ExplorerTom
Explorer
Great move on the sway bar. I've been thinking about a Hellwig for my Expedition. My Explorer is that flex monster that you were talking about- but it basically gets driven on the road only to get to the dirt.
The Bowman Odyssey Rig
- Thread starter LeftofLucky
- Start date
pappawheely
Autonomous4X4
Looking good! We put that same Hellwig set-up on a truck we built for SEMA; very nice stuff!
LeftofLucky
Observer
Most are shot with a 5d MkII and a 24-105 F4, though I've been playing with the wife's 35 1.4 lately, too. When I'm lazy, the Galaxy S6 gets photo duty. Does pretty good for a phone.
LeftofLucky
Observer
The spring bushings arrived late yesterday afternoon. I'd built a draw press out of an old scissor jack, but the bushing design meant it wouldn't work here. For whatever reason, these have flanges on both sides, so it's very difficult to pull the pushing through the spring eye. I went back to the old method of drill out the rubber, pull the center sleeve, notch the outer housing, and air hammer away.
The passenger side was a little easier, since the smaller of the lips faced outside. It meant less crawling around under the truck with a light and a tangle of air lines and extension cords.
The shackle bushings were the easiest. They yielded to the 20-ton press. I'm going to miss that thing.
I ran into some trouble when I went to install the new bushings. The sleeves were all wrong.
I called Energy, and sure enough, the kit was supposed to come with four 3.5-inch sleeves. I had four 1.8-inch sleeves. They weren't all that helpful when it came to getting a replacement. Basically, "call the guys you bought the kit from." Of course, the kit came from Amazon. A sea of middlemen lay before me. A hassle in the rosiest of situations, but I'm supposed to leave for CA tomorrow.
Spent this morning calling around town looking for those sleeves, and came up empty handed. Just a lot of the "What motor does it have in it?" I wound up having to call a machine shop to get them to turn out something. It'll be raw steel, not plated and not stainless, but it'll get me on the road. Better than nothing, I guess.
The new sleeves should be done around lunch time. We'll see if i get everything together in time.
The passenger side was a little easier, since the smaller of the lips faced outside. It meant less crawling around under the truck with a light and a tangle of air lines and extension cords.
The shackle bushings were the easiest. They yielded to the 20-ton press. I'm going to miss that thing.
I ran into some trouble when I went to install the new bushings. The sleeves were all wrong.
I called Energy, and sure enough, the kit was supposed to come with four 3.5-inch sleeves. I had four 1.8-inch sleeves. They weren't all that helpful when it came to getting a replacement. Basically, "call the guys you bought the kit from." Of course, the kit came from Amazon. A sea of middlemen lay before me. A hassle in the rosiest of situations, but I'm supposed to leave for CA tomorrow.
Spent this morning calling around town looking for those sleeves, and came up empty handed. Just a lot of the "What motor does it have in it?" I wound up having to call a machine shop to get them to turn out something. It'll be raw steel, not plated and not stainless, but it'll get me on the road. Better than nothing, I guess.
The new sleeves should be done around lunch time. We'll see if i get everything together in time.
Ahhh, family support! That's great! Good point, you won't be looking like you're living out of a 25 year old banged up multi colored schoolie! Nice rig and most along the way will be envious I'm sure. Totally agree with your parenting thoughts, you're absolutely right.
I didn't mean to rain on the parade of taking off, land of the free is what we like to think, I've probably been around government too much, LOL
I traveled in my 20's and 30's, mostly Europe and the East coast and at that time, being out wasn't an issue as it can be today. Now retired, I'm heading back out, so your expedition at writing and logging your adventure will be on my subscribed list! And Red, I know exactly what you mean, you're right.
It's looking great, like the attention to detail, it will payoff! Nice work.
I didn't mean to rain on the parade of taking off, land of the free is what we like to think, I've probably been around government too much, LOL
I traveled in my 20's and 30's, mostly Europe and the East coast and at that time, being out wasn't an issue as it can be today. Now retired, I'm heading back out, so your expedition at writing and logging your adventure will be on my subscribed list! And Red, I know exactly what you mean, you're right.
It's looking great, like the attention to detail, it will payoff! Nice work.
pappawheely
Autonomous4X4
I always say the 70-200 f2.8 is the swiss army knife of canon lenses but the 24-105 f4 has become my favorite.
balexander87
Observer
What a great reminder to put value in the things that really matter. So easy to get caught up in the "get stuff" mentality. As nerve wrecking as I imagine it is setting out like this, I have to think there is a sense of relief that comes with each stage of simplification! Can't wait to follow along!
LeftofLucky
Observer
I left Knoxville Sunday morning, frost on the trees and WDVX on the stereo. I'm not a gospel fan by any means, but hearing the old bluegrass songs always reminds me of my grandfather. Some of my earliest memories are of him sitting in the kitchen, listening to the radio. Those old tunes call him up.
Excuse all the windshield shots. I was on a mad press on the way out. My install was on Wednesday at noon, and I wanted to get to Woodland by Tuesday in case something went wrong on the truck. The drive is 36 hours. I broke it up into three segments. Knoxville to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma City to Kingman, Kingman to Woodland. Tennessee went easy, then Arkansas. It's funny, Arkansas makes a rough presentation of itself heading west. The state immediately turns flat and harsh. The road's rough. But the further you go, the more gorgeous it gets, and by sunset I was well into the Ozarks. Rolling, green hills. Wide fields with bare winter oaks.
With the bed empty and the airbags at 10 psi, I-40 just about beat me and the truck to death. Seriously. There were places where it just wasn't safe to do the speed limit, much less exceed it. The longer I drove, the more bent I got that we're happy spending $14 million on a single predator drone but can't seem to pave our own roads. And that's just the stuff I can see. Lord knows what the bridges look like underneath.
The truck isn't exactly a sports car. With 4.10 gears, it's really winding at 70 mph. I set the cruise at 74 and rolled.
I overnighted in OKC. I try to support independent motels whenever I can. Most of them work pretty hard to keep up with the chain guys, and you can usually get a great deal in super clean rooms as a result.
And then there's guys like this.
The place must have been something else 40 years ago. Now it's scroungy. Torn up furniture, roaches in the tub, whole nine. I bailed and shucked down the road for something a little nicer.
I forgot about Texas. I-40 just barely clips the state, and you're in and out of it before you know what's what. Still, when you're thinking, "Great. Oklahoma, then New Mexico," it's a blow to morale to see the big WELCOME TO TEXAS sign.
Sigh.
You can feel the East losing its grip on the the land in Oklahoma, and by the time you're in Texas, you might as well be on a new planet. Things stretch out. Small towns cluster on the horizon, separated by miles and miles of unforgiving land. It's beautiful.
Maybe it's the love of unfamiliarity, but I adore the west. How impossibly gorgeous it is. How lethal it still feels, like the last wild bone in a land that was once full of them.
I wanted to camp in Flagstaff, but the weather wasn't having it. There was about two inches of slushy mess on the ground when I got there, so I pushed for Kingman and got in late. At least it made the next day easier.
I finally got off of I-40 on day three. It felt good. There's something crushing about running out the miles on the same damn road for two days straight, 16-hours of driving with few breaks but for food and fuel. Speaking of fuel, the truck did well. Even at around 74 mph, I saw a high of 19 mpg and a low of 14 (the wind really does come sweeping down the plain in Oklahoma), usually with a cost of less than $2 per gallon. At least until I got to California, where the first place I stopped bent me over for more than $3.50/gal. Jerks.
I had a choice when I got to Barstow. I could either stay on the straight and narrow and stick to the highways going north, or sneak off and run up the east side of the Sierras, tucking along Yosemite and the like. As tempting as it was, I still needed to be in Woodland on Wednesday, and the last thing I needed was for the the truck to lay down in the middle of nowhere with no parts availability. I stuck to the highway.
California. Listen, man. I like you, but christ, are you crowded. I crossed the desert and fell into Bakersfield, then ran 99 up the state's working spine, the smell of citrus and manure conspiring to ruin the atmosphere. Palm trees. Sun. The temperature outside jumped up to around 74, and I suddenly regretted not getting the A/C sorted before I left.
It's not a long drive from Bakersfield to Sacramento, but after three long days in the truck, it was hell knowing I was so close. I got into town just in time for rush hour proper, then fought my way to Woodland.
I made it. We made it. 2,504 miles in under three days. The truck was whole. I was whole. I found a cheap motel close to downtown and had a beer. The install was scheduled for the next day, and I should have been excited. I wasn't, though. I was worried. There were so many variables. What if the headboard on the flat bed was too tall? What if the camper was too wide? Too narrow? Too long? Too short? Too heavy? Not big enough? What if made the truck drive like ****? What if I hated it?
I took a breath. Tried to remember that it didn't matter. That we'd already jumped. All that mattered now was how we hit the ground.
Excuse all the windshield shots. I was on a mad press on the way out. My install was on Wednesday at noon, and I wanted to get to Woodland by Tuesday in case something went wrong on the truck. The drive is 36 hours. I broke it up into three segments. Knoxville to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma City to Kingman, Kingman to Woodland. Tennessee went easy, then Arkansas. It's funny, Arkansas makes a rough presentation of itself heading west. The state immediately turns flat and harsh. The road's rough. But the further you go, the more gorgeous it gets, and by sunset I was well into the Ozarks. Rolling, green hills. Wide fields with bare winter oaks.
With the bed empty and the airbags at 10 psi, I-40 just about beat me and the truck to death. Seriously. There were places where it just wasn't safe to do the speed limit, much less exceed it. The longer I drove, the more bent I got that we're happy spending $14 million on a single predator drone but can't seem to pave our own roads. And that's just the stuff I can see. Lord knows what the bridges look like underneath.
The truck isn't exactly a sports car. With 4.10 gears, it's really winding at 70 mph. I set the cruise at 74 and rolled.
I overnighted in OKC. I try to support independent motels whenever I can. Most of them work pretty hard to keep up with the chain guys, and you can usually get a great deal in super clean rooms as a result.
And then there's guys like this.
The place must have been something else 40 years ago. Now it's scroungy. Torn up furniture, roaches in the tub, whole nine. I bailed and shucked down the road for something a little nicer.
I forgot about Texas. I-40 just barely clips the state, and you're in and out of it before you know what's what. Still, when you're thinking, "Great. Oklahoma, then New Mexico," it's a blow to morale to see the big WELCOME TO TEXAS sign.
Sigh.
You can feel the East losing its grip on the the land in Oklahoma, and by the time you're in Texas, you might as well be on a new planet. Things stretch out. Small towns cluster on the horizon, separated by miles and miles of unforgiving land. It's beautiful.
Maybe it's the love of unfamiliarity, but I adore the west. How impossibly gorgeous it is. How lethal it still feels, like the last wild bone in a land that was once full of them.
I wanted to camp in Flagstaff, but the weather wasn't having it. There was about two inches of slushy mess on the ground when I got there, so I pushed for Kingman and got in late. At least it made the next day easier.
I finally got off of I-40 on day three. It felt good. There's something crushing about running out the miles on the same damn road for two days straight, 16-hours of driving with few breaks but for food and fuel. Speaking of fuel, the truck did well. Even at around 74 mph, I saw a high of 19 mpg and a low of 14 (the wind really does come sweeping down the plain in Oklahoma), usually with a cost of less than $2 per gallon. At least until I got to California, where the first place I stopped bent me over for more than $3.50/gal. Jerks.
I had a choice when I got to Barstow. I could either stay on the straight and narrow and stick to the highways going north, or sneak off and run up the east side of the Sierras, tucking along Yosemite and the like. As tempting as it was, I still needed to be in Woodland on Wednesday, and the last thing I needed was for the the truck to lay down in the middle of nowhere with no parts availability. I stuck to the highway.
California. Listen, man. I like you, but christ, are you crowded. I crossed the desert and fell into Bakersfield, then ran 99 up the state's working spine, the smell of citrus and manure conspiring to ruin the atmosphere. Palm trees. Sun. The temperature outside jumped up to around 74, and I suddenly regretted not getting the A/C sorted before I left.
It's not a long drive from Bakersfield to Sacramento, but after three long days in the truck, it was hell knowing I was so close. I got into town just in time for rush hour proper, then fought my way to Woodland.
I made it. We made it. 2,504 miles in under three days. The truck was whole. I was whole. I found a cheap motel close to downtown and had a beer. The install was scheduled for the next day, and I should have been excited. I wasn't, though. I was worried. There were so many variables. What if the headboard on the flat bed was too tall? What if the camper was too wide? Too narrow? Too long? Too short? Too heavy? Not big enough? What if made the truck drive like ****? What if I hated it?
I took a breath. Tried to remember that it didn't matter. That we'd already jumped. All that mattered now was how we hit the ground.
Doc Foster
Adventurer
Keep the pictures and report coming! Always eager to see those flatbed setups.
brushogger
Explorer
I wish I'd have known you were coming through Oklahoma City. You'd have been welcome to crash at our place. Really anxious to see the camper.
LeftofLucky
Observer
Camper Install
I'm falling behind on this thing, so I'll try to catch up a bit.
First off, there's a new post up on The Drive:
http://www.thedrive.com/article/2237/breaking-down-on-the-loneliest-road-in-america
My install was scheduled for noon, Wednesday, February 10. I've never purchased a brand-new camper before, so I wasn't sure what to expect. Four Wheel has it down to a science. I arrived, handed over the keys to the Dodge with a small pang, and went over some paperwork. Basically, confirming the options I'd chosen, going over the warranty, etc. They've got a nice waiting room with WiFi and plenty of photos of rigs and campers out in the sticks. Or, if you're like me and want to hang out in the shop while they bolt your rig together, you can do that instead. Tough choice...
The actual install took maybe two hours, comprised mostly of running power cables from the batteries in the engine bay to the camper itself, figuring out a location for the camper plug, and bolting the camper to the bed.
Jay, the guy in charge of making sure everything went smoothly, was nice enough to let me poke around and ask questions. Even gave me a quick tour of the shop while we waited for some wiring work to finish up. I met Tom, the owner, who gave me a more detailed tour later in the day. Everyone was very accommodating.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't have any reservations about moving into this thing. I had plenty of time driving from Knoxville to meditate on whether or not it was a bad decision, but rounding the corner and seeing the thing for the first time took care of most of those worries. They had the top up, and I could walk around inside and get a feel for what our place felt like. It was good.
Getting the thing on was something of a delicate dance. They lifted it up with a fork lift, then supported it with two jacks on either side. Then Jay backed the truck between the two jacks. Absolutely terrifying to watch.
Just like that, our house was together. After six months of preparing the truck, stressing about what camper to go with, where to buy it from, what options to choose, it was done. Together. It felt good.
From there, Jay gave me a thorough walkthrough of the camper's various systems. Solar, water heater, furnace, water pump, Thetford. I took as thorough notes as I could, but I'm certain I'll forget a thing or twenty. I was out the door by four.
I rolled around the corner to a welding supply shop to fill the propane tanks, topped off the airbags at about 40 psi and pointed myself east for the first time in four days.
I'm falling behind on this thing, so I'll try to catch up a bit.
First off, there's a new post up on The Drive:
http://www.thedrive.com/article/2237/breaking-down-on-the-loneliest-road-in-america
My install was scheduled for noon, Wednesday, February 10. I've never purchased a brand-new camper before, so I wasn't sure what to expect. Four Wheel has it down to a science. I arrived, handed over the keys to the Dodge with a small pang, and went over some paperwork. Basically, confirming the options I'd chosen, going over the warranty, etc. They've got a nice waiting room with WiFi and plenty of photos of rigs and campers out in the sticks. Or, if you're like me and want to hang out in the shop while they bolt your rig together, you can do that instead. Tough choice...
The actual install took maybe two hours, comprised mostly of running power cables from the batteries in the engine bay to the camper itself, figuring out a location for the camper plug, and bolting the camper to the bed.
Jay, the guy in charge of making sure everything went smoothly, was nice enough to let me poke around and ask questions. Even gave me a quick tour of the shop while we waited for some wiring work to finish up. I met Tom, the owner, who gave me a more detailed tour later in the day. Everyone was very accommodating.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't have any reservations about moving into this thing. I had plenty of time driving from Knoxville to meditate on whether or not it was a bad decision, but rounding the corner and seeing the thing for the first time took care of most of those worries. They had the top up, and I could walk around inside and get a feel for what our place felt like. It was good.
Getting the thing on was something of a delicate dance. They lifted it up with a fork lift, then supported it with two jacks on either side. Then Jay backed the truck between the two jacks. Absolutely terrifying to watch.
Just like that, our house was together. After six months of preparing the truck, stressing about what camper to go with, where to buy it from, what options to choose, it was done. Together. It felt good.
From there, Jay gave me a thorough walkthrough of the camper's various systems. Solar, water heater, furnace, water pump, Thetford. I took as thorough notes as I could, but I'm certain I'll forget a thing or twenty. I was out the door by four.
I rolled around the corner to a welding supply shop to fill the propane tanks, topped off the airbags at about 40 psi and pointed myself east for the first time in four days.
LeftofLucky
Observer
The Long Way Home
Timing's never been my strong suit. By the time I got rolling, Sacramento was well into rush hour. I-80 was packed, and this was the first time I'd driven the truck with anything heavier than a load of drywall in the bed. Not exactly the best time to get cozy with a laden rig. Everything took a little longer, which was no surprise. I'd gotten used to taking off in second gear, but now had to get back to using the granny first. And, of course, not having a rear-view mirror took some acclimating.
I also forgot about the scramble over the Sierra Nevadas. I-80 makes a pretty good climb from nearly sea-level to just over 7,200 feet over the course of about 90 miles. No better way to put the truck through its paces. I saw my highest boost (21 psi), and coolant temp edged just over 193. Otherwise, the truck did great. No problem pulling the camper or running down the other side.
Well, almost no problem. I'd been having some issues with the throttle position sensor on the truck off and on. It would never throw a check engine light, but I run the codes every now and then just to see what's there, and sure enough, low voltage at the TPS would show up. It hadn't really manifested any symptoms beyond a surge at low speed. I guess the 2,600 miles out to Woodland was enough to push it over the edge, though. On the way down the mountain, the throttle went very dead as I was passing a school bus. As in, nothing. The check engine light illuminated, I downshifted to fifth and gave the throttle a good stab, and the engine woke back up. Small mercies.
I drove through Reno, then stopped at Fernley for fuel.
I was headed for Grand Junction to meet up with some friends there. I had two options: I-80 all the way there, or drop off and run Highway 50 across Nevada and Utah. It was 8 p.m. by the time I stopped for fuel. The closest casino had RV parking, and there was a Wal-Mart just down the way, but I didn't want to spend the first night in the camper on tarmac. I headed for Highway 50. The billboards rolling in advertised it as "The Loneliest Road in America," a name it picked up from a Life article a few decades ago. Well earned. As soon as the streetlights of Fernley flickered out, the road turned straight and narrow.
I found what looked like a decent place to bed down on freecampsites.net, a set of warm springs just past Austin, Nevada. The directions had me off down a dirt road buried under four inches of ice and snow. I rolled along for five miles or so, then found the turn. The only problem was, in the dark, I couldn't see the springs or anything else, for that matter. Exhausted, I found a flat spot and set up the camper.
I wish I could describe the stars. More than I've ever seen, all of them splattered from horizon to horizon. Nothing in my ears but a ringing. Couldn't tell if it's always been there and I just can't hear it for the rest of the noise or if that's what complete silence sounds like. I got the furnace going, and by the time I was through setting everything up, the camper was a good 55 degrees inside. It was 28 outside.
I made some supper, drank some water, unrolled the sleeping bag and did some reading before bedding down. By the time I went to sleep, it was 65 inside. Never been so glad I opted for the Thermal Pack.
I woke up around dawn. Rolled over and opened the closest window to get an idea of where I was. I wasn't prepared for what I saw.
I couldn't stop laughing at how gorgeous it was. How perfect. It was the first time in six months that I knew we'd made the right choice. That this was going to be a wild, perfect adventure.
Timing's never been my strong suit. By the time I got rolling, Sacramento was well into rush hour. I-80 was packed, and this was the first time I'd driven the truck with anything heavier than a load of drywall in the bed. Not exactly the best time to get cozy with a laden rig. Everything took a little longer, which was no surprise. I'd gotten used to taking off in second gear, but now had to get back to using the granny first. And, of course, not having a rear-view mirror took some acclimating.
I also forgot about the scramble over the Sierra Nevadas. I-80 makes a pretty good climb from nearly sea-level to just over 7,200 feet over the course of about 90 miles. No better way to put the truck through its paces. I saw my highest boost (21 psi), and coolant temp edged just over 193. Otherwise, the truck did great. No problem pulling the camper or running down the other side.
Well, almost no problem. I'd been having some issues with the throttle position sensor on the truck off and on. It would never throw a check engine light, but I run the codes every now and then just to see what's there, and sure enough, low voltage at the TPS would show up. It hadn't really manifested any symptoms beyond a surge at low speed. I guess the 2,600 miles out to Woodland was enough to push it over the edge, though. On the way down the mountain, the throttle went very dead as I was passing a school bus. As in, nothing. The check engine light illuminated, I downshifted to fifth and gave the throttle a good stab, and the engine woke back up. Small mercies.
I drove through Reno, then stopped at Fernley for fuel.
I was headed for Grand Junction to meet up with some friends there. I had two options: I-80 all the way there, or drop off and run Highway 50 across Nevada and Utah. It was 8 p.m. by the time I stopped for fuel. The closest casino had RV parking, and there was a Wal-Mart just down the way, but I didn't want to spend the first night in the camper on tarmac. I headed for Highway 50. The billboards rolling in advertised it as "The Loneliest Road in America," a name it picked up from a Life article a few decades ago. Well earned. As soon as the streetlights of Fernley flickered out, the road turned straight and narrow.
I found what looked like a decent place to bed down on freecampsites.net, a set of warm springs just past Austin, Nevada. The directions had me off down a dirt road buried under four inches of ice and snow. I rolled along for five miles or so, then found the turn. The only problem was, in the dark, I couldn't see the springs or anything else, for that matter. Exhausted, I found a flat spot and set up the camper.
I wish I could describe the stars. More than I've ever seen, all of them splattered from horizon to horizon. Nothing in my ears but a ringing. Couldn't tell if it's always been there and I just can't hear it for the rest of the noise or if that's what complete silence sounds like. I got the furnace going, and by the time I was through setting everything up, the camper was a good 55 degrees inside. It was 28 outside.
I made some supper, drank some water, unrolled the sleeping bag and did some reading before bedding down. By the time I went to sleep, it was 65 inside. Never been so glad I opted for the Thermal Pack.
I woke up around dawn. Rolled over and opened the closest window to get an idea of where I was. I wasn't prepared for what I saw.
I couldn't stop laughing at how gorgeous it was. How perfect. It was the first time in six months that I knew we'd made the right choice. That this was going to be a wild, perfect adventure.
justbecause
perpetually lost
that position sensor can leave you dead in the water with no warning.
I had to get towed to the shop week before last because of it. It never did throw a CEL, but the code was running in the back ground. An ultra gauge is on my immediate to do list.
I had to get towed to the shop week before last because of it. It never did throw a CEL, but the code was running in the back ground. An ultra gauge is on my immediate to do list.