Itinerant Air-Cooled To Las Alamos
Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2019 9:47 am
That night after the Las Vegas NV visit was so lovely with hot sand, illuminated truck caterpillars gliding by down on the road, craggy mountain silhouettes and aforementioned pre-warmed wash water (120* right out of the jugs!). Next morning was a customary desert-morning-after valve adjustment HERE:
My imperturbable 1999 WalMart-issue Road Warrior Crash Clock ticks imperturbably on, year after year ...
This is the Colorado River cut under the Hoover Dam. I had to get to Kingman so I could head east to Albuquerque so I could head north to Santa Fe so I could head west to Los Alamos, the site of my next appointment.
Fuel mixture adjustment HERE ... then I realized that the wash was very quick-sandy. You should have seen how quickly I had to go back and forth from reverse to first to utilize the punky momentum of sand berms as I did a 10 point turn aroundpleasedon'tbogdown:
Scenery quickly shut off desert and turned on mountain as I approached Flagstaff at a chilly 85*:
Seriously? Planet Earth is too pretty for the likes of us:
No, really:
Woke up somewhere. Looked out the poptop front window. What are those?:
Slammed down a cup of coffee from my commemorative ScottInLasVegas Box o Coffee. Now, I am pissed. You CAN'T just splat senseless words around! Please!
"Caution! Caribou Coffee® is always hot and fresh!" Not on DAY THREE, people!
Ah yes, we must be in New Mexico:
Gander at this ... I say we are too rich. And we were. 13 mpg:
The Rain Gods once again laid out a welcome for me:
Well, I thought it was rain ... :
Next morning's hill climb to Los Alamos followed an interesting conversation with the Pohoaque tribal police at 3:35AM at the threshold of my usual camping spot down in the valley. See, it HAD rained hard, and I did not want to climb the dirt/mud path, so I camped on the pavement. At 3:30AM, I got a knock on the sliding door, oh I was so tired, so tired, "you cannot stay here."
"Who ... am I bothering at this late hour HERE?"
"You have to leave. The Pojoaque Reservation does not allow camping on any of its lands."
"It must feel great to be a red man telling the white man to get off his land."
"It does feel great, it really does."
We laughed, "you can camp at the gas station four miles up the road."
Walked into pmaggiore's house like I owned the place, "coffee!" But we all know who really owns the place:
Pmaggiore is growing into his retirement, you can see it happening:
We get into the particulars, then that guy shows up in this beautiful RHD doublecab:
I'll be visiting "that guy" the day after next, but we have particulars to battle:
I particularly disdained the washers helping to hold the engine in the vehicle. Hey, thousands of dollars of mechanic bill doesn't guarantee that the mechanic will use decent washers ... or install the thermostat that was paid for :
Seriously, keep your eyes open, folks. Take nothing for granted:
Look at the dimension miss here on the new exhaust system. We eventually pried it onto the engine, eventually:
Drove down the hill again at the end of a satisfying day of prying exhaust systems on and putting high-quality $0.37 washers on critical bolts. Got the heater blower blowing and the right arm rest installed securely.
The moon is there:
Spent the next day in Espanola taking out my botched rear window job from long-ago Spokane WA and repainting the tailgate:
Then I HAD to go to the laundromat. I had to. Most every article of fabric that has ever touched me was in those three front-loaders. I am just sitting around like a tired traveling VW bus guy when this young couple sweeps in. They seem very nice and give me a hug:
They manage to collect people who recognize them. It is like a cocktail party at the laundromat as I say hello to strangers and fold my Tommy Hilfiger underwear (med 32-36 wideband w/logo). Then we go out to dinner, because, now, I have clean underwear:
Slightly sauced, I made it back to the Pojoaque Reservation aborted camping spot, and was able to drive up the dirt path now. Naranja was a little goat up there. We safely hid and gloried in the stars and the brutal low 60's.
Next morning was back up the hill, to visit "that guy", jtauxe:
All you phone denizens looking at these little baby pictures on your little baby screens, get a 19" desktop monitor and feel yourself breathe once again:
I do not tire of this region. I DO tire of new no-name brake pads detaching from the backs ... that is why the singlecab had a slight veer under braking:
I always plough into political hot potatoes at coffee with jtauxe. It is a real pleasure. He starts getting nervous, you see, and I am just warming up to do a rally in the kitchen with his wife and daughter, but we have work to do and there are clouds and I have NO rear window in my bus, either:
(to be cont.)
My imperturbable 1999 WalMart-issue Road Warrior Crash Clock ticks imperturbably on, year after year ...
This is the Colorado River cut under the Hoover Dam. I had to get to Kingman so I could head east to Albuquerque so I could head north to Santa Fe so I could head west to Los Alamos, the site of my next appointment.
Fuel mixture adjustment HERE ... then I realized that the wash was very quick-sandy. You should have seen how quickly I had to go back and forth from reverse to first to utilize the punky momentum of sand berms as I did a 10 point turn aroundpleasedon'tbogdown:
Scenery quickly shut off desert and turned on mountain as I approached Flagstaff at a chilly 85*:
Seriously? Planet Earth is too pretty for the likes of us:
No, really:
Woke up somewhere. Looked out the poptop front window. What are those?:
Slammed down a cup of coffee from my commemorative ScottInLasVegas Box o Coffee. Now, I am pissed. You CAN'T just splat senseless words around! Please!
"Caution! Caribou Coffee® is always hot and fresh!" Not on DAY THREE, people!
Ah yes, we must be in New Mexico:
Gander at this ... I say we are too rich. And we were. 13 mpg:
The Rain Gods once again laid out a welcome for me:
Well, I thought it was rain ... :
Next morning's hill climb to Los Alamos followed an interesting conversation with the Pohoaque tribal police at 3:35AM at the threshold of my usual camping spot down in the valley. See, it HAD rained hard, and I did not want to climb the dirt/mud path, so I camped on the pavement. At 3:30AM, I got a knock on the sliding door, oh I was so tired, so tired, "you cannot stay here."
"Who ... am I bothering at this late hour HERE?"
"You have to leave. The Pojoaque Reservation does not allow camping on any of its lands."
"It must feel great to be a red man telling the white man to get off his land."
"It does feel great, it really does."
We laughed, "you can camp at the gas station four miles up the road."
Walked into pmaggiore's house like I owned the place, "coffee!" But we all know who really owns the place:
Pmaggiore is growing into his retirement, you can see it happening:
We get into the particulars, then that guy shows up in this beautiful RHD doublecab:
I'll be visiting "that guy" the day after next, but we have particulars to battle:
I particularly disdained the washers helping to hold the engine in the vehicle. Hey, thousands of dollars of mechanic bill doesn't guarantee that the mechanic will use decent washers ... or install the thermostat that was paid for :
Seriously, keep your eyes open, folks. Take nothing for granted:
Look at the dimension miss here on the new exhaust system. We eventually pried it onto the engine, eventually:
Drove down the hill again at the end of a satisfying day of prying exhaust systems on and putting high-quality $0.37 washers on critical bolts. Got the heater blower blowing and the right arm rest installed securely.
The moon is there:
Spent the next day in Espanola taking out my botched rear window job from long-ago Spokane WA and repainting the tailgate:
Then I HAD to go to the laundromat. I had to. Most every article of fabric that has ever touched me was in those three front-loaders. I am just sitting around like a tired traveling VW bus guy when this young couple sweeps in. They seem very nice and give me a hug:
They manage to collect people who recognize them. It is like a cocktail party at the laundromat as I say hello to strangers and fold my Tommy Hilfiger underwear (med 32-36 wideband w/logo). Then we go out to dinner, because, now, I have clean underwear:
Slightly sauced, I made it back to the Pojoaque Reservation aborted camping spot, and was able to drive up the dirt path now. Naranja was a little goat up there. We safely hid and gloried in the stars and the brutal low 60's.
Next morning was back up the hill, to visit "that guy", jtauxe:
All you phone denizens looking at these little baby pictures on your little baby screens, get a 19" desktop monitor and feel yourself breathe once again:
I do not tire of this region. I DO tire of new no-name brake pads detaching from the backs ... that is why the singlecab had a slight veer under braking:
I always plough into political hot potatoes at coffee with jtauxe. It is a real pleasure. He starts getting nervous, you see, and I am just warming up to do a rally in the kitchen with his wife and daughter, but we have work to do and there are clouds and I have NO rear window in my bus, either:
(to be cont.)