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  • OFF-ROAD NOVEMBER 1993 THE WANDERERS # 58
    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 goodie 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 decided to do a little wandering, and headed back into the hills to explore and possibly find a good camping spot. Unfortunately, when the trail got tight and twisty, a wayward stick poked a whole in the radiator of The Whale. Then the worst news possible: When Emma went inside the suburban to fill up a few jugs from the sink, she found out that they were out of water!
    We join them now as they're trying to figure out what to do:
    ***
    Carl rummaged around in the tool box and extracted a small box full of various tubes. "Aha! Here we are. I got some Aluma-Seal and I got a tube of Dr. Whiz Rad-O-Plug. I think I'll try that Rad-O-Plug; it only cost me 99 cents at the swap meet in El Paso."
    Emma shook her head. "I don't think you should experiment with something unknown. I read that article in Off-Road Magazine about cooling system tricks and tips, and they said Aluma-Seal was one of the best things you could use." "Emma, who's the mechanic here? One way or another, I'll get that leak fixed. But the real problem is where are we gonna get some water?"
    "Well, if you had read that article, you might know that we can use just about any kind of liquid to get us back to that gas station near the highway. See? It says right here where somebody used a mixture of Gatorade and motor oil in the radiator in an emergency."
    Carl scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm. We've got all kinds of liquids in The Whale. Why don't you get as many liquids together as you can, while I fix this here radiator?"
    After reading the directions on the back of the container of Dr. Whiz Rad-O-Plug, Carl mixed the epoxy and the hardener together, stirred the substance with a stick and then dabbed it in and around the hole in the radiator. In about five minutes, the gray wad had hardened like a rock.
    Emma lugged a cardboard box out of The Whale and set it on the ground next to Carl. "Here's everything I could find. I hope there's enough."
    Carl rummaged through the box. "Let's see ... salad oil, club soda, tomato juice, Italian dressing, Yoo-Hoo Chocolate Soda, after-shave lotion, a bottle of cheap wine, a quart of milk and two six-packs of beer. Two six packs of beer? Emma, are you nuts? There's no way I'm gonna waste perfectly good beer in a radiator! Now you put that beer back in the fridge, and we'll make do with the other stuff."
    Emma started to say something, but instead, just sighed. Carl got busy pouring all of the liquids in the radiator after starting the engine.
    The Whale idled contentedly as he opened up the various cans and bottles and emptied the contents into the radiator. First the tomato juice, then nine bottles of chocolate soda, then the milk and so forth. By the time Carl poured the last container - a large bottle of Kraft Italian dressing - the mixture in the radiator was a vile looking brown soup that smelled really bad.
    After about ten minutes, the thermostat opened and the murky solution started burbling through the cooling system. Carl peered in the radiator spout and watched the liquid circulate, then stuck the cap back on, satisfied with his handi-work.
    "Emma? I got it all fixed up, so button up all that loose stuff and let's get rolling. I wanna get back to that gas station and flush this crap out of the radiator before it turns into a pudding or something weird."
    Two minutes later, Carl had The Whale turned around and started back-tracking on the trail. He kept an eye on the temperature gauge, and it seemed a little bit on the high side, but otherwise OK.
    Then, right before they reached the smooth dirt road, a huge billowing cloud of dark brown steam belched out of the grill and through the gaps where the hood and fenders met. In a moment, visibility was completely lost, as the windshield got covered with the murky solution.
    Carl slammed on the brakes, shut the engine off and started cursing loudly. He scrambled out, popped the hood and immediately got covered with a wet, hot, slimy mixture that was blasting out of the "repaired" hole in the radiator.
    Emma stood back a safe distance and shook her head sadly from side to side. "I told you not to use something unproven. That article in Off-Road was very specific about that, and ..."
    "Aww, put a cork in it, Emma! I'm not too happy about things in general right now, and I don't need you rubbing it in. Take a look at this mess!"
    And a real mess it was. Brown liquid dripped slowly off the underside of the hood, and where it had hit hot parts on the engine and the exhaust, it was hardening like burnt cake batter. Carl was covered from head to foot with a substance that looked a great deal like gravy drippings.
    "Emma, don't say a word. Not one word. Just go in the back of The Whale and get that tube of Aluma-Seal and a can of plug and contact cleaner."
    Emma stifled a giggle and disappeared inside The Whale, while Carl wiped as much of the mess as he could off the engine compartment and windshield with rags and paper towels. Emma returned with the toolbox and the contact cleaner, and the copy of Off-Road. "Dear, maybe you might want to read this article now, because I don't think we have any liquids left."
    Carl grabbed the magazine and went over to sit on a large rock to read it. Hmmm. Maybe all was not lost, after all. The article said that in an emergency, even oil could be used. Carl rummaged around in the back of The Whale and found a half dozen plastic bottles of oil, three quarts of trans fluid and some small cans of power steering and brake fluid.
    He carefully poured the various fluids in the radiator. "I wonder if we'll have enough? Nope. It's still below the hole in the radiator. Dang blast it! We still need a couple quarts of something."
    Emma went inside The Whale and came out a moment later with the two six-packs of beer. "Here you are, Carl. And I don't think you can argue about it now."
    Carl stood there with his jaw hanging for a long time, then suddenly brightened. "Emma, there's no way I'm gonna waste all that beer. But I will recycle it! Now let's go inside The Whale, sit back, relax a bit and let me drink all that beer."
    Emma seemed confused. "But if you drink it, how are you going to get it in the radiator?"
    Carl smiled widely. "Back when I was in the Navy, there was this Warrant Officer by the name of Red, who told me that you couldn't buy beer. You could only rent it. I'm going to put his philosophy into action."
    A startled look came over Emma's face. "You don't mean ... you can't mean!"
    "I certainly do mean it. I'll guarantee you that ten minutes after I start drinking those beers, I'll .... uhh ... have to answer the call of nature, so to speak. And what better place to do it, than inside the radiator? I think old Red would be proud of me for coming up with this solution."
    Emma was utterly shocked. "If you think I'm going to sit around here, waiting for you to fill up your bladder, so you can take a leak in the radiator, you're out of your mind! I'm going to go inside and watch television and don't you dare come inside until you're done with that nasty business. My mother warned me that there would be strange and trying days in any marriage, but I never thought it come to this!"
    Emma went inside The Whale and slammed the door shut. As she sat there watching the soap operas, it was very hard to ignore the sound of pop tops being opened, and every 15 minutes or so, a sound much like running water. Emma sighed and turned the sound of the TV up a notch. It looked like it was going to be a very long afternoon.




















    OFF-ROAD NOVEMBER 1993 THE WANDERERS # 58 HEADLINES

    HEADLINE: THE WANDERERS
    SUBHEAD: THE ULTIMATE RECYCLING TRICK
    BYLINE: BY RICK SIEMAN
    Doing it all wrong since 1966

    Comment


    • Originally posted by SuperBuickGuy View Post
      how to build a 6.5 diesel, coming soon

      That poor spider....all forlorn in the corner....
      Patrick & Tammy
      - Long Haulin' 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2014...Addicting isn't it...??

      Comment


      • Originally posted by silver_bullet View Post

        That poor spider....all forlorn in the corner....
        You know, I have a spare bedroom - you're welcome to come on by and work on it. For me, I'm going to work on manly man diesels
        Doing it all wrong since 1966

        Comment


        • That do not require electrical plates of spaghetti to do anything other than starter motor or fuel shutoff solenoid...You know, I have a new job that requires me 5 days a week and I took it to get away from a substantially shorter commute.... Thanks for the offer buddy... I'm just remembering how cool I envisioned the spider...
          Patrick & Tammy
          - Long Haulin' 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2014...Addicting isn't it...??

          Comment


          • Originally posted by silver_bullet View Post
            That do not require electrical plates of spaghetti to do anything other than starter motor or fuel shutoff solenoid...You know, I have a new job that requires me 5 days a week and I took it to get away from a substantially shorter commute.... Thanks for the offer buddy... I'm just remembering how cool I envisioned the spider...
            the dream isn't dead, and it's not sitting outside rusting so it will happen, eventually.
            Doing it all wrong since 1966

            Comment


            • I know.... just wanted to see your vision of an Italian "Cobra"
              Patrick & Tammy
              - Long Haulin' 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2014...Addicting isn't it...??

              Comment


              • so I found a motor for my 94, 234,000 miles but it runs and has a 30 day warranty. Bad news, they were wrong....

                this is the number for a stock 94 motor


                this is the number of a rebuilt, upgraded and far better motor


                they didn't clean the motor - that's not 234,000 miles
                Doing it all wrong since 1966

                Comment


                • you gonna add the Banks goodies like the black truck?
                  If you can leave two black stripes from the exit of one corner to the braking zone of the next, you have enough horsepower. - Mark Donohue

                  Comment


                  • it comes with turbo already installed - and electronics to add fuel under boost... with the 6.2, you add fuel so that when you're under boost you don't melt down.
                    Doing it all wrong since 1966

                    Comment


                    • The plot thickens, the Jasper motor (the 'broken one') has the later block.... I'm really going to be interested in what I find when I pull it apart.

                      As I'm running out of room, it's time to start junking the junk
                      new motor goes to be installed


                      I have one motor that came out of a 95 one ton. the guy was replacing the starter, and broke a bolt.... then tried to fix it himself (and failed, badly) to the point that the block is pretty much junk. I always thought it was just a stocker, but no - .010 overbore

                      which works out really well if I rebuild another block that needs oversized pistons.
                      spiderman has nothing on Detroit Diesel engineers


                      should have the 94 back tomorrow
                      Doing it all wrong since 1966

                      Comment





                      • OFF-ROAD DECEMBER 1993 THE WANDERERS # 59
                        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 goodie known to man. Emma, a very patient lady, tries to keep the short-fused Carl out of as much trouble as possible.
                        ***
                        When we last left our friends, they had just come through a harrowing punctured radiator experience that Carl solved in a thoroughly disgusting manner (See OR November/93 for the tasteless details) that had Emma in a foul mood for days afterward.
                        In order to calm Emma down, Carl figured that maybe a little side trip off-road and some healthy recreation might be in order.
                        "Say, honey-pot. What say we git those dirt bikes off the bumper racks and take a nice trail ride? It's been some time since we wandered around on two wheels."
                        Emma just crossed her arms and pointed straight ahead with her chin.
                        Carl had The Whale on cruise control at exactly 58 miles per hour as they headed north. He knew damn well that no highway patrolman was going to stop you for a lousy three miles per hour, and it sure was fun bending the law a little bit, if not actually breaking it. "So, whaddaya think, sweety-pie? Just a romantic little trail ride. Maybe we can even find a deluded stream and do some skinny dipping. Hee, hee!" Emma shook her head and smiled, in spite of her foul mood. "You mean "secluded" stream, not "deluded" stream. When are you ever going to learn to quit mangling the English language?"
                        Carl rolled the window of The Whale down and launched a huge brown brackish wad of chew at a speed limit sign. The wad hit about seven inches off center, and he realized he had not allowed for the slight headwind when calculating his spit trajectory. "Hey, never mind all that grammar stuff. Howsa 'bout you and me taking a break and having some fun? C'mon, my little meadow muffin, let's roll the clock back a few years. Remember that time back in '86 when we stumbled across that neat hot springs with the waterfall? And I chased you all over the place, buck-nekkid?"
                        Emma blushed a bright red and giggled uncontrollably. "Oh, Carl! You devil! It's a good thing no one saw us running around like a couple of teen-agers."
                        Carl emitted an evil little smile. He knew he had her on the hook. "Well, no wonder I chased you all over that hot spring. If I recall, you had just lost about 15 pounds with that new acrobatics tape from Cher, and was lookin' good!"
                        Emma giggled. "Oh, Carl! You mean "aerobics" tape, not "acrobatics" tape. You might not believe it, but I'm nearly the same weight now as I was back then. For the last month or so, I've been knocking off the guacamole dip and tortilla chips and eating rice cakes dipped in hot sauce instead."
                        Carl nodded his head knowingly. "Hells-fire, I knew something was up. You been lookin' real good as of late. It's a good thing we're married, or I'd be spending all of my spare time chasing you around. So, my slender cupcake, what say we take in the perfect trail ride?"
                        ***
                        About an hour later, Carl saw an interesting dirt road and pulled off. He drove for another 20 minutes and found a nice flat area to park in. There were nicely wooded hills not too far away; the area looked pleasant. In fact, just about ideal.
                        Carl unloaded his big 600 KTM four stroke dirt bike from the rear bumper rack, and Emma's shiny little Hodaka from the front. Twenty minutes later, they had their riding gear and helmets on, and both gas tanks topped up. Carl had their swim suits, towels, and lunch stuffed in his back-pack.
                        Right before they fired the bikes up, Carl got the keys to The Whale and turned to Emma: "Listen, my turtle-dove of love; I'm gonna stick the keys to The Whale in the gas cap flap just so you know where they are."
                        Emma bristled. "Carl! That's the very first place any car thief would look. You simply have to find a better place than that."
                        "Huh? Well, I guess you're right. OK, I'll stick 'em under the lip of the rear bumper."
                        Emma gave a disgusted look. "That's the second most obvious place. You can do better than that."
                        "Hmmmm. Aha! I'll just put 'em on top of the roof. No one would ever think of looking there."
                        "What if the car thief is tall? The first thing he'll see is the shiny car keys glistening in the sun. And when we come back from out trail ride, The Whale will be gone. Think, Carl, think."
                        Carl scratched his head for a while. "How about this? I just stick 'em up the exhaust pipe!"
                        Emma sighed. "That's the third most obvious place. Everybody does that!"
                        Carl spit a large wad dead center on a nearby rock, and thought. "Okie-dokie. I'll stuff them behind the license plate."
                        "That's the fourth most obvious place they'd look. You've got to do better than that. After all, this is our home, and we have to protect it."
                        Carl shrugged his shoulders. "Jeez, woman, you're making it tough. Well, what about sticking the keys in the gap in the hood under the wiper blades? No one would ever look there."
                        "Honestly, I think you're putting out flags just telling potential Suburban thieves where to look. If anything, that place is more obvious than the first four places. You've simply got to come up with an original place to hide the keys."
                        Carl thought real hard; hard enough to where his head almost hurt. Then it came to him in a flash: "I got it! I'll just dig a small spot under one of the tires and bury the keys there. Then I'll cover it up with dirt and no one will never ever think of checking there."
                        Emma didn't appear 100 percent convinced. "What if someone sees the freshly moved dirt?"
                        "Don't worry about that. I've got an idea that'll make the traces virtually invisible. Just trust me on this one. Now just fire your bike up and let's go have us the perfect trail ride."
                        ***
                        And a wonderful trail ride it was. After riding for less than a half hour, they discovered a small bit of paradise in the hills: a small stream emptied into a pool of crystal-clear water about waist deep. It was shaded from the sun by over-hanging trees and pine-needles lay on the ground in a foot-thick carpet.
                        Carl and Emma frolicked in the water, splashing each other like kids at play, then lay back on their towels on the pine-needle cushion, and let the sun dry them off. They ate their lunch and shared a small bottle of Thunderbird wine.
                        As the sun started to drop, they put their riding gear back ion and back-tracked to The Whale. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the camp-site; The Whale was still there, its tobacco stained flanks glistening in the late afternoon sun.
                        Then Carl gulped visibly.
                        "What's wrong, dear?"
                        Carl smacked himself on the forehead and let out a groan. "Well, I did it, Emma. I screwed up as much as a person can do."
                        "How's that, dear?"
                        He sighed. "Remember I told you I had an idea to protect the keys hidden under the tire?"
                        "Yes."
                        "Well, I think that technique had a basic sort of a flaw in it."
                        "How so, Carl?"
                        "OK. Now, don't get mad, but here's what I did. I scooped out a little hollow under the tire and stuck the keys there. Then I got in The Whale and let it roll backwards about a foot to cover up any signs of disturbed dirt."
                        "And?"
                        "And then I put The Whale in park and locked the doors. Emma, we got the keys buried dead-center under the left front wheel of our Suburban!"
                        Emma didn't say anything, but did start smacking Carl on the head with her helmet.




















                        OFF-ROAD DECEMBER 1993 THE WANDERERS #59 HEADLINES

                        HEADLINE: THE WANDERERS
                        SUBHEAD: THE PERFECT TRAIL RIDE. WELL, ALMOST PERFECT
                        BYLINE: BY RICK SIEMAN



                        (NOTE TO ART DEPT. SUGGESTION FOR ILLO: HOW ABOUT A DRAWING OF THE WHALE WITH CARL'S BUTT STICKING IN THE AIR, AS HE TRIES TO DIG KEYS OUT FROM UNDERNEATH THE FRONT TIRE?)
                        Doing it all wrong since 1966

                        Comment


                        • When we last left our friends, they were headed in the general direction of Canada, but had been distracted with various side trips. Since they had no real schedule to keep, this was no big deal. That was one of the great benefits of being retired and living out of a traveling 4x4: you did what you wanted, when you wanted.
                          In fact, Carl tended to lose track of what was happening, since he never bought a news paper and whenever he watched television, it was usually WWF Wrestling or Road Runner cartoons. We join them now, as they wander (what else?) in a generally northward direction.
                          ***
                          Carl leaned back in the conformable captain's chair with his legs stretched out. As per usual practice, the cruise control on The Whale was set at 58 miles per hour, exactly three miles over the posted speed limit. Carl's philosophy was clear on this: "Ain't no state trooper chicken-crap enough to write you up for three miles over the limit. It's jist enough to irritate 'em."
                          Carl yawned, belched heavily, and then quietly passed some gas. To cover himself, he thought quickly: "Did you see that dead skunk alongside the road back there? Musta been the size of a German Sheppard. Pheeeeewww! Enough to make you gag."
                          Emma wrinkled her nose. "Ugh! It's awful. And for some reason, it smells like pepperoni."
                          Carl suppressed a smile. Faked her out again! "Say, Emma. Why don't you turn that radio on and see if you can raise a good country station? A coupla good Willy Nelson songs right about now would be nice."
                          Emma fiddled with the knobs on the intimidating Blitzkreig Watt Blaster radio, and finally found the tuner. She rotated the knob slowly:
                          ... turn, turn, turn ... squack ... squeal ... " ... coming in at number 19 on the Top 40 list, is Shoot The Cops In The Head, by Ice Water Jones and the Rap Killers, up last week from number ..."
                          ... turn, turn, turn ... " ... so if you've always wanted to be a mortician, now's your chance! Just send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to Famous Morticians School, right here in Tulsa ..."
                          ... turn, turn, turn ... " ... and quit losing money with low interest back savings. Forget gold and silver. Yes, the real way to make big bucks, is with plutonium investments. Did you know that you can't make nuclear bombs without plutonium? That little known fact can give you the inside edge on real ..."
                          ... turn, turn, turn ... " ... so why pay more for groceries? C'mon down to Finsters Food Fair, where you can get three bunches of rutabaga for only 49 cents, and not only that ..."
                          ... turn, turn, turn ... " ... tuned for the six o'clock news, brought to you by Lucky Lube, where you can get your oil changed in 20 minutes or less, and then roll the dice to see if you pay double, or get it free. Only in Nevada, it's Lucky Lu ..."
                          Carl sighed. "Ain't there nuthin' good on, Emma?"
                          Emma fixed him with a sharp look. "It wouldn't hurt you to find out what's going on in the world today. Let's just listen to the evening news for a change."
                          Carl grunted.
                          " ... and the President said today that his budget plan will help the economy in the long run, and that the American people will be able to handle the increase in taxes ..."
                          Carl got read in the face. "Dammit! I knew I never should have voted for Nixon. He promised not to raise taxes. And now look at this: increased taxes!"
                          Emma shook her head from side to side. "Carl, Nixon isn't president any more."
                          "Hmmmph. No wonder, what with raising the taxes and all. Who whipped him? Goldwater? Hubert Humphrey?"
                          "Not quite. They got a new guy in named Clinton, from Arkansas. Some kind of New Age person. He wants gays in the military ... that sort of stuff."
                          "What's wrong with that? You gotta have gates in the military. If you don't, all sorts of weird people will get in to the bases. Not only that, you gotta have big tall fences with barbed wire on the top."
                          "Not 'gates', Carl. Gays. Oh, never mind. Why don't we just listen to the news, and maybe we'll find out something interesting. After all, how many times can you listen to Willy Nelson singing Whiskey River?"
                          "I dunno. Two hunnert? Three hunnert? I never get tired of it. So what's your point, Emma?"
                          "Oh, never mind. Just shut up and drive. Maybe, in spite of yourself, you'll learn something."
                          " ... news is brought to you in part by the best little lake in the area, Lake Finster. Swimming, boating, fishing and just plain fun, are part of the activities at Lake Finster. And not only that, if you just stop by and fill up your tank, you could win a free inflatable boat. Located just three miles off Highway ..."
                          Carl snapped to attention. "Look, Emma! There's a sign! We're only a few miles from Lake Finster. And we're low on gas. Who knows? Maybe we can win that inflatable boat. That boat we got on the roof is getting pretty old and crusty. It sure would be nice to get a boat that's not only new, but maybe half the weight of our old rig. What the heck... let's give it a shot!"
                          A few minutes later, The Whale rumbled up to the gas station at Lake Finster. Carl filled the tanks of The Whale up, then walked inside the station to check on the boat contest: "Say, what's the deal on winning this here inflatable boat?"
                          The attendant set down his worn copy of Hustler and handed Carl a card. "Just scratch off any three of the 15 squares. If you get three boats, you win. If you get two boats, you get a free pint of night crawlers. If you get one boat, you get a free plastic whistle. Good luck, partner."
                          Carl extracted quarter out of his pocket and thought real hard for a moment, then scratched off one square. Wow! A boat!
                          He closed his eyes, poked a finger at another square, scratched that one off, and got another boat! "Emma! Git your buns over here! I already got two boats. If I get a third one, we're gonna be floatin' high! Wish me luck!"
                          Emma rubbed Carls' thinning crew-cut for luck, and watched intently as he scratched off the third square.
                          Carl let out a loud whoop. "Hey! I got it! I won the boat! Lookee here! Hot damn!"
                          Emma's eyes bugged out. "How'd you do that, dear?"
                          "Well, I sort of thought it out real careful and used my scientific mind to calculate exactly where the winning squares would be. The rest is history."
                          The attendant sighed. "Lady, he closed his eyes and picked the last two boxes. This wasn't exactly no rocket science move." ***
                          One hour later, Carl was opening a very large cardboard box right next to the edge of Lake Finster. The first thing he extracted from the box was an instruction manual. "You got to follow these things closely, Emma. It's not like blowing up a raft. These modern devices are made out of Kevlar, Mylar, Poly-butyl-stuff, PBS, PVC, and God knows what else. Too much air, and we could blow this thing all the way to Montana. Not enough air, and it'll sink like a claw hammer. So stand back, shut up, and let me set this unit up."
                          Emma did indeed, stand back. Carl followed the instructions like a free-lance brain surgeon doing a mail-order brain transplant.
                          He inflated the boat carefully to exactly 80 p.s.i., using the air compressor built into The Whale. Then he installed the small engine, using the supplied hardware, taking extra care to torque them down to exactly the indicated specs. All the goodies were bolted down as per the instructions. His thick forefinger followed each line and each word.
                          One hour later, the boat was ready.
                          Carl fired up the five horsepower engine and let it warm up. He did a double check on the brackets and fittings, then smiled: "Emma? Get your buns in the boat. We're goin' to take 'er for a spin on Lake Finster."
                          Emma looked at the bright yellow inflatable boat. "I didn't realize it was so big. Gosh, it's impressive! But shouldn't we put that little cover over the air valve?"
                          Carl studied the boat for a moment, then flipped through the manual. "Nope. It don't say nuthin' about covering that thing up with a stopper. This here is a Your-O-pean boat, made in Germany, and these people make a good product and a good manual. I go by the manual. So hop in and I'll launch this here sucker."
                          Emma gingerly stepped into the boat and sat down in the bow.
                          Carl got a good grip on the stern and wiggled it into the water. In a few moments, the bright yellow inflatable was floating high and dry. Carl fired up the motor and they churned off toward the center of Lake Finster.
                          About one minute out, the yellow boat started sitting low in the water. Two minutes after that, it was sitting alarmingly low.




                          Doing it all wrong since 1966

                          Comment


                          • Emma leaned over the side and looked at the air valve. A steady hissing sound was emitting.
                            She tried to point this out to Carl, but he was busy working his way out among the many water craft on the crowded lake. Three minutes later, water was lapping over the edges of the center of the boat, and even Carl was forced to admit that fact.
                            Sixty seconds later, the middle of the boat was sagging like an over-ripe banana, and the front and the rear were pointing up into the sky.
                            Another minutes passed, and Carl realized that a real problem was in the making: "Swim for it, Emma! We're sinking!"
                            Emma bailed over the side and doggie-paddled for shore, while Carl tried to turn the water-laden craft around.
                            When Emma was half way to the shore, she saw the boat sag heavily in the middle and Carl dive head first into the water.
                            Unfortunately, he hit a mud bank about two feet below the surface.
                            Fortunately, the safety patrol saw his feet waving in the air, and extracted him before he ingested the muddy bottom.
                            Later on, as Emma sipped on a Yoo-Hoo chocolate soda, she reflected on the fact that they were able to sell the boat for $200, which almost covered the rescue fee.
                            Sigh.
                            Doing it all wrong since 1966

                            Comment


                            • Poor Carl, if not for bad luck, no luck at all...

                              Comment


                              • so here it is in its rattling, dented glory


                                notice all that awful rust.... terrible, no?


                                so driving it home was scary, very scary - it does need a rebuild of the front suspension and maybe shocks.... and perhaps another brake or two... but the friend who helped me on it suggested it was a tire issue. He was right
                                I put these beauties on and it drove better

                                I know this might sound odd, but despite having two sets of those original wheels on there - I kind of like these, wonder if I can find poverty caps (or just leave them with a cleanup)




                                I always love finding stuff in new vehicles... the guy I bought it from... a pastor, who related that his son said "it just stopped" ... thinking the kid needs to listen to his dad a bit more


                                what is kind of funny is there was a Pastor who was a former gang member that wrong "The Cross and the Switchblade." It was a good influence on me, so maybe this kid is following that too

                                anyway, the 85 is up for sale and the denali is going to be rendered to parts after this weekend... what I don't know is how much, what features, and how to advertise the 85... I should keep it, but then again, I want to narrow my project and the focus...
                                Doing it all wrong since 1966

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