Hey Gang,
So anyway, after getting long post #2 posted to the net last night, yesterday
afternoon, whenever it was, I ventured outside and found that Penasacola's
evening temperature and humidity had plunged down into the high 80's. This
being the best weather we were likely to encounter until we are back along the
banks of the Mighty Rio Grande, I decided to avail myself of the opportunity
to crawl around the 'Pine for a bit.
I satisfied myself that every thing still seemed tight, nothing working loose.
I noted that the carb linkage had considerable play in it at the front end
and, lacking a suitable spacer, there didn't seem to be much I could do about
it. So, I contented myself with using carb cleaner to spray down all the
springs and wearing surfaces, then applied WD 40 to everything.
This didn't completely solve the problem of the CD 150s' leisurely return to a
closed throttle position, but it did help considerably. Much encouraged, I
moved on to the bonnet latch. Again, all the adjustment space had already
been adjusted out, so I had to be satisfied with cleaning and greasing.
I confirmed that the trunk had stayed mostly dry during the day's several
deluges and, all in all, I was quite pleased when we adjourned to dinner.
Since at this point we running about two hours behind our self-imposed
schedule ("early to bed, early to rise...") I convinced Janet that we should
satisfy ourselves with a sandwich or steak at the Denny's restaurant which "on
premises."
Big mistake.
Not only was the food considerably below Denny's usually pedestrian standards,
the wait staff were, as they say down this way, "dummer n' dog shit." After
gorging ourselves on Club Sandwiches and delectable frys, I made the mistake
of trying to pay the $13 bill with a credit card.... The 73 year old waitress
swiped my venerable Visa in every conceivable way. Frontwards, backwards,
upside downwards, edgewards, endwards... Alas, to no avail.
The 73 year old waitress' 86 year old supervisor came to her assistance and
they decided there must be "some of them little bitty scratches on this stuff
here on the back o' the card." They then began repeating the whole swiping
process. I asked if maybe they shouldn't just punch in the card numbers on
the little keypad? "Keypad?" Yeah, the keypad there on cardreader.
"Cardreader?"
At this point Janet, my loverly bride of 33 years, stepped in and offered to
pay for dinner, such as it was, with actual cash money which, the waitress-
supervisor combo allowed would "probly work a whole lot better'n messin' with
those number things."
Janet and I repaired to our room where we dosed liberally with Pepto and
retired at about 10 PM.
Four AM comes awfully early just about everywhere but it arrives even earlier
than that on the Gulf Coast. I wish I could say that I greeted the hour with
open arms or even an open mind but about all I could manage was open eyes and
they had been open for some time at that.
The morning appeared to have arrived sans rain!
Janet couldn't sleep either so we were both already dressed when the wake-up
call arrived. Half-an-hour later Janet had herself and the 'Beam surrounded
waist high in luggage. I would have offered to help load the car but she is
just so darned good at it... The way I see it, no matter how much I'd enjoy
the loading operation, my participation would just break her concentration...
actually be counter-productive, donchaknow?
Shortly before 6 AM I pushed open the door to the motel office where the clerk
greeted me with, "I figger they had oughta just plant that Gol-damned Starr
underneath the Gol-damned jailhouse. Who the hell cares where the Pres has
been gettin' his? Anyhow?" Thus, while I settled my bill the clerk and I
spent a short but pleasant interlude in intelligent discourse. Nice fella, he
has promised to visit the next time he is in Las Cruces.
At the stroke of 6 Janet and I are accelerating up the on-ramp to I 10 headed
for the Alabama border a dozen miles away. The weather is dry... well, at
least it isn't actually raining. The 'Pine accelerates easily up to 70 and
after five minutes or so, I actually roll my window 3/4 of the way up. Janet,
however, leaves her window down, vowing to suffer the chill while she can.
The Interstate is one of those damned "thumpty-thump" surfaces and we hit an
expansion joint every 20 feet. Just as the Alpine hits its stride and settles
in to push through the morning dark, the bonnet pops open and I cruise to the
side of the road to climb out and re-slam the thing.
We make it about 6 miles and I am helping Janet congratulate me on getting the
carbs to be more responsive when the bonnet pops again.
At the Alabama border the road surface becomes smooth and just as we get back
up to speed we cross the river Styx. I think, "Ah-ha! That explains this
Gulf Coast weather!"
I have no further problem with the bonnet until I cruise into a rest area to
visit the Gent's facility. Yup, on the road less than half an hour. Sigh...
It is not yet 7:30 when we cruise by mist-shrouded Mobile. All systems are in
order, 75 mph, 40# oil pressure, 85 degrees C, 3/4 tank petrol, all lights
blazing away and the morning sun a huge red ball climbing in my rearview
mirror to literally suck the moisture out of the earth's surface.... The world
is good.
Janet and I spot a deer with a tiny fawn in the hock deep grass on the
freeway's mowed verge. It is really great until I begin to wonder whatinell a
doe is doing with a tiny fawn in mid-August. Hmmmmnnnnn.... Stuffed? Steel?
Or concrete? Janet don't wanna hear it, she saw a mommy and a baby and that
is that... 'Pine don't care one way or the other.
We cross into Mississippiippiipi....... anyway, the road goes back to
"thumpty-thump" mode and the bonnet starts popping open again. This wouldn't
be a big deal except for the frequent crosswinds which raise the bonnet an
alarming 6 inches.
I pull into a rest area where I sacrifice my eyeglass tether on the altar of
progress and use it to tie the bonnet so it can't pop up more than a few
inches. The rest area, incidentally, is beautiful and we are again amazed at
how clean the roadways are. If only they were a little smoother....
The sun is well up and both temperature and humidity are rising apace when I
begin a long term game of tag with a truck hauling a 20 foot wide mobile home
all over the freeway. I am in front holding to a steady 75 mph while the
following truck is varying between 70 and 80 depending on whether the terrain
is a little up or a little downhill. Let me tell you that is one humongous
house trailer...
He uses up well over half the two available lanes well over half the time,
forcing the faster traffic to use the left shoulder to pass him. When he
manages to get up to 80 he pulls up behind me and flashes his lights, urging
me to speed up a bit... Yeah, right.
After an hour of this I note that the 'Beams temp gage has climbed above 85
degrees, heading inexorably for about 100 degrees. I desert the joust with
the shanty-toter and head for a rest area where I manage to break into my
bonnet with considerable difficulty. The engine compartment reveals that some
coolant has cooked out of the overflow (no recovery system is fitted) but I
can't tell how much or why.
Janet and I look over the rest area whilst the Alpine cools. These
Missippioooiippii rest areas are something else... Rugs on the floors, nice
oak dining tables and breakfronts, free coffee and soft drinks, and, of
course, full time security.
After a while I dig into the engine compartment. Fan belt is fine. All hoses
look good, no leaks evident. The radiator cap is almost cool enough to handle
so I pop it and, of course, promptly spill coolant everywhere. Sigh...
After another wait, we fetch water and Janet starts the little dear up. It
starts readily and the temp gage reads only slightly above 85 when I add water
to the running engine. To my immense relief it does not come shooting back
out the filler neck. It takes three pints to bring it back up where it
belongs and I can see water circulating merrily. Clearly, there are no
obstructions and both the pump and the thermostat are working. I check again
for leaks and find none. I examine the tail pipe while Janet runs the engine
up and no water comes out.
Whew!
I let the engine cool down just a bit again before tying my bonnet down and
heading out. I resolve to hold my speed at 60 mph and see what happens. What
happens is the temp holds steady at 85 degrees C until I pull off the road in
Slidell, Louisiana for something to eat. We haven't yet had breakfast but it
is past 10 AM and I decide on burritos.
On the second bite of my burrito I experience a blowout... Refritos, meat
paste, and hot sauce come shooting out the side of my burro just above my
pinky finger. The mess goes shooting all over the table and onto part of the
booth, though you can hardly tell with that crappy color scheme they have
going for them.
It is while we are cleaning up this mess that we learn that this Taco Bell in
Slidell, Louisiana has talking trash cans. Talk about your pointless
technology file... When Janet was dumping a tray with a couple of cups and
some paper the trash can says, "Thank you!" just as big as life.
But does it say anything to me for cleaning up all that meat paste, refrito
mess and hot sauce smear? Not one damned word. There ain't no justice.
As we motor across Louisiana's surface roads at a steady 60 mph and steady 85
degrees C, it is hot, humid, and miserable and we begin to hope for a little
of yesterday's rain. Actually, Janet begins to hope for a little rain, I
begin to hope for a lot of the stuff.
And we do manage to encounter several satisfying little downpours before we
finally arrive at Lafayette at two PM. We have put in 8 hours and covered 371
miles increasing our total Alpine mileage to 920. We hold up in the room
until full dark before venturing out to find a plate of red beans and rice
and, of course, a Wally World.
Cheers!
--Colin, With Severe Truck Driver's Arm Outside Lafayette, LA
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