Return of Phoebe

For the record...let it be noted that on this day 1.Feb.24, Phoebe rode forth with new struts & shocks & a completely rebuilt & custom-crafted clutch system. 

She went into the shop soon after I arrived to Albuq in early October. It took a month of cogitating, disassembly & more cogitating to begin to understand the extent of the problem. When Daniel, owner of By the Book Diesel and Auto Repair, finally called to tell me about it, he wasn't sure if once they did everything they thought was needed if it would fix the problem.

Parts are increasingly hard to find and it was through a supplier I'd heard of from another Geo owner that Daniel was referred to someone in Oregon who has a stockpile. Waiting for people to return his calls added days, maybe weeks to the job. 

When I left Phoebe with him I'd hoped to be back on the road in three weeks. As doctor appointments kept getting pushed further out and parts-hunting became a job in its own right, it became evident the soonest might be the end of January. Around Christmas we tossed the timeline out the window. Knowing there was nothing to do but wait, I watched as the weeks went by...and learned to enjoy indoor plumbing. Last Wednesday, the call came: she was ready.

Drawing by Michelle D. Cook

Thursday was busy; Friday came and went. They're closed on weekends and I had several appointments on Monday. Tuesday at the gym was tough and resulted in me not getting out of bed on Wednesday. It was a week and a day before I could get to her.

As we reviewed the operation and I came to understand how the problems came to light; Daniel again told of his concern that they'd no way to know if all their work would make a difference; the problem could be elsewhere. He'd cautioned me at the "starting gate" that they couldn't foretell what all they might encounter.

Having owned businesses myself, I had experienced problems where no one came away happy; this one held that potential.

The pedal assembly from Oregon came with only one bushing (it uses two) and no rubber for the pedal. Fortunately, the old one had one good bushing and Skyler, doing the work, was able to salvage the rubber from the old pedal and glue it to the new one.

With the old assembly removed, they could see that the pedal had been welded at an angle that reduced the amount of travel and didn't make full use of the cable.

The following three photos show the pedal and the welds.

The pedal in the upper left

The weld, though not pretty, was strong. However, the pedal position on the shaft was incorrect.

Also, the end of the old shaft assembly was square and fitted - like a mortise and tenon -  into a hole in a rod at the end of the shaft. Both the end of the shaft and the hole were becoming rounded and it wouldn't have been much longer before it too would've been a problem. The new assembly was splined, a change no doubt prompted by recognition of the weakness of the mortise-and-tenon design.

Rounding (wear) of Mortise & Tenon

The clutch cable was worn and due to a bent connecting arm (possibly bent during an encounter with an obstruction), misaligned. After straightening the connecting arm, Skyler cut off the mounting bolts for the cable bracket at the transmission-end and rewelded them an inch further toward the rear. This shortened the cable providing more room for adjustment. He also welded closed a cutout in the bracket, thereby strengthening it and eliminating a small amount of flex that reduced the cable's effective travel.

Welded Cutout

The third area of trouble was the firewall. The cable's mounting bracket bolts to the engine-side of the firewall. The metal is so thin that the pedal pressure caused it to flex. Though the actual distance was small, combined with everything else, the cumulative effect kept the clutch from working properly and limited the available adjustment.

The silver bracket with its two bolts is stock. The gray, gun-metal plate behind it was custom-crafted and affixed to the firewall

While the words above explain the problem, they don't come near conveying the amount of thought and effort involved in making the repair. While I give full credit to Daniel and Skyler's tenacity, Orlando also contributed.

Daniel attributed my willingness to give them carte blanche in solving the problem plus throwing out the timeline with giving them the confidence to move ahead. But as I told them, "I couldn't afford another vehicle; we had to fix it." But I knew as well as they, that "had to" isn't what makes it happen. 

So the success was appreciated by all.

                 -----------------------------------------------

With this, her seventh year of restoration, we crossed the $30,000.00 mark. Though I've jokingly likened it to a bad marriage wherein there's no way out, I never had enough money to buy a vehicle in Phoebe's present condition. Thanks to VISA and Mastercard, I've been able to stay out from under a bridge, which is where I'd have been without her. And everytime I roll down a window I savor the fact that I don't have to turn on the ignition.

(When on rough terrain I know I'm sitting atop a parallel box-beam (truck) frame, not a flimsy uni-body; she has real four wheel drive that enables her to clamber about with more nimble-arity than an AWD. She has real bumpers; when, a few years ago we were rear-ended at a red light in Flagstaff and knocked forward 8 feet, the RAM that hit us sustained heavy damage. Phoebe wasn't even scratched.

Oh, and her Check Engine light is off.)

Worth every penny.

We're ready to ride.

    Many, many thanks to By the Book.

Pleading at Tony's & the 15' Box Truck

It's the pedal assembly -- clutch, brake & accelerator --- that gave out. 

Yesterday, before returning the van, I stopped by Tony's Garage and Katie, the receptionist, told me the problem but said she didn't know when they'd get to it.

I wedged my bulk below the dash to look at the pedal assembly; it's a booger-bear to get to and more than I can handle. 

Are We Gonna Be Here A While?

Still driving the U-Haul van, I went to see if I could get the 10' box truck I'd reserved. The woman couldn't find my reservation and though the truck was due back at 2 pm, and I had reserved it for 3, she behaved as if it might not happen and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "Oh, well, stuff happens." She tried calling to ask if the folks were bringing it back but no one answered. She had nothing to substitute it with.

When I told of Phoebe's problem, she directed me to one of two places in Florence that does welding. Rocky, at Artistic Fabrications, did a great job, she said, of extending the sissybar on her son's Harley. "You couldn't even tell." 

Thinking I might be reduced to a toothbrush and bedroll, I called a storage place. Lo & Behold! He had a 15' box truck available! (previous post.) I offloaded the van into the truck and somehow -- I'm still puzzling over how it came about -- the guy who rented me the van came in and said I could leave it there and he'd come get it, rather than me taking it to them and him giving me a ride back.

I went to find Rocky, the welder, to see if he'd be available if and when Tony's ever got the "bracket," as the pedal assembly's known, out. There, Joe & Brian explained how Rocky was moving into "the arts" and was busy getting ready for the Coos Bay Blackberry Festival this weekend where he has a booth. As I was leaving, Rocky pulled up and said he'd take a look at it Tuesday after the festival. This was Thursday.

I headed south toward a Forest Road. It's $0.99/mile and the truck might get 7-8 miles to the gallon. It was 8.5 miles to the Forest "development" Road#958. "Development" is a jargon word meaning "main," usually with roads branching off from it. Two hundred feet up from the turnoff onto the Forest Road was a large, locked gate, posted NO TRESPASSING.

A nearby spur went a few hundred feet to a utility pole. Hidden from the road by a dense mix of shrubs, blackberry bushes, and trees, I backed in and began arranging my "furniture."

After Initial Transfer

This morning I spent 2 hours, 36 minutes and 6 seconds wrangling an issue with Social Security. When the last person told me to hold for the next, I got disconnected; It was 10:30 a.m. and I was exhausted. I slept until 2:45 pm.

Around 4 pm a guy showed up and told me I couldn't camp there. I apologized and left. In town, I went by Tony's to see if I could find out more about Phoebe's trouble.

Fortunately, the mechanics were still there, they close at 5 and it was 5:30ish. I explained about my heart condition and how I'd come to Oregon to get psilocybin-facilitated therapy for my death anxiety. I told about declining bypass surgery cuz, not having any secondary insurance, if I died Michelle'd be saddled with a debt somewhere in the range of $40,000.00....if there'd been no complications.

I started to cry a couple of times. I'm not sure why; I don't think I feel sorry for myself, but it's disheartening to have to plead for help. I felt embarrassed by my inability to control my emotions, but the past few years I've worked hard -- with the help of She-of-the-Capri -- to dismantle the facade and accept myself...blubberer that I am.

They said they'd get the bracket out and take it to Rocky on Tuesday. "We'll make it work," they said.

I'll go north to the dispersed camping area and hope the truck has the gumption to get up the mountain; it's steep. Last time I was there I met Eric whose wife is the assistant to the Executive Director of the Animal Humane Society in Florence. Eric said they always need volunteers to pet cats and walk dogs so, along with a bit of sight-seeing, tomorrow I'm gonna go see what I can do.

FÜRTHER!

Neatly Stowed

Epilogue

I passed a hitch-hiker, a rangy-lookin' feller wearin' a straw cowboy hat with a big pack. I thought for a bit then pulled over and made room in the passenger seat and went back. 

Tim had been 16 days on the road coming from St. Louis. The pack weighed around 80 pds, down from 110, he said, and he had a smaller one I couldn't lift; I carried his gallon of water. He was northbound for Washington and told how he'd run out of water on Interstate 5. No one was picking him up so he decided to come over to 101. It took two and a half days. 

I took him to Herman Peak road and gave him $20 and a sandwich, still sealed in its wrapper. Reverting to a time when I lived off gleanings from dumpsters, I'd found several sandwiches when emptying my trash at a drive-up coffee place. (I was a Master dumpster-diver in my youth. Once, when I visited Mom in El Paso and the refrigerator was empty, in two days I had it so full the door wouldn't close.)

The truck made it up the steep road to a turnout that's juuust wide enough to turn it around.

Stylin' With U-haul

It's a 15-footer. Hand crank windows. 134,100 miles.

$2,000.00 for thirty days $440.00 of which is insurance. Hopefully, I won't need it that long.

Tony's garage diagnosed the problem as something to do with the pedal assembly. They couldn't find a replacement part which was probably fortunate as rumor has it the originals are plastic and mine is, I think, custom crafted steel.

Rocky, a talented welder who's trying to move into "the arts," said he'd take a look at it Tuesday, but the blackberry festival is this weekend in Coos Bay and he's busy getting his booth ready. Thus the wait until Tuesday.

I found a splendid pair of boots at the Animal Humane store in Florence. 

Camping in this vehicle is much different. Rather than be outside, I have the back door up. It's a cross between a picture window and a veranda. MUCH more comfortable than a van. I plan to try it for a few days and then maybe downsize to the 10-footer. It won't however, go the places Phoebe will. Nor does it get very good gas mileage. With the additional cost of $0.99 per mile, it's expensive.

Sounds of the City

Adjustment Day

Today is the day. I've put it off as long as I could.

It comes on slowly. It becomes progressively harder to get into gear until (yesterday) I have to turn the engine off.

Normally, it means loosening a locknut, tightening the adjusting nut, and retightening the locknut. But this is PHOEBE, *my* vehicle and so, of course, she's different.

This is the third clutch and Daniel, while I was paying the bill, said he thought he'd "found a good one this time." At $1,500 a pop I'd whined about not being able to afford a new one every year; the last two having gone only a short distance further.

Over the years, we're in our seventh, I've consoled myself with tidbits such as the one about how the Ferrari 12-cylinders, with their six carburators, needed almost constant adjustment.

But there've been modifications; her clutch pedal assembly had been fooled with and in the previous installation, when the transmission was rebuilt, Daniel'd removed it, cut the pedal off and rewelded it into what was deemed its original position. (The trauma to my wallet left me unable to recollect even a hint of the cost.) *This* time though, Daniel had located a more robust pressure plate and disk and his posture and countenance conveyed a stolid faith in increased longevity as he delivered the famous words (see above). 

The name of Daniel's shop is By the Book,and it is how he does things. Though I think we have yet to replace the clutch cable, I decided the last time to try a bit of innovation; something he would, I suspect, rarely, if ever, do. 

Rather than further tightening the adjusting nut, I cut rubber washers to fit betwen the end of the cable and its mounting bracket, effectively shortening the cable. And it worked. But it would've been, in Daniel's "book," unorthodox. Looking back in the blog to November 26 of last year, I see it has worked for eight months; not bad.

Today should be exciting. Will we add more shims? Will we simply adjust the nut? Or maybe the car'll fall on me and someone else will get to admire my carefully-crafted handi-work.

But we're in no hurry. It's early, only a little past 8 a.m. There's coffee to be made and drunk. And hopefully, the fog will burn off and the sun will lend its warmth. Otherwise we might have to put it off...again.

The soft, dove-grey, dampens the

nearby highway's intrusive presence. 9:44 a.m.

There's an olde cats' proverb: Never do today what can be put off until tomorrow.

And this olde Spanish one (on the refrigerator in Albuquerque): 'Tis wonderful to do nothing and rest afterwards.

1:30 pm - Begin

2:20 pm Wheels chocked, tarp out, shade reconfigured.

3:20 Raised. Panting hard, but no angina. I work 20 minutes, rest 40. I should finish up (right on time!) around dark, at 8:30...god willing and the Smith River don't rise. 

Extra support...Justin Case

The yellow sticker on the jack describes how to make a DIY nut-cracker. It came with a little toy gun, a tall hat and some other cutesy stuff.

4 pm - adjustment completed. Maybe 1/2 inch? With all the huffing & puffing you'd have thought we were swapping out the engine. But there was no swearing and, best of all, no injury.

HUUUUURRAAYY!! cried the children (nod to Dav Pilkey Jr.)

Portside ding in crossmember.

Sta'b'rd for comparison

4:10 pm - jack out...wheel on the ground. But will it work?

5:30 pm - It did fine at rocking bak-erdz 'n' for-erdz but hitz when she gits het up tha' she gits ornery. Tuhmorrer I'll take her out and find out fer sure. But for now, those teensy sips of Deshutes Obsidion Stout are whut ah'm lookin' for'ard to. And some REST! I'm pooped! (the heart meds and alcohol don't go together; an ounce is max. More than that and I get a hangover like I'd had three bottles. I've alwayz bin a cheap drunk.)

Thursday, the next day: Success! 

19 Miles to Bishop

Several years ago, after I plucked her business card from a laundromat bulletin board, I met the most creative dresser in Albuquerque. Xannibelle, Xannie for short, is a trained garment maker and makes her own clothes. 

She recently made a mattress cover that she mailed care-of general delivery to Lee Vining.

Due to a shortage of employees, the Lee Vining P.O. was only open from 10 am - 1 pm. Continuing toward Bishop where we planned to meet, I found a pleasant campsite within commuting range.

These two were having a great time!

Somebody in Lee Vining didn't like the elementary school's mascot. A young man (30-something?) who was going into the post office suggested the weight of the snow did it. (Guys! Why do I bother?)

The female student I asked said it happened a few years ago and is a mystery. 

Phoebe's Air Filter

It's aggravating having no one to blame but myself. Phoebe's been coughing at startup and sometimes stalled after being on the freeway. For reasons unknown I didn't check her maintenance log, but *knew* her air filter needed attention. Today I got to it. I bought a can of compressed air specifically for this, but it only helped a little. I'll replace it as soon as I can.

I'm guess I'm gonna have tuh put a screen over the intake. Dang mice!

Phoebe's New Knees

Mr. Tadeo called 'em "half-shafts." I referred to 'em as CV joints. $520 including a $40 tip.

Some years ago, back when I could amble to the tops of hills, I discovered an amazing echo. Like the Lost Dutchman Mine, I've not been able to find it again, but I've kept trying.

This attempt had me closely scrutinizing the topo map to see where it might be. But standing in the road looking up, I had to acknowledge my days of ambling "uphill" are over.

It's a bit of a trek from Douglas to the National Forest and whoever owns the land is adamant about keeping people off; it's posted all along the 10 miles or so.

I camped next to a corral -- in the National Forest -- only to have the rancher appear, on his side-by-side, out of the dark. We exchanged pleasantries though it took a few seconds to assimilate his pronunciation of "water," which, when I asked, he clarified with, "a pipeline." He'd been unsuccessful at repairing a tank's plumbing and commented that the store was two hours away. After expressing my sympathy, we bid each good evening.

In the morning I noticed anothor of the odd lugnuts. Without the means to remove it and being out of range of roadside assistance, I, like the rancher, had no choice but to return to town.

Mr. Tadeo explained how these odd nuts have a cover that sometimes falls off when subjected to the torque of a pnuematic wrench. I 'splained how "I didn't do it!" in my best 8-year-old voice and as with the whole car, I got taken to the cleaners.

I found Joey's cat in an alley. I've always enjoyed alleys and went down this one to get to The Blueberry Cafe.

New Brakes

OMG!

What a vehicle!

I mean, what with all the health hassles, I have to admit having a shower close at hand was nice. And, due to the noise from the freeway, I slept on the floor outside the bathroom so there was another wall twixt me and the sound.

But I've got my escape vehicle back.

Beef tartare to celebrate

Had to replace the front left caliper.

New rotors

Platinum Ceramic pads.

$674.61. 

Two more nights at Nativo Lodge. Then we'll see how we do.

Kofa - In Four Wheel Drive

The roads in Kofa National Wildlife Refuge are not friendly to large or fragile vehicles. Most ARE navigable, at least to a degree, with a sedan, but large cobbles, recalcitrant protuberances along with creosote and cacti eager to "reach out and touch someone" can intimidate those who have concerns.

There's a campsite a few hundred feet before this short section. Getting down wasn't too hard and though I suspect it wasn't necessary, I used four-wheel-drive low to get back up.

Phoebe is my first four-wheel-drive vehicle and I'm still in discovery as to her abilities. The difference between the apparent ease with which she navigates terrain compared to the experience behind the wheel, is still a surprise.

Goodyear Wrangler Trailrunners on the front. Goodyear on the back as well.

Further West

Time was, just the other day, when I had this area to myself. There were several cars on the main road -- a sandy two-track -- and a few others camped off a ways. Good ole 4wd and short wheelbase gets us across the steep-sided arroyos and away from the hoi-polloi.

Location Shot

Camp

I'm almost certain that's an acacia on the left. And if you look closely you can make out the leopard lounging on the limb of the mesquite on the right. There were rhino grazing in the distance.

Group Sex

Mexican Hat

It was raining and EVERYONE ELSE was either -- depending on their vehicle -- taking advantage of the gravel-topped surface or heading for pavement. There was FAR too much traffic. We went looking for a quieter place....and found it just up the road.

In the morning the sky continued to clear and we enjoyed the solitude. Though this being in "the window" of when the temperatures are the best, the hordes are arriving.

Fully Self-actualized

At age 16 I attended a school in Boulder, Colorado for high-school dropouts. One of my fellow students was the son of Vivian Mercier, a scholar of Samuel Beckett's work, esp the play Waiting For Godot.

My first read was that year and while on LSD. I was struck by Estragon's reply to Vladimir when asked how was the carrot. Estragon's reply was, "It's a carrot." While many critics cite this exchange as Beckett's allusion to homosexuality, I interpreted it as a Zen-like observation that a carrot is NOT a pseudo penis, but simply a carrot. (I recall a similar analogy when someone commented about a cigar. The smoker replied by saying it wasn't a standin for a "dick," at all, but, in fact, a fine cigar.)

I adopted the phrase and later, when I became an art dealer, it morphed into the carrot on a stick - when dangled in front of their face -  used to motivate mules. Discarding the stick, I saw the carrot as an ineffable ideal that inspired me to leap from my bed each morning, eager to extol and expound on the beauties of the art I had for sale. The concept sustains me to this day.

The mule no longer plays a role and I've returned to the carrot itself, in the ether of a starry void. Michelle Cook's depiction completes Phoebe's exterior embellishments.

Rolls Imitates Phoebe

With dark coming so early there's time to surf the web. I thought I'd see what Rolls Royce is up to these days and was pleased to see Phoebe's interior rivaled elements of theirs.

And, of course, Phoebe sniffed disdainfully at the faux starlight ceiling since she -- more often than not -- has the real thing.

I picked out some fabrics and Xannie (seamstress extraordinaire) worked her magic

I've yet to decide on what to use on top of the wheel-well 

This custom rack was designed and built by Trini Saavedra in Albuquerque. 

You can see the netting on the left side of the photo of the back door

He cut chain links in half and welded them around the edge to provide places to attach ties and hooks

The view is from the back. Note Dragon attached to rearview mirror

Finding Home & My Heritage

It's a gift and I treasure it. 

Occasionally, over the years, I've bemoaned my inability to make money, but being able to discover magical places and, best of all, find my way home each evening, is priceless.

I'd done maybe 40 miles of freeway and had had enough. And, like a cat, I had to go see.

Photos merely serve as reminders; they can't capture the beauty or grandeur.

The saguaro points to an arch in the tippy-top of the dike.

Phoebe hasn't had her picture taken in a while. Her coloring blends nicely with this stark, gray-brown country, dontchewt'ink?

Note German flag above license plate. 

I worked for a while in the University of New Mexico's College of Education's division of Language, Literacy & Sociocultural Studies (LLSS). Twenty-two faculty of various ethnicities, religions and political persuasions taught teachers how to teach cultural diversity. I designated myself the resident Teuton and taped a brown paper sack with the German two-headed eagle on it to my office door.

A visiting professor stopped by once. I nearly laughed aloud as he harumphed his prodigious bulk while asserting that he was Austrian. Still a skinny young lad, I couldn't match his "harumph" but was able to assert my origin in Nürnberg (2nd-largest city in the state of Bavaria after München and the historical capitol of Franconia.) and further attested that my lineage -- as my mother told it -- dated back to King Henry II (he of the large lower lip), a medieval monarch who led one of the many pagan tribes of Franks. (my middle name, Frank, is in honor of this heritage.)

Thus, in recognition of my ancestry and with ever a nod to the LLSS faculty: several Puebloans; descendants of Spanish Conquistadors; a Zen Buddhist; a Jew; three lesbians (sort of like The Three Graces) and many others, When occasion arises, such as when folks are "sharing" their nationalism, I fly the flags of Germany & Nürnberg.

Rio Chama

I'd been trundling northward with a sub-cutaneous suspicion of a spectacular view overlooking the Rio Chama that someone who has a Capri Truck Camper (7th photo down) had discovered in an earlier exploration.

Suddenly!!!! There it was!!!!

And then, during the night, Phoebe got a bath (it rained). And she was proud.

Phoebe

She knew, if we wanted to, we could go to L.A. where, as the guy on the Moki Dugway said a couple of years ago, "In L.A. it doesn't matter what kind of car you drive; what matters is how shiney it is."

On the Way to Albuquerque

I was (reluctantly) working my way northward. I HAD to meet with a cardiologist about my Amylnitrate Cardial Infarcation (or some such), but wasn't in any big hurry.


This boulder looked pleased with itself.

You can see why; it had made it down the hill further than any others.

The Little Yellow Flowers (LYFs) were in profusion.

And the wind was between 30 - 40 knots.

Phoebe waiting patiently....

Dragoon Mountains

There's a big rodeo in Tucson they tell me. Traffic has been horrendous, but it's 'sposed tuh rain tuhmorrer so I ain't budgin'.

Thet thar's muh garbage bag hangin' offen the rear-view mirror. Pretty clever, eh? Onliest smart thang ah've ever done.

And themz muh wash basins sittin' by the jug.