The dream... I envisioned myself driving the truck, pulling the car from my home in rural Perkins, OK to Charlotte.
My Trip to Charlotte, 2004
By Dave Lester
Part 1:
I started making plans many months ago to attend the Studebaker Drivers Club’s 40th Annual International meet to be held in Charlotte, NC. I had attended the 38th in South Bend, IN, and had a blast! I wanted to do it again!
Things began to get really serious in December of ’03, when I purchased a ’57 ¾ ton Transtar Deluxe. I had been looking for such a truck for some time, and had finally found not just the truck I needed, but also the means by which to fund it. The search for the truck had transcended several years, as I felt I had specific needs. Since I couldn’t afford/justify two “toys” for myself, I was determined to find a truck that could show/tow/and go. What that means is, I had to have a truck that could pull my car trailer, present itself well, and yet earn its keep. Most “rodders” fix up ½ ton, short bed pick-ups. I wasn’t really looking for a “rod,” but needed a truck that could do what I needed it to do. Due to a shoulder condition, I wanted power steering and an automatic transmission. Because of other considerations, I wanted air conditioning, a V8, and heavy suspension.
Because after building my ’54 Starlight coupe, I promised myself that I would NEVER do such a thing again, I was looking for a truck that was done, or almost done. Eliminating ½ ton short beds really limited my options!
I had actually found the truck I needed 4 years ago, at a Studebaker meet in Oklahoma City. Trouble was, the owner was not ready to sell, and I was in no position to buy.
Once I found myself in a position to actually purchase such a truck, I started digging through my desk drawers to find the phone number of the owner. I found it! SDC member Orel Suggs was the owner. The truck was a mere 50 miles from me, in Shawnee, Oklahoma. Quite amazing, really, since I had been doing a nation wide search for some time.
I called Orel, and he was more interested in selling the truck than he had been 4 years ago. He was still not much willing to negotiate, but was more willing to sell. I went and drove the truck. As expected, it ran and drove well… except it had no power steering. I decided to pass on it, as I had no desire to try to back that truck, with trailer, with my shoulder. When the shoulder acts up, it is as though someone stabs me with an ice pick, clear to the bone. So, I excused myself, and headed home, still determined to find the truck I needed.
After a few days, reality set in. I had been looking for some time, and ¾ ton trucks this nice, with air conditioning, straight bodies, and super clean interiors are just hard to find. I called Orel back, and told him I wanted to talk to him about his truck again. “OK, Dave,” he says, “But the truck is in the shop.” “What happened?” I asked. “Well, I’m having power steering installed on it.” “Call me when it’s done!" He did. I went and checked out the installation. Started the truck, spun the steering wheel left and right with my index finger. Drove it down the road and back, and took a closer look at the modifications that had been made. Duly impressed, I bought the truck.
Having bought the truck, I considered how “cool” it would be to use the truck to haul the car to Charlotte. I could go to an International Studebaker meet with BOTH Studes! This is a serious condition, this Studebaker disease.
The dream... I envisioned myself driving the truck, pulling the car from my home
in rural Perkins, OK to Charlotte.
Things went downhill from there. I started doing this ‘n that to the truck… and, the car. “I have until June!” I told myself. Over, and over, I told myself that. The truck had fluid leaks galore, as well as 4:10 rear gears. I got it tuned up, addressed the leaks, and found a guy that said he could change and set up the rear gears for me. We dropped it from 4:10s to 3:53s. RPM dropped from 3,200 @ 67mph to 2,800. I had been hoping for 2,500. Oh, well, I can live with that. However, a vibration now existed in the driveline that had not existed before the gear change. I Took it back to the installer, and he could find nothing wrong with his rear end work, or the rear end itself. So, I was stuck with a vibration that needed a cure. Re-clocked the U-joints, etc. Not cured. Since the vibration manifests itself under a torque load, pulling a loaded trailer was not an option, without the problem being addressed.
Then, I discovered the king pins were bad. Ordered a set. They didn’t get here in time. Could find no one willing to tackle the driveline vibration. By late May, I realized the truck (now wearing the moniker “Goliath”) would not be visiting Charlotte, NC.
This bad boy stayed home.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, similar things have been going on with Beth Sheba (‘Sheba for short,) the ’54 Coupe. ‘Sheba had a few “issues” of her own. I had driven her to South Bend in ’02, and several miles since. She had developed a nickel sized rust bubble on her left rear quarter panel, just behind the driver’s door, and some pesky little bubbles at the “T” strip, between the quarter panel and body, just below the “coupe” window.
And, there were a couple of dents in the driver’s door, as well as a couple of cracks in the paint on the very front of the hood, where the hood latch mounts. This wouldn’t do, not at an International meet!
’Sheba’s make over.
So, Craig, the fellow that helped me build the car, stepped in to help... his saying when we built the car was, “If you’re going to do it right, now’s the time.” That saying has since changed to, “*Heavy sigh...* From cradle to grave.” Craig was a professional body man when we built the car in my Quonset hut, and has since become an owner of a very successful body shop. Getting shops like this to work on custom, or old cars, is like pulling teeth! But, they took me in… in early March. “I only have until early June,” I tell him. “No problem, I’ll have it in and out in a week.” “Well, then,” can you have it by early May? If so, I’ll give the truck, trailer, and whole rig a shakedown cruise. I’ll take the whole rig to the Studebaker meet in Tulsa the first week-end of May!” (This was before I broke the truck by “fixing” it.) “Sure!” he sez, "Jon's gonna hep me."
Well, he has a body man quit without notice. He has to fire another. We have copious quantities of hail in the area. Goliath made the Tulsa meet, all by himself. No shakedown cruise for the “rig,” but Big G does well, on his own. At this point, I am still thinking there is hope for the “rig” to make Charlotte. I soon learn that Goliath is a giant, I am a wimp, and he hates my guts. Each time I fix something, he breaks two something elses.
So, I decide to just concentrate on getting ‘Sheba ready to go. Trouble is, I have no control over the situation, and neither does Craig. Things just keep happening, beyond our control.
May comes, and goes. Craig and his partner call me in for a conference:
“Ya know, we’re gonna hafta blend the quarter panels. We’re gonna hafta blend the section below the coupe windows, into the roof. We’re gonna hafta blend the driver’s door. We’re gonna hafta blend the hood.”
“I see. So, how far are we away from it being the best thing to do, to just paint the whole car?”
“We’re there.”
“Paint the shameless hussy!”
Come early June, I am considering staying home, driving a brand X, or flying to the meet, just so I can spend some time with all of the very good friends I have made through Studebakering. I decide to stay home, as my original plans were to leave on Monday, June 7. I decide there is just no way, as I have other things to do to the car in order to get it ready for such a big meet. Going to such a meet without a Studebaker just didn't seem like the thing to do.
Craig calls at 1730 on Friday, June 4:
“Come get ‘Sheba, she’s ready!”
“I’ll pick her up Monday, I’m not going to Charlotte.”
“You don’t want her tonight?”
“No, I give up.”
“Really?”
I can hear the disappointment in his voice. He is truly let down that I’m not excited, and have given up. He, too, has poured his heart and soul into this car over the years.
We hang up, and I ponder. I call him back:
“I’ll come get her, but I just don’t think I can pull it off.”
“We’ll help.”
They did help. Randy, the shop's painter, helped me remove over spray and addressed some other items, and by Sunday I can find no excuse not to go for it. Goliath will stay home, but ‘Sheba is going to Charlotte!
Sunday night, I load her up... not on the trailer as planned, but I load her up. Suitcases, some DWG products I promised to deliver, and a tool box. It’s the first time she’s ever hauled a toolbox, but due to some discussions on the alt.autos.Studebaker news group, I decide to throw some tools in a box, and throw the box in her trunk. (When we went to South Bend two years ago, she hauled one tool… a screwdriver, with which I intended to open a can of touch up paint, if needed.)
0715 Monday, June 7th, we’re on the road, ‘Sheba and David. About 20 miles from home, it starts drizzling rain. My first reaction was, “Darn it!” But, I made a quick attitude adjustment. “It’s cool, you’re going to have to clean the car when you get there, anyway... relax, and enjoy!” It worked! The first five hours of the trip were pure heaven! The car was in its groove, running 75mph down the Interstate, at 2,300RPM, cruise set, radio playing golden oldies. “We’re going to Charlotte, we’re going to Charlotte,” the road seemed to sing. Ain't life great?!
Five hours after leaving home… 12:15 PM. Conway, Arkansas. Traffic on I-40 stops. We are on a parking lot. The clouds part, and the noonday sun starts to beat down on the roof of the Starlight. Dave’s bald head begins to release little beads of perspiration. “Where is that cool rain I was complaining about earlier? Oh, well… I’ll just turn on the AC.” I do. The AC fan goes; “Whiiiiiir,” and I feel a breeze of cool air. I roll up the windows. Then, I hear the “Whiiiiiiiir, ‘POOF!’” The AC stops, cold. Well, not, “cold,” but it stops.
“Oh, well, I can go without AC,” I think, as I turn off the AC switch. Traffic slowly moves through the construction zone, occasionally coming to a stand still. The beads of perspiration become buckets of sweat, as I watch the heat gauge and start to fret. Finally, we are moving in normal fashion, and I take ‘Sheba up to 75 again. All is well. I push the cruise button. Nothing. “Oh, well, I can go on without cruise… I’ll just engage the overdrive, and we’ll get it on down the road.” I push the button. No OD, no OD light on the dash. I start checking this ‘n that. I have ignition, I have a cooling fan, and I have turn signals. That’s all I really need. I also have power windows, door locks, and seats, but I don’t really care!
We push on. Mike and Leslie Gaither, newsgroup and SDC members from Texas, call me on the cell phone. They are running I-40, about 100 miles ahead of me. I don’t feel quite so alone. They plan to make it to Knoxville, TN, where they have a motel room reserved. I do some figuring, and cipher that would amount to a 14 hour first day, about right. I tell them I’ll see them in Knoxville!
Then, Jeff Rice and Loy Daniel (also newsgroup and SDC members) call to check my progress. This is neat! Stude guys are calling, wanting to know how the trip is going! Jeff is on his way to Charlotte from FLA, and Loy is stuck in Texas, but is living the trip vicariously. Life IS good! Hot, but good!
1910, 11 hours, 55 minutes into the trip, approaching Lebanon, TN. Have just talked to Mike. He and Leslie are going to stop and have dinner. They are now about an hour ahead of me. This will give me time to catch up with them. They will buy me something to eat, and I’ll eat when we arrive at the motel in Knoxville.
1915, 12 hours after I leave my driveway… ‘Sheba stutters, and stalls, right there on the Interstate. Nothing I can do can make her go, she is DRT. (Police talk for, “Dead, right there.”) I coast to the shoulder, very close to an off ramp for Lebanon. As I step out of the car, a pick up pulls onto the shoulder with me. “Ah, good, someone willing to help,” I think. And, it was a stranger, willing to help. Life is good!
I walk around to the front of the car to open the hood, and another pick up pulls onto the shoulder. Out step two guys, one of which I recognize! It’s Jim Caldwell from MO, and his buddy, Wilber Kaylor, both SDC guys!
“Mr. Lester,” Jim says, “What are you doing?”
“Not sure yet, but you are a sight for sore eyes!”
The stranger, Jim, and Wilber watch as I remove the fuel filter, blow out the element, and clean some crud from the glass bowl surrounding the filter. I put it back together, and the car starts right up. It runs, it revs, it idles. Jim says, “We are going as far as Knoxville tonight. If you want to go for it, we’ll follow you.” “That’s my goal, too, let’s go!”
The red headed stranger excuses himself, and, go, we did… for 10 whole miles, after which I once again find myself on the shoulder, DRT. In retrospect, I should have gone into Lebanon, and done some better diagnostics. It was determined that a fuel pump was in order.
Remember Mike and Leslie Gaither, who were about an hour ahead of me on the road? I called them on the cell phone and told them I needed a fuel pump. Mike went to the O’Reilly parts store where he was, and was going to drive the pump back to me. That would have been an hour back to me, and another hour back in the other direction, so it was decided that the parts manager in that town would work with the parts manager in Lebanon to get me a pump.
By now, it's about 1945hrs. The Lebanon parts manager offered to bring me a fuel pump when he closed the store at 2000hrs. Although it was almost 2100hrs. before he got there, bring it, he did, and he was primed and ready to help install it, as well.
Jim and Wilber volunteered to see me through this. Now, these two fellows were but a mere two hours from their motel room in Knoxville. They kept traffic off of my back, helped install the new fuel pump, (Actually, I think Wilber noticed how inept I was at removing the old pump, as he installed the new one,) and stayed with me until the wrecker arrived.
“Wrecker?” Well, see, as it got dusk, and we noticed vehicles turning on their headlights, it “dawned” (pun intended) on me that I had been having electrical problems, and I began to wonder if the headlights had fallen victim to the electrical glitch. Flip the toggle switch, no lights.
So, even with the new pump in place, and the car running, I was going nowhere on I-40 without lights. Nice to know I can drive it up on the wrecker, though. I call Mike and Leslie again, “Mike, have your parts guy find a wrecker in Lebanon, please… I have no lights, I’m throwing in the towel.” 'Sheba took a ride on a roll back to Lebanon. Life is still OK, if not perfect.
On the somewhat funny side, (now) while I was lying on the
ground with as much of me under the car as would fit, I heard an 18-wheeler shutting down,
QUICKLY! I mean, I heard the commotion, couldn't see what was happening, but figured it was over for all three of us. As I twisted to see if Jim
and Wilber were still standing, I notice the truck is on the shoulder, and starting to back up towards us. I've never seen a truck shut down, shift
across a lane, onto the shoulder, and reverse direction that fast!
Jim was trying to motion traffic into the inside lane. The truck driver
saw me wedged under the car, thought I was pinned, and was coming to the rescue!
Turns out the driver thought Jim was flagging for help.
Back to the Lebanon parts manager. After the pump was installed, I ask, "What do I owe you?"
"Here's the ticket," sez he. "$29.95"
"No, no, no. That's not enough. You are out here on your own time, in your own car, doing something you do not have to be doing. What can I pay you?"
"It's right there on the ticket. $29.95."
I wrote the check for $50, and as I tore it out of the book, I realized how
cheap that offer was.
"This isn't enough, let me give you some cash."
"Sir," he says, "I enjoy doing this. You guys are great to
have spent time
with, I love getting to see your car and meet people like you guys. The bill is
$29.95, and anything more than that is MORE than enough. Thank you."
He
also stayed until the wrecker arrived.
Jim and Wilber could have easily been in the air conditioned comfort or their motel room in the time they spent helping me. Mike and Leslie also lost a good hour or more of road time.
Thanks again, guys 'n gal!
I have the wrecker driver drive me to a motel, and drop the car in the lot there. I get a room, and decide to call in a report to my wife, “What’s Her Face.” WHF is a good wife, and does as she is asked. A few days before knowing Goliath was going to be a no-show, I asked her to call me if UPS delivered the king pin sets. I had made arrangements to get it into the shop as soon as the parts arrived. Call, she did, about 2030, as we were fending off trucks on I-40. I answer the phone, “Yes, Dear.” “Your truck parts have arrived, Dear.” “Thank you, Dear, I’ll call you back a little later.” “What’s all that noise?” she asks. “Tell ya later.”
I get a shower, and crash in the room for the night. Tuesday morning, 0630, I’m in the parking lot, pacing around. “Should I just head back home?” I pondered. No, can’t do that. Jeff and Mike have promised we can fix this electrical thing in Charlotte. Jim, Wilber, Mike, and Leslie have given the biggest part of an evening to the cause, and didn’t that do so I could turn tail and run home. “Should I wait around for an hour and a half, waiting for a garage to open? And, then another one hour, two hours, three hours, four hours, hoping they can get to me, find and fix the problem?” I ask myself. Life is a quandary.
I turn to ‘Sheba. I check her fluids. I kick her tires. I fire her off, and she responds. “We’re going to Charlotte, we’re going to Charlotte,” her loping exhaust seems to say. So, I-40, here we come! We hit the ramp, and I run her up to speed! Vaaaaaarrroooooooom! Cough. Sputter. Choke. I pump the accelerator vigorously, and she smoothes out. “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me!” This time, I pull off at the next exit. I drive her around Lebanon, and see some of the shops the wrecker driver told me about the night before. She doesn’t miss a lick. I find a section of open road, just down the road from one of the recommended shops... allowing for the possibility to coast into the lot, if she fails me. I open her up, and run her hard through the gears. No problem. Must have been some air in the line?
I head for the Interstate again, and let ‘Sheba make the call. She chooses to turn right, towards Charlotte, rather than left, towards home. The tramp! I call Mike after about 30 minutes on the road. He and Leslie are about to go to breakfast. I get directions, and plans are made for me to join them at the restaurant. I pull into the lot, knowing I had put a dent in their plans the night before, and not wanting to slow them down any more. With cat-like quickness, I pounced from the car, locking the keys inside. One breakfast and a locksmith later, we are finally ready to travel. The locksmith, of course, scratched the paint on the door handle, but at that point I just didn’t care! Life is... well.., OK.
Mike and Leslie are going as far as Ashville, NC on this leg of the trip; they are going to tour the Biltmore mansion there. As it happens, Jeff Rice and his wife are about to finish the tour. So, plans are made for Mike and Leslie to turn me over to Jeff and Carrie. Adoptive parents are great! Little Davy Lester is in good hands. I follow the Gaithers over the Smokey Mountains, and am glad I’m not towing a trailer and hauling a car with a truck with bad king pins and a questionable drive line.
Speaking of that, I must digress. Leslie has been looking out for me for some time, at Stude
meets ranging from Tulsa, OK, Denton, TX, and South Bend, IN.
She saved my life, and ‘Sheba’s body in South Bend.
See, ‘Sheba’s J-hook hood latch has a thing for my head.
It wants blood. So, I’m
working under the hood, and have a lapse… I stand up, and half scalp myself on
the J hook. Not knowing Leslie was
there, I was about to temporarily lose control of my tongue in such a way that would
make Calvin the Sailor Man blush. I think I
also intended to tear the J hook from the hood, without benefit of tools. I stood up, grabbed the hook with one hand, my head with the
other, and was about to let ‘er go, when I saw Leslie standing right beside
me.
I’ll never forget the look of fear and surprise in her
eyes. Looking back, I don’t know
if that was because of what had happened, what she knew was about to happen, or
that I might have been shooting blood all over their Studebaker.
“G…AWWWLEE!… GEE WHIZ!… BOY, HOWDY! I SURE WISH I HADN’T DONE THAT!
I HATE that thing, I HATE that thing!”
That’s what came out... more or less. Leslie
rendered aid, and made sure I didn’t mix alcoholic beverages with the pain
meds. She has looked after me since.
The trade-off is made, and I follow the little yellow Coupe Express out of Ashville, toward Charlotte. It begins to rain. A lot. Jeff is the only guy I know who speeds up in the rain. A time or two, I wanted to roll up beside him and ask, “Is that thing BROKE?” Then, the rain came, and I felt like Richard Petty in his later racing years, just trying to keep up.
Well, OK, I didn’t ALWAYS follow.
(Photo by Jeff Rice)
Other than that, the leg of the trip went well. We pulled into Charlotte, and stopped at the first red light. I heard a noise I hoped was coming from somewhere else. Sounded almost like something rubbing the cooling fan. What else can life deal me? Turned out to be a leaky exhaust gasket.
Jeff had fixed up Jim Turner and me with a room at the Holiday Inn. We checked in there, and headed over to the meet venue. We located the Rehydration Station, a tent with liquid refreshments, provided by the Studebaker newsgroup gang.
There, we cooled off, visited, and made plans of attack for vehicle repairs the next day. I’ll let someone else tell the story about dinner that evening. <G> I had one other minor crisis that evening, but Bob Palma and Jim Pepper came to my aid. We are in Charlotte, we are in Charlotte! Life is good again!
Part 2:
For some reason, as electrical glitches go, things mysteriously start working again. I decide it would be OK to drive the car after dark the 6 blocks or so from the meet hotel to my hotel. I leave the parking garage, turn on the lights, and all is well. One block later, the lights go out. The four way flashers don't work. Here I am, on the dark streets of Charlotte, with no lights. It's six one, 1/2 dozen the other, I can move on, or I can turn back. I decide to move on. I turn on my left turn signal, so that there is at least some chance the drunk will see me before hitting me. I meet a police car. I know what to do, so I just pull over to the curb. I'll beg for mercy, and an escort. The officer does not turn around. He waves, and drives on. Good thing, too, as Rick Courtier noticed I had forgotten to put my updated sticker on the tag... I had renewed while the car was in the shop, but the sticker was in my desk drawer back home. It's just not easy being me!
Wednesday morning comes, and news grouper Nate (Better known as “Poor Nate”) offers his services. We make a list of needed items, and Jeff and Nate are off to the parts store. I remove all the console panels in the dash, so Nate can trace wires. It has been determined that I have lost power to one of two fuse panels. Not wanting to tear up every wire loom on the car, the plan of attack is to run a new wire, with an inline circuit breaker. This may cost some judging points, but I can address the “real” problem when I have more time.
While waiting for the guys to get back from the parts store, I start assessing the condition of the car. She looks like she has been driven through the mud, the (my) blood (darned J hook,) and the beer. I pull out my cleaning products, and start washing. I continue this process, right there in the parking lot, not using one drop of water, while Nate works on the car. He has so much assistance! It was something to behold! Jerry Forrester and Dusty Bob Wagner are toting tools back and forth like crazy. (I think that is the first time I had ever seen Jerry leave his lawn chair when work was going on.) Ray Fichthorn provides a jack and jack stands, so Nate can get under the car to repair the exhaust leak. Nate finishes the repairs about the time I finish detailing. All items required to pass the judge’s safety inspection function! The body is washed and protected, the tires and other rubber items are clean and dressed, the vinyl seats are standing tall, and the wheels and chrome are shining! I can relax!
Poor Nate! Car wash in a bottle…
haven’t done the bumper, tires, or wheels yet.
(Photo by Bill Clark)
I took some time to admire the cars showing up, and the rest of the day was pretty uneventful… just a lot of visiting with a lot of great folks! My roomy, Jim Turner made it in that evening, and we visited until the wee hours of the morning, just like a couple of teen-agers.
Thursday arrives. The BIG day. Thankfully, I am ready; so don’t have a lot to fret over. I enjoy the day!
On the show field.
We sit up late at the Rehydration station, again. I get to meet folks I “know” from the newsgroup, but have not met face to face before. Other SDC members drop by, and we get acquainted with them, as well. This is what it’s all about!
Here comes Friday. We’re going to the drag strip! We form a convoy behind the famous Ted Harbit, the famous Chicken Hawk, and the famous Stude Tomato, and head to the strip. I wind up behind Jeff again. He gets us lost. Again... just like in South Bend two years ago!. And, I seem to have another problem cropping up. My amp gauge is fluctuating between 13 and 14 amps. This is not right. When the electric cooling fan is working, the gauge reads 13. When it cycles off, the gauge reads 14. Thing is, I know I have rolled the thermostat control on the fan back far enough back that the fan should continue to run. We are stopped in town, trying to find our way to the strip, and the temp gauge starts it’s climb. We finally get rolling, and the temperature remains within tolerance, but I’m getting nervous. To top that off, I’m told, “Hey, Dave, your brake lights are not working… again.” Life... goes on.
I decide not to put my car on the strip, but rather to attempt to track down the second electrical gremlin. Those good intentions don’t last long, I just can’t stand it! I make two runs with the car, both “against” Jeff Rice’s little Coupe Express. The first run, I’m asleep at the light. I watch Jeff’s taillights, and turn a 10.089 1/8 mile. I’m so close I think I can beat him, given another chance.
Lining up:
Jeff seems to be signaling me to go.
(Photo by Jeff Grohs)
Jeff offers me some advice on staging, and working the lights. “When the second set of amber lights come on, GO!” sez he. I follow his advice, and see a red light as I leave the box. “I ain’t stopping, arrest me!” This time, I beat Jeff to the finish line, but I lose, because I red lighted.
"Red light? What stinkin' red light?" I went when he told
me to!
(Photo by Charlie DeLeBarre)
I was, however, determined enough to stay ahead of him. ‘Sheba gave me a 9.645 run. I have since decided that Jeff likes looking at ‘Sheba’s cute little rear end, and that’s why he gave me the lead. I’d better not catch him patting her there, though! Can’t blame him, it’s the cutest little rear in the industry, in my humble opinion.
With the racing out of my system, it was time to attempt to figure out the cooling fan thing. Nate was not available to assist me, as he was John Poulos’ pit crew, and John had tried to blow his GT to pieces. When that didn't work, (John says) Nate tried to burn it to the ground. They were very frustrated, busy, and generally not happy campers.
Up steps Charlie DeLeBarre, Lee’s dad, to the rescue. I didn’t know then, but I had completely misdiagnosed the problem. Since the fan had functioned flawlessly before the bypass surgery, I thought something was kicking the new circuit breaker, causing the fan to cycle on and off. To counter this, we ran a hot wire directly from the alternator to the fan, thus ensuring the fan was getting full-time power. I now realize the fan was on a completely different circuit to begin with, or it would have failed in the first place. DUH! Well, when you’re hot, tired, frustrated, and stupid to begin with, what can you expect? Then, there was Jim Turner, walking by every two or three minutes announcing, “When you find the problem, it’s going to be a ground. When you find the problem, it’s going to be a ground.” Charlie finds a loose terminal in the fan wiring, but no amount of shaking of the terminal seems to cause the fan to stop.
So, needless to say, the problem persisted on the way back to Charlotte from the drag strip. That night at the Rehydration Station we (Jeff, Mike, and others) pulled some panels and looked things over. The wire that powered the brake lights had simply been disconnected from the terminal, probably due to all the wiggling of wires. Still couldn’t figure out the fan problem. Jeff and I decided we would tackle that in the morning. We had a banquet to attend!
The banquet went well for most at our table, but there were some very disappointed GT Hawk owners.
(Photo by Jeff Rice)
Back to the Rehydration Station! Another late night, but a good time was had by all!
Saturday morning, 0530, Jeff calls, he’s ready to see if we can run yet another bypass surgery to the fan, through the ignition. We do. Being wary of the J hook, I tied a rag on it while we worked on the car. Once done, I took off the rag, and put it up. Then, for some reason, I went back under the hood again, scalping myself as I came back out. Leslie wasn’t there, but I didn't know if Carrie might not be around the corner.. Jeff protected the J hook as I let ‘er rip, "SHAZAM! I HATE THAT THING, I HATE THAT THING, I HATE THAT THING!!!," I chanted, as I did what resembles an American Indian rain dance, while holding my head. (The area of my head affected by this blow was considerably further back than the one from a couple of days before, and the other from the day before that.)
Jim, Jeff, and I have breakfast, and at 1100, are ready to hit the road. Jim has offered to baby sit me on this leg of the trip, at least as far as Knoxville, TN, where he exited I-40 to head home. Jim had intended to drive straight through, but after seeing me through my problems, he wound up getting a motel room Saturday night. Thanks, Jim!
I fall in behind Jim. We go a few blocks, find the Interstate, jump right up on it, and find ourselves on a four-lane parking lot. Another construction zone! The fan runs, it stops. The traffic moves 4 car lengths, it stops. The temperature gauge moves higher, and higher. Jim calls me to tell me about the next exit. “I see it,” I tell him. Then, I creep right past it. Looking at the gauges, I guess. That exit would have offered immediate relief, but I had missed it. I had to stop and let the car cool down. I saw a police officer in the median under an overpass, and stopped by him. I called Jim and told him to just go on, I got myself into this mess, and I’ll get myself out. Jim wanted to turn around and come back, but I finally persuaded him to go on. Got the car cooled down, found a way back to the exit I had missed, and was merrily on my way. As long as I maintained highway speeds, I was OK.
But, I knew I couldn’t do that all the way home. I called Jim again, and learned that I had closed the gap between us quite a bit; he was only about 10 miles ahead of me. Of course, I think that is because he didn’t want to run off and leave me. He said it made him feel guilty. Friends are very good things to have.
We meet at a gas station, because I really want to have that fan working for the next construction zone. I mention the loose terminal Charlie had found the day before. Jim shook the wire on the terminal, and this time, the fan responded. We found the problem! Jim goes to a parts store to pick up a new relay/circuit breaker while I take off the old one. Install the new one, and we’re on our way. Followed Jim to his exit at Knoxville, we waved ‘bye ‘till next time.
Alone again. Drove until about 2230. Can’t remember where I stopped, but it was just east of Nashville, I think.
The scenery is best through the window of a Stude, problems, or not!
Sunday morning I didn’t wake up until about 0830. Hit the road. The fan worked sometimes, sometimes it didn’t. About ½ way across Arkansas, it quit altogether. I pressed on as long as I could, but the construction area I had encountered in Conway, Arkansas kept creeping into my mind. I KNEW I HAD to have a fan there! I was in that mode all "old car guys" know… checking gauges, listening for every little noise, sniffing the air for smoke or coolant, and generally just not having a good time, at all. Life is complicated.
So, I stop... again. I open the hood… again. By now, the hood on this car has been up and down in a week more times than it has been in 5 years, and I have the scars to prove it! I start shaking wires, just knowing I have a bad connection somewhere. No amount of shaking works. So, I start tracing wires. Looking at the plug connection that goes into the fan, I see there is just one wire there. There should be two, but the ground wire has gone missing. I start pulling loom, and there it is, about 3” up into the loom. Stretch it back out, stick it in the hole it came from, and the fan comes to life. I hear this singsong, “When you find the problem, it’s going to be a ground. When you find the problem, it’s going to be a ground. When you find the problem, it’s going to be a ground,” ringing in my bleeding, sweating, throbbing head. “Shut up, Turner,” I yell across the parking lot. Don’t guess anyone there was named Turner; they looked, but continued to visit.
I find a long screw in my toolbox. I thread the screw into the ground socket… firmly, but not tight enough to “screw” anything up. I cut off the head of the screw with a pair of dykes (pliers), and butt-connect the wire onto the screw. It seems to work.
On the road again, I cross the rest of Arkansas, and enter into Oklahoma. The fan has not missed a lick. I turn on the AC, and get home at 1630, calm, cool, and collected. Still don’t know what caused the original glitch, but I’ll start undoing bypasses and find it.
Since arriving home, I have placed ‘Sheba in the corner for bad behavior. Goliath is out on probation, and now has a new set of kingpins. He went to a car show last week, and had a good time. ‘Sheba stayed in the corner and pouted.
Depending on which one torques my view on life, I’ll address their “issues” as I see fit.
Looking back at the whole adventure (trouble is trouble when it is happening, later it’s an adventure,) I would do it all again. I have learned something very important. I used to think it was about cars, but I now know it’s all about friends.
There are other side-stories within this story but I just can’t tell them all. The generosity of the SDC membership, as a whole, is just wonderful. I apologize for not being able to mention everybody that helped in so many ways, but there are many.
To those mentioned in this account, and to those not, Thank you, thank you, and thank you! Thanks to SDC, thanks to the local chapter, thanks to everybody. Let's do it again sometime! Life just doesn't get any better than this!
Oh, did anyone else notice they didn't give a "hard luck" award this year? I think I know why. This story is too long!
I didn’t have much time to take pictures during the week, but here are some from Friday, along with some contributed by others::
http://www.davesplaceinc.com/charlotte/charlotte.htm