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The Wanderer

SuperBuickGuy

Well-Known Member
Messages
3,403
Location
Woodinville, WA
Anyone who knows me knows that I like outdoor humor. Patrick McManus, of course, Rick Sieman? absolutely. What, you don't know Rick Sieman? in the 80s there were two crusty guys who wrote for offroad magazine. Granville King wrote one with Superdawg is sidekick, Rick Siemans wrote "the Wanderers" If I get really enthusiastic, I'll intersperse stories from him but the nutshell was a Suburban with every creature comfort that was designed to go overland camping before overland camping was a thing. This is my tribute. No, it won't have a 454 but will be more modern with diesel power. For now, the turbo 6.2 stays but this project will evolve over time.

So here is the basis.... a 1985 Grandpa-fresh 6.2 Turbo diesel with turbo 400 trans and 3/4 ton running gear. Dana 44 front, non-floater 14 bolt rear.





first order will be redneckepticomy (remove the added wires)




One thing I've been considering is putting a a/c system in that is not motor-running dependent. We do SAR, and having A/C that operates for up to 8 hours without running the motor is on the list of things to research/do. That may include putting the a/c system from a Volt in it (with the battery pack)... don't know yet but it is coming. Also it will have storage, a bed, a sink, a cooler and a stove. Both the stove and the refrigerator will have a gas option (like propane). I don't like diesel stoves so that's off the list though it seems like a natural fit. On top of this, it will have sufficient water (20-40 gallons)....
 

JPaul

Well-Known Member
Messages
2,400
Location
Way up north, UT
I really like the old Suburbans. I almost got one for free from my in-laws several years ago, but thanks to some skullduggery by my wife's sister's husband, I got swindled out of it. I'm still annoyed about that whole ordeal and wouldn't trust him farther than I can throw him, and I'm pretty out of shape.
 

SuperBuickGuy

Well-Known Member
Messages
3,403
Location
Woodinville, WA
I really like the old Suburbans. I almost got one for free from my in-laws several years ago, but thanks to some skullduggery by my wife's sister's husband, I got swindled out of it. I'm still annoyed about that whole ordeal and wouldn't trust him farther than I can throw him, and I'm pretty out of shape.


I always think that's the cheapest way of finding out someone is a s**t.
 

alrock

El Diablo
Staff member
Messages
10,442
Location
Scottsdale
I had a fun 2WD '83 with a 350. It was actually formerly a diesel like that one. Great trucks.
 

SuperBuickGuy

Well-Known Member
Messages
3,403
Location
Woodinville, WA
It certainly isn't a MaxPF build, I get jealous every time I see what he does.... but it should be fun anyway.

There's part of me that thinks putting an IFS under a square would be neat. This isn't a rock crawler, it's not a mud truck, it's something to go camping in the forests and deserts so comfortable, no-wandering driving is kind of the purpose. Maybe a trip or two down Baja. That said, it's going to be a gradual process. First step is the overdrive and fixing things that need fixing (column switch, a/c - which may even be two steps with a stock setup first, the pulling to the right, and (I suppose) fixing the rear brakes).... but it will totally get out of control - just in a controlled manner :)
 

glpd74

Well-Known Member
Messages
189
Location
WI
Dam dude, do you sleep ever [emoji3]. Awesome project, brings back a lot of childhood memories in my old mans 88 sub


Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk
 

SuperBuickGuy

Well-Known Member
Messages
3,403
Location
Woodinville, WA
THE WANDERERS #2




TRAVELING THE BACK ROADS WITH CARL AND EMMA

By Rick Sieman





The Whale, a huge 4WD Suburban, painted a truly awful shade of dull green, lumbered down the Interstate highway at exactly 56 miles per hour. Behind the wheel was Carl, a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer, and in the passenger seat, fumbling with a road map, was his wife, Emma.

After 28 plus years in the Navy, Carl was now doing what he always wanted to do: that is, explore the back roads of America at his leisure. His choice in vehicles was clear cut: Carlbought the biggest four wheeler he could find, and that was the enormous Suburban.
In a way, it reminded him of the ships he had spent so many years on. Of course, it had a 454 engine under the hood, with enough speed parts on it to nearly double the horsepower.

Carl was an ornery sort, set in his ways. Which is one of the reasons he always traveled at exactly one mile per hour over the speed limit. He hated laws, rules and regulations with a teeth-gritting passion.

Emma was the opposite; patient, calm and very organized. It was her self-assigned task in life to keep Carl from doing any number of dumb things ... a thankless job, at best.

Carl and Emma were on a perpetual vacation. They would drive to a state they'd never seen before and hit the back roads, explore them, and return to the pavement when they were good and ready.

The Whale was fully equipped with most everything needed for camping. In fact, as Emma pointed out all of the time, it was over-equipped.

On the back of The Whale was a 250 cc trail bike mounted on a swing-away rail. Up front was another trail bike, a small 125 cc rig for Emma. On the roof was a 14-foot boat, snugged down between the rear air conditioning unit and the satellite dish that folded down when not in use.

A fold out tent was hooked to one side of The Whale and an awning to the other side. The Whale also had a beefy generator inside, as well as a self contained shower and porta-potty. The TV, tape deck and VCR were right next to the microwave oven, and a smallish kitchen flanked some fold-down seats and a table.

The roof was lined with fishing rods, shotguns, crossbows and a selection of very expensive hand made pool cues. Small cabinets took up every square inch of free space and were filled to capacity with food, beer, canned goods, beer, utensils, beer, snacks, beer, clothing, beer, cameras, film, beer, tools, beer, spare parts and yes, more beer. At the end of a hard day of off-roading, Carl did like to have a cold suds or three, or more.

One small cupboard held a number of Harlequin romance books that Emma enjoyed. Carl leaned more toward Field and Stream and Soldier Of Fortune.

Yes, indeed. The Whale was set for traveling and Carl and Emma were on their way to:

WEST VIRGINIA!

Carl left the tangled web of endless bridges and bad roads that made up Pittsburgh, and headed south on Highway 79, toward the Canaan Valley in West Virginia. A friend of his in Pittsburgh told Carl that he just had to see the Blackwater Falls and the magnificent country of that region.

Highway 79 was a slick, modern road, saved from boredom by only two things: the beautiful tree-lined landscape and the ever-present Pennsylvania Highway patrol. This was the state where the fines were posted right along the road. Ten miles per hour over the speed limit cost you $75 bucks, and so forth, in an ever escalating gouge.

Carl kept the cruise control on 56 mph and listened to all three radar detectors shriek at full pitch every few minutes.

Carl gave an evil grin as The Whale rumbled by the Highway Patrol cars, knowing that even they were not chicken enough to bust him for 56 mph. Fifty-seven, yes!

The terrain became suddenly prettier as they crossed the state line into West Virginia, leaving the Keystone State cops behind.

Here, the state cops were a different story. Still tough, but not as bad as in Pennsylvania. Carl eased The Whale up to 58 mph and kept his eyes open. Out-of-state drivers had to cough up their driver's license until their ticket was paid in West Virginia, so some care was still required.

Emma coughed quietly. "Carl, I wish you wouldn't speed so. We're not in any big hurry, you know."

Carl spit a wad of Red Man tobacco out of the window of the Whale and deposited yet another stain on the flank of the huge Suburban. "Emma, why don't you try to pick up a good country station on the radio, and leave the driving to me. I mean, 58 ain't exactly like I'm racin' in the Baja 1000, ya know."

Carl peeled off on 119 south of Morgantown, swung over to highway 50 and caught 32 south to head into Thomas. Here, the terrain flanking the road was truly spectacular! Tall trees rose to the sky and a tangled mass of greenery filled the space between each and every tree trunk.

The Whale handled the ever-tightening roads comfortably, in spite of the horrifying load, and the 454 engine lugged happily.

Emma squealed happily, "Ooooohhh. look Carl! A deer! Just like in
Bambi. Over there, on the right side under that tree!"
Carl reached up and grabbed for one of the shotguns. "Supper
time! Venison burgers, comin' up!"
Emma grabbed his arm. "Now, Carl! You just can't go shooting
everything you see. It's not nice. Plus, it might not be deer season, and even if it is you don't have a license, and even if you did, it can't be legal to shoot from a moving car, and even if it was, I'll divorce you if you shoot at that darling little creature!"

Carl grumbled and put both hands back on the wheel. Women!

On the way into Thomas, they saw another dozen deer, and then from Thomas into Davis, they saw at least eight more. Carl pointed his finger at the deer like a gun and made loud "bang-bang" noises just to irritate Emma. He almost hit one deer on the driver's side with a wad of tobacco juice. Take that, Bambi.

It was dark when The Whale rolled into the small town of Davis, and they checked into the Best Western Motel and had a great meal at the Sawmill Restaurant. Carl asked where the best off-roading was in the area, and the waitress said that the Blackwater Falls regions was famous for trails, but they were on the tough side.

Carl laughed heartily. "Hey, I got a 454 under the hood of my truck and it'll go anywhere."
Emma sighed. "Now, Carl. Remember when you got us stuck up in
New Hampshire and we had to wait two days for a tow truck to come
and get us out?"
"Hey, that was a fluke, woman! How was I to know I'd bury the wheels in a mud field with no trees or rocks to hook a winch to?"
"Well, I did tell you not to go into that field, you know."
"Finish your French fries, Emma, and be quiet, or I'm going to go out and shoot Bambi."

***
 

SuperBuickGuy

Well-Known Member
Messages
3,403
Location
Woodinville, WA
Early in the morning, Carl gassed up both of the gas tanks and asked the attendant where the best trails were.
"Well, they usually go through town and across the river, then follow the arrows, but I don't think I'd take a truck back in there, because... "
"Because you ain't got a 454 under your hood, pal. But I do. See you on the flip-flop. That's trucker talk, ya know."

The Whale idled through the narrow main street of Davis, seeing only one other vehicle on the streets, a ratty '51 Chevy pickup loaded with logs. Carl guided the Suburban over a rickety board plank bridge at the end of town and headed out on a bumpy two- track dirt road.

The Whale shifted and wallowed as the trail deteriorated.
"Gotta get me some of those new Rancho shocks one of these days," Carl grumbled.
Emma giggled. "Carl, you'd need a dozen of them on each wheel the way you load this poor rig down. If you'd take half this crap off the roof, the stock shocks would probably work just fine."
"Any more out of you and I'm getting a deer license!"
Emma shut up and went back to enjoying the scenery.

Soon Carl came to a junction and saw a trail heading off to the right marked with bright red ribbon and cardboard arrows.
"Hah! This must be the trail that guy was telling us about. Hang on, Emma. We're gonna do some serious trail driving!'"
"Now, Carl. I'm not so sure we should just go driving off by ourselves in a strange place. Remember how we had to spend a whole week stranded up in Utah that one time?"
"Hey, that was before we got all the trick parts for the 454. We got torque now!"

The terrain before them was almost an eye-hurting green, with lush grass growing over the rolling fields. Emma said, "I was talking with the waitress and she said it rains or snows almost every day of the year here. That must be why it's so green."
Carl looked over at Emma and shook his head. "Yup. It probably took some real rocket scientist thinking to figure that out. I always thought that foliage grew best in sandstorms before you explained that to me."

The trail wandered slightly downhill as they headed to the bowl of the valley before them. The grass grew thicker and lusher and little streams criss-crossed the beautiful meadow. Fertile-looking black mud flanked the streams Carl noted: "Boy, bet you could plant some real good beefsteak
tomatoes in that soil. Looks real rich!"

Emma shifted around uncomfortably. "Carl. maybe we ought to turn back it seems that there's more and more water the further we go. And we are heading downhill, and water does go downhill, and I don't want to get stuck again like we did back in Delaware, and ..."
"Hush up, woman. Nobody gets stuck going down hill."

A small stream crossed the trail up ahead, perhaps three feet wide. Carl stopped, studied it for a minute, then shifted into Four Low, second gear. "Guess I'll play it safe and blast through."
"Carl, shouldn't you get out and poke a stick in it and see how deep it is?"
"How deep could it be? That dumb trickle of water is only a yardstick wide. Get your belt tight and watch how a 454 handles this little slick spot."
Carl revved up the big engine, charged forward at full throttle and promptly buried the nose of The Whale over the headlights and half way up the hood.

Carl sat there, stunned, then got out of The Whale to inspect the situation. When his foot touched the ground, he sunk in to his knees and yelped, "Quicksand!!! Don't get out, Emma!"
Emma sighed "it isn't quicksand, Carl. It's mud. Real black, gooey mud. And it looks like we're going to be here for a while."
"No way, woman. I'll just winch it right out of here."
"What are you going to hook the winch to Carl? There aren't any trees or rocks out here."
Carl looked around frantically for a while, let out a deep. deep sigh, then said. "We'll. as long as we're going to be here for a little bit, why don't you rustle up some breakfast. I think better on a full stomach."

Several days later, a rider came along the trail on a dirt bike, saw the Suburban buried in the mud at a weird angle, noticed the tent out, the satellite dish up, smelled the bacon cooking, and stopped. "Can I help you folks?"
Carl poked his head out of The Whale. "Oh, nice of you to stop. You see, we were just camping and this stream came up during the night and buried the front end real good. Come on in and have some coffee. We got some tag team wrestling on the TV."

The rider kicked the mud off his boots and entered The Whale. He gladly accepted the coffee, and looked around at the inside of the Suburban with pure awe. "You know, you folks are out on the Blackwater 100 race course. It's considered the toughest place in America to ride a bike. What you're in right now is a real natural bog. This whole valley sits on top of mud and water. You got the grass, six inches of water, three feet of black mud and another layer of water under that. Nobody, but nobody, ever brings a truck back into here. Especially one this, this, this...uhhh, big."

Carl looked out of the window, glanced at the rider, then stared at Emma, who was discreetly watching Hulk Hogan body slam Greg "The Hammer" Valentine on the tube. "Emma, don't say a word or were gonna have Bambi for breakfast."

***

Authors note: There are a lot of wonderful and interesting people in America, and many truly beautiful places for these folks to experience their off-road adventures. You can consider this an invitation to follow the travels of Carl and Emma, as they explore this great country. Who knows? Maybe they'll explore the back roads of your state next. If they ever get out of the Canaan Valley bogs, that is.
 

SuperBuickGuy

Well-Known Member
Messages
3,403
Location
Woodinville, WA
well, now that I have all 4 wheels for this.... time to start the assessment
and still room for a Corvette


ah the ethereal smells of cold diesel


remember I said "wiring issues"

bright side is I'll make at least a couple bucks scrapping the copper

looks remarkably like a spare that was on the fj40. Don't need the spare, especially since this will probably be the hauling rig so I can steal from it if necessary


dogs needed to fully sniff the vehicle. They said there were mice in there.... stupid dogs, we already knew that...


for those who live with salt, this is a typical rocker panel in the PNW


I think I know why there are no rear brakes


the Australian view... but I never realized that any GM vehicle (and this is my unknownth Suburban) put a proportioning valve on the rear - yet this looks way too stock to be anything but....
 

SuperBuickGuy

Well-Known Member
Messages
3,403
Location
Woodinville, WA
THE WANDERERS #2

By Rick Sieman

The Whale, a huge 4WD Suburban, painted a truly awful shade of dull green, lumbered down the Interstate highway at exactly 56 miles per hour. Behind the wheel was Carl, a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer, and in the passenger seat, fumbling with a road map, was his wife, Emma.

After 28 plus years in the Navy, Carl was now doing what he always wanted to do: that is, explore the back roads of America at his leisure. His choice in vehicles was clear cut: Carlbought the biggest four wheeler he could find, and that was the enormous Suburban.
In a way, it reminded him of the ships he had spent so many years on. Of course, it had a 454 engine under the hood, with enough speed parts on it to nearly double the horsepower.

Carl was an ornery sort, set in his ways. Which is one of the reasons he always traveled at exactly one mile per hour over the speed limit. He hated laws, rules and regulations with a teeth-gritting passion.

Emma was the opposite; patient, calm and very organized. It was her self-assigned task in life to keep Carl from doing any number of dumb things ... a thankless job, at best.

Carl and Emma were on a perpetual vacation. They would drive to a state they'd never seen before and hit the back roads, explore them, and return to the pavement when they were good and ready.

The Whale was fully equipped with most everything needed for camping. In fact, as Emma pointed out all of the time, it was over-equipped.

On the back of The Whale was a 250 cc trail bike mounted on a swing-away rail. Up front was another trail bike, a small 125 cc rig for Emma. On the roof was a 14-foot boat, snugged down between the rear air conditioning unit and the satellite dish that folded down when not in use.

A fold out tent was hooked to one side of The Whale and an awning to the other side. The Whale also had a beefy generator inside, as well as a self contained shower and porta-potty. The TV, tape deck and VCR were right next to the microwave oven, and a smallish kitchen flanked some fold-down seats and a table.

The roof was lined with fishing rods, shotguns, crossbows and a selection of very expensive hand made pool cues. Small cabinets took up every square inch of free space and were filled to capacity with food, beer, canned goods, beer, utensils, beer, snacks, beer, clothing, beer, cameras, film, beer, tools, beer, spare parts and yes, more beer. At the end of a hard day of off-roading, Carl did like to have a cold suds or three, or more.

One small cupboard held a number of Harlequin romance books that Emma enjoyed. Carl leaned more toward Field and Stream and Soldier Of Fortune.

Yes, indeed. The Whale was set for traveling and Carl and Emma were on their way to:

WEST VIRGINIA!

Carl left the tangled web of endless bridges and bad roads that made up Pittsburgh, and headed south on Highway 79, toward the Canaan Valley in West Virginia. A friend of his in Pittsburgh told Carl that he just had to see the Blackwater Falls and the magnificent country of that region.

Highway 79 was a slick, modern road, saved from boredom by only two things: the beautiful tree-lined landscape and the ever-present Pennsylvania Highway patrol. This was the state where the fines were posted right along the road. Ten miles per hour over the speed limit cost you $75 bucks, and so forth, in an ever escalating gouge.

Carl kept the cruise control on 56 mph and listened to all three radar detectors shriek at full pitch every few minutes.

Carl gave an evil grin as The Whale rumbled by the Highway Patrol cars, knowing that even they were not chicken enough to bust him for 56 mph. Fifty-seven, yes!

The terrain became suddenly prettier as they crossed the state line into West Virginia, leaving the Keystone State cops behind.

Here, the state cops were a different story. Still tough, but not as bad as in Pennsylvania. Carl eased The Whale up to 58 mph and kept his eyes open. Out-of-state drivers had to cough up their driver's license until their ticket was paid in West Virginia, so some care was still required.

Emma coughed quietly. "Carl, I wish you wouldn't speed so. We're not in any big hurry, you know."

Carl spit a wad of Red Man tobacco out of the window of the Whale and deposited yet another stain on the flank of the huge Suburban. "Emma, why don't you try to pick up a good country station on the radio, and leave the driving to me. I mean, 58 ain't exactly like I'm racin' in the Baja 1000, ya know."

Carl peeled off on 119 south of Morgantown, swung over to highway 50 and caught 32 south to head into Thomas. Here, the terrain flanking the road was truly spectacular! Tall trees rose to the sky and a tangled mass of greenery filled the space between each and every tree trunk.

The Whale handled the ever-tightening roads comfortably, in spite of the horrifying load, and the 454 engine lugged happily.

Emma squealed happily, "Ooooohhh. look Carl! A deer! Just like in
Bambi. Over there, on the right side under that tree!"
Carl reached up and grabbed for one of the shotguns. "Supper
time! Venison burgers, comin' up!"
Emma grabbed his arm. "Now, Carl! You just can't go shooting
everything you see. It's not nice. Plus, it might not be deer season, and even if it is you don't have a license, and even if you did, it can't be legal to shoot from a moving car, and even if it was, I'll divorce you if you shoot at that darling little creature!"

Carl grumbled and put both hands back on the wheel. Women!

On the way into Thomas, they saw another dozen deer, and then from Thomas into Davis, they saw at least eight more. Carl pointed his finger at the deer like a gun and made loud "bang-bang" noises just to irritate Emma. He almost hit one deer on the driver's side with a wad of tobacco juice. Take that, Bambi.

It was dark when The Whale rolled into the small town of Davis, and they checked into the Best Western Motel and had a great meal at the Sawmill Restaurant. Carl asked where the best off-roading was in the area, and the waitress said that the Blackwater Falls regions was famous for trails, but they were on the tough side.

Carl laughed heartily. "Hey, I got a 454 under the hood of my truck and it'll go anywhere."
Emma sighed. "Now, Carl. Remember when you got us stuck up in
New Hampshire and we had to wait two days for a tow truck to come
and get us out?"
 

SuperBuickGuy

Well-Known Member
Messages
3,403
Location
Woodinville, WA
The roof was lined with fishing rods, shotguns, crossbows and a selection of very expensive hand made pool cues. Small cabinets took up every square inch of free space and were filled to capacity with food, beer, canned goods, beer, utensils, beer, snacks, beer, clothing, beer, cameras, film, beer, tools, beer, spare parts and yes, more beer. At the end of a hard day of off-roading, Carl did like to have a cold suds or three, or more.

One small cupboard held a number of Harlequin romance books that Emma enjoyed. Carl leaned more toward Field and Stream and Soldier Of Fortune.

Yes, indeed. The Whale was set for traveling and Carl and Emma were on their way to:

WEST VIRGINIA!

Carl left the tangled web of endless bridges and bad roads that made up Pittsburgh, and headed south on Highway 79, toward the Canaan Valley in West Virginia. A friend of his in Pittsburgh told Carl that he just had to see the Blackwater Falls and the magnificent country of that region.

Highway 79 was a slick, modern road, saved from boredom by only two things: the beautiful tree-lined landscape and the ever-present Pennsylvania Highway patrol. This was the state where the fines were posted right along the road. Ten miles per hour over the speed limit cost you $75 bucks, and so forth, in an ever escalating gouge.

Carl kept the cruise control on 56 mph and listened to all three radar detectors shriek at full pitch every few minutes.

Carl gave an evil grin as The Whale rumbled by the Highway Patrol cars, knowing that even they were not chicken enough to bust him for 56 mph. Fifty-seven, yes!

The terrain became suddenly prettier as they crossed the state line into West Virginia, leaving the Keystone State cops behind.

Here, the state cops were a different story. Still tough, but not as bad as in Pennsylvania. Carl eased The Whale up to 58 mph and kept his eyes open. Out-of-state drivers had to cough up their driver's license until their ticket was paid in West Virginia, so some care was still required.

Emma coughed quietly. "Carl, I wish you wouldn't speed so. We're not in any big hurry, you know."

Carl spit a wad of Red Man tobacco out of the window of the Whale and deposited yet another stain on the flank of the huge Suburban. "Emma, why don't you try to pick up a good country station on the radio, and leave the driving to me. I mean, 58 ain't exactly like I'm racin' in the Baja 1000, ya know."

Carl peeled off on 119 south of Morgantown, swung over to highway 50 and caught 32 south to head into Thomas. Here, the terrain flanking the road was truly spectacular! Tall trees rose to the sky and a tangled mass of greenery filled the space between each and every tree trunk.

The Whale handled the ever-tightening roads comfortably, in spite of the horrifying load, and the 454 engine lugged happily.

Emma squealed happily, "Ooooohhh. look Carl! A deer! Just like in
Bambi. Over there, on the right side under that tree!"
Carl reached up and grabbed for one of the shotguns. "Supper
time! Venison burgers, comin' up!"
Emma grabbed his arm. "Now, Carl! You just can't go shooting
everything you see. It's not nice. Plus, it might not be deer season, and even if it is you don't have a license, and even if you did, it can't be legal to shoot from a moving car, and even if it was, I'll divorce you if you shoot at that darling little creature!"

Carl grumbled and put both hands back on the wheel. Women!

On the way into Thomas, they saw another dozen deer, and then from Thomas into Davis, they saw at least eight more. Carl pointed his finger at the deer like a gun and made loud "bang-bang" noises just to irritate Emma. He almost hit one deer on the driver's side with a wad of tobacco juice. Take that, Bambi.

It was dark when The Whale rolled into the small town of Davis, and they checked into the Best Western Motel and had a great meal at the Sawmill Restaurant. Carl asked where the best off-roading was in the area, and the waitress said that the Blackwater Falls regions was famous for trails, but they were on the tough side.

Carl laughed heartily. "Hey, I got a 454 under the hood of my truck and it'll go anywhere."
Emma sighed. "Now, Carl. Remember when you got us stuck up in
New Hampshire and we had to wait two days for a tow truck to come
and get us out?"
"Hey, that was a fluke, woman! How was I to know I'd bury the wheels in a mud field with no trees or rocks to hook a winch to?"
"Well, I did tell you not to go into that field, you know."
"Finish your French fries, Emma, and be quiet, or I'm going to go out and shoot Bambi."

Early in the morning, Carl gassed up both of the gas tanks and asked the attendant where the best trails were.
"Well, they usually go through town and across the river, then follow the arrows, but I don't think I'd take a truck back in there, because... "
"Because you ain't got a 454 under your hood, pal. But I do. See you on the flip-flop. That's trucker talk, ya know."

The Whale idled through the narrow main street of Davis, seeing only one other vehicle on the streets, a ratty '51 Chevy pickup loaded with logs. Carl guided the Suburban over a rickety board plank bridge at the end of town and headed out on a bumpy two- track dirt road.

The Whale shifted and wallowed as the trail deteriorated.
"Gotta get me some of those new Rancho shocks one of these days," Carl grumbled.
Emma giggled. "Carl, you'd need a dozen of them on each wheel the way you load this poor rig down. If you'd take half this crap off the roof, the stock shocks would probably work just fine."
"Any more out of you and I'm getting a deer license!"
Emma shut up and went back to enjoying the scenery.

Soon Carl came to a junction and saw a trail heading off to the right marked with bright red ribbon and cardboard arrows.
"Hah! This must be the trail that guy was telling us about. Hang on, Emma. We're gonna do some serious trail driving!'"
"Now, Carl. I'm not so sure we should just go driving off by ourselves in a strange place. Remember how we had to spend a whole week stranded up in Utah that one time?"
"Hey, that was before we got all the trick parts for the 454. We got torque now!"

The terrain before them was almost an eye-hurting green, with lush grass growing over the rolling fields. Emma said, "I was talking with the waitress and she said it rains or snows almost every day of the year here. That must be why it's so green."
Carl looked over at Emma and shook his head. "Yup. It probably took some real rocket scientist thinking to figure that out. I always thought that foliage grew best in sandstorms before you explained that to me."

The trail wandered slightly downhill as they headed to the bowl of the valley before them. The grass grew thicker and lusher and little streams criss-crossed the beautiful meadow. Fertile-looking black mud flanked the streams Carl noted: "Boy, bet you could plant some real good beefsteak
tomatoes in that soil. Looks real rich!"

Emma shifted around uncomfortably. "Carl maybe we ought to turn back it seems that there's more and more water the further we go. And we are heading downhill, and water does go downhill, and I don't want to get stuck again like we did back in Delaware, and ..."
"Hush up, woman. Nobody gets stuck going down hill."
A small stream crossed the trail up ahead, perhaps three feet wide. Carl stopped, studied it for a minute, then shifted into Four Low, second gear. "Guess I'll play it safe and blast through."
"Carl, shouldn't you get out and poke a stick in it and see how deep it is?"
"How deep could it be? That dumb trickle of water is only a yardstick wide. Get your belt tight and watch how a 454 handles this little slick spot."
Carl revved up the big engine, charged forward at full throttle and promptly buried the nose of The Whale over the headlights and half way up the hood.

Carl sat there, stunned, then got out of The Whale to inspect the situation. When his foot touched the ground, he sunk in to his knees and yelped, "Quicksand!!! Don't get out, Emma!"
Emma sighed "it isn't quicksand, Carl. It's mud. Real black, gooey mud. And it looks like we're going to be here for a while."
"No way, woman. I'll just winch it right out of here."
"What are you going to hook the winch to Carl? There aren't any trees or rocks out here."
Carl looked around frantically for a while, let out a deep. deep sigh, then said. "We'll. as long as we're going to be here for a little bit, why don't you rustle up some breakfast. I think better on a full stomach."

Several days later, a rider came along the trail on a dirt bike, saw the Suburban buried in the mud at a weird angle, noticed the tent out, the satellite dish up, smelled the bacon cooking, and stopped. "Can I help you folks?"
Carl poked his head out of The Whale. "Oh, nice of you to stop. You see, we were just camping and this stream came up during the night and buried the front end real good. Come on in and have some coffee. We got some tag team wrestling on the TV."

The rider kicked the mud off his boots and entered The Whale. He gladly accepted the coffee, and looked around at the inside of the Suburban with pure awe. "You know, you folks are out on the Blackwater 100 race course. It's considered the toughest place in America to ride a bike. What you're in right now is a real natural bog. This whole valley sits on top of mud and water. You got the grass, six inches of water, three feet of black mud and another layer of water under that. Nobody, but nobody, ever brings a truck back into here. Especially one this, this, this...uhhh, big."
 

SuperBuickGuy

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Carl looked out of the window, glanced at the rider, then stared at Emma, who was discreetly watching Hulk Hogan body slam Greg "The Hammer" Valentine on the tube. "Emma, don't say a word or were gonna have Bambi for breakfast."

***

Authors note: There are a lot of wonderful and interesting people in America, and many truly beautiful places for these folks to experience their off-road adventures. You can consider this an invitation to follow the travels of Carl and Emma, as they explore this great country. Who knows? Maybe they'll explore the back roads of your state next. If they ever get out of the Canaan Valley bogs, that is.
 

SuperBuickGuy

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I'm in the process of designing a rack for the top and the inside, and also deciding whether to put a NV4500 in it instead of a 4L80e. I could make a 700r4 work (no computer) but the relative cost difference and simplicity of the 5 speed manual are the odds-on favorite.


it's going to be silver.
 

SuperBuickGuy

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well, I know where the problem is.... not quite sure how I'm going to fix it.



the copper pipe rubbed a hole in the brake line right at the bend.... of course, right next to it is the exhaust so I may have to remove the exhaust to fix it. First though, it's soaking and will get a very thorough pressure wash before any of that happens


if I was a betting man, I'd say the motor has been replaced.... the block heater is in place and that was cut just on the other side of the cross member (there are other signs too like missing every brace and lines being poorly replaced)



more amazing wiring



another sign, it had a tach, this is what remains of the pickup



this makes me smile. I love doing projects where there was much love heaped on the vehicle a couple owners ago.... I fix the redneck engineering and I have a great truck



nice tank skid



so clean, brakes, figure out why I have a fuel leak (probably bypass lines), fix the column, remove the extra wires and fix the stock wiring.... then I can get on with the build. One of the issues that needs addressing is most of the bushings are shot - which would nicely be fixed with a 4" lift :)
 

SuperBuickGuy

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I think I'm going to make this a Friday thing.... Wanderer's 3


CHRISTMAS IN ALASKA By Rick Sieman


Welcome to the good life of Carl and Emma. Carl, a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer, drives a huge four-wheel drive Suburban all over the country to explore off-roading areas. The Suburban, nick-named The Whale, is loaded to the max with every goody known to man. Emma, a very patient lady, tries to keep the short-fused Carl out of as much trouble as possible.
When we last left them, they were extremely stuck in the mud bogs of Davis, West Virginia. We join them as they're driving across Texas, with no particular destination in mind.


***


"Well, dear ... whattaya say we head out to California and spend Christmas camping out in the middle of the desert where there's no stupid snow?" Carl expertly spat a wad of tobacco out of the window of The Whale and banked the plug off a yellow road sign, just a hair off dead center, at the same time adding yet another brown stain to the flank of the Suburban.
Emma fixed Carl with one of those stares that showed she meant business. "You know, Carl, there's one thing I've always wanted to do during Christmas time, and that's visit Santa's Village up in Alaska."
Carl chuckled. "Ain't you a little old to be believing in Sandy Claus, Emma? I found out about that bull before I started shavin'!"
Emma sniffed. "I'm not talking about kid stuff, Carl. There really is a tourist place you can go to. I saw it on one of those travel shows on the TV a few weeks ago. They actually make toys and things there that you can buy and there's a restaurant and a hotel. Just think how nice it would be to spend Christmas eve there, with all the elves and such, by a huge decorated tree!"
"Sounds like a waste of time to me. And who would want to spend Christmas eve surrounded by a bunch of midgets wearing pointy hats?"
Emma sighed. "Well, I surely would have enjoyed going there. It's like being a kid again. But it's just as well. Apparently the road that goes back into Santa's Village is a real bad one. It's supposed to be bad enough in good weather, but in the winter, they recommend that only highly experienced off-roaders with excellent equipment attempt the drive. Most folks just fly in."
A smile creased Carl's face. "Fly in, huh?" Must be a bunch of wimps up there in Alaska. Ain't much that can stop a 454 engine hooked up to 35-inch Mudder tires, now is there?"
"Now, Carl. Maybe it's not such good idea after all, What with that nasty old road smack in the dead of winter. Guess my little dream will just have to be put on the back burners of the stove of life."
Carl stuffed a fresh clump of chewing tobacco in his mouth. "Well now, Emma, maybe old Carl here can answer those girlish dreams of yours. One way or another, I can get The Whale up any road, regardless of the weather. Only thing is, let's just spend one night there and get back into civilized country in time for me to catch the Super Bowl. I got good tickets on the 40-yard line."
Emma gave a secretive smile. "Oh, Carl. You're so brave and I know you won't get us stuck like you did in West Virginia and Delaware and Florida and Pennsylvania and upstate New York and North Carolina and ..."
"Put a lid on it, Emma. I get the message."


They rolled along at exactly two miles per hour over the speed limit, the mighty 454 barely working as it hauled the mass of The Whale down the ruler-straight empty Texas highway. The strains of Willie Nelson filled the interior of the plush Suburban, through sixteen speakers.


The sound of squealing tires had Emma digging her toes in the thick carpeting, and before her eyes were focused, Carl had the Suburban stopped on the shoulder and had leaped out of the drivers seat. He stood at the base of a road sign with both hands on his hips, and stared up at the sign in obvious awe.
Emma got out and joined him. "Carl, what's the matter? You look like you're in a state of shock?"
"Lookit this, Emma! It's a brand new sign with no bullet holes in it! They musta just put it up. I betcha I've driven through Texas a hunnert times and I've never seen a sign that wasn't full of bullet holes. Get your Instamatic out and take a photo of me next to this landmark."
"OK. And then what?"
"Then I get one of my guns out and put the first hole in it before somebody else beats me to it."
"Carl, when are you going to grow up? I swear!"
"Hey, I'm not the one who wants to go see Sandy Claus."


***


Carl and Emma eventually reached California, and drove North along the coast, staying as always, two miles per hour over the speed limit. The Whale handled surprisingly well, considering that it had three gas tanks, two air conditioners, a TV satellite dish on the roof, a generator, two roll-up awnings, trail bikes hanging on each end and, of course, a boat lashed to the roof.


They passed through California and once again marveled at the heavy woods of Oregon, and the staggeringly beautiful landscapes. Washington also offered its own particular brand of visual treats, even though it rained most of time and was very cold, bordering on snow.


It did snow in Canada, but lightly, and not enough to build up on the roads. The highways got lonely and traffic was sparse as they drove through the mountainous areas of British Columbia toward the Yukon Territory. Highway 97, the famed Alaskan Highway, took them north past Kluane and Burwash Landing and shortly after, they crossed the border into Alaska. Even though it was cold, there was very little snow on the ground and they stayed comfy-cozy in the spacious cab of The Whale.


Here, they picked up Highway 2 - a great road - into the heart of Alaska and then swung north on Route 6. The terrain got meaner looking and the weather colder. Emma got out the brochure for Santa's Village and gave Carl the appropriate rights and lefts, until finally, near the northern part of Alaska, they ran out of paved road and saw the sign that ominously read, "Santa's Village, 41 Miles. Unpaved Road. Travel At Your Own Risk!"


The road was nastily, rutted, slick with frozen patches of ice, and studded with tire shredding rocks. Much to Carl's credit, he piloted the huge Suburban with skill and grace, and three hours later, arrived at the entrance to Santa's Village, one very tired off-roader.
 

SuperBuickGuy

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Emma popped into the office and registered for their room, picking up a fistful of brochures and a half-dozen souvenirs in the process. She was bright-eyed and smiling. "Carl, we just have time to freshen up before the seven o'clock show."
Carl raised his eyes skyward and mumbled, "Whoopee."

***

The show was as bad as Carl thought it would be. The audience consisted of about 14 white-haired old women accompanied by bored-looking husbands. Little elves danced around the dinky stage to scratchy recorded music, while a fat guy in a Santa suit ho-ho-ed like an axe murderer. A ratty-looking reindeer was dragged out on the stage and promptly did a disgusting act of nature on Santa's foot. Carl could have sworn he heard Santa say some words he hadn't heard since his Navy days.
They had a toy making demonstration that was so stupid Carl simply could not believe it, and then some more elves danced around like chickens with no brains and then the fat guy yelled ho-ho-ho some more, and mercifully, the curtain came down.

Carl and Emma had a very bad meal in the restaurant and then retired for the night. Carl was very happy that they'd be leaving the next day and fell asleep quickly.

Morning brought bright light through the windows and Carl quickly showered and dressed, then headed out to check on The Whale before the long drive back. Or at least he tried to. The door of the hotel room would not open.
Frustrated, Carl got on the hotel phone. "Hey, what's the deal? My door won't work!"
A chuckle was heard coming from the other end of the line. "Oh, nothing is wrong with your door, sir. We just had a bit of a snowfall. You might look out your window. I'll hold."
Carl looked out the window and saw nothing but white. Then he stood on the bed and looked out the six-inch gap that was not covered by snow. He could see the top of The Whale, and just the top. Snow was everywhere. Many feet of snow. Piles and piles of snow.
Carl grabbed the phone. "Hey, I've got to get out of here. The Super Bowl is right around the corner!"
"Sorry, sir, but we'll be snowed in for a few weeks. It happens up here like that, sort of sudden like. However, you won't be bored, because the elves will be having toy making workshops and you can get involved. By the way, sir ... Merry Christmas and a hearty ho-ho-ho to you!"
A thumping sound aroused Emma from a very deep slumber, and as she opened one sleep-encrusted eye, she saw Carl banging his head against the wall.
Emma pulled the blankets over her head and quietly went back to sleep.
 

SuperBuickGuy

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starting to buy bits for this
a Whynter refrig - it's a freezer/Refrig combo




next up is a range, sink, a water tank/pump, solar panels, batteries then the building begins
 

SuperBuickGuy

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So this is the vacuum line for the kick down to the transmission.... it had brake fluid coming out of it.... took me a bit to realize that there was a hole in it too


leaky line


to get the exhaust pipe out, I needed to push the axle down


and I verified that it was this line leaking... tomorrow parts, then fix


 
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