The Grand Mother Arrives!!

Orlando International Airport; via Satellite from Florida --

After "patiently" waiting for over an hour, Grumpy was finally greeted by the smiling face of the Grand Mother as she arrived in her "carriage" that met her at the airplane and carried her to the eager arms of her welcoming hosts.

As Grumpy came closer and she could see him more clearly, the Grand Mother muttered "Phew! You have a beard!!"

"And you smell like fish!" she added sternly. She evidently didn't appreciate all the pain and suffering to which Grumpy had subjected himself just the day before to try to become "purified" for her imminent arrival. [Such is my fate!]

We were soon ensconced in Son Ward's luxury-bedecked Chrysler "limo" heading back towards "the Hill" where they live in Florida. After a few miles, Grumpy complained about the overly-cozy warmness of the fancy leather seat in which he was sitting. His overheated comfort was soon found to be the result of his having inadvertently switched the heated seats to "ON"! Just what you don't need in summertime Florida!!

Very heavy rain, which the windshield wipers at high speed could not dissipate fast enough, obscured One-Eyed Jack's vision so that our speed was somewhat subdued below the typical 5-10 miles per hour over the speed limit that Floridians usually travel. Nonetheless we soon made it to the Retirement Castle on the hill.

After some late night visiting, the "Old Folks" retired to the comfort of our bed and caught some welcome sleep.

Preparations for The Grand Mother's Arrival in Florida

Sunday in Florida; via Satellite from Florida --
As previously-planned, Son Ward (aka, Popeye, or "One-Eyed Jack") took Grumpy out to various local eateries specializing in seafood, Western music and other such debauchery (NOT including a certain "Hooters" restaurant and Pub). To shield the Grand Mother from the unpleasantry of having to smell Grumpy after he had sated his being with seafood for several days, the plan was to "purify" him in some way. Grumpy did not know what ol' Popeye had in mind though.

The "last supper" of seafood was Saturday night at Red Lobster, where Grumpy had his first feast of wood-fire grilled Grouper, that delicacy of the eastern sea coast and the Bahamas. It was delicious and the company (Peggie, Harry and Grandson Joe) delightful. That meal being over, Grumpy now had to face ... the Cleansing!!

First, ol' One Eye cornered Grumpy out into his back yard -- in plain view of all the neighbors -- in a rather uncompromising state of dress (see Figure 1, right). Next, One Eye "armed" his wife with the business-end (that is the nozzle!) of a garden hose attached to a nearby cold-water faucet. And I do mean COLD!!

Next, One Eye's wife Peggie, turned the cold-water garden hose on me!! (see Figure 2, left) I hadn't realized that the requisite Cleansing would involve cold water torture!
But, I had promised that I would be purified of fishy smells before the Grand Mother arrived, so I had no choice but to stand there and take it like a Man.

What a dutiful husband won't do for his nearly sixty-one year-old wife. Or is that, "his wife of nearly sixty-one years"? [I guess I never did too good in English!]

Thankfully, the trial of cold water was soon over, and Grumpy was able to towel off.

Was this any way for a guest to be treated who had traveled from so far away, thinking to enjoy Southern Hospitality?

What a way to spend a Florida afternoon.

One-Eyed Jack -- er, I Mean Harry

Thursday; via Cable from Florida --

A week and a half ago, Son Ward (aka, "Harry", and hereinafter referred to as "One-Eyed Jack") was diagnosed, by a Seattle Retinologist, with a detached retina in his left eye. Learning of the circumstances of his being a temporary visitor to the Rainier Country, the Doctor advised that his choices were: 1.) To have the surgery done in Seattle and plan to remain at sea-level for the next three to four months until the necessary gas bubble (used for rehab after retina reattachment surgery) could disolve, or, 2.) Get home (in Florida) within a week to have the surgery done there. Thus began the four-day trek described in the preceding four Posts.

The surgery was performed this past Tuesday by a fun-loving (but outstanding eye surgeon) named Doctor Gupta. We who have seen Dr. Gupta all agree that he is "too young", "too handsome" (that's the female comment!), and too fun-loving to be a serious eye doctor. But the facts are the facts: HE IS JUST PLAIN EXCELLENT!!

Old One-Eyed Jack had to walk, ride and sleep with his eyes looking straight down; he was allowed to sleep on his left side -- but looking to his left, as seen above. He kept saying he was OK, and I'm sure he is; he will see Dr. Gupta in two weeks. In the meantime, wife Peggie is instilling drops in his eyes six times a day on Wednesday, five today (Thursday), four tomorrow, etc.

But a picture is worth ten thousand words, so here is Ol' One-Eyed Jack just after having his early afternoon drops today. Is that eye gorgeous or what!? [Don't anyone tell Harry that I posted this, please. He's apt to have me disposed of in the alligator-infested St. John's River nearby!] He's already tried to steal my piece of lemon pie -- and made the weakest excuse of all!! He claimed he was looking for his piece. How lame an excuse is that!!

Just look how innocent he is pretending to be!!

How NOT to Drive Across the USA-- Part IV

Still Later Wednesday Afternoon; via Cable from Florida --

In the previous post, I told briefly about having continued past St. Louis, through Obamaland to sleep overnight in Kentucky. I need to take the reader back a bit to tell about the most harrowing experience of the whole four-day trek: the journey through St. Louis. The Grand Mother had expressed some concern about our planning to go by/through/around St. Louis. Perhaps she was remembering the time (October 1989, I believe) when we drove this same rig through the western edge of St. Louis -- during rush hour! Grumpy managed to get through it all -- although the Grand Mother aged several years with worry as cars and trucks were cozy on all sides most of the time as we literally "inched" along. What's to worry about; the Son and Grumpy were driving through St. Louis late at night -- around 10 or 10:3o, as I recall. Traffic should be light, right? WRONG!!

The Grand Mother was right to worry. The I-64 "freeway" through St. Louis is by far the worst-engineered, worst-signed highway on which Grumpy has ever driven. It is intersected on both the right and left by other freeways coming through the center of town. Typically, these other highways enter alternately (right, then left, then right again, etc.) -- which really keeps the navigator "guessing" as to which lane he should direct the driver to be in in order to negotiate the next nearly-90 degree turn! Note that Grumpy referred to the "navigator" as giving directions to the "driver"; there is just no way, with the traffic we encountered this late at night, that a lone driver could possibly get through this "rat's maze" without that support. I'm not sure a person could do it even after having made a few practice runs in daylight. No kidding, there were 40 (yes, I said forty!!) exits and on-ramps to deal with in just 25 miles; the path we were to follow went in every direction except straight West in the course of only about one and a half miles!

Anyway, we made it through St. Louis, unscathed and humbled by the experience. Number One Son was especially impressed, when he realized later that he had performed this feat while seeing only half of the big picture. Needless to say, we do not have any photographs of this short segment of our trip. Even crossing the mighty Mississippi and entering Illinois went unnoticed as we "sped" through the city and exited Missouri.

But it is now the next day (Sunday, June 21); we have had a "good" night's sleep in Kentucky (safely out of Obamaland) and have scurried down the road about a half mile from where we parked for the night, to a Waffle House whose presence we duly noted the night before. Why else would we have picked this particular off-ramp for our layover?
Being reminded of a certain previous "adventure" with this rig in the confines of another Waffle House down in Georgia or Alabama somewhere, Grumpy (who was at the helm at this early hour) carefully surveyed the parking lot situation before entering and negotiating the first half of the U-turn he knew he had to complete successfully when breakfast was over. He then parked the rig (far right, barely within the "40 acres" limit) and cut the ignition.

After two hearty breakfasts (we splurged because we knew that WH is the place to eat for a breakfast on the road), we hit the road and soon entered Tennessee -- land of Dolly Parton and good ol' Blue Grass music. The weather was behind us, the blue sky was phenomenal with the broken clouds and green hills contrasting all around us. Four days on the road and we're going make it "home" tonight!! (From an old truck-driving song Grumpy had in his box of tapes. Except in the song, it was six days on the road ... How we wished our adventure had been that leisurely!!)

As we drove further south-easterly across Tennessee on I-24 and into Georgia, we took advantage of the lowest gasoline price of the trip ($2.359) to fill up for the last time. Further down the road we noticed higher prices, culminating with a price of $2.699 in Green Cove Springs -- the exact same price we paid when we filled up in Seattle before we left! We humbly congratulated each other that we were "just plain good for having been so smart" as to find this fuel stop right where we needed it.

Our troubles were not over! After switching on the transfer pump when our "good" rear tank was down to less than 1/4, Son Ward noted that the gauge seemed to stay at this near-empty reading. Now what, we wondered? Inexplicably, Son Ward suggested we try switching on the previously-inaccessible front tank; voila! it worked!! At least, with the 19 gallons in that tank we would be able to get closer to home before the fuel transfer problem had to be resolved. But then, finally, when the front tank level diminished to about 1/2 full, we decided to switch on the fuel transfer pump, "to see what would happen". This time a pleasant surprise, as we kept on going and going and going -- the gas gauge staying at about half full. We now realized that the fuel consumption was about equal to the fuel transfer pump rate. "Hmm!" thought Grumpy. "The fuel transfer pump used to be able to fill the main tanks faster than the engine could consume it." Could it be that the transfer fuel filter (that filters the fuel upstream of the transfer pump) is partially clogged? Yes, Number One Son and Grumpy decided. Our worries are over. As long as the fuel transfer can at least keep up with our consumption until we get within 1/2 tank range of our final destination, we will have won the contest; the contest to drive 3,100 miles coast to coast, corner to corner of the USA with an old Ford pickup towing an even older Travel Trailer, the entire rig being driven by a still older yet, retired Northrup-Grumman Field Engineer and an absolutely ancient former sheepherder and Boeing controls systems engineer. Together, the co-drivers had three eyes and three ears. What a pair!! Oh, and of course we had "Greta Garmin" -- the GPS lady who kept telling us where to go.

Upon arriving at the Florida Welcome center on I-24, about 30 miles before merging onto I-10, we stopped to take a few nostalgic "Florida" pictures. Grumpy was fascinated by the palm trees. We both welcomed the brief chance to walk on our two wobbly legs and enjoy the balmy night air. Finally, at 11:30, we pulled in to our final destination -- and a welcoming air-conditioned house -- with a real, full-size (actually, Queen-size!) bed.

It was some trip; unforgettable. A trip of a lifetime.

How NOT to Drive Across the USA-- Part III

Late Wednesday Afternoon, via Cable from Florida --

This travel day was Saturday the 20th of June; we would go through Iowa on I-29, then through Missouri down as far as Kansas City where we would turn East and traverse the State from West to East, finally exiting into Illinois via St. Louis. This was to be another extra-long day as we were determined to make up for the 150 or so miles that we didn't achieve the first day so that our average daily mileage would equal about 750 miles (3,000 estimated total distance divided by our limit of four days for total travel time). We would achieve that average just after we passed St. Louis. But, being the Right Wing Nuts that we both are, we couldn't bear to afford young Grandson Ramiro's the glee he would have enjoyed if we had slept overnight in Obamaland. So we "just had to push on" to Kentucky!

A few miles after heading South out of Sioux Falls, we began encountering our next surprise of the trip: the engine coughed and sputtered under all but the most benign loads. We couldn't maintain even 50 miles per hour on level roadway. The problem was temporarily alleviated by switching on the fuel transfer pump, thereby increasing the total fuel pressure somewhat. Suspecting fuel starvation due to a clogged fuel filter, we stopped at a Rest Stop and removed and back-blew out the fuel filter mounted underneath the air cleaner next to the carburetor. The engine again showed the power expected of it's 460 cubic inches of displacement. Again life was good -- temporarily.

About 100 miles down to road, the engine again began it's wheezing of fuel starvation, so it was decided to stop at the next town and buy a new fuel filter. We deduced that the contamination was not all removed by our blowing backward through the filter and that the big chunks were closing the big holes in the filter and then smaller chunks were blocking the smaller holes until finally only micro-sized holes remained; not enough for this big engine hauling this big load.

Too bad, the "town" we stopped at (1.4 miles off the freeway!) was only a farming settlement with no store to be seen. However, Grumpy spotted a group of farmers working on a piece of equipment, so he pulled up nearby and walked over to inquire if they might happen to have an in-line fuel filter that he could arm-wrestle -- or even buy! -- from them. The big guy (looked like the chief of the crew) said, "he might" but, after checking out his shop, concluded that no, he didn't. But he offered that he had compressed air with which we could back-blow our filter and be able to limp along until we got to a store a few miles further down the freeway. We took him up on the offer, again removing the air filter (including all of the attached vacuum and air-pollution reduction lines!), dismounted the fuel filter, blew it out and then re-assembled everything back to working order.

Finding no fuel filters available in the next town (Rockport IA) we continued down I-29 until we got to St. Joseph MO. By keying into the GPS, which we fortuitously had on board, Grumpy was able to locate the nearest Wal*Mart, with exit and driving directions to get there! [That lady on the Garmin -- we called her "Greta" -- sure was helpful at times!]

Although the rig had been functioning fine after the previous compressed air blow-out, we mutually decided to install the new, larger fuel filter. It had also stopped raining and we didn't trust what it might be like later! We had concluded that it would be only a matter of time before the old filter would again plug up and limit our engine's output. We were wise; this new filter never gave us cause for further delays.

But other things can happen!

How NOT to Drive Across the USA-- Part II

Wednesday Afternoon; Reporting via Cable from Florida--

Further thoughts of tinkering with the timing to improve the up-hill performance were quickly dismissed when we discovered that the bolt clamping the distributor in place was too tight to allow easy rotation. Besides, we had successfully [barely] topped both Fourth of July Pass in Idaho and Lookout Pass at the divide between Idaho and Montana. In between we were really "smokin'" -- maintaining a comfortable 60-65 mph [except on the long hills of course!]. The weather was sunny, the mostly clear blue skies of Montana were magnificent. The companionship and conversation was delightful; the "air-conditioned" (with windows partly down) cab was comfortable. Life was good.

When we were saying our "goodbye's" to Dave back in Spokane, he had noticed a puddle of oil beneath the old truck. He advised us that we should check the oil. Grumpy, knowing that the truck had always left a small puddle of oil after being parked for several days, didn't take the advice as seriously as he should have. Less than 100 miles later, as we began to descend from Lookout Pass into Montana, a new noise emanated into the cab: an ominous engine rattle -- like a dry valve lifter. Stopping at the next Rest Stop only a few miles from the Pass, we discovered the crankcase oil level was below the bottom of the dipstick! Two quarts of 10-40 oil, kept in the storage compartment of the trailer for just such exigencies brought the level back up into the comfort zone and we were off again, but now with a new concern. The engine was leaking oil (from the rear main bearing seal, Dave had opined). This was not an immediate crisis, but a situation that we would have to keep our eyes on during the rest of the trip.

At the top of the Continental Divide (Homestead Pass) just outside of Butte Montana, we stopped for our first night's rest. The inside of the travel trailer was surprisingly comfortably cool. After a long, hot day of driving, the thought of being able to stretch out on those 80-inch foam bunks to sleep sounded good to these old sailors.

Alas! At night, even in the throe's of Summer, it can get chilly at 6,300 feet!! The normally-warm son fumbled in the night to find the covers, under which he snuggled until the "crack of dawn" the next morning when Grumpy growled, "C'mon, let's get going; we're burnin' daylight!" And so we were soon on our way down the long, winding 6-8% grade into the Atlantic Ocean drainage territory.

The day was spectacular, the traffic was light and "it's all downhill from here on!" was our cheer. Our goal for our next night's sleep was to be Iowa. [We made it as far as "almost Sioux Falls" before tiring out at midnight after a 16-18 hour day of driving.]

The scenery through the short-pine hills of Southeastern Montana brought back fond memories of living in Buffalo and northern Harding County SD for my younger fellow-pilot.This scene, showing the Black Hills on the distant horizon, with Bear Butte prominently looming left of center, and the ubiquitous antelope peering back at us about 100 yards away across the railroad tracks, welcomed us as we neared Belle Fourche for our second refueling stop (7.2 mpg on this leg; ugh!!). We still thought of Iowa -- or at least the far-southeastern corner of SD as our destination for the night.

We finally succumbed to near-total fatigue at the last Rest Stop before Sioux Falls; Son Ward complained that his eyes were uncooperatively crossing (though why it mattered Grumpy couldn't say, since his left eye was blind except for a slit of peripheral vision to his extreme left) and Grumpy's eyes were refusing to stay alert.

Another short night of rest and another long day of driving in a hot pickup cab lay ahead.

How NOT to Drive Across the USA-- Part I

Wednesday; Reporting via Cable from Florida--

A week ago tomorrow (Thursday) morning, #1 Son Ward and Grumpy set out on an adventure that neither could have anticipated. During an earlier shopping expedition to Wal*Mart, the First Wife and Grumpy spotted this pair of stainless-steel, insulated travel mugs that we thought to be perfect for the up-coming leisurely (planned) trip driving the old, trusty '86 Ford F-250HD and 32-foot Holiday Rambler travel trailer kitty-corner across the USA. Wisely realizing that these two identical mugs needed personalization so that we didn't inadvertently drink out of the wrong one, Grumpy cleverly wrote our names on each. Upon arriving at "Dave's" house in Spokane, he suggested a pair of more apt names that might be more distinct: "Grumpy" and "Popeye". Not having a felt-tip marker handy, Grumpy was not able to update them at that time.

Before embarking on this great journey, wisdom of Ward the Younger dictated that new tires were to be installed on both the old pickup and the travel trailer. The new "General Grabber" tires on the old pickup made it look like it was really ready to go. Subsequent experience riding and driving the rig with these tires convinced Grumpy that this brand and model of tires were a huge improvement on the handling, quietness and ride comfort! [Grumpy is seriously considering replacing the tires on his Accord with an equivalent General tire when the time comes!]

Taking precautions to insure that everything practical is working right is always a good practice when starting out on a long trip. Grumpy and "Popeye" thought that we had adequately covered "all the bases". Our first surprise was when we approached the first major hill just before getting to North Bend WA. The engine acted like it had a NACAR restrictor plate under the carburetor! However, we were able to achieve the top of this hill at the "blazing" speed of almost 45 mph. Grumpy opined that maybe the timing was off -- delayed ignition, he thought. Well, we managed to get to the top of Snoqualmie Pass by staying in the "slow lane" where all the non-turbocharged trucks were exiled -- 35 mph. Oh well, we thought, most of the road is going to be more or less level from here on -- at least until we get to Idaho (Fourth of July Pass and Lookout Pass), so we just kept on "truckin'".

Having to stop every 100 miles or so for a P-Stop gave opportunity for the two Ward's to think about tinkering with the timing -- perhaps other thoughts about the wisdom of this whole escapade floated through their minds as well, but we won't mention them here.

The pickup is equipped with two standard 19 gallon gasoline tanks plus a bed-mounted 108-gallon "reserve" tank. The reserve tank is connected to the main fuel supply system via a manually-switched fuel pump and three-way valve that allows transfer of fuel from the reserve tank to either of the two 19-gallon tanks, depending on which one is selected in the truck cab. A few days prior to leaving, Grumpy had found that the front tank would not deliver fuel to the engine; time ran out for us to find and fix the problem so we embarked knowing that we had the rear tank plus the reserve tank at our disposal (total capacity: 127 gallons). This was thought to be sufficient for about 1000 to 1100 miles at an anticipated 8.5 to 9 mpg. The first "leg" of the journey, from home in Seattle to Missoula MT, which we determined to be our first refuelling stop, told us that we were a little too optimistic: 8 mpg. "Must be the timing", was our joint thought. Oh well, we'll just modify the refuelling range downward to 800-900 miles. And so on we journeyed.

More "adventures" in subsequent posts!

Replacement Wife

Monday Morning; Grumpy's Castle --
No, Grumpy is NOT -- repeat, NOT -- looking for a wife to replace the First Wife. This is a story of how an idle conversation between two long-time lovers can sometimes turn humorous. And maybe even get Grumpy into trouble!

The Grand Mother and Grumpy will have been married 61 years come this 17th of June. During that time Grumpy has been faithful and true to this, his only true love, but some family jokes (on the Noble side, Grumpy insists) have sometimes alluded to the "Red-headed" replacement wife -- in case of an early demise of the First Wife, of course. Now it is true that Grumpy has, on occasion, remarked to the First Wife about the unique attractiveness of one or two singularly conspicuous red-heads. These innocent remarks by Grumpy became the motivation for the First Wife to deny sharing her incomparably delicious Lemon Meringue Pie recipe with Grumpy because, as she so vehemently asserted, "You just want it so you can give it to your next, Red-headed wife!"

This morning, in the course of discussing the wisdom of the First Wife having chosen Grumpy to be her husband, she opined about how important it was to think about all of the attributes of a potential mate before making the decision to get married. As an example, she noted the skillful driving ability she had observed as a young girl while going steady with Grumpy. She also admitted to a couple of her genetic characteristics which Grumpy has reworded for clarification and lists here, namely: 1) Being English and therefore slow to get my jokes, and, 2) Being Norwegian and therefore reticent to admit that I am always right.

And so, grinning impishly, she said, "Those are some things you should think about before you choose your next, Red-headed wife!"

Grumpy laughed, but denied having any such thoughts. Nonetheless he immediately realized that his future would remain without Lemon Meringue Pies. Maybe he shouldn't have laughed the way he did.