intake manifold proper.

The pics show the drainback line running uphill due to the straight fitting, but with the 90 degree fitting in place the line runs downhill all the way.

I'm fairly sure this setup would work fine with a shorter body on the separator.
32's have a fairly tall engine compartment, but the one in my roadster is getting crowded.

So far, the separator seems to be doing the job.
No smoke apparent on a half throttle run up a freeway on-ramp..
A short full throttle run through 2nd gear didn't show any smoke either, but I really need to make a hard, full throttle 1st & 2nd gear run.
Haven't had a chance to do it so far.

After doing a full throttle run the intake manifold will get pulled since the stock Buick sheet metal bathtub style intake gasket has been removed.
That done a short time back due to I blew a head gasket and no intake gaskets were available locally - for two weeks.
I ended up making a pair of intake gaskets from .030 Velumoid paper.
They work quite well.


The old bathtub style intake gasket will have the intake & water ports cut away and the bathtub installed over the valley then the new Fel-Pro Print-O-Seal intake gaskets will be installed.
While I'm in there I'm going to install a machined breather/crankcase air pickup of my own design just below the stock PCV location which is now the crankcase air pickup area for the oil/air separator.
The combination of the bathtub and internal breather should make it all work pretty well.

Nice part about running the car like it is now - sans bathtub which keeps hot oil off the underside of the intake manifold and also keeps most of the flying oil away from the original, stock location PCV valve - it makes for a good test for the oil/air separator.

Disregard the filthy engine compartment.
It's mostly dust.
I live next to a dirt road and it's tough to keep the car clean.
Not to mention too darned cold to wash it during the winter.

I drive the roadster during winter, 16 degrees F being a personal best.
Up till then, 26 degrees was the lowest temp I'd had it out in.
Thought I was doing good until a Harley rider cruised past....

Enjenjo posted an excellent tech article on making column drops and the like a while back.

Ed - pretty sure it was - posted a pic of one with nicely rounded edges.

I understand this was done with a wood router.

I'm fairly sure a carbide router bit with ball-bearing guide was used.

Did you cut the rounded edge in one pass or were several done?
Variable speed router?
Mine's a fixed speed - 30,000 rpm fwiw.

I have several American made carbide router bits with ball bearings, but don't have the one in the radius I want.

I do have some cheap-o Chinese carbide ball-bearing bits - new in the box at a garage sale, couldn't resist - that are the right size and will probably work ok in wood.
I am wondering if the bit you used to round your aluminum column drop was made in the US?
I don't mind getting one if necessary and have to go to Home Despair today anyway.

I know I could give it a shot with the Chinese bits and see what happens, but thought I'd ask first.


Like many, I haven't got a lot of faith in Chinese tools, but will note that the Chinese made carbide lathe bits work well and last a long time turning metal in my lathe.
I'll also note that these bits are about ten years old and quality may have gone downhill.


Reason I ask, I've got my oil/air separator done in prototype form and it's installed.
I haven't done a full throttle run to see if it is going to work, but a couple of 1/2 - 3/4 throttle runs look promising.

I'm kinda bad about making 'stuff' in finished form; buffing etc., but this time around decided to save some time and make the device up to the prototype brushed aluminum finish stage with 90 degree edges in case it didn't work out and becomes another pretty thing hanging on the "Wall of Shame" where the not-used or failed projects go.

Nice part about the gadget is, disassembly is easy and bringing it to a more acceptable level of finish should be easy as well.

After I run the car a little more and decide if the sparator does what it's supposd to I'll post some pics and text.

I picked up an aluminum tank A/C dryer at the junkyard yesterday.

Off a mid-80's or so Chevy pickup - I think, they all look alike to me.

Anyway, what does the dryer do, how does it do it and what's the stuff/thing on the inside?
Am I correct in thinking it's some kind of membrane?
It seems to have a pink tinge to it.

Plans are to use the tank for another purpose and I'll probably end up cutting it open to remove the stuff inside along with adapting some smaller fittings to the huge ones It came with.

I would guess the stuff inside would be compatible with oil and if it didn't take up too much volume I could leave the tank un-cut and use it as is.

Here's a few figures I ran while calculating the differences between differential ratio's and tire sizes.            
With the aim being how a 3.25 or 3.50 diff for the 31 roadster compares against the 3.70 diff in my 32 roadster.

What folks forget sometimes is you can make fairly large changes in the overall rear axle ratio by simply swapping tire size.
And if you don't make too large of a diff ratio change and run a similarly sized tire - not too much larger or smaller in diameter than the tire used for the base comparison - you may not have gained much.

Tires involved in these calculations are the 29" tall tires on the 32 and the 28" tall tires on the 31.
Interestingly, the 28" tall tire is about the same height as the 8.20 x 15 bias plies that were popular back in the day.
The 8.20 wasn't too much of a change over the 6.70 x 15 tires that came stock on 50 Shoeboxes, but if you ran the stock 3.78 diff gear's (from memory, so bear with me here) the 8.20's could drag things down a bit.

Shoeboxes that had overdrive transmissions ran (factory installed) 4.10 diff gears so the jump to the larger diameter tire didn't drag these cars down too much.
Even so, the bigger tires which took more effort to turn and had more traction helped to a considerable degree in breaking the decidedly weak Shoebox driveline stuff.

One thing that was a saver here was when we swapped an OHV engine in and utilized the stronger transmission that either came with the engine or a different brand transmission that bolted to - factory bellhousing or aluminum aftermarket adapter - the engine did the trick most times.
The weak link then was the Shoebox rear axle.
These things seemed to break axles at the least provocation.

That problem solved when we discovered that the Ford and Merc 49 to about 54 or so Spicer rear axles out of station wagons were a bolt-in.
A bonus with these was to find an overdrive car because the diff ratio in those was 4.27.
Another plus were the 11" brakes as vs the standard passenger car 10" brakes.

Along with this swap, other than the low ratio which added a lot to the car's performance capabilities we learned about brake balance.
A few highway type panic stops where the car tried to switch ends had us going back to the junkyard and grabbing the 11" front drum brakes off the station wagons.
It made for an excellent brake system and the hot setup was to install Velvetouch linings.
Velvetouch linings were favored in aircraft and the circle burner gang used em in their race cars as well.
With the lining being made of Sintered (finely ground) metal and a ceramic binder baked in a very hot oven - over 1000 degrees for a specific amount of time - made for a fairly fade-proof brake shoe for highway and mountain driving as well as drag racing.
Never had a Velvetouch lining fade.
Raybestos - brand name - 'hard' linings worked fairly well in the street performance venue as well.
Their 'soft' linings had an easier pedal, but wore faster and faded easier.

The Spicer rear axles were fairly bulltproof all things considered.
Especially so for the power levels we were running - which was around 250 horsepower for mildly built overheads and the stronger street runners were pumping out about 300 horsepower.
Not much horsepower when compared to the engines of today, stock or built, but it was enough power to get the job done most times and considering the lightweight cars the engines were in, things worked out pretty well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The formulas used for these calculations are the standard ones for figuring percentages as well as an old standard.

The old standard being:

TD x RPM divided by AR x 336

TD = Tire Diameter
RPM = you know this one . . . and if you don't, maybe you're in the wrong place.
AR = Axle Ratio
336 = K or the constant

Like any other math formula if you have enough knowns you can solve for the any of the unknowns.

And like always, there's an easy way to do things as well as some shortcuts.
To make life easy, use 1000 RPM when you do the TD x RPM bit.
That will give you a constant for that particular diff ratio and you can do some basic math to find MPH at a particular RPM and better yet to find the RPM for a particular MPH.

RPM at highway speeds is what most of us are concerned with.
We don't want to end up with an engine spinning 3800 RPM at moderate highway speeds.
Nor do we want it running too low on the RPM scale and lugging.

I've always heard and it seems to hold true for heavier vehicles is that you should gear for the desired highway speed at the engines RPM rating for maximum torque.
In the case of our hot rods some estimates will have to be made, but it won't make too much difference since hot rods are fairly lightweight compared to one ton pickups, motorhomes and the like.
Best to err on the lower side as far as RPM values go.

First up are some comparisons between the available ratio's - which are 3.25, 3.50 and 3.70.

The first set of figures are for 28" tires and the second set is for 29" tires.

Surprisingly, there's more of a difference in RPM levels with only a 1" change in tire diameter than I originally thought.

1K = 1000 RPM.


28" Tires
3.25 Diff
25.6 mph per 1K RPM

3.50 Diff
23.8 mph per 1K RPM

3.70 Diff
22.5 mph per 1K RPM


RPM @ 65 MPH
3.25 = 2539 RPM
3.50 = 2731 RPM
3.70 = 2888 RPM


]3000 RPM = MPH
3.25 = 76.8 MPH
3.50 = 71.4 MPH
3.70 = 67.5 MPH


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


29" Tires
3.25 Diff
26.5 mph per 1K RPM

3.50 Diff
24.6 mph per 1K RPM

3.70 Diff
23.3 mph per 1K RPM


RPM @ 65 MPH
3.25 = 2452 RPM
3.50 = 2642 RPM
3.70 = 2789 RPM


3000 RPM = MPH
3.25 = 79.5 MPH
3.50 = 73.8 MPH
3.70 = 69.9 MPH


Percentage Difference Between Ratio's
3.50 - 3.70  = 5%
3.25 - 3.70 = 12%
3.25 - 3.50 =   7%


Percentage Difference Between 28" & 29" Tires
The 28" tire is 96% of the height of the 29" tire.
The 29" tire is 103% of the height of the 28" tire.


To make life - and calculations - easy, just use 4% as the difference between them.

All these figures are predicated by use of a transmission with no slippage and a one to one ratio in high gear.
Toss in a high stall converter and the values will change.
Even so, the figures are useful and come close enough to real world automatic transmissions as used by most of us.

As is obvious, use of a 3500 RPM stall converter means that in most highway driving with a reasonable differential ratio, you'll never reach full lock-up and the converter will be slipping.
A slipping converter makes heat and could be one reason why the engine overheats at highway speeds and especially so when climbing long grades.
In some cases a low stall converter will help cure the overheating at highway speeds problem.

A converter with say, 2400 RPM stall in a light car locks up fairly well at 65 MPH on level ground, but it will still slip a bit on grades.
Keep in mind too that a 2400 RPM - or other figure - is somewhat arbitrary.
A small engine may stall a 2400 RPM rated converter at 2000-2200 RPM and a bigger - read more torque -engine running the same converter may stall at 2800 RPM.


So . . . with the 32 running 29" tall tires with a 3.70 diff and doing fairly well on the highways, you can see why I chose the 3.25 diff to go along with the 31's 28" tall tires.

Driving the 32 in Sunny California, a lot of it was in-town and not too many trips over 200 miles.
Now that I'm living in even Sunnier Arizona with it's long desert highways and speed limits set at 70 MPH on many of them, along with the need to travel longer distances it's easy to understand why the desire for a lower engine RPM level during long drives.

It kinda bugs me to see the 32's big engine (462" Buick) sitting at 3000 - 3200 RPM for long periods.
Just running the figures in my head - the above were done by a calculator - it looks like the 31 will be cranking off 70 MPH at about 2700 RPM.
An entirely livable figure and it will work well performance-wise if you consider the 31 will weigh about 2200# and with the big engine built more for torque than RPM, pulling away from stoplights and up freeway on-ramps shouldn't be a problem.

Kinda fun methinks . . . and if it wasn't fun why would we be building the cars we do?

Sittin' around the Saturday night rod run isn't what it's all about in my book.

Gettin' out there and runnin' em makes it for me.

Nuff said....

Does anyone have a dis-assembled 9 incher?

I need the measurements for an oil slinger so I can make one.

That's the washer-like part that goes between forward pinion bearing and companion flange. (Right behind the oil seal.)


I need a deflector as well, but I could probably machine one of these out of aluminum and a couple spots of JB Weld.
(The deflector is the stamped sheet metal piece that friction fits to the nose of the drive pinion retainer (standard style, not Daytona) over the top of the seal and behind the companion flange.

Taking note of JusJunk's recent post that it's getting a touch chilly in Michigan made me wonder what the folks from genuinely cold areas - like Michigan - do for work gloves inside a chilly building.

Been setting up a nine inch diff - as well as making a buncha tools to do the job - and the garage here in Sunny Arizona can be pretty cold inside.
About 39 inside this morning.

A few days back, the overnight lows were in the high teens and the garage gets into the mid-high 20's.

I run a kerosene turbine heater to take off the chill, shut it down and then run a propane heater to warm the workbench area.
Even so, temps don't get much over the low 50's inside.

This afternoon I dug out the insulated Carhart bib coveralls.
They do a good job as does the Carhart work jacket, sweatshirt, knit cap etc.
Bought the coveralls in Central California when I lived there.
High 30's - low 40's with fog is cold.

The fly in the ointment is my hands get cold.
I've tried mittens and they help, but they're not too swift with the small stuff.

I'm wondering how the fingerless gloves work?

It looks like they're leather and maybe insulated?

Anyone have any experience with these?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since I sold my 20 ton hydraulic press when I moved I was pleasantly surprised to find that my 2 ton arbor press would press the pinion bearing on.
Feels like it's getting close to it's limits, but cranking the handle down wih about 200# force did the job.

A little white grease was used for lubrication.

Which brings up another question . . . how many guys are using the HF 12 ton floor hydraulic press?
I'm a touch limited in floor space and it would be tough to get a 20 ton press to fit in somewhere, but if I had too....

My daughter came home with about 20# of the stuff.

She's doing a roast in the crockpot now - smells really good.

I'm wondering if the steaks can be BBQ'd like you would steer meat?
In other words, season, cook, turn, cook, remove etc.
Or should we place a piece of bacon on top of the meat so it will be basted as it cooks?

Thinking too about grinding some of it to make hamburger.
A friend of mine did this in the past and he added sausage because the deer meat was so lean.
Should we add sausage to Elk burger?

Some of the smaller steaks will be cut up for stew and I don't see any problems there.


I used to hunt for my own meat, but the Supermarket got tired of me lugging the 30-30 down the meat aisle....

You were looking for some traction device info?

Go here:  http://www.hotrodsandhemis.com/Traction.html

And here: http://hotrodsandhemis.com/traction1.html

Well written and illustrated info.

Been doing the trunk latch bit on the 31 A roadster.
Got most of that done, one more bracket to make so the lid shuts in the right place.

Along those lines, I got a couple of air lifts off an 89 Taurus wagon at the junkyard yesterday.
Ball mount on the rod end, bracket with swivel on the cylinder end.
26" long fwiw.

Made one bracket, drilled two holes - which get a reinforcing plate later - and the air lift fits pretty good.

Mounting points are on the inner back wall near the floor and the lid bracket air lift ball pivots in the same place the original Model A mechanical hold-open did.
The rod travel on the air lift is about 8".

I'm only using one lift on the left side and the problem is, the trunk opens fine, but way too fast.
I don't want to bang the trunk lid to the stops for fear of damage over time.

What I need is some kind of cushioning device to cushion the end travel of the air lift.

I thought of a rod with spring stop, but if there's a better way, I'm all ears.

I realize that using the station wagon air lift is a little too much strength, but the length is just right.
I could go down to 20" if necessary, but would prefer to keep the 26" length if I can.

If it ain't one thing....