The Wanderer

[SuperBuickGuy]

Fred shook his head from side to side. "Whoa, now, little lady. I didn't say I could pay $7500. It might be worth a bit more than that on a lot, that's arguable. But we're talking about a relatively 'warm' machine that will more than likely have to be stripped down and sold for parts. You think it's easy gettin' rid of a rig? Hell, we had to drag the last Suburban we got about four miles out in the desert and drop it into a canyon. That's a lot of work! I can give you $2500 cash for this here unit. Take it or leave it."
Emma smiled. "You got a deal, big boy. By the way, could you say that again, a little bit louder, right into my purse."
At this point, Fred became suspicious, and whipped out a gun. "Maybe you ought to open that purse up right here in the parts washer. What's this? A tape recorder? Little lady, you are in a heap of trouble!"
A loud crash ripped through the building, as Carl and Sheriff Hooter kicked the front door down. Which was not really needed, as it was not locked. But it sure was an impressive entrance. Sheriff Hooter whipped out a gun the size of a fire extinguisher and pointed it at Friendly Fred. "Drop it, scumbag!"
Fred, who was also holding a Yoo Hoo Chocolate Soda, dropped it on his shoe. A brown stain spread over the floor. "I surrender!"
***
Sheriff Hooter had a happy look on his face. "Well, thanks to you folks... and especially Emma...we broke the stolen car and truck ring . Say, do you folks want to hang around here with my and my Missus for a few days and do some good, old-fashioned off-road gold prospecting?"
Emma let out a squeal. "Oooooh! Let's go for the gold, Carl!"
***
Next month: Searching for the Mother Lode.

[SuperBuickGuy]

What's been happening? It's almost too bizarre to relate, but we'll try. Carl and Emma agreed to help Sheriff Hooter arrest the man who had been running a stolen-parts scheme in Winnemucca, Nevada.
This got Carl and Emma out of a sticky situation. In fact, Sheriff Hooter was very pleased with the whole deal, and noted: "Well, thanks to you folks ... and especially Emma ... we broke the stolen car and truck ring. Say, do you folks want to hang around here with me and my Missus for a few days and do some good, old-fashioned off-road gold prospecting?"
***
Sheriff Hooter introduced Emma to his wife, Bambi and they hit it off just fine. Both of them were members of the Polka Dancers Society of North America, and Bambi was a certified instructor. This was sort of amazing, as Bambi hit the scales at close to 300 pounds, soaking wet, which was the way she was most of the time. You see, Bambi sweat a lot. When you're only five foot two inches tall and weigh the same as an NFL center, your body is working hard just to stay on the bones.
She was quite a contrast to Sheriff Hooter, who at six-seven and 175 pounds, looked like Ichabod Crane with a badge and a pair of pistols strapped to his hips. Big mirrored cop-sunglasses perched atop a hawk-like nose. Sheriff Hooter certainly looked the part!
The four stopped off at the Dew Drop Inn for a bite, and to make some prospecting plans. Emma ordered a cheese melt and a glass of wine. Carl and Sheriff Hooter got the Double-Drop Burger and split a pitcher of beer, while Bambi got a double order of spaghetti, a heaping basket of fries, three pastrami sandwiches, a plate full of pickled eggs, a half-dozen Slim Jim sausages, three bags of Beer Nuts and a huge dill pickle.
Carl looked at the huge pile of food and stared. "Uhh, ain't you gonna get something to drink, Bambi? I mean, you gotta wash food down to digest it properly."
Bambi smiled until she had three chins. "Oh, I'll have a Diet Dr. Pepper later on. I'm trying to watch my weight."
After the food had been polished off, Sheriff Hooter spread some maps out on the table, while the women shot some pool and punched up some Willy Nelson songs on the old-style juke box.
Hooter pushed his sunglasses up on his nose and pointed at the map. "Way I figure it is we head up Highway 95, then hang a right on 290. Then we drive a few miles until I find a dirt road turn-off that'll take us over to the Little Humboldt River. This goes past the Hot Springs Park. The elevation is about 6500 feet and there ain't many good trails and there's no markings. But if we find this one neat trail, it'll take us back to the old Getchell Mine area. And I hear rumors there's still gold to be found around there."
Carl swilled down some beer. "Sounds good. But what are you gonna use for a off-road rig? I mean, that crook stripped your Suburban and tossed the chassis off a cliff. You wanna just double up in my rig?"
Hooter pushed up the mirrored sunglasses for the umpteenth time. "Nope. It's best to go back in there with at least two vehicles, just in case one has problems. You just never can tell. Anyway, we got a nice little Jeep CJ-5 back at the house, and we like to hook a trailer on the back and take a couple of trail bikes with us. Me and Bambi like to trail ride, and I noticed you folks have some trail bikes on the bumper racks. So, are you up for a trail ride?"
Carl beamed. "Hellsfire yes! It's been a while since I fired those bikes up. I ride a 540 KTM with all the enduro stuff on and Emma has a Hodaka Ace 100 that's it pretty good shape, considering it's over 20 years old. Still has the original tires on it."
Sheriff Hooter drained the last of his beer. "Well, then. We'll pick you up at your motel in the morning. Five o'clock too early?"
***
Carl and Emma were waiting with the engine of The Whale warming up when Sheriff Hooter pulled up in his CJ-5. A trailer was hooked to the back, and two dirt bikes were snugged neatly down on the Holsclaw three-railer. One was a very clean-looking Yamaha IT-175 enduro and the other was a full-sized 650 Triumph with modern forks and shocks, as well as gnarly knobby tires.
Carl walked around the Triumph in awe. "Wow! I haven't seen one of these old non-unit engines for a long time. What year is it?"
Hooter looked pleased. "It's a '59 with a Rickman chassis from 1972. I got Suzuki RM forks up front - shortened, of course - and Works Performance shocks at the back. I got rid of that old crummy carb and put a Mikuni on it. Took the better part of a year to get it all together and dialed in."
***
The ride up the highway was pleasant, with the early morning dew glistening on the high desert plants bordering the pavement.
Soon they pulled off the highway and hit a nice smooth two track dirt road. Carl let the Jeep dictate the pace, but it seemed that Sheriff Hooter and Bambi had done this stuff before. The bikes were firmly secured with four Ancra tie-downs per bike, as well as having the wheels lashed down.
They drove for about two hours, enjoying the scenery and Emma kept note of markers should they ever want to repeat the route. The dirt road got rougher and tougher, and the pace slowed accordingly. A short time later, Hooter stopped the Jeep under some trees next to a shallow creek.
All the bikes were unloaded and the foursome put on their riding gear. Carl's eyes nearly bugged out as he watched Bambi stuff her 300 pounds of bulk into a set of pink riding pants, and then get all red in the face as she bent over to buckle her bright blue boots.
But what really caught Carl's attention was when Bambi slung a chubby leg over the Triumph and Sheriff Hooter got on the small Yamaha. Bambi gave one big kick and the Triumph fired right up and settled down to the rumpety-rump idle characteristic of a British twin.
Bambi blipped the throttle a few times, then did a big wheelie alongside the bank of the creek. Carl was stunned, and Sheriff Hooter felt obliged to explain: "You see, Carl, Bambi used to be a real good racer when she was a young girl. She did some flat tracking, ran some motocross and even did pretty good in the desert. Then she packed on a couple of extra pounds and sort of retired. But she can still make that old Triumph work pretty good."
Carl's jaw hung slack, as he watched Bambi pitch the big Triumph sideways, kicking up a rooster tail like a speedboat. She flicked the Triumph to the other side, popped up into another wheelie and then slid to a stop right next to Carl and the Sheriff. "Gosh Honey, you got this thing tuned right on the button! It ain't run this good since the hillclimbing championships up in Utah!"
For the first time in a very long time, Carl was virtually speechless. Emma just smiled and said: "Carl? Will you get me one of those bikes like Bambi is riding? I think I'm ready to move up from this Hodaka."
Sheriff Hooter pulled his helmet on: "Let's go find some gold!"
He put his blue Yamaha into gear and wobbled off down the trail, knees and elbows pointed out. Bambi popped another wheelie and took the lead. Carl let Emma ride in front of him on the Hodaka. Amazingly, Emma appeared to be at least twice the rider that Sheriff Hooter was.
The quartet settled down to a nice comfortable trail riding pace, which was sort of necessary because the terrain got downright nasty. At times, the trail turned into a narrow path, barely a handlebar wide. Carl was amazed at how good Emma was doing on the shiny little Hodaka.
They stopped in a box canyon and Sheriff Hooter unloaded the equipment in his back-pack. He then explained about gold, and how to find it, showing them basic panning techniques and how to identify gold from the other debris in the water.. the Sheriff was really into it: "Gold is amazing stuff. You can find it laying on the ground, you can pick it out of rocks, you can sift it out of the water like we're going to do. Heck, you can even extract gold as a by-product in the electrolytic refining of copper. Ya see, gold is a truly wondrous substance. The metal won't corrode; it's unreactive, being unaffected by oxygen and most common acids. You can find gold leaf on statues in China that's thousands of years old, and it's still perfect. Gold is neat. I like gold."
Emma pursed her lips. "That's real nice, Sheriff Hooter, but I guess all the gold is sort of gone. I mean, didn't they get it all out of the ground during the gold rush?"
Hooter drew himself up to his full height and got a stern look on his face. "No way, little lady. There's plenty of gold still out here to be had. All you got to do is work some, and have a little luck. In fact, I always take some gold back home every time I go out."

[SuperBuickGuy]

Carl perked up. "Really? How much on an average day?"
Hooter raised one eyebrow and thought for a few moments. "Oh, if I just go out for a day, I might pick up a few hundred dollars worth of dust. On a good weekend, I might take home between 700 and a grand. But every once in a while, you have a real good day. About two years ago, I hit a pocket of good stuff and took home about $25,000 worth of dust. That's how I was able to buy that Suburban the crook stole. Those things ain't cheap!"
Carl got nose-to-nose with Sheriff Hooter. "Let me get this straight. You mean I can really find some gold out here? We're not just playing some Disneyland kind of games?"
Hooter pushed his sunglasses up his nose for the zillionth time that day. "Carl, If you hit a pocket, you can turn right around, head back to Vegas and buy half the town. Things can happen. Of course, you can draw blanks. You never know. That's half the magic of this game. Now let's get busy and find some glitter!"
They all headed down to the stream and started panning. Carl got down and scooped some sand and gravel up, swirled it around in the water. Nothing.
He walked way downstream, away from the group. Carl saw a little pool of water and settled down with the pan. He scooped up some bottom, rotated the pan, and ran some water over the edge. A huge pile of glistening gold metal appeared in the pan. Carl washed the debris out and deposited the gold-colored metal into a plastic bowl.
Carl frantically worked the area, and after an hour, had a wad of gold-colored metal in the bowl that must have weighed seven or eight pounds. Carl did some quick calculations. $345 per ounce...and 16 ounces to a pound. Wow! Over five grand!!! Times how many pounds? Holy Smokes! Thirty five, maybe forty thousand bucks in one hour! How much could he extract from the stream bed in a day? Or even in one solid weekend? His mind reeled!
***
Has Carl finally hit it big? Has the Mother lode of all time been found? We'll find out next month.

[SuperBuickGuy]

OFF-ROAD NOVEMBER 1992 THE WANDERERS # 46
Forward: Carl and Emma live the good life. Carl, a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer, drives a huge 4WD Suburban all over the country to explore off-roading areas. The Suburban, nick-named The Whale, is loaded to the max with every goody known to man. Emma, a very patient lady, tries to keep the short-fused Carl out of as much trouble as possible.
***
Let's bring you up to speed. After accidentally helping break up a stolen vehicle ring in Winnemucca, Nevada, Carl and Emma were invited by Sheriff Hooter and his wife Bambi, to take a little vacation and join them in some gold prospecting.
The two couples rode trail bikes deep into the back country, and Carl was amazed to see that Bambi, a fat little butter ball of a lady, was an expert dirt bike rider. After Sheriff Hooter explained the basics of panning for gold, everybody wandered off to search for treasure.
Carl started working a small pool of water in a stream, and noticed some golden flakes mixed in with the sand. Carl's' eyes opened wide and he started panning like a madman. An hour later, Carl had seven or eight pounds of gold flake separated from the water and sand. At $345 per ounce, Carl figured he had 35 or 40 thousand dollars worth of gold! His mind reeled! Holy smokes! Why, just by working one weekend, Carl figured he'd be set for life. Had he hit the Mother Lode of all time?
***
Two hours later, as agreed, everyone met back at the main camp and compared findings. Sheriff Hooter had smile on his face and showed everyone a mayonnaise jar with about a half inch of gold in the bottom. "Yup, hit me a pretty good pocket. I think we got us a new big screen TV in this here jar. How'd you do, honey-pot?"
Bambi held up a small pill bottle. "Oh, so-so. Enough to get some new shocks for my Triumph. I'm gonna call Works Performance when we get back and order those Ultracross shocks I've been wanting for some time now. Carl, how'd you do?"
Carl bit his lip to keep from grinning. "Not as good as I expected. Figure I got me ten or 11 pounds, tops." Carl held up a pair of Tupperware bowls filled to the brim with gold flakes. Might be a few ounces or so short of a hundred thousand bucks worth." He then smiled for ear to so wide that his neck got bright red. "By the way, dinner and drinks is on me when we get back."
Sheriff Hooter help up one cautionary finger. "Hold on there, Carl. Before you go buying a new house or two, let me do some checking on that stuff you got there."
Carl looked puzzled. "Whatcha mean? Gold is gold, ain't it?"
Hooter shook his head from side to side. "Not if it's fools gold. We got to do us some checks here."
"What kind of checks? We don't exactly have a lab out in the field."
The Sheriff started unpacking a back-pack. "We got some ways to figure this all out. First thing we do is git some valve grinding compound out. The light compound works best. Then we put about a half-teaspoon of the valve grinding compound in the pan with about a half cup of water, and mix it up real good.
"Then we tilt the pan back and forth real gentle. If it's real gold, the grinding compound will wash away and the gold will stay in the pan. But you gotta do this real easy like. Here, let's give it a try."
The sheriff mixed up the water and the grinding compound, then put in a pinch of Carl's flakes. He expertly swirled the pan around for a few minutes, with everyone intently peering at his motions. Slowly, surely, the pan emptied, until only a few gold flakes were left in the bottom. Hooter sighed. "Well, it looks like you got mostly iron pyrite, Carl. Sorry to be the one to tell you."
"Wait a minute! I'm not so sure I buy this here test. After all, there's still a few flakes in the bottom of the pan. Isn't there anything else we can do to verify this?"
Sheriff Hooter sighed. "Look Carl, I know how sad it is find fools gold, but if you want, we can show you the absolute for-real test of all. Let me get those potatos out of the sack."
Carl looked confused. "Potatos? I ain't hungry, Hooter. All I want to do is check out this here gold."
The Sheriff smiled. "Look, it's lunch time anyways. So we'll make a pot of coffee and heat up some beans and stuff, then I'll show you the potato trick."
Everybody spent a few minutes gathering dead wood for a fire, and while the women got it lit, the Sheriff showed Carl the potato trick. First, he took a penknife out, and with the smallest blade, cut a plug out of the potato. He then filled most of the hole with Carl's flakes. Then, he sealed the hole up with a leftover piece of potato, and placed the potato on the downwind side of the coals of the fire. Carl was curious.
The Sheriff explained. "Here's the deal. If you got real gold flakes, they'll melt down inside the potato and turn into a nugget. If it's fools gold, then you'll end up with the same flakes you put inside when we started, except they'll be discolored. You might notice that I put the potato downwind. That's so that the fumes don't get into our food. You got to do this in a ventilated area. Especially if you use mercury in your test."
"Mercury?"
"Yeh, the stuff you find inside of a thermometer. You put a little bit of mercury in with what you think is real gold, and the gold will get absorbed into the mercury."
"Then how do you get the gold back out?"
"The old baked potato trick once again. But you really gotta be careful, because mercury fumes are poisonous. The mercury will evaporate, and if you got real gold, you'll find a nice little nugget inside the potato. But make damned sure you don't try and eat that potato. You'll curl up like a banana slug and die a horrible death. Anyway, let's eat some lunch and check out your baked potato after we're done."
Carl wolfed down his pork n' beans and swilled four cups of coffee while staring at the potato. Meanwhile, Bambi ate three whole cans of beans, a half loaf of garlic bread, 11 Twinkies and a 16 ounce can of pickled Polish sausage. Carl leaned over to Emma a whispered: "No wonder that woman rides a 650 Triumph. She needs it to carry her food." Emma told Carl to shush up and be nice.
Sheriff Hooter pulled the potato off the coals with a stick, and cut it open with his knife blade. Steam obscured the inside of the potato for a moment or two, then Carl was able to clearly see the contents: the flakes were still there. No nugget.
Carl sighed deeply. "Well, I guess there goes the old fortune. You know Hooter, when I saw those beautiful flakes sitting on the sand, I figured I'd struck it rich. It just ain't fair. I mean, most any person is going to see that glitter and go nuts."
The Sheriff dug a hole and buried the potato. "Naw. You see, gold is a real heavy mineral. You looked in the stream and saw the flakes sitting on the sand. Real gold would have settled under the sand, just by the normal running motion of the water. You can pretty much say that anything you see laying on the bottom like that for sure ain't gold."
Carl looked puzzled. "Well then, what in the plu-perfect hell do you look for if you ain't looking for anything?"
Sheriff Hooter emitted a rare smile. "Now you're learning some of the basic secrets of a gold hound. Remember I told you how heavy gold is? Well, I usually look for a hard rock ledge with a small pool of water behind it. You see, the water with the gold flakes washes over the ledge, and settles out right behind the rock. By scooping up some bottom from that kind of spot, you stand a chance of finding some gold.
"Of course, you can always just walk up in the hills, stick your hand in a crack, and pull out a nugget. You can just never tell."
Emma held out her hand. "Sheriff Hooter? Can you put this in a baked potato for me? I was walking up in the hills, stuck my hand in a crack and pulled this out.
Everybody stared at the object in Emma's hand. It was about the size of a grapefruit and glistened with a golden yellow hue. "I didn't want to get my nails all scratched up by playing in the stream with some silly old pan. So I figured a stroll would be nice. Then I saw this big rock ledge with a crack in it and the sun was shining on something. And this was it. I don't care if it isn't valuable or anything. I'll have Carl drill a hole in it and I'll make a lamp base out it."
The Sheriff took the chunk from Emma's hand and studied it for a very long time. "Emma? It appears to me that you have a king-kong sized real gold nugget here! I don't even want to guess what that thing is worth!!!
***
Well, well, well. It looks like once again, Emma has saved the day. We just might be talking big bucks here. And should that happen, it's only fair to warn you that Carl has some big plans. Big, big plans.

[SuperBuickGuy]

It's funny to me that a couple years ago, I mentioned to several people about the gold mining that happened in Liberty, Washington - I think it struck a cord because I now know several people who carry a pan with them in their essential supplies. To me it's better then fishing because you don't end up (usually) with a fish.... if you haven't tried gold mining, it can be really enjoyable - so try it. A $12 pan from Amazon is all you need. The stories you just read are very accurate about gold searching.

[SuperBuickGuy]

OFF-ROAD JANUARY 1993 THE WANDERERS # 48
FORWARD:
***
Let's bring you up to date: While prospecting for gold with Sheriff and Mrs. Hooter in Nevada, Emma stumbled on a nice cache of gold nuggets, much to her delight. By the time all the gold was analyzed and weighed, Emma found herself with $129,890 in cash.
She seemed too stunned to speak. Carl broke the silence. "Here, honey. Take this ten spot I got from my nugget; that'll make it an even $130,000. Don't say that I didn't pitch in my share. Not a bad weekend, all things considered."
Emma clapped her hands together happily. "Oooooh, I'm so happy! Carl, do you realize that with this kind of money, we can do anything we want? Let's free our imagination! What should we do, Carl?"
Carl smiled broadly. "I got it! Something I've always wanted to do, and I know it's something you'll just love. Emma, we're gonna build us a monster truck!"
Emma was too stunned to say anything, and knew better than to argue with Carl when he was all excited like this. She just sighed and headed for the saloon across the street.
***
They drove steadily the next day, and unlike most trips Carl and Emma took, they searched the maps and found the quickest route. Emma really didn't care, as she nursed a wretched hangover. Too many Shirley Temples have a way of turning brain cells into oatmeal.
Carl left Winnemucca on U95, turned left on I80 and hammered the throttle steadily. Normal time from Winnemucca to their destination was about eight hours at a comfortable pace. After about two hours of driving, Emma got on the Uniden FM radio and squawked at Carl: "Roger, over and out, wilco, ten-four and good buddy, just exactly are we headed for?"
Carl spit a wad of Red man tobacco out of the window. "Where else? We're headed for Clearfield, Utah. That's where we can build our monster truck. There's a whole bunch of parts there and some people who know all about monster trucks. So that's where we're headed. Just keep that Bronco of yours right on my tail so you don't get your butt lost."
Emma suppressed a moan. Her temples were still throbbing. She fixed her vision on the tail lights of The Whale and cruised her Bronco along as if hooked to a long ski rope.
The smooth road rolled by. After 250 or so miles of driving on I80, they turned off on I15, then 20 miles later, went north on U89. A few miles later, they rolled into Clearfield.
Emma got back on the radio. "Carl, if we don't stop and check into a motel and get something to eat, I will simply drive into the nearest ditch and start eating the upholstery, with or without A-1 sauce."
Carl got the message. "Whoa there, little woman. I see a Motel 6 up ahead. Let's stop there and check in. Hope we can pick up some WWF wrestling on the TV. If not, we can always look for another place."
As luck would have it, there was not only a restaurant nearby, but wrestling was indeed on the tube. As Emma and Carl watched the Hulkster slam-dunk The Undertaker over the top ropes into the fifth row of folding chairs, Emma got curious: "Carl, are you sure this is what we want to do? I mean, is a monster truck really a practical thing to do?"
"Oh sure. It's a natural money-maker. All we got to do is build us a neat truck, give it a great paint job and a funny name, and fame and fortune will come our way. I been doing some thinking, ya know. I figure that it couldn't cost us all that much to build a monster truck, and we could make a killing dollar-wise. So tomorrow morning, we're gonna go over to a company called Boyce Equipment Parts and check out some price lists on parts. I was looking in the ads in the back of Off-Road Magazine and saw where these guys have all of those heavy duty axles and such. With the money we got prospecting, we should be able to figure out a monster truck budget real quick. Now quit jabberin', cause Mean Gene Okerland is just about to interview The Bushwhackers, and I don't want to miss any insider secrets."
***
Early the next morning, Carl got up, woofed down a huge breakfast of eight eggs, ten strips of bacon, six sausages, a foot high stack of pancakes, three orders of hash browns, 14 pieces of toast liberally coated with strawberry jam and five cups of coffee laced with Sweet and Low to save on the calories. Then, Carl and Emma fired up The Whale and her Bronco and headed into beautiful downtown Clearfield.
Emma was curious. "Where are were going, dear?"
Carl spit a giant wad out of the window and nailed a 35 mph sign dead center. "Well, first thing we're gonna do is find a place to work on the monster truck. We need a shop of some sort. Some place big enough to build us a beast machine."
Carl turned a corner and stomped on the brakes, bringing The Whale to a screeching halt. "Whoa! Check it out. There's a place for rent." Sure enough, off to the right was an old abandoned Sinclair gas station with a "FOR RENT" sign in the window.
The price was right, and Carl jotted down the phone number, then did a routine external inspection of the facility. "This place is perfect! Not only is it big enough to put a monster truck inside, but there's a rack there, too. Now, let's get over to Boyce Equipment and check out some prices."
Emma looked confused. "Boyce who?"
"Them's the people who can supply us with the basic parts for a monster truck. A guy I talked to at the Houston monster truck shootout said this was a good source of hard parts at a good price. So I figured we ought to home-base here while we build our monster truck."
few minutes later, The Whale pulled up in front of the Boyce facility. Carl walked inside and strode up to the man at the counter. "Yes sir, can I help you?"
Carl shifted his chew from his right cheek to his left. "Well, I'm here to build me a monster truck. I understand you folks have all the right parts."
"You came to the right place, sir. Do you have a list of parts you need?"
Carl scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I'm not exactly sure just where to start. How about I just ask you some questions about prices, and take some notes? I got this note pad here. So, what am I gonna need first?"
"You're going to need some five ton axles. Figure about $1700 each. Some people use 2 1/2 ton axles, but not for competition work. Those range from $800 for the rear, to $975 for the front. Are you planning on competing, or just show?"
"Competition, of course. Why waste time and money on some show piece that don't work, I figure?"
"Fine. You'll want the five ton axles for that. Then you're going to be looking at about $3500 for fabricating on the frame. Figure about $1500 for a Rockwell 136 transfer case. We get those from 2 1/2 ton commercial trucks. It's going to cost you $4000 or more for a race quality automatic trans. You can spend as much as you want on a good big block engine, but if you want serious horsepower with all the good parts, figure anywhere from $20,000 to $25,000.
"Then you'll spend about $800 on steering for the front and $900 or so for rear steering. A roll cage could cost up to $5000, depending on how exotic you go. Then there's the cost of racing seats, five-point harnesses, good gauges, and a bunch of miscellaneous odds and ends."
Carl looked startled. "Wow! It sure ain't cheap!"
"Oh, I forgot about the wheels and tires. You pretty much have to run the standard monster sized tires. Those babies are 66 inches tall and 43 inches wide. And the rims are 25 inches in diameter and about three feet wide. The new style tires are a whole lot lighter than the old ones. The whole tire/wheel combination will weigh in at about 1100 pounds each. That's a whole lot better than the old tires; those things weighed 1700 pounds. Figure about $10,000 for a set of four tires and wheels."
Carl whipped out a pocket calculator and punched buttons furiously for a few minutes. "Whew! That comes to over $50,000! Anything else I should know about?"
The man behind the counter nodded. "There's the labor, unless you plan to work on the truck yourself."
Carl grinned. "I'm a pretty decent welder and I know how to use a tubing bender, so I'll be doing most of the work myself."
The man behind the counter held up a forefinger. "There's just one more thing you'll need, sir. But it was so obvious that I forgot to mention it..."
"And that is?"
"A truck. You gotta start with something, and it probably should be a late model truck or sports utility rig so you can get some sponsorship from the factories later on if you do good."
Carl scrunched up his eyebrows and thought deeply for a moment, then brightened. "No problem. We'll just use Emma's Bronco."
Emma let out a yelp like someone had just driven a monster truck over her foot, and glared at Carl. ***
Whoops! could this be the start of a domestic spat? Will Emma sacrifice her beloved Bronco to build a monster truck? Things are getting very strange indeed. We'll find out next month just how strange.











8480

[SuperBuickGuy]

OFF-ROAD FEBRUARY 1993 THE WANDERERS # 49
FORWARD: Carl and Emma live the good life. Carl, a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer drives a huge 4WD Suburban all over the country to explore off-roading areas. The Suburban, nick-named The Whale, is loaded to the max with every goody known to man. Emma, a very patient lady, tries to keep the short-fused Carl out of as much trouble as possible.
***
Here's what's been happening so far: After Emma found a whole bunch of gold while prospecting and turned it into cash, Carl came up with the idea that they should build a monster truck. A real hot spot for monster truck goodies was in Clearfield, Utah, where the Boyce company was located. Since Utah was a short drive away, Carl hopped in The Whale and Emma drove her shiny new Bronco (won at a slot machine in Vegas) to Utah.
Upon arriving in Clearfield, they went directly to Boyce Equipment and Parts Company to find out just what it would take to build a monster truck. He was stunned to find out how much it would cost in parts alone to fabricate a seriously competitive big rig; over $50,000 for starters! But there was one thing that Carl failed to take into consideration. We join them now:
***
The man behind the counter held up a forefinger. "There's just one thing more you'll need, sir. But it was so obvious that I forgot to mention it..."
"And that is?"
"A truck. You gotta start with something, and it should be a late model truck or sports utility so you can get some sponsorship from the factories later on if you do good."
Carl scrunched up his eyebrows, thought deeply for a moment, then brightened. "No problem. We'll just use Emma's Bronco."
Emma let out a yelp like someone had just driven a monster truck over her foot, and glared at Carl. She then nudged her very pointy elbow into Carls' ribs and hissed at him in a low voice: "Listen, buster. We better go sit somewhere and talk right now. Is that clear?"
It was more than clear. Carl gulped. "Uhhh, listen. I'll be back later on. Right now, I gotta go and iron out a few minor details."
They drove over to Shorty's Bar and Grill and Bar, found a quiet table and ordered coffee. When the waitress brought their coffee, Carl couldn't keep his curiosity in check much longer. "Hey, Miss. How come they call this place Shorty's Bar and Grill and Bar?"
"Easy. It's got two bars and only one grill. And the guy who owns the place is about seven feet tall."
"Then why is it called Shorty's?"
The waitress stared at Carl as if he was a slow child. "For the same reason they call all those huge football players Tiny. Now, if you folks want something else, just yell for me."
Carl dumped three big spoons of sugar into his coffee, then a half-dozen Sweet 'N Low packets. "Now there, Emma. You seemed a touch up-tight when I mentioned we ought to use your Bronco as a base for our monster truck. Did I detect the slightest hint of hostility, honey pot?"
Emma extracted the spoon from her coffee cup, licked it dry, then whacked Carl on the forehead with the spoon. "Don't you even think about butchering my lovely little Bronco all up! Carl, I've been a patient woman for all these years I've been married to you, but if so much as remove one bolt from a fender, I'm going to run off and join the Harlem Globetrotters!
Carl bit his tongue and didn't make the snappy come-back that was in the back of his brain. Still, a vision of Emma making a slam-dunk almost enduced a hysterical giggle, which would have been a huge mistake at this point in the conversation. "Now, dear, let's talk this over some. Perhaps a nice cold drink would be in order. Waitress! A bottle of your finest wine, please.
The waitress ambled over. "Well, Mr. Rockefeller. We got some Mogen David and some Night Train. Take your pick."
"The Night Train, please. Chilled to about 38 degrees if you would be so kind."
Carl leaned over the table and turned on the charm. "Emma, my dear, don't think of this as losing a Bronco. Think of it as gaining a monster truck. And not just a regular old monster truck. Why, I was thinking that we absolutely ought to name the truck after you. Can you picture how the crowd would react when they see this huge Bronco roar out into the arena with 'Emma's Toy' on the side in two-foot tall lettering? It would send chills up their livers."
Emma brightened visibly. "Emma's Toy? Really?"
The waitress brought the bottle of Night Train to the table and set it down with two plastic Seattle Seahawks glasses. "Enjoy. Sorry about the Seahawks glasses, but everybody around here steals all the Utah Jazz glasses."
Carl smiled broadly and poured a generous amount of Night Train into the glasses. "Yes, I can see it now. A whole row of monster trucks all lined up, and there, smack dab in the center of them all, would be your mighty Bronco, glistening in the lights like a giant 500 year old sea turtle."
Emma's eyes got big. "Gosh Carl, you certainly have a way with words. You make it sound very tempting. But I'm not so sure about the name. Don't most monster trucks have intimidating names? You know, to scare off the competition?"
Carl beamed. "Good thinking, honey pot. Let's come up with a real good name. Howsa 'bout The Flying Warthog? Or maybe The Wandering Crusher? Or even The Bucking Bronco? Hellsfire, the name is wide open. Got any ideas? Let's hear 'em."
Emma swilled down a hearty slug of Night Train. "Hmmm. Miss Emma? Nope. Maybe Emma's Crusher? No. The Term-Emma-Nator? Perhaps The El-Emma-Nator? Let me think... Emma's Ammo? Give me some more of that wine. This is something that I have to consider very carefully."
Carl poured some more Night Train and Emma slurped it down like it was a Yoo Hoo Chocolate Soda. He chuckled quietly to himself, knowing that the battle was half won.
Emma quickly downed three more large glasses of wine. "I have it, dear!"
She looked more than a little glassy-eyed. Carl was glad that the motel was walking distance from the tavern. "Well, let's hear it, lovely lady. I'm all ears!"
Emma stifled a belch with the back of her hand. "Well, I figure we'll just call it Carl and Emma's Wanderer. Very clean and classy name."
Carl smiled as wide as he could without dropping his chew on the table. "I like it. I like it a lot!"
Emma held up a finger. "There's just two small things."
Carl nodded eagerly. "No problem. You just say it, and it'll be done."
Emma weaved slightly from side to side. "Good. First off, I want the monster truck to be painted bright pink, just like it is now."
Carl stifled a protest by biting his lip. "Sure. Great idea. I mean, how many pink monster trucks are there? Should make it unique. And the second thing?"
Emma clinched a fist and banged it on the table, spilling the last of the wine from her glass in the process. "I want to be the driver! Take it or leave it!"
Carl stared at Emma very carefully to see if she was serious. She was. He sighed. "Uhhh, great. I was about to suggest that myself. Now let's get back to that motel and get some sleep."
On the way out, Emma wobbled a lot and pinched Carl on the butt a few times. Things were getting very strange, indeed.







OFF-ROAD FEBRUARY 1993 THE WANDERERS HEADLINES

HEADLINE: THE WANDERERS
SUBHEAD: WHAT'S IN A NAME? TROUBLE, THAT'S WHAT!
BYLINE: BY RICK SIEMAN



NOTE TO ART DEPARTMENT: SUGGESTION FOR ILLUSTRATION: How about a drawing of the outside of SHORTY'S BAR AND GRILL AND BAR with cartoon curse words coming out of the door?

[SuperBuickGuy]

OFF-ROAD MARCH 1993 THE WANDERERS #50
FORWARD: Carl and Emma live the good life. Carl, a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer drives a huge 4WD Suburban all over the country to explore off-roading areas. The Suburban, nick-named The Whale, is loaded to the max with every goody known to man. Emma, a very patient lady, tries to keep the short-fused Carl out of as much trouble as possible.
***
Let's bring you up to speed on the story: After Emma made a bundle prospecting for gold, Carl decided to build a monster truck. They drove to Clearfield, Utah, where Boyce Equipment was located, and found out what it would take to build a monster truck. Carl figured out that he would use Emma's Bronco as the base for the project, but she went ballistic when he tried to talk her out of the Bronco.
However, after plying Emma with sweet talk and cheap wine, she agreed to sacrifice her beloved Bronco... with two exceptions: firstly, the Bronco had to be painted bright pink, and secondly, Emma was to be the driver. Carl bit his tongue, but agreed to the deal. We join them now as the project starts.
***
Carl shook hands with his new landlord and gave him the first three months rent for the old abandoned Sinclair gas station. "Take a look at this place, Emma. It's perfect! Not only is there a lot of room, but it's even got a lift in it. And a grease pit! Think of it, Emma; my very own grease pit! I've always wanted one."
Emma looked a bit pale. "Carl, quit talking so loud. I have a terrible headache. Remind me never to drink that much ever again. Why don't you do what you have to do; I think I'll go back to the motel and sleep for a week or two."
"No problem. I gotta run over to Boyce and order the parts.
***
The man behind the counter greeted Carl warmly. "Welcome back sir. My name is Mark, and you're..."
"The name is Carl. Listen Clark, I'm gonna do it. I gonna build that truck we were talking about the other day. So, where do we start?"
"The name is Mark. Well, we start with the basics. Are you going to build your own chassis, or start with our ready-made base chassis. It'll save you a lot of work, and the price is definitely right."
"What are we talkin' dollar-wise, Bart?"
"Well, the complete rolling chassis, which we call the MSK-500 Kit, comes with an L-shaped frame, we lengthen and re-arch the springs to your specs, and its already set up to accept the five ton planetary axles. All kinds of parts are available to save you fabricating time, including mounts. And the name is Mark. The basic kit costs $6500. The serious five ton axles aren't cheap, but they'll take all the abuse you can give them. Figure about $8500 for the axles. The advice is free."
"Right, Mike. But what about wheels and such?"
"We can sell you some smaller wheels that'll let you roll the rig around, and when you're ready, you can order the big wheels and tires. The bolt pattern is the same. And the name is Mark."
"Sure thing. Can you guys deliver the basic chassis to my shop. I rented that old Sinclair station not too far away. Now, I'm going to be starting with a new full-sized Bronco. How much of it should I keep, Clark?"
Mark sighed. "Not that much. Naturally, you'll want to keep the entire body, and lots of monster truck builders like to retain much of the stock interior just for looks. You can't use any of the rolling parts or the drive train. But you can probably turn those parts into some good money. Nice fresh used parts for Broncos fetch top dollar. Plus you can yank the air conditioning units, the radio and all the stuff under the hood. Does the Bronco have a small-block engine?"
"Yup. One of those scrawny little 351 motors. What can I get for that, Burt?"
"You should be able to sell the complete engine with all the smog and ignition equipment for $3000 plus. And don't forget things like stock wheels, axles, tires, brakes, drive shafts and such. These can all be turned into cash."
"Sounds great, Mark. Guess I'll get started as soon as I pick up some tools."
"That's Clark. I mean Bart. Oh, never mind. Listen, we're here to help. Here's my card and our catalog. Have fun, Crandall."
"Thanks for the info, but the name is Carl. You gotta start listenin' more careful, Mike."
***
Carl stopped by a tool supply house and picked the basic cutters, grinders, air tools, tubing benders, notchers, oxy-acetylene outfit and a Miller-Matic 200 MIG welder. Everything was carefully loaded in the spacious interior of The Whale and headed for the shop.
He backed The Whale into the shop and unloaded everything including the Craftsman tool box that normally resided in the big Suburban. Two hours later, Carl had a rather nifty shop set up.
Moments later, Emma pulled up in her bright pink Bronco. Carl opened up the bay door and waved her inside, directly over the lift. Five minutes later, the Bronco was up in the air. Emma looked a bit better than she had earlier in the day. "What are you going to do now, dear?"
Carl let out an evil little smile. "Now we get down and dirty and strip that sucker to bare bones. Stand back woman!"
Emma got a worried look on her face and took a seat in the corner of the garage on a semi-clean milk crate. Carl leaped into the work like a whirling dervish. Four clicks with a long screwdriver had the hub-caps off. The air ratchet screamed like a banshee and all four wheels were yanked off and stacked in the corner. A whimper of sorts came from Emma. Carl ignored it.
Carl raised the Bronco higher and got underneath, a fist full of sockets and air wrench in hand. The rattling of the air tool echoed off the bare walls of the garage, and a half hour later, the entire Twin Traction beam front end was off and stacked on a shelf. Emma choked back a sob.
Carl darted to the rear and started ripping parts off. Brrrrrrp. Leaf springs off. Brrrrrrppppp. Shocks off. Brrrrrrppp. All the rear end bolts were loosened, the truck lowered to the floor, and the rear end laid there like a freshly cut log. Emma rubbed her eyes with a tissue.
The Bronco was raised up again, and Carl had the transfer case out in less than ten minutes. A half hour later, the trans was out and on the floor next to the growing pile of parts. Emma reached in her purse and extracted a bottle of wine and took a hearty slug.
Carl lowered the truck again, got under the hood and started gutting wires, hoses and accessories. Two hours later, Carl hooked a chain to the engine, lowered the garage hoist down and yanked the 351W V-8 out. Emma emptied the bottle and slumped against the wall.
Carl wiped his hands on a red shop towel, put his fists on his hips and stood back, clearly admiring his handiwork. "Well, there you got it! One each Bronco, gutted right down to the bare essentials. Sort of brings a warm glow to your stomach, don't it, Emma? Emma?"
Carl turned and saw that Emma had her eyes closed and was snoring lightly. Carl smiled. "Hmmmph. Looks like it didn't bother her all that much after all. Women! Who can figure 'em out?"










OFF-ROAD MARCH 1993 THE WANDERERS # 50 HEADLINES

HEADLINE: THE WANDERERS
SUBHEAD: EMMA'S QUANDARY
BYLINE: BY RICK SIEMAN

[SuperBuickGuy]

OFF-ROAD APRIL 1993 THE WANDERERS #51
FORWARD. Carl and Emma live the good life. Carl, a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer, drives a huge 4WD Suburban all over the country to explore off-road areas. The Suburban, nick-named The Whale, is loaded to the max with every goody known to man. Emma, a very patient lady, tries to keep the short-fused Carl out of as much trouble as possible.
***
Here's what's been happening so far: Emma made a small fortune prospecting for gold, and agreed with Carl that they would realize a dream to build a monster truck. They went to Clearfield, Utah, where many big trucks are built, and set up a temporary shop. Reluctantly, Emma agreed to let Carl use her beloved Bronco as a base for the truck, with some conditions: first the monster truck had to be painted the same color as her Bronco (pink!) and secondly, Emma was to be the driver. Against his better judgment, Carl agreed. We join them now as Carl heads back to Boyce Equipment (suppliers of monster truck parts) for more advice:
***
As usual, Mark Boyce was behind the counter. "Good morning, Carl. How's it going with the truck?"
"Pretty good. Got 'er all gutted like a dead carp. Guess the next logical question is, where do I proceed from here?"
Mark scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm. I'd say we ought to get the MSK-500 chassis over to you. I'll have the guys deliver it over to your shop with the smaller wheels on it, so you can roll it around, or work on it at eye-level. You don't want to put the big wheels on until later. Your best bet is to get everything mounted up basically, and then proceed from there. I wouldn't go crazy and build a hydraulic tilt cab or anything like that for your first effort. Just remember the KISS rule."
"The KISS rule? What's that?"
"It's something we say around here that makes sense: Keep It Simple, Stupid. I've seen too many builders try to get too fancy, and end up with a real mess on their hands."
Carl beamed. "Got it! Keep It Stupid, Simple."
Mark shook his head. "Close enough. Then you better think about getting a motor and trans installed, so you can work around that. You don't want to fabricate something, only to have to modify later on when you have a clearance problem. I'm gonna give you some photos of trucks that were built out of here. This'll give you a better idea of how to get it done. As long as you're handy with a flame cutter and a MIG welder, it should be no problem."
Carl looked puzzled for a moment. "Hells-fire, I never even thought much about a motor. You got any good builders in town here?"
"Sure. Go over to A & A Automotive and talk with Andy Tucker. He knows his big blocks and his prices are a lot better than you might expect. As far as trans builders go..."
Carl interrupted. "No problem there. I know this transmission builder name Greg in El Cajon down in California that all the big-time off-road racers use. In fact, he fixed the trans on The Whale..."
"The Whale?"
"Yup. That's the name of my Suburban. I couldn't keep a trans alive in it until Greg went through it and beefed it up. He runs an outfit called Valley Transmission. I found out about him in one of those tech articles in Off-Road Magazine. He can make a C-6 trans that'll take a bunch or horsepower. Maybe I better go see this Andy and find out how much horsepower I'm gonna need."
***
Andy turned out to be a pleasant sort with plenty of knowledge about monster truck motors. "Well, since you're going to start with a 460, I'd say you can take it out to 521 inches. With a blower, you can get about 1250 horsepower. That's enough to get the job done."
Carl whipped out a note pad. "What's it gonna cost, Randy?"
"The name is Andy, and you can get the job done on a budget deal for about $10,000, but if you're going to run it hard, you'll need a special crank and some other goodies. With the really good stuff inside, you'll be talking about $15,000 to $18,000. So it's up to you; the high bucks stuff or the low-priced spread. You pay your money and take your pick."
Carl thought long and hard for perhaps 1.2 seconds. "I'll take the good stuff. You got an old block around I can use for a template while you build the engine?"
****
Ten days later, Carl had the killer engine bolted in place, and a few days after that, a big truck pulled up and dropped a pair of shiny built C-6 transmissions off strapped to a wooden pallet. Emma was curious. "Why two transmissions, dear?"
Carl snorted. "Hell, woman. Don't you know nuthin' about racing? You gotta have a spare! We could be at an event and land all crooked with the power on and hurt the trans. With a spare, you could still make the finals."
"Oh, I thought maybe because this was a four wheel drive, you had to have one trans for the front wheels and one for the rear. Why don't they do it that way, Carl? It seems to me that if they split the power through two transmissions, that it would double the life."
Carl looked confused. "Well... uhhh... that is... you see... I mean ... er ahh... it's real simple why, but I don't have time to explain it to you now. I gotta hook up this here steering apparatus."
Carl spent the next half day installing the front and rear hydraulic steering. On a monster truck, both ends steer, to allow the big rigs to make sharp turns. And it's all done with stout high-volume hydraulic hoses and pumps.
Two days later, Carl had everything hooked up, the trans in, and the drive-shafts installed. Then there was the big moment when he fired the brute up.
Very few things can match the sensation of hearing your very own project come to life after a lot of hard work. Carl hit all the switches and listened to the clicking of the fuel pump until it stopped, primed the throat of the intake, gave the throttle a few squirts, then hit the large marine starter button.
The fresh tight engine turned over slowly as the starter growled away, then it lit with a raspy roar that yelled HORSEPOWER! Carl immediately checked the oil pressure gauge and saw it settle down to 75 p.s.i., right where it was supposed to be. The huge engine actually idled, although it was a lumpy, rough, vibrating, rocking idle that let you know something serious was going on inside that chunk of cast iron.
After letting the engine warm up for a few minutes, Carl gave the big engine a few raps that sent chills up his spine. He turned the main switch off, and the huge motor stopped immediately, like a really good high-compression engine should.
The shop was filled with a blue-gray smoke and Carls face was filled with an ear-to-ear grin. He opened the big garage door and let the smoke drift out.
"Emma? Why don't you go out in the street and make sure no traffic is coming. I'm gonna back this beast out of the garage and take 'er around the block just one time. Not real fast or anything, but I wanna see how she runs, ya know, just to get a feel."
Emma looked worried. "Carl, I'm not so sure about this. Maybe you ought to wait until that big trailer shows up?"
"Naw! What could happen? After all, I'm gonna take it real easy."
Emma walked out into the empty street and peered both ways, then waved an "all-clear" to Carl. He buckled the belts up, turned the switches on and once again fired up the healthy powerplant.
Very slowly and cautiously backed the Bronco out of the garage. Even with the small tires on, it sat quite high up in the air. Carl didn't even have to move the steering wheel to back straight out.
He backed all the way across the street into an empty dirt lot, then paused to check things over. Oil pressure: check. Water temperature: check. Pump the brake pedal hard: check. Wiggle the steering wheel from side-to-side: check.
Carl then clicked the trans into low and gave the throttle a little blip. The truck lurched forward a few feet, and Carl hit the brakes, just to check again.

[SuperBuickGuy]

Well, he thought, here goes! He eased the gas on and headed for the street. When the front wheels touched the pavement, Carl turned the steering wheel smoothly to the left... AND THE STUPID TRUCK TURNED TO THE RIGHT!!!
In a mild state of panic, Carl yanked the wheel harder to the left, and the truck turned sharper to the right. He stabbed for the brake pedal, but nailed the throttle instead. The big Bronco veered wildly to the right and headed for the side walk. Carl fought at the wheel, but no matter how hard he tried, the truck seemed to have a mind of its own.
The sound of trash cans being crushed was next. Then the sound of trash cans being dragged and mutilated under a moving truck screeched through the air. The last sound to be heard was the sound of the massive front bumper of the Bronco smacking into the tail lights of a parked car. A parked cop car, to be exact.
***
Luckily, the cop was a nice guy and didn't impound the monster truck, but he did give Carl a ticket and a long lecture about damaging city property, and how much all that was going to cost.
A hour later, after a frantic phone call, Mark from Boyce Equipment sent a fellow named Brett over to see what the problem was.
Brett tucked his tall frame under the Bronco and peered around for a moment. "Well, you just hooked the hydraulic lines up backwards, Carl. That's why it steered exactly opposite the way you pointed. Let me get a wrench and switch some lines around to the right way. It's a good thing you didn't get yourself killed."
***
Later, while noisily sucking down a pitcher of beer, Carl tried to calm Emma down. "Look, honey-pot. It was just one of those things. You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs. A rolling moss gathers no stones. Better sorry than late. Or something like that. Anyway, I got some good news. This weekend, we get to put the big tires on the monster truck and we're gonna go out and practice crushing our first car! Ain't that romantic?











OFF-ROAD APRIL 1993 THE WANDERERS # 51 HEADLINES

HEADLINE: THE WANDERERS
SUBHEAD: THE KISS FACTOR REARS ITS UGLY HEAD
BYLINE: BY RICK SIEMAN



(NOTE TO ART DEPARTMENT) Suggestion for illo. How about a drawing of a monster truck (with small tires on it) blasting a bunch of trash cans into the sky? The small tires are what Carl had mounted when he crushed the cans. Put the body of the Bronco high up above the small tires.


Thanks, Rick Sieman

[SuperBuickGuy]

OFF-ROAD MAY 1992 THE WANDERERS # 52
FORWARD. Carl and Emma live the good life. Carl, a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer, drives a huge 4WD Suburban all over the country to explore off-road areas. The Suburban, nick-named The Whale, is loaded to the max with every goody known to man. Emma, a very patient lady, tries to keep the short-fused Carl out of as much trouble as possible.
***
Let's bring you up to date: Carl and Emma set up a temporary shop in Clearfield, Utah, to realize a dream: building a monster truck. Emma reluctantly let Carl use her new Bronco, with some conditions: he had to paint the truck her favorite color (pink!) and let her race the truck.
After lots of work, Carl got the truck built, but nearly ruined everything by hooking up the steering backwards and running over a bunch of trash cans and into a cop car while taking the first test ride. We join Carl now, as he's leaning on the counter at Boyce Equipment, working out the details with Mark Boyce, about the upcoming car crush test:
***
With his checkbook in hand, Carl got down to business. "Well, how many cars are we gonna need to get the feel for this car crushing test?"
Mark punched some numbers in his calculator. "Hmmm. I managed to line up a bunch of beat up old State Highway Patrol cars at a good price. These are real beaters they've been storing in the yard that aren't worth fixing up. Somebody bought the engines and the transmissions, so we can get the rest of the hulks for about fifty bucks each. The only thing is we've got to haul them out on a flat bed truck. A wrecking yard will be out there to haul them away for free when we're done crushing them. Figure a few hundred for the hauling and 50 bucks each for the old cop cars; and we're getting eight cars. That should be plenty to learn the basics."
Carl's eyes were wide with excitement. "Wow! I can hardly wait! Just think, tomorrow I get to join the ranks of Pig Foot Grave Robber."
Mark sighed. "That's Big Foot and Grave Digger."
"Right. That's what I said, Clark. You got wax in your ears or something?"
***
After spending a near-sleepless night, Carl and Emma went over to the trailer place and hooked the new long widebody trailer to the back of The Whale. It took nearly an hour to load up and tie down the Bronco monster truck, even with the small tires on it. Mark said he would meet them at a section of farmland not too far out of town, with the big tires and wheels.
Emma had to admit that the Bronco looked impressive sitting on the trailer, even though the paint job was still primer, and it was poised on the small wheels.
***
Twenty minutes later, they met Mark and his crew at the site and both of them stood back and watched the Boyce crew unload and mount the big wheels. Using heavy duty jacks with long extensions, they got the Bronco into the air in minutes, and removed the small wheels.
Four men man-handled the huge monster truck tires into position, whipped out the air tools and ratcheted the multi-lug nuts home. They worked so quickly and efficiently, that almost before Carl's mind could accept it, the Bronco was shod with the huge tires and sitting on the ground like a true monster truck.
Carl walked around the Bronco, jaw hanging, not even realizing that tobacco juice was dribbling out of his mouth onto his shirt. "Why, why... it's huge! I never realized in the shop that it would look like this! Emma, whattaya think of your Bronco?"
Carl looked at Emma. Her eyes were gleaming. "It's beautiful! I love it! Carl, you're a genius!"
Amazingly, Carl actually blushed. "Aw, c'mon Emma. Don't get all mushy. The guys are gonna make fun of me."
Emma ran over and gave him a big hug. "I don't care, you big teddy bear. You've made me a happy camper!"
Mark came over and put a hand on Carls shoulder. "Hey, you big teddy bear. It's time to learn how to drive this thing."
Everybody in the crew laughed good-naturedly. Carl got even redder. Mark took Carl off to one side. "Look, driving these big rigs is no different than driving any off-roader. You're just dealing with more of everything. More power. More height. More suspension travel. Things happen quicker. You're way up in the air, and you have a higher center of gravity. Even though both ends steer, you've also got to learn how to steer with your throttle. In fact, if you try to turn with the power off, things can get ugly in hurry. Most racers have been taught that whenever you get in trouble, hit the gas. This is the rule here. If you get crooked, gas it. If you land on one wheel, gas it. Power will straighten you out more times than not. Now, let's go over and we'll take a look at one of the cars we're going to crush, and talk a bit about lining up correctly."
While Carl was taking lessons from Mark, the Boyce crew started setting up a row of cars for crushing. While they were doing this, several State Highway Patrol cars pulled up to observe, and chatted amiably with the workers. The idea of seeing some of their old cars get crushed interested them, and a few cameras were whipped out to record the event. A good time was being had by all.
Carl ran over the instructions that Mark gave him. "I think I got it right. Line up dead straight. Don't get crooked while accelerating. Hit the front wheels square on the front car and keep the gas on when you make contact. Chop the throttle in the air. Get back on the gas just before the wheels land. Keep the truck straight. If I get crooked when I land, make sure the gas is on when I make a steering correction. Don't use too much throttle when correcting. Hit the brakes hard once all four wheels are on the ground. Is that all there is to it? No sweat. Stand back, Mark, and I'll take a run at it!"
Sure enough, Carl did as he was told, and hit the first of the cars in the row dead square on. The front end of the Bronco lifted nicely, Carl chopped the throttle, then hit the gas again when the rear wheels hit the roof of the cars mid way through line-up, the front end came up again, then Carl landed smoothly on his front wheels with the gas on. The Bronco settled down nicely, and he hit the brakes hard and early. His truck came to a stop a mere 90 feet from the end of the row of cars.
The cops and the crew let out a small cheer, and Carl beamed as he heard the noise. After a half-dozen passes, it actually got easier as the roofs of the cars got flatter. Like Mark said, "Once you get 'em flattened out a bit, it's just a matter of going as fast as you can without getting out of shape. That's the one thing you never want to do: get crooked! That's when you hurt the truck. Now, let's get over and practice jumping over one car. That's actually harder than doing a whole row. I set a few cars up off to the side, so let's give it a shot."
Carl buckled up his helmet again, and fired up the Bronco. He rumbled around slowly, saw the car, lined up and waved back at Mark who was waving frantically at him.
He nailed the throttle and hammered at the car, hitting it square, launching the Bronco clean and high and landing just like the textbook said.
It was no wonder Carl was confused when Mark dragged him out of the Bronco, all wide-eyed. "Now you gone and done it!"
"What's your problem? That was a perfect jump! It couldn't have been better."
Mark sighed. "It might have been better if that wasn't the Highway Patrol Chief's car. And he was sitting in it when you jumped it!"
***
Holy smokes! What has Carl gone and done now? We'll find out next month.


OFF-ROAD MAY 1993 THE WANDERERS # 52 HEADLINES

HEADLINE: THE WANDERERS
SUBHEAD: CRUSHING CONFUSION
BYLINE: BY RICK SIEMAN



(NOTE TO ART DEPARTMENT) SUGGESTION FOR ILLO. DRAWING OF A MONSTER TRUCK, HIGH IN THE AIR, (IT MUST BE A BRONCO!) WITH A BUNCH OF HAPPY YELLING SOUNDS EMANATING FROM THE CAB. I.E., YEEHAA! WAHOO!

[Deaf Bob]

Oh Carl!

[SuperBuickGuy]

OFF-ROAD MAGAZINE JUNE 1993 THE WANDERERS # 53

FORWARD: Carl and Emma live the good life. Carl, a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer, drives a huge 4WD Suburban all over the country to explore off-roading areas. The Suburban nick-named The Whale, is loaded to the max with every goody known to man. Emma, a very patient lady, tries to keep the short-fused Carl out of as much trouble as possible.
***
Here's what's been happening: After building a monster truck in Clearfield, Utah, out of Emma's Bronco, Carl and Emma went out for an orientation day. The guys from Boyce Equipment lined up a bunch of junker cars in order to teach Carl how to jump and crush. Everything went fine, until Carl wandered off on his own to practice jumping single cars. After Carl made what he thought was a perfect jump, he was more than a bit surprised when Mark Boyce waved him down and dragged him out of the truck:
"Now you've gone and done it!" yelled Mark.
Confused, Carl protested: "What's your problem? That was the perfect jump! It couldn't have been better."
Mark sighed. "It might have been better if that wasn't the Highway Patrol Chief's car. And he was sitting in it when you jumped it!"
Everybody scrambled over to see if the Chief was OK, and they were relieved when he kicked the tweaked door open and stumbled out. His hat was sort of flattened, but he appeared unhurt. But he wasn't overly happy. "What in the #^*%^@^%* blankety-blank %@#$&&$## dag-blag it &*(%$##%%@$% blue-blazes *^&*%$#%%$@ is goin' on here? Stanley, get the cuffs out and put somebody in jail!"
Carl was genuinely concerned. "Hey there, Chief. I'm sorry I sorta flattened out your car here, but you see, I thought it was one of those junkers I was supposed to crush."
The Chief shook his head from side to side like a large hound dog. "Well, it looks like a junker now. I hope you got insurance that covers smashing a cop car, fat boy."
"Fat boy? How would you like a pop in the snoot, Dick Tracy?"
"Oh, threatening an officer-of-the-law, eh? Let's see... I figure a couple a years in the slammer for destroying police equipment, then another couple for threatening me, and maybe we can get some equipment violations tacked on to that. You ain't gonna have much hair on that balding head when you get to see the light of day, buster."
"That's Mister Buster to you, J. Edgar Hoover. What were you doing parking your Bat Mobile in the middle of a test area in the first place? You better thank your lucky stars I didn't squash you flatter 'n a 78 rpm record."
Carl and the Chief got nose-to-nose and proceeded to try and out-yell each other. Mark stepped in and tried to calm things down: "Boys, boys... please! I think I have a way to resolve this little problem. Let's go have a cup of coffee and talk my idea over..."
***
Two hours later, Carl and the Chief shook hands. As it turned out, both of them had been in the Navy at right around the same time and both had been Chief Bosun's Mates on the aircraft carrier Forrestal.
The deal was this: the Chief would have the local high school body shop class fix the roof of the patrol car and not file any charges. In return, Carl would run the Highway Patrol logo on the side of the Bronco during the upcoming Clearfield Smash And Bash, a special event to be held in two weeks at the Fairgrounds. Since all of the proceeds of the event would go to the Highway Patrol Orphans Charity Fund, everybody was happy.
Carl was especially happy to have any sort of sponsor, because he knew it was easier to get more sponsors if you already had one. And he figured that having the Highway Patrol logo on the side would give him some serious leverage for new sponsors.
The rest of the week was spent painting the Bronco a horrifyingly bright pink in because Emma had insisted on that before giving up her truck to be used as a base for the monster truck.
Carl spent a few days acquiring some sponsors. Harry's Feed and Grain popped 20 bucks to put a small sticker on both sides. Wong's House of Tacos parted with $12.50 and a certificate for three free meals to get the name and phone number lettered on the hood.
Arnold's Pest Control came in big and paid one hundred bucks to have a huge plastic spider attached to the roof, with "Arnold" on one side of the bug and his phone number on the other.
Marvins Septic Tank Service gave Carl a check for $65 to glue a plumbers plunger to the rear part of the roof with a small flag on the handle with his company name.
Burt's Burger Palace popped for $10 and a dozen McBonzo Burgers with fries to put a pair of small stickers on the rear fenders.
Emma even got into the spirit of things and talked Wanda from Wanda's House of Fashion into spending $32.50 to letter her name on the rear window of the Bronco.
Pedro's Dog Grooming Service got into the spirit of things and paid $40 to attach a pink stuffed dog to the hood with his name emblazoned on both sides of the stupid looking dog with sequins.
The local pizza shop, Three Guys From Cleveland, didn't want to spend any money, but agreed to supply a dozen large pepperoni and mushroom pizzas at the event, in exchange for Carl throwing a bunch of dollar-off coupons to the crowd before each run.
Tyrone's Health Club and Dance Studio paid $10 and three free Lambada lessons for the privilege of putting a 12 x 12 magnetic sign on the tail gate.
Guns-R-Us coughed up with $65 to put a pair of styrofoam Uzis on the top edge of the front fenders. Carl really liked the look this lent to the Bronco.
Bowl-O-Rama reached deep into their wallet and popped a big hundred dollar bill to have the monster truck crew wear bowling shirts with the Bowl-O-Rama name on the back.
The local beer distributor, The Suds Connection, got five big stickers put on the Bronco for no charge. The fact that they agreed to supply a whole bunch of beer for the party after the event had nothing to do with it, Carl claimed to Emma.
A local roofing company was turned down for sponsorship when they wanted to exchange a coating of Thompsons Water Seal on the underside of the Bronco in exchange for a large pair of stickers on the quarter panels.
Still, Carl felt that he didn't really have any real high performance-type sponsors stickers on the Bronco, and a real racer definitely need this. He hit all the speed shops, auto parts suppliers and lubricant people in the area. Unfortunately there were no takers.
Then Mark Boyce stopped by to take a look at the Bronco. When he saw all the bizarre stickers covering the monster truck, his eyes got real big. Carl slapped him on the shoulder, real friendly-like. "Say, Mark. The only thing that seems to be missing is a Boyce Equipment sticker on all four sides. Whattaya say, big fella? Can we count on you for a little sponsorship?"
Mark stood there quietly for a while, scratching his chin. "Tell you what, Carl. I'll give you a reverse sponsorship. If you DON'T run the Boyce stickers, I'll pay you a hundred bucks. Deal?"
***
Wow! Things are heating up. Next time, we'll hopefully see some real monster truck competition!









OFF-ROAD JUNE 1993 THE WANDERERS # 53 HEADLINE

HEADLINE: THE WANDERERS
SUBHEAD: STICK 'EM UP!
BYLINE: BY RICK SIEMAN


(NOTE TO ART DEPARTMENT) Suggestion for story illustration: How about a drawing of a Bronco monster truck completely slathered with the stickers and attachments named in the story?

[SuperBuickGuy]

OFF-ROAD JULY 1993 1993 THE WANDERERS # 54
FORWARD: Carl and Emma live the good life. Carl, a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer, drives a huge 4WD Suburban all over the country to explore off-roading areas. The Suburban, nick-named The Whale, is loaded to the max with every goody known to man. Emma, a very patient lady, tries to keep the short-fused Carl out of as much trouble as possible.
***
Update: After building a monster truck in Clearfield, Utah, Carl and Emma found themselves almost ready for their first competition. They even managed to scrape up more than a dozen strange sponsors, including a pest control service, a local gun shop, a plumbing outfit and a dog grooming company.
Only one thing remained before they were ready for the upcoming Clearfield Smash And Bash, a special event to be held in less than two weeks at the Fairgrounds. Everyone agreed to meet at Howard's Bar and Grill and Bar to see if they could come up with a name. Besides, it seemed like a good idea to relax and celebrate a bit, since all of the hard work had been accomplished. We join them now, as the third round of beer has just been ordered:
***
Carl poured a round of beers from a big frosty pitcher, stifled a belch with the back of his hand, and stuck his forefinger into the air to get some attention: "Well now, as long as we're gonna come up with a name, let's make sure we get a good one. I don't want one of those wimpy names. This here is a big truck and should have a manly macho handle. And ideas? Emma?"
"I was sort of thinking of THE PINK FLAMINGO. After all, Carl, you agreed to keep the pink color if I agreed to let you use the Bronco for the project monster truck."
The Highway Patrol Chief furrowed his brow, pursed his lips and shook his head from side-to-side. "I'm not so sure the boys at headquarters would be too thrilled with that, ya know, havin' our logo on a truck with a name like that. It sounds like the name of some club in one of the shadier parts of San Francisco. I tend to lean towards something a bit more on the military side, like maybe the BRONCO BULLET, or the BLAZING BAZOOKA. Something with some punch."
Arnold, the owner of Arnold's Pest Control, who had paid a hundred bucks to have a huge plastic spider attached to the roof of the Bronco, set down his mug and spoke: "I personally lean toward something like BUGZILLA, or ARACHNAPHOBIA. Think about it; most everybody is scared to death of spiders and bugs. I ought to know. I spend most of my time gassing and squashing those creepy critters."
Emma shuddered. "Ooooohh, noooo! It's bad enough having a big ugly plastic bug on the roof as it is. Carl, do you have any ideas?"
Carl was in the middle of taking a huge bit out of a Double Bongo Burger, while he had two pickled eggs and a Slim Jim sausage already stuffed in one side of his mouth. "Thhhure. Vhuff zfuulg fffttph grrruumf vidd ..."
"Dear, I shouldn't have to remind you not to talk with your mouth full." Carl took a giant gulp, making his neck look like a snake that had just swallowed a 14 pound bowling ball. "It wasn't full. I had room in there for a slice of pizza, minimum. And look... I still had my chew in my left cheek, so ..."
Emma shuddered. "Never mind, never mind. Anyway, now that you have that cavern empty for the moment, would you like to try again?"
"Sure. I was sorta thinkin' on more sophisticated lines, like calling it the FLAMING INCREDIBLE FLYING MUGGER. Ya know, a name with a touch of class. Or maybe the WICKED WART HOG, or the MONSTER OGRE FROM HELL. So, whaddaya think?"
Everybody at the table shook their heads "no".
One of the mechanics from Boyce Equipment Company came up with an idea. "Personally, I think the name should be threatening and intimidating. This way, you set the tone for the entire competition. Think about it; you got one truck named TEDDY BEAR, and the other truck named the GUT SLASHER. Which one are you gonna think is the one you gotta worry about?"
Carl smacked his palm on the table enough to make all the glasses jump a good inch. "I like it! This sets my brain cells into high gear. Let me run a couple by you. Let's see ... NASTY PUTRID CARBUNCLE. Or maybe FELONIOUS BANDIT MUGGER. Hmmmm ... ROWDY VOMIT FLINGER. Perhaps the BARBARIC HAIRY BOIL. Wow, I'm on a roll! You guys stop me when I strike gold, OK? Try this one: the GUTS & GORE GAGGER? Maybe the REPULSIVE REVOLTING RAT. Or the ROTTEN GRUBBY ALIEN. The FILTHY MURKY MERCENARY? The RABID SAVAGE? Jeez, they're all so good, I don't know which one to go with. Any comments?"
Emma sighed. "Yes. I think we need another round of drinks. And I definitely think we need to search for names in another direction. Personally, I think we need a noble name, so I got out a dictionary and looked up some words that might work, and wrote them down. Words like DARING, DAUNTLESS, MIGHTY, INVINCIBLE, SUPREME, DEFIANT, INCREDIBLE, MAXIMUM and POTENT are some of my favorites. So if you gentlemen can tie those words in with some other inventive words, maybe we can come up with a winner. Carl? Do any of these words trigger some creative names?"
"Lemme see ... hmmm ... howsa 'bout THE DARING WART HOG? Or maybe the INCREDIBLE GUT-STOMPER? Maybe the INVINCIBLE TERMINATOR? The MIGHTY EYE-BALL RIPPER? How ya like those, Emma?"
Emma downed a half-glass of wine in one gulp. "Carl, those are horrible names! Does anybody have some reasonable sort of suggestion?"
One of the sponsors, Marvin (from Marvin's Septic Service) leaned forward eagerly. "Looka here. I got this idea that might work. Back when I was a high school kid in Texas, we had to come up with a name for our new football team. The way we did it was to put all kinds of words on little pieces of paper in a can, and then draw out names. The first ones we drew sounded good, so we went with it."
Carl blew some foam off his beer. "So what name did you guys come up with for a team?"
"Oh, we were known far and wide as the Thunderdog Road Kills. First season, we went 11 and 2 and won the city championship."
Carl beamed. "I like it! Why don't we all write down as many good words as we can think of, and stuff 'em in my hat. Then we'll let the Chief draw out a couple at a time. We just might pick us a winner. Emma? Why don't you tear up a whole bunch of pieces of paper off that there note pad you got. I'll get us some more pitchers of suds to help speed things along."
For the better part of an hour, the only sounds that came from the table full of people were the scratching of pens on paper, punctuated by slurping sounds.
Eventually, all the words were gathered up and dumped into the hat. Carl swirled everything around real good, then handed the hat to the Chief. "OK, Chief. Have at it. Let's find a name!"
The Chief stuck his big hand in the hat, rooted around at the bottom, and extracted some bits of paper. He peered over his glasses intently, then in a deep, official tone, stated, "Folks, I think we got ourselves a name!
He got up from the table, walked over to the blackboard where they normally write down the specials, grabbed a piece of chalk, and carefully wrote down these words:
KILLER WHALE
A cheer went up from the table and a call went out for another round. Carl was ecstatic, and Emma was literally beaming. She leaned over and whispered in Carl's ear: "I'm so happy I can't see straight! I put those words in the hat. Now we have your Suburban, The Whale, and my Bronco ... the Killer Whale!"
***
Wow! It looks like The Killer Whale is ready for competition, now that it has a name. But how will it fare? Next month should be revealing, indeed.
OFF-ROAD JULY 1993 THE WANDERERS #54 HEADLINES
HEADLINE: THE WANDERERS
SUBHEAD: WHAT'S IN A NAME?
BYLINE: BY RICK SIEMAN


(NOTE TO ART DEPARTMENT) SUGGESTION FOR ILLUSTRATION: How about a drawing of the outside of HOWARD'S BAR AND GRILL AND BAR, with all kinds of words (like MONSTER, INCREDIBLE, GUT-STOMPER, TERMINATOR, and so forth) blasting out of the door and window like cartoon curse-words.

Thanks
Rick

[SuperBuickGuy]

so things slowed down a bit but the plans... well, I'm starting to think a little bigger.... maybe a 6x6

dare I ask.... thoughts?


warning... be nice...