Made it!!! - Home as of 7/11...
This is Greg. I made it back and will post up more details later, but I wanted to at least post up Ken's final trip logs for your amusement. He sure captured a lot of the frustration and humor of the trip, and he was a fun co-pilot to have along for this adventure:
DAY 5
6:15am - on the road. The rain will be slowing us down a bit.
Last Evening, the Country Kitchen was the hotspot for dinner. Kind of a
bland fare, but Greg seemed to enjoy his "chicken-fried chicken".
Warning...No booze at Country Kitchen. We stopped by the gas station to
pick a few Bud 40s. Ah yes, the world is our oyster...
We stayed at a Comfort Inn in Princeton Illinois. It was nothing
special. The cute girl at the front desk was clearly taken by our manly,
unshaven appearance. For a brief moment, I was jealous of the amount of
grease and grime that Greg had managed to acquire during the
trip...water pump #4 was going to be all me. The front-desk girl even
tried to get into our room under the false pretense of delivering
sheets. Could you blame her? Devoted to our wife and girlfriend, we let
her down easy.
Our near-term goal was Chicago. How sweet would it be to drive a whole
day without a mechanical failure? One of Greg's eyes has become glued to
the Engine temp gauge. He has been burned and now the Suburban will need
to regain his trust. "It's Ok," he says as he pats the cracked
dashboard, "we fed you bad parts". We discuss how we might pay homage to
the movie Office Space by bringing a water pump to a field and just
kicking the [darn] out of it. Of course, the red stapler would come with
us.
We just drove by a JC Whitney building, most likely a distribution
center. Greg informs me that they sell crap.
9:45am - 77543.5 fuel fillup 32.6gal, 6.95mpg
4:15pm - 77831, Mentor OH, fuel fillup 40.23, 7.15mpg
South Bend Indiana is the home of TireRack. An impressive building faces
the highway. They have a qtr-mile strip in front of the building where
they do testing. Along with a few other cars, we counted 6 Dodge Vipers.
That's not not my favorite car, but the site was impressive, none the
less.
Today was our first experience with paying tolls. We wondered how much
you pay for such an eclectic combination of vehicles. The charges
printed on the ticket ranged from $6 to $60. As we squeezed the trailer
into the toll gate, we noticed a flatbed trailer truck in the next lane.
It was loaded with palleted bricks. "That's got to be slow-driving." I
felt better about our situation. $6. Both vehicles proceeded through the
gate. We had something to prove. We sped up to pass the brick-laden
truck as the lanes converged. We lost! Can you believe it? We were
crushed...and by a load of bricks.
We were just passed by a Ford Escort with an exhaust that discharged in
front of the rear tires. Very nice. Several other mods suggested the
driver had driven down the aisle of his local auto parts superstore with
his crap-magnet in the ON position.
Our target for the eve was Olean in the southwest corner of NY. We
would be finishing our productive day at the Country Inn.
DAY 6
7am - 78001.3, Olean NY, fuel fillup 21.85
"All systems are a go captain."
After a quick stop at the Country Inn's continental breakfast, it was
time to check the rig. We "topped" her off with 20 gallons of gas and a
few quarts of oil. The coffee selection at the Gas n Sip...or Stop n Go
or Fill n Leave...was not up to my standards, but I made due.
As we pulled out onto the bumpy highway, it was obvious that our
progress this morning would not be limited by the 72 Suburban. It would
be the fog that kept us from achieving the kinds of Salt flat-like super
speeds to which we had become accustomed during our 2500 mile journey.
"I can deal with the fog and the ass-road, but not both" said Greg. The
sun was doing its best to get through the fog. The resulting bright glow
was heavenly, kinda like a commercial for toilet paper.
"Ahhhh-ohhhh-Hmmm" sings the choir.
As if the bumps weren't bad enough, we came upon a state-posted sign
"Rough Roads Ahead". Was the sign referring to the roads or something
more? Had we become spoiled with one day without mechanical failure?
Some construction and one detour later, it appeared that the sign was in
fact referring to the questionably-paved surface. By design, our highway
system skirts and circumvents the town centers that make up our great
country. Detours should be viewed as an opportunity to see how the local
folk live. Our detour took us through a quaint town with Monopoly-like
houses and one strong political statement. Sitting on the front lawn of
a conservative farmhouse was a coffin. The lid was open. "Reserved for
Osama Bin Laden" read the sign. You can't help but wonder what brought
that family the point where they wanted to make such a strong statement.
Know The Tow
A 72 Suburban towing a 72 Chevy Blazer monster on a homemade trailer is
no easy task...even when the mechanicals cooperate. The total is greater
than the sum of the parts. Nothing prepares you for the adventure of
getting behind the wheel. Towing a vehicle of this magnitude is not all
"Mai-Tais and Yahtzee."
The first thing that you notice is that the trailer is wider than the
tow-rig (the Suburban). In order to keep the trailer in your lane, you
need the tow-rig well to the right of the dotted line. On the other side
of the lane is the rumble-strip. If you touch it, it will not only scare
the crap out of you, it will likely wake Greg and make him wish that he
hadn't asked you to drive.
Road surfaces come in many flavors. New pavement is the best. Older
pavement is good. The reddish-pavement found in the west and midwest is
bad. The primary ingredient in this type of road surface is indicated by
it color. Poop...that's right, [darn]. These roads are soft and are filled
cracks and bumps and steer the vehicle for you. Maybe this approach
works in a car, but it does not work when two of your wheels needs to
balance on the edge of the bump. By far, Cement is the worst. The
repeating pattern of sections sets up an oscillation that is a bear to
control.
Combine these factors with Wind from Mother Nature or a passing trailer
truck and you find yourself too-firmly grasping the wheel and correcting
for a problem that doesn't exist. You then follow up with a hit of
over-correction...and the dance begins... Like the many times before,
your partner is new to you. You quickly glance over to your left. Your
mirror provides an awkward introduction. A car? A truck? Or is it that
same trailer truck with which you have been playing tag all day.
Although the side mirror is shakier than a dashboard hula dancer, the
whites of your reluctant dance partner's eyes are big as saucers and
clear as day. Your butt clenches as your hand begins to mis-shape the
steering wheel. "So that's what happened to this wheel" as you glance
down at the cracked, vintage seventies car part that now controls your
destiny.
"Will my partner follow my lead...and move to the left? Is there anyone
to the right? Where is the trailer tire?" As the dance continues, you
sway back and forth. "Am I over-steering? Will I wake Greg? Could my
hand be any f'n tighter on this wheel?" As your partner comes up along
side, their expression is clear. It is one of fear and loathing. Its the
loathing part that has them intent on passing you. They never want to
see you again. They say a quick prayer to jinx our water pump.
The tempo calms. You find a rhythm that suits the both of you. In fact,
your partner has moved on. Having been thrown about, Greg wakes and
speaks. "Am I alive? Is it over? I can drive now."
