The Wanderers build
- Thread starter superbuickguy
- Start date
CoolMooseMan
Samurai Investor
How did you mount the ladder to the sheet metal? I want to do this, but am unsure how to make it structurally sound on the thin metal.
superbuickguy
Explorer
A little of both. I'm using the stock holes but adding substantial reinforcement - that will probably be included in tonight's update.
by gripping the pinch seam on the top of the door and by bolting to the bottom seam. More specifically, I used 2 - 1x1 1/8 and used them to grip the door
superbuickguy
Explorer
More parts to integrate
it's kind of interesting, when I bought it there were several people who remarked at how noisy it is and there isn't a variable speed. A couple suggested PCM switches, so I bought one, the interesting bit is the manufacturer says don't use them with it.... yeah, another ignored suggestion
time to get serious about roof mounting
loving my new chop saw - perfect miters
created a hole for the vent
when I put a RTAC on, I'll frame the opening in the same was as the vent.... which is why there is cross bars on top - those are above the Mach 8 I'm planning on installing (so I can still haul a canoe or whatever)
it's kind of interesting, when I bought it there were several people who remarked at how noisy it is and there isn't a variable speed. A couple suggested PCM switches, so I bought one, the interesting bit is the manufacturer says don't use them with it.... yeah, another ignored suggestion
time to get serious about roof mounting
loving my new chop saw - perfect miters
created a hole for the vent
when I put a RTAC on, I'll frame the opening in the same was as the vent.... which is why there is cross bars on top - those are above the Mach 8 I'm planning on installing (so I can still haul a canoe or whatever)
superbuickguy
Explorer
Onward.
The point of the rack is a place to mount lights, hold the foxwing, hold the solar panels and provide a spot to put a RTT if needed.
Today's test fit was to verify that this iteration was good to go
I also welded handles/tie downs (you can never have enough of those)
tomorrow's task will be mounting it securely. coming up with a wiring plan and affixing all the other bits (lights, awning)
for those counting.... the door is about 1" too low... why I didn't put the big door on that side is beyond me... oh well, next shop I'll know better
The point of the rack is a place to mount lights, hold the foxwing, hold the solar panels and provide a spot to put a RTT if needed.
Today's test fit was to verify that this iteration was good to go
I also welded handles/tie downs (you can never have enough of those)
tomorrow's task will be mounting it securely. coming up with a wiring plan and affixing all the other bits (lights, awning)
for those counting.... the door is about 1" too low... why I didn't put the big door on that side is beyond me... oh well, next shop I'll know better
superbuickguy
Explorer
THE WANDERERS #15
MISTAKEN IDENTITIES - THE MIAMI SAGE, PART III
By Rick Sieman
When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just gotten severely lost on their way to Miami and had blasted The Whale through a grapefruit grove at flank speed. Covered with juice, seeds, grapefruit rind, and drawing more and more flies by the minute, Carl was forced to stop and wash off The Whale, during which time he lost whatever sense of proper direction he had left.
After wandering around the sugar sand back roads of Florida for hours, Carl got on the CB and asked for directions, identify¬ing himself, as usual, as The Whale. A voice possessing a dis¬tinct Spanish accent told him to look for a red flare in the sky.
We join them now as the red flare burst into the sky:
***
Carl thumbed the CB mike again. "Gotcha. We saw the flare and are headed in that direction. What should I look for?"
"Just look for the usual stuff, Senor Whale. Guns and air¬planes." A harsh laugh followed.
Carl looked at Emma. Emma looked at Carl. Carl scratched his chin. "Hmmm. Wonder how he knew we were driving The Whale? Well, whatever. We'll find out soon enough."
Ten minutes later, The Whale lurched over a rise in the two-track sand road and pushed aside enough brush to see a rather large clearing. In the clearing were a number of trucks, two small airplanes, one Quonset hut building and a few small sheds. A number of rather rough-looking men lounged around with all sorts of weapons slung over their shoulders. Netting was stretched over the trees and sunlight barely filtered through the branches and leaves stuck in the netting.
Emma turned to Carl with a puzzled look on her face. "Dear, what do you make of this? These men with all those guns?"
Carl lobbed a medium-size wad of tobacco out the window of The Whale and nailed a beautiful tropical flower dead center. It quickly curled, turned brown and slumped to the ground.
"Emma, don't you know nuthin ? This here's clearly a huntin' and shootin' club. Betcha there's plenty of deers and such in these deep woods."
A tall man obviously in charge waved The Whale to an area to park, then walked over and stuck his head in the open window. "Senor Whale? My name is Carlos. I'm so glad to see you. Won't you please step into my office - humble as it is - and I'll give you the directions you are going to need?"
Carl stuck a meaty hand out the window. "Glad to meet you, Charley. A person could get lost out here real easy."
"Carlos. The name is Carlos."
"Yep, that's what I said. Anyways, let's go look at some maps. I'd like to make Miami before tomorrow."
Carl and Emma followed Carlos into the Quonset hut and he mo¬tioned for them to sit. He picked up a stick and pointed to a large map. "You are here now, amigo. Here is where you want to be manana. "And this," he pointed out a red line, "is the route you'll want to take."
Carl shifted his tobacco from one cheek to the other and scratched his head. "Hey, Charo, it looks like the main highway is only about five, maybe six miles from here. Wouldn't that be the hot way to go?"
"Carlos, please ... the name is Carlos. Ahh, Senor Whale, you have a sense of humor that I like. Hot, indeed. There would be police all along that road ... and you know what that means."
Carl smiled. "Yup. Tickets. Don't need any of those. You see, I usually drive a little bit over the speed limit."
Carlos slapped his thigh and let out a roaring laugh. "Oh, Senor Whale, you are indeed a very funny man. I like that. I take it, then, that we will be able to do business? You will deliver my package for me in Miami?"
Carl beamed. "Sure, Charo. It's the least I could do. After all, you guys got me un-lost."
"It's Carlos."
"Right. Now, what about this route here? What are we dealing with?"
"It's tough driving. Mostly narrow sandy roads, with lots of water crossings and some mud. But the good thing is almost all of it's under cover of trees or heavy brush. That way, no one can see you from the air, which is good."
Emma looked puzzled. "Why is that good?"
Carl sighed loudly. "Emma, don't you know nuthin'? Them traf¬fic cops can give you a ticket from an airplane."
Carlos laughed loudly again, but Carl couldn't quite figure out why.
Two hours later, after Carl and Emma had eaten and freshened up, Carlos came up to them with a map marked with the correct route. It was one of those neat topo maps that Carl really liked; the kind that had gotten him lost many times in the past. He also handed Carl a small suitcase. "Here's the address and the man you should give this to is named Tito. Give it to no one else. And for your troubles, good friend Whale, here are 50 big ones for you." With that, he tucked an envelope in Carl's shirt pocket, and winked.
Carl was embarrassed. "Gee whiz, Casper. You didn't have to do that. You folks have been so nice to us ..."
"No, no, no, my friend ... I insist. Why, it would cost me at least that much to Federal Express it." With that, Carlos roared with laughter again and smacked Carl on the shoulder as though they'd been friends for years.
A half-hour later, The Whale was lumbering through the dense foliage in second gear, in 4-L, and the big Gumbo Mudder tires were churning comfortably through the crusty sand, that did, indeed, look like sugar.
The map that Carlos had given Carl was excellent. It showed every fork in the trail and even gave exact distances. Many of
the trees were marked with orange spray paint, just about at eye level.
Carl was amazed. "Jeez, Emma, this map is so good that even a blind man couldn't get lost."
Fifteen minutes later, Carl got lost, hopelessly lost.
In desperation, he looked at the compass on the dash and said, "Well, when in doubt, go back to basics. It's late afternoon and as far as I know, the sun still sets in the west, right?"
Emma nodded.
"Then, we just head due east until we hit the Pacific Ocean and the highway runs right alongside the ocean."
"You mean the Atlantic Ocean, dear."
"Yeh, that's what I said. Your ears goin' bad in your old age, woman?"
Carl sighted on the compass and headed dead-nuts due east. He crashed through the brush, forded small streams, almost got stuck in the mud and nearly had a heart attack when a snake fell on his windshield. He quickly flicked the wipers on and flipped the confused reptile about 20 feet into the jungle where it decided to take a long rest underneath an old rotten log.
Success was realized, however, when Carl finally broke through the brush and was greeted with the welcome sight of a paved road with the ocean on the other side. The Whale was a filthy mud and leaf-covered mess. Carl could barely see through the windshield.
They rumbled down the road at a comfortable speed until the metropolis of Miami came into view. Emma shifted in the comfort¬able captain's chair and said, "You know, dear, the Whale looks a mess. Why don't we stop in at the first truck wash place we can find and get it cleaned up before we drop the suitcase off with Mr. Frito?"
"That's Tito, Emma. But that is a good idea. No sense pulling up to a place looking like a garbage truck."
After a few minutes, Carl found a car/truck wash and pulled in. The manager looked over the filthy Whale and said, "Mister, no way am I going to clean that rolling swamp for the $12.00 price up there on the sign. It's going to cost you 40 bucks, and that don't include the interior. Take it or leave it."
Carl's face grew crimson in hue. "Forty bucks? I'm not asking you to paint the damn thing! I just want it cleaned!"
Emma stepped in between the two men and calmed down her hus¬band. "Now dear, don't worry. After all, we do have that $50 Mr. Carlos gave us back at the hunting place."
"Yeh, good idea, Emma. Funny I didn't think of that." With that, Carl thumbed open the envelope and extracted the bills ... all 50 of the $1,000 bills!
He looked at it dumbly, the facts still not registering yet, and with a puzzled look on his face, asked the truck wash manager, "Uhh, you got change for $ 1,000? Seems to be the smallest thing I've got on me."
***
An hour later, Carl was in the Miami County jail, in the maxi¬mum security section, next to a cell occupied by Emma. Carl picked up a tin cup and rattled it against the bars. "Saw this in a movie once and always wanted to do it."
Emma broke into loud, wailing crying. Carl realized that his joke had not helped much.
The detective looked at Carl in his best no-nonsense look:
"Let me get this straight, Al ..."
"Carl. The name's Carl."
"Right. Now listen up. We got you on some pretty serious charges here. First off, you try to pass a counterfeit $1,000 bill. Then, when the cops stop you on the tip from the truck wash manager, we find 49 more of them and a suitcase full of coke. Would you like to explain?"
"Coke? In a suitcase? That's a stupid way to transport the stuff. You should always put it in a cooler with lots of ice. "
The detective jumped with glee and said, "Could you please repeat that into this tape recorder? And maybe the judge will give you a reduced sentence for co-operating with the law. And maybe your girlfriend here would like to spill the beans, too."
Emma wailed loudly and Carl looked at the ceiling, hoping it would fall in on him.
An FBI agent shuffled through the stack of papers on the desk, turned to the detective and spoke. "Not a chance. This guy has a totally clean record and everything checks out, no matter how weird it sounds. Plus, we think he's too dumb to transport drugs."
Carl bristled. "I am not too dumb to smuggle drugs, I ... ooof!"
Emma had just elbowed him smartly in the rib cage.
Carl got a sheepish look on his face. "Well, after second thought, maybe I am."
The FBI men turned to Carl like they were mounted on gears, and one of then said, "Now, if you'll work with us on this, per¬haps we can ..."
***
Two days later, The Whale was headed north, exactly at the speed limit. Carl was swearing under his breath and spitting tobacco juice out the window at a prodigious rate.
Emma quietly commented: "Carl, you ought to be happy that we were able to get that Tito and all those dope fiends caught and put in jail. And the FBI men said you were a real hero for deliv¬ering that codeine to the ..."
"Cocaine, Emma. lt's cocaine, a terrible drug."
"That s what I said, dear. Anyways, why didn't we stay there in Miami and finish our visit?"
" What? And hang around all those old, retired people? Not me. We're gonna head somewhere new ... someplace different ... we're going to Mexico! I'm just curious to see if The Whale could navigate that Baja 1000 course they're always writing about in the magazines. Buenos airhose. Hasta Garbonzo! Viva Las Vegas. Watch out, Mexico, here come the Wanderers!"
Emma sighed and said nothing at all, which seemed like good idea at the time.
MISTAKEN IDENTITIES - THE MIAMI SAGE, PART III
By Rick Sieman
When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just gotten severely lost on their way to Miami and had blasted The Whale through a grapefruit grove at flank speed. Covered with juice, seeds, grapefruit rind, and drawing more and more flies by the minute, Carl was forced to stop and wash off The Whale, during which time he lost whatever sense of proper direction he had left.
After wandering around the sugar sand back roads of Florida for hours, Carl got on the CB and asked for directions, identify¬ing himself, as usual, as The Whale. A voice possessing a dis¬tinct Spanish accent told him to look for a red flare in the sky.
We join them now as the red flare burst into the sky:
***
Carl thumbed the CB mike again. "Gotcha. We saw the flare and are headed in that direction. What should I look for?"
"Just look for the usual stuff, Senor Whale. Guns and air¬planes." A harsh laugh followed.
Carl looked at Emma. Emma looked at Carl. Carl scratched his chin. "Hmmm. Wonder how he knew we were driving The Whale? Well, whatever. We'll find out soon enough."
Ten minutes later, The Whale lurched over a rise in the two-track sand road and pushed aside enough brush to see a rather large clearing. In the clearing were a number of trucks, two small airplanes, one Quonset hut building and a few small sheds. A number of rather rough-looking men lounged around with all sorts of weapons slung over their shoulders. Netting was stretched over the trees and sunlight barely filtered through the branches and leaves stuck in the netting.
Emma turned to Carl with a puzzled look on her face. "Dear, what do you make of this? These men with all those guns?"
Carl lobbed a medium-size wad of tobacco out the window of The Whale and nailed a beautiful tropical flower dead center. It quickly curled, turned brown and slumped to the ground.
"Emma, don't you know nuthin ? This here's clearly a huntin' and shootin' club. Betcha there's plenty of deers and such in these deep woods."
A tall man obviously in charge waved The Whale to an area to park, then walked over and stuck his head in the open window. "Senor Whale? My name is Carlos. I'm so glad to see you. Won't you please step into my office - humble as it is - and I'll give you the directions you are going to need?"
Carl stuck a meaty hand out the window. "Glad to meet you, Charley. A person could get lost out here real easy."
"Carlos. The name is Carlos."
"Yep, that's what I said. Anyways, let's go look at some maps. I'd like to make Miami before tomorrow."
Carl and Emma followed Carlos into the Quonset hut and he mo¬tioned for them to sit. He picked up a stick and pointed to a large map. "You are here now, amigo. Here is where you want to be manana. "And this," he pointed out a red line, "is the route you'll want to take."
Carl shifted his tobacco from one cheek to the other and scratched his head. "Hey, Charo, it looks like the main highway is only about five, maybe six miles from here. Wouldn't that be the hot way to go?"
"Carlos, please ... the name is Carlos. Ahh, Senor Whale, you have a sense of humor that I like. Hot, indeed. There would be police all along that road ... and you know what that means."
Carl smiled. "Yup. Tickets. Don't need any of those. You see, I usually drive a little bit over the speed limit."
Carlos slapped his thigh and let out a roaring laugh. "Oh, Senor Whale, you are indeed a very funny man. I like that. I take it, then, that we will be able to do business? You will deliver my package for me in Miami?"
Carl beamed. "Sure, Charo. It's the least I could do. After all, you guys got me un-lost."
"It's Carlos."
"Right. Now, what about this route here? What are we dealing with?"
"It's tough driving. Mostly narrow sandy roads, with lots of water crossings and some mud. But the good thing is almost all of it's under cover of trees or heavy brush. That way, no one can see you from the air, which is good."
Emma looked puzzled. "Why is that good?"
Carl sighed loudly. "Emma, don't you know nuthin'? Them traf¬fic cops can give you a ticket from an airplane."
Carlos laughed loudly again, but Carl couldn't quite figure out why.
Two hours later, after Carl and Emma had eaten and freshened up, Carlos came up to them with a map marked with the correct route. It was one of those neat topo maps that Carl really liked; the kind that had gotten him lost many times in the past. He also handed Carl a small suitcase. "Here's the address and the man you should give this to is named Tito. Give it to no one else. And for your troubles, good friend Whale, here are 50 big ones for you." With that, he tucked an envelope in Carl's shirt pocket, and winked.
Carl was embarrassed. "Gee whiz, Casper. You didn't have to do that. You folks have been so nice to us ..."
"No, no, no, my friend ... I insist. Why, it would cost me at least that much to Federal Express it." With that, Carlos roared with laughter again and smacked Carl on the shoulder as though they'd been friends for years.
A half-hour later, The Whale was lumbering through the dense foliage in second gear, in 4-L, and the big Gumbo Mudder tires were churning comfortably through the crusty sand, that did, indeed, look like sugar.
The map that Carlos had given Carl was excellent. It showed every fork in the trail and even gave exact distances. Many of
the trees were marked with orange spray paint, just about at eye level.
Carl was amazed. "Jeez, Emma, this map is so good that even a blind man couldn't get lost."
Fifteen minutes later, Carl got lost, hopelessly lost.
In desperation, he looked at the compass on the dash and said, "Well, when in doubt, go back to basics. It's late afternoon and as far as I know, the sun still sets in the west, right?"
Emma nodded.
"Then, we just head due east until we hit the Pacific Ocean and the highway runs right alongside the ocean."
"You mean the Atlantic Ocean, dear."
"Yeh, that's what I said. Your ears goin' bad in your old age, woman?"
Carl sighted on the compass and headed dead-nuts due east. He crashed through the brush, forded small streams, almost got stuck in the mud and nearly had a heart attack when a snake fell on his windshield. He quickly flicked the wipers on and flipped the confused reptile about 20 feet into the jungle where it decided to take a long rest underneath an old rotten log.
Success was realized, however, when Carl finally broke through the brush and was greeted with the welcome sight of a paved road with the ocean on the other side. The Whale was a filthy mud and leaf-covered mess. Carl could barely see through the windshield.
They rumbled down the road at a comfortable speed until the metropolis of Miami came into view. Emma shifted in the comfort¬able captain's chair and said, "You know, dear, the Whale looks a mess. Why don't we stop in at the first truck wash place we can find and get it cleaned up before we drop the suitcase off with Mr. Frito?"
"That's Tito, Emma. But that is a good idea. No sense pulling up to a place looking like a garbage truck."
After a few minutes, Carl found a car/truck wash and pulled in. The manager looked over the filthy Whale and said, "Mister, no way am I going to clean that rolling swamp for the $12.00 price up there on the sign. It's going to cost you 40 bucks, and that don't include the interior. Take it or leave it."
Carl's face grew crimson in hue. "Forty bucks? I'm not asking you to paint the damn thing! I just want it cleaned!"
Emma stepped in between the two men and calmed down her hus¬band. "Now dear, don't worry. After all, we do have that $50 Mr. Carlos gave us back at the hunting place."
"Yeh, good idea, Emma. Funny I didn't think of that." With that, Carl thumbed open the envelope and extracted the bills ... all 50 of the $1,000 bills!
He looked at it dumbly, the facts still not registering yet, and with a puzzled look on his face, asked the truck wash manager, "Uhh, you got change for $ 1,000? Seems to be the smallest thing I've got on me."
***
An hour later, Carl was in the Miami County jail, in the maxi¬mum security section, next to a cell occupied by Emma. Carl picked up a tin cup and rattled it against the bars. "Saw this in a movie once and always wanted to do it."
Emma broke into loud, wailing crying. Carl realized that his joke had not helped much.
The detective looked at Carl in his best no-nonsense look:
"Let me get this straight, Al ..."
"Carl. The name's Carl."
"Right. Now listen up. We got you on some pretty serious charges here. First off, you try to pass a counterfeit $1,000 bill. Then, when the cops stop you on the tip from the truck wash manager, we find 49 more of them and a suitcase full of coke. Would you like to explain?"
"Coke? In a suitcase? That's a stupid way to transport the stuff. You should always put it in a cooler with lots of ice. "
The detective jumped with glee and said, "Could you please repeat that into this tape recorder? And maybe the judge will give you a reduced sentence for co-operating with the law. And maybe your girlfriend here would like to spill the beans, too."
Emma wailed loudly and Carl looked at the ceiling, hoping it would fall in on him.
An FBI agent shuffled through the stack of papers on the desk, turned to the detective and spoke. "Not a chance. This guy has a totally clean record and everything checks out, no matter how weird it sounds. Plus, we think he's too dumb to transport drugs."
Carl bristled. "I am not too dumb to smuggle drugs, I ... ooof!"
Emma had just elbowed him smartly in the rib cage.
Carl got a sheepish look on his face. "Well, after second thought, maybe I am."
The FBI men turned to Carl like they were mounted on gears, and one of then said, "Now, if you'll work with us on this, per¬haps we can ..."
***
Two days later, The Whale was headed north, exactly at the speed limit. Carl was swearing under his breath and spitting tobacco juice out the window at a prodigious rate.
Emma quietly commented: "Carl, you ought to be happy that we were able to get that Tito and all those dope fiends caught and put in jail. And the FBI men said you were a real hero for deliv¬ering that codeine to the ..."
"Cocaine, Emma. lt's cocaine, a terrible drug."
"That s what I said, dear. Anyways, why didn't we stay there in Miami and finish our visit?"
" What? And hang around all those old, retired people? Not me. We're gonna head somewhere new ... someplace different ... we're going to Mexico! I'm just curious to see if The Whale could navigate that Baja 1000 course they're always writing about in the magazines. Buenos airhose. Hasta Garbonzo! Viva Las Vegas. Watch out, Mexico, here come the Wanderers!"
Emma sighed and said nothing at all, which seemed like good idea at the time.
superbuickguy
Explorer
not much done just got started on paint
superbuickguy
Explorer
A vent, installed
and roof rack on... not attached, but on
All this shuffling around is so I can put the 'burb back on the lift and install the batteries and this
there is a slight issue, I think I'm going to have to put a remote fill on it.... we'll see tomorrow.
and roof rack on... not attached, but on
All this shuffling around is so I can put the 'burb back on the lift and install the batteries and this
there is a slight issue, I think I'm going to have to put a remote fill on it.... we'll see tomorrow.
superbuickguy
Explorer
Onward
to be completely honest, I have a pathological problem with stuff hanging below the frame - so this may not last.... it'll last though the rally, but in the end I may go with something smaller. And yeah, I know, this is basically an RV with clearance... so perhaps a skid will do.
if the tank stays in place, I need to figure out whether it will be a remote fill or a cut in the body....
and 200 lbs more cargo
believe it or not, it should be a nice fit....
tomorrow is going to be a bastard of a day, so we'll see if I actually get these both mounted ...
and something random.... why did they install this piece of flat steel?
to be completely honest, I have a pathological problem with stuff hanging below the frame - so this may not last.... it'll last though the rally, but in the end I may go with something smaller. And yeah, I know, this is basically an RV with clearance... so perhaps a skid will do.
if the tank stays in place, I need to figure out whether it will be a remote fill or a cut in the body....
and 200 lbs more cargo
believe it or not, it should be a nice fit....
tomorrow is going to be a bastard of a day, so we'll see if I actually get these both mounted ...
and something random.... why did they install this piece of flat steel?
mizedog
Observer
Wow, I just stumbled on this and it brought back many great memories of Superdawg and how Granville weaseled his way out of trouble. I read Rick in both the 4x4 and bike rags back in the 80's. His article was the first thing read when I got a new magazine. Thanks. I'll be sure to read your whole thread, and think about exploring old Mexico.
Sent from my SAMSUNG-SM-N900A using Tapatalk
Sent from my SAMSUNG-SM-N900A using Tapatalk
superbuickguy
Explorer
A water tank. 10 gallon, soon it gets its home...
but first
battery boxes
The order of events was going to be propane tank - because it really doesn't take much to install (heh) - then finish the battery system. Problem is I'm not in love with the tank hanging down so I moved onto something I know what needs doing and will finish it up. The propane tank doesn't 'have' to be in place by June 16 but the water and electric do as does the shelves, roof mounts, and the bed frame - I can run my camp stove off a propane canister, on the table I've yet to make. I'm leaning towards cutting the floor. If I do, I may also solve what I think is a GM issue with the raised seat pedestal. Why they just didn't make the floor flat from the step to the kick panels is beyond my comprehension - all that lost space, space I can use for comfy semi-truck floatation seats... I digress, at that time I can make a spot for the tank along with the tool wall (Eventually, this will be a 3 door egress suburban with the 4th door opening to a utility box).... anyway, preview of things to come.
thanks for watching
but first
battery boxes
The order of events was going to be propane tank - because it really doesn't take much to install (heh) - then finish the battery system. Problem is I'm not in love with the tank hanging down so I moved onto something I know what needs doing and will finish it up. The propane tank doesn't 'have' to be in place by June 16 but the water and electric do as does the shelves, roof mounts, and the bed frame - I can run my camp stove off a propane canister, on the table I've yet to make. I'm leaning towards cutting the floor. If I do, I may also solve what I think is a GM issue with the raised seat pedestal. Why they just didn't make the floor flat from the step to the kick panels is beyond my comprehension - all that lost space, space I can use for comfy semi-truck floatation seats... I digress, at that time I can make a spot for the tank along with the tool wall (Eventually, this will be a 3 door egress suburban with the 4th door opening to a utility box).... anyway, preview of things to come.
thanks for watching
superbuickguy
Explorer
more on the battery mount
drill some holes
and didn't even drill a line that didn't need drilling (yay)
now to design the bottom half.... ttfn
drill some holes
and didn't even drill a line that didn't need drilling (yay)
now to design the bottom half.... ttfn
superbuickguy
Explorer
THE WANDERERS #16
ON THE ROAD TO MEXICO… MORE OR LESS!
By Rick Sieman
When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just gone through their confused version of Miami Vice. For the moment, the wandering couple had seen enough of the orange juice state to last them a decade or three. Carl figured a complete change of climate was in order and they had always wanted to see Mexico anyway.
***
We join them now as they head west through Louisiana, toward the Left Coast. The day is warm, the sun shining brightly and The Whale is rumbling smoothly along at exactly two miles an hour over the speed limit. The day is so perfect, that all the windows on the giant Suburban are rolled down. No air conditioning needed today.
Carl shifted the plug of Red Man chewing tobacco to the right side of his mouth so he could control the spit from the left side. A good chewing man learns effective spitting techniques early.
A roadside speed sign was in sight up ahead and Carl concentrated mightily as The Whale approached. He pursed his lips, allowed sufficient lead and aimed just so... and let loose with a brownish wad of juice that flew in a flat arc. The wad hit dead center right between the two “5s” and Carl grunted with satisfaction. Sure, the legs get old, but some things got better with age.
Emma sighed and looked up from her knitting.
"Dear, I wish you wouldn't spit all over the landscape. Who knows what kind of terrible things could happen?”
Carl let out a big booming laugh.
"What kind of trouble? Will the spit patrol give me a ticket? Haw, haw!"
Emma wrinkled her nose and thought for a moment. "Well dear, there could be a sudden gust of wind and it could blow all that stuff right back in your face."
"Winds? On a warm day like this in Louisiana? Did you stick one of those knitting needles in your brain, Emma? That's a laugh! Whatever... why don t you take a break from making that three-necked sweater and git me some good country sounds on the radio?"
Emma stared at the intimidating sound system that cost more than the average car, and hesitated.
Carl barked, "The red button, Emma, the big red one that says "ON". I told you a hunnert times that's the one that fires it up. Jeez!”
Emma sighed and gingerly pressed the button. A bewildering array of multi-colored lights blinked wildly and LED bars climbed up and down like monitors on a nuclear reactor on steroids. A blast of sound pounded through the cab of The Whale:
"Ooooooh babeeee, bayd, baby, baby, I wanna jump on your lips! Ya, ya, ya, down with the pigs and up with giant bags of dope and I'm gonna lick you on the..."
Carl yelled over the music. “I don't think that's Willy Nelson, Emma. Just mebbe you ought to try a few more stations." Emma located the big dial that changed stations and rotated it:
…dial, dial, dial...
"...so now is the right time to invest in gold and silver. Sure, the market has been down, but that means it's ready to go up, so you ought to take all of your money out of the bank and get ready to make some real interest. Stop down at the Gold and Silver Euphorium and ask for Lefty or...”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...no matter how long you've been bald, new Danish Formula Bush Head Number Seven will bring in a crop of hair. And we offer a money back guarantee, so just send $29.95 to P.O. Box...”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...gosh, the big band sound really brings back memories of Benny Goodman and the.."
…dail, dial, dial...
"...the right time to plant okra is just after the last frost and right before the …”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...add one cup of butter to the milk and stir it in. Then, chop up the tuna into one inch squares, making sure it's dead first, then add two cups of bread crumbs and one teas...”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...the smallest bible ever made. Do send your love offering to Brother Love, cause if you don't, chances are pretty good you are gonna burn forever in...”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...which brings us to the effect that modern dance has had on the political system..."
…dial, dial, dial...
"...city council meeting have been changed from Monday evenings to…”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...strangest weather conditions we've had in Louisiana in 40 years. While the weather is near perfect, there are odd gusts of wind up to 60 mph coming in over the Gulf. Wind warnings are in effect on all major roads and..."
Carl's eyes opened wide and he removed the plug from his cheek and placed it in an empty Big Mac styrofoam container. Jeez, was he in the Twilight Zone or something?
…dial, dial, dial...
"...so heavy metal history will be made this weekend when the Iron Butterflys and the Deaf Lepers join the Satanic Angels and the Rabid Bats in the Rock Your Guts Out Bash at the …”
..dial, dial, dial...
"...and that's Lester Dank and the Soggy Hollow Swamp Suckers with 'Don't Sit On My Hood If n You Ain't Gonna Treat Me Good. Next up will be the Blue Grass Corn Shuckers with their hit album...”
…dial, dial, dial...
“ Whiskey River don't run dry... ohh, Whiskey..."
Carl smiled. "Well, Emma, it looks like you finally got a decent station. You ain't gonna do much better than Willy singin' Whiskey River. I think you finally got that radio figured out.”
Emma blushed, and figured that maybe that being married to Carl had its high points now and then.
Carl stretched his legs out and let the cruise control take charge. He took a deep breath in and was at peace with the earth.
The melodic sounds of Willy Nelson drifted through the huge interior of The Whale, and a tear started down Carl's left cheek. Then his right eye misted up. Carl looked over at Emma. Her eyes were moist, too.
Carl thought for a nanosecond or two.
"Emma? When's the last time you cried your heart out over Whiskey River?"
"Well, I can get a good cry out of an old Hank Williams song, but usually Willy Neslon makes me want to dance with a fat guy."
Carl grunted. "Just as I thought! When I listen to a Willy Nelson song I want to get in a fight. This can only mean one thing.”
Emma looked confused. "What?"
"We got a gas leak under the hood. That's gotta be what's makin' our eyes water. Or maybe an exhaust leak. Good thing I got an eagle nose"
"You mean an eagle eye, dear."
"Don't be dumb, Emma. How can you smell with your eyes? Lemme pull over and check out the problem. Shouldn't take more n a minute or two."
Carl popped the hood and poked, prodded, diddled, fiddled, tweaked, twisted, hunted and searched, all to no avail. All the while, tears streamed down his cheeks.
Emma stood alongside Carl, eyes full of tears. "Carl, has it occurred to you that if we're out of the truck and the motor's not running, that perhaps it's not a gas leak."
Carl rubbed his eyes, trying to clear some of the tears away. "Well, then, Missus Know It All, what do you figger it is? Maybe we re riding through a tunnel of methane gas?"
ON THE ROAD TO MEXICO… MORE OR LESS!
By Rick Sieman
When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just gone through their confused version of Miami Vice. For the moment, the wandering couple had seen enough of the orange juice state to last them a decade or three. Carl figured a complete change of climate was in order and they had always wanted to see Mexico anyway.
***
We join them now as they head west through Louisiana, toward the Left Coast. The day is warm, the sun shining brightly and The Whale is rumbling smoothly along at exactly two miles an hour over the speed limit. The day is so perfect, that all the windows on the giant Suburban are rolled down. No air conditioning needed today.
Carl shifted the plug of Red Man chewing tobacco to the right side of his mouth so he could control the spit from the left side. A good chewing man learns effective spitting techniques early.
A roadside speed sign was in sight up ahead and Carl concentrated mightily as The Whale approached. He pursed his lips, allowed sufficient lead and aimed just so... and let loose with a brownish wad of juice that flew in a flat arc. The wad hit dead center right between the two “5s” and Carl grunted with satisfaction. Sure, the legs get old, but some things got better with age.
Emma sighed and looked up from her knitting.
"Dear, I wish you wouldn't spit all over the landscape. Who knows what kind of terrible things could happen?”
Carl let out a big booming laugh.
"What kind of trouble? Will the spit patrol give me a ticket? Haw, haw!"
Emma wrinkled her nose and thought for a moment. "Well dear, there could be a sudden gust of wind and it could blow all that stuff right back in your face."
"Winds? On a warm day like this in Louisiana? Did you stick one of those knitting needles in your brain, Emma? That's a laugh! Whatever... why don t you take a break from making that three-necked sweater and git me some good country sounds on the radio?"
Emma stared at the intimidating sound system that cost more than the average car, and hesitated.
Carl barked, "The red button, Emma, the big red one that says "ON". I told you a hunnert times that's the one that fires it up. Jeez!”
Emma sighed and gingerly pressed the button. A bewildering array of multi-colored lights blinked wildly and LED bars climbed up and down like monitors on a nuclear reactor on steroids. A blast of sound pounded through the cab of The Whale:
"Ooooooh babeeee, bayd, baby, baby, I wanna jump on your lips! Ya, ya, ya, down with the pigs and up with giant bags of dope and I'm gonna lick you on the..."
Carl yelled over the music. “I don't think that's Willy Nelson, Emma. Just mebbe you ought to try a few more stations." Emma located the big dial that changed stations and rotated it:
…dial, dial, dial...
"...so now is the right time to invest in gold and silver. Sure, the market has been down, but that means it's ready to go up, so you ought to take all of your money out of the bank and get ready to make some real interest. Stop down at the Gold and Silver Euphorium and ask for Lefty or...”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...no matter how long you've been bald, new Danish Formula Bush Head Number Seven will bring in a crop of hair. And we offer a money back guarantee, so just send $29.95 to P.O. Box...”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...gosh, the big band sound really brings back memories of Benny Goodman and the.."
…dail, dial, dial...
"...the right time to plant okra is just after the last frost and right before the …”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...add one cup of butter to the milk and stir it in. Then, chop up the tuna into one inch squares, making sure it's dead first, then add two cups of bread crumbs and one teas...”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...the smallest bible ever made. Do send your love offering to Brother Love, cause if you don't, chances are pretty good you are gonna burn forever in...”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...which brings us to the effect that modern dance has had on the political system..."
…dial, dial, dial...
"...city council meeting have been changed from Monday evenings to…”
…dial, dial, dial...
"...strangest weather conditions we've had in Louisiana in 40 years. While the weather is near perfect, there are odd gusts of wind up to 60 mph coming in over the Gulf. Wind warnings are in effect on all major roads and..."
Carl's eyes opened wide and he removed the plug from his cheek and placed it in an empty Big Mac styrofoam container. Jeez, was he in the Twilight Zone or something?
…dial, dial, dial...
"...so heavy metal history will be made this weekend when the Iron Butterflys and the Deaf Lepers join the Satanic Angels and the Rabid Bats in the Rock Your Guts Out Bash at the …”
..dial, dial, dial...
"...and that's Lester Dank and the Soggy Hollow Swamp Suckers with 'Don't Sit On My Hood If n You Ain't Gonna Treat Me Good. Next up will be the Blue Grass Corn Shuckers with their hit album...”
…dial, dial, dial...
“ Whiskey River don't run dry... ohh, Whiskey..."
Carl smiled. "Well, Emma, it looks like you finally got a decent station. You ain't gonna do much better than Willy singin' Whiskey River. I think you finally got that radio figured out.”
Emma blushed, and figured that maybe that being married to Carl had its high points now and then.
Carl stretched his legs out and let the cruise control take charge. He took a deep breath in and was at peace with the earth.
The melodic sounds of Willy Nelson drifted through the huge interior of The Whale, and a tear started down Carl's left cheek. Then his right eye misted up. Carl looked over at Emma. Her eyes were moist, too.
Carl thought for a nanosecond or two.
"Emma? When's the last time you cried your heart out over Whiskey River?"
"Well, I can get a good cry out of an old Hank Williams song, but usually Willy Neslon makes me want to dance with a fat guy."
Carl grunted. "Just as I thought! When I listen to a Willy Nelson song I want to get in a fight. This can only mean one thing.”
Emma looked confused. "What?"
"We got a gas leak under the hood. That's gotta be what's makin' our eyes water. Or maybe an exhaust leak. Good thing I got an eagle nose"
"You mean an eagle eye, dear."
"Don't be dumb, Emma. How can you smell with your eyes? Lemme pull over and check out the problem. Shouldn't take more n a minute or two."
Carl popped the hood and poked, prodded, diddled, fiddled, tweaked, twisted, hunted and searched, all to no avail. All the while, tears streamed down his cheeks.
Emma stood alongside Carl, eyes full of tears. "Carl, has it occurred to you that if we're out of the truck and the motor's not running, that perhaps it's not a gas leak."
Carl rubbed his eyes, trying to clear some of the tears away. "Well, then, Missus Know It All, what do you figger it is? Maybe we re riding through a tunnel of methane gas?"