The Wanderers build

[superbuickguy]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

 

[superbuickguy]

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

so glad for my transmission lift

one battery in place

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

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

brackets

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

and it doesn't hang that low

batteries seem good too

 

[superbuickguy]

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

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

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

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

peel the backing off and it will stick to everything

installed

60 feet and this is what was left

for the inevitable question

I like these steering wheels better...

tomorrow, inner frame work

 

[superbuickguy]

Amenities
everything is built off the bulkhead so here it goes

close

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

notched

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

 

[superbuickguy]

THE WANDERERS #17



BLUNDERING THROUGH BAJA WITH CARL AND EMMA

By Rick Sieman





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[superbuickguy]

THE WANDERERS #18



HITTING THE TRAILS WITH "THE IRONMAN"

By Rick Sieman






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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

** *

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

 

[superbuickguy]

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

and the aforementioned fitting

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

 

[superbuickguy]

structure

more tomorrow

 

[superbuickguy]

new windshield (and a bunch of rock-chip fixes) thanks Speedy

and more fitting

 

[superbuickguy]

getting closer

 

[superbuickguy]

So it seems to be taking shape.

one of the things I wasn't thrilled about was the loss of passenger-carrying capacity. This isn't somewhere I'd want to sit for long periods, but will be good enough for short jaunts

then that simply flattens out to a bed. Bonus is that will be where the pooches sleep

there's the lay out. On the sides will be (at about halfway up the window) wire shelves.

running out of time, but I think I'll at least get the bed in place

 

[superbuickguy]

Hmmmm... Wanderers doesn't want to post here this week... will try again tomorrow.

 

[superbuickguy]

framework is painted... Sunday assembly

 

[superbuickguy]

alrighty then.... still wondering how much I'll have done before the NW Overland Rally...
Let's just clear the air - I hate wood, I hate trees, firewood is good as I'm really good at making it... so if you're expecting a treatise on how to carpenter, you'll be disappointed.... okay, with expectations lowered... here we go

I do like liquid nails, though... makes putting this together much easier

inverter

water pump

basic idea of the stove shelf

and the bed shelf

and the seat/bed extension.... not done yet, but very close

need to get more piano hinge and this is ready for paint

so the legs simply fold down... it'll be far clearer once it's all installed

 

[boll_rig]

Looking really good, I like seeing this interior take shape.. and quickly. Keep the updates coming.