I don’t care what the calendar says, I’m not ready for fall or winter. Still have some undone things I planned to do in the spring and haven’t really started on my summer projects, but the highway through Trail Ridge Park in Colorado has already been closed, at least temporarily, because of snow and frost has been reported in Nebraska.
But unexpected things keeping taking my time.
Like Sunday, Rita and I were returning to Superior when our faithful stead, a 1994 Chevrolet S-10 Blazer I bought from the late Fred Alexander, began losing power and died while trying to climb the Highway 14 hill south of Diamond Road.
Rita was driving and I suggested she let it coast, but it didn’t coast far. And that was probably well for without the engine running the steering and brakes are nearly useless.
I remember the time many years ago when Preston Slusher and Gene Alexander quietly coasted into the Blauvelt Station and Preston told me to ‘fill’er up.” While putting in the gasoline, I remarked about how quietly his International pickup truck was running that day. Then I got the rest of story.
The truck had run out of gasoline but he shifted it into neutral wiith the hope it would coast to the station. When it didn’t, the two guys pushed it over the hill and then coasted into the station.
Not everyone is so lucky with motor vehicles coasting down hill. Recently, I read in an old copy ot the Lawrence Locomotive newspaper about a man who had driven his big Studebaker seven passenger automobile when he went to fix fence in his his pasture. He left the auto in high gear parked on a slope, gathered his tools and went down into a seven foot deep ditch to tie down the fence. While working, he heard the vehicle start up. Before he was able to climb out of the ditch, the vehicle joined him in the ditch. Fortunately he missed getting hit by about two feet. However, the auto blocked his exit path.
A block and tackle had to be gotten to pull the wrecked car out of the ditch.
He had apparently left the switch on and when gravity caused the car to start rolling down hill, the engine started and powered the vehicle into the ditch.
In the years I helped my dad with the station, I had to take fuel to a number of drivers that weren’t so lucky when their vehicles stalled before cresting a hill.
I was nearly one of them. I was trying to get back to the station for fuel when I my automobile ran out of fuel. Fortunately, I was prepared and had a couple gallons in a can for such emergencies. I was able to pour it into the tank, restart the engine and drive the remaining mile to the station.
I’m was not so fortunate Sunday. The 1994 Blazer had a full tank of gasoline when it lost power and coasted to a stop. Tried to restart it and it turned over a few times before I heard a loud backfire.
Opened the hood and found the oil filler cap was off but still laying on top of the engine. I had added oil about 50 miles earlier and I probably left the cap off. If I did, I’m surprised it hadn’t bounched off and been lost. Or did the pop I heard send it flying?
When I bought the all-wheel drive Blazer, I expected it to last until I retired and no longer had papers to deliver in bad weather. However, I had begun to doubt that would happen as it was getting hard to get parts for the old vehicle. If the leaking oil line had been replaced when first discovered, the engine would likely not have failed this week. But the line was not available.
I have sometimes named my vehicles. When I started to college I drove a Marbler. If questioned as to why I called it the Marbler, I just pointed to letters on the front. Originally built as a Rambler, the letters R and M had been rearranged. To the questioners I explained, the car was made in Russia. The Russians found the best car made in America and copied it and the R on the hubcaps stood for Russian. Few believed my story but I enjoyed telling it.
I can’t take credit for the unusual spelling. The idea came from a salesman who called at the gasoline station driving a Marbler. When asked, he explained how he had changed the letters.
The black Plymouth station wagon the newspaper used for decades, was nicknamed “Black Beauty.” We called the van in which we hauled papers for about 50 years “Cream Puff.” Since it was only used to make runs between the printing plant and post office, hence the name. The name didn’t explain why it had had five engines, lots of rust and a few dings.
And I shouldn’t forget the Green Ghost. It was a 1974 Chevrolet Chevelle I drove before the Blazer. I bought it used with less than 200 miles on the odometer. The first owner’s wife didn’t like the car and demanded her husband trade it for a vehicle she liked. I made it my own by adding chrome strips, three radios and an air conditioner. Yes, you heard right three radios. Added an AM radio, an emergency frequency scanner and a CB radio. With all the antennas, it looked somewhat like the vehicles now used for tornado chasing.
Once on a country road, the Green Ghost died. Wasn’t sure what was wrong but I opened the hood and found the carburetor was about to fall off. All the screws were present, so I tightened it down and the car started back up and brought me home.
Another time the battery failed while I was stopped taking a picture near Pauline. A young man who I had taken pictures of while he played football for the Lawrence Panthers recognized me, stopped and got me started.
I was in Lexington delivering boxes with Black Beauty and a fella borrowed the keys to help with the unloading process and then left with the keys in his pocket. Fortunately I had a spare ignition key hidden on the vehicle and was able to drive home without having to stop for gasoline. Had I needed fuel, I would have been sunk for the missing key ring contained the key to the locking fuel tank cap.
Another time Black Beauty refused to start in Lincoln. I had it towed to a dealership but the mechanics went home for the weekend leaving the vehicle locked in their shop. I wasn’t allowed in the shop and the mechanics hadn’t worked on it. However, a salesman got it started and brought it out to me. I drove straight home without turning off the ignition.
Once a transmission filter plugged up on the Ambassador while I was Hastings. I got home but I had to stop every few miles and back up to clear the transmission filter enough that I could get a few more forward miles.
Fortunately, it wasn’t raining when the Blazer quit and Mr. and Mrs. Frank Borden came by moments later and gave us a lift into town.
I’ve been fortunate with break downs and getting help. When Cream Puff broke a timing gear, I coasted into the yard of the Dale Rothchild home and Dale brought me to town. When the Ambassador broke a timing gear, I was parked in the Olive Hill Church yard and the pastor not only gave a ride to town ,he replaced the timing gear. Some months later, when the engine lost power just before the railroad tracks west of town, I was able nurse it back to town.
I ran out of gasoline in a dump truck loaded with mud between the city limits and the same railroad crossing. Wendell Headrick was Johnny on the spot and helped me get going again. I had put fuel in the tank a few days earlier but left the truck parked outside and someone apparently saw it as a fuel supply source and siphoned out the gasoline. Thereafter, I only added enough fuel to do that day’s job.
Ran out of gasoline once while on a Highway 77 overpass. I started to walk to a gasoline station but soon was given a lift by Beatrice policeman. Seems he didn’t like where I parked the Ambassador and stopped to investigate. He was still laughing when he picked me up. I was returning to Manhattan from a Midwest Residence Halls Convention in Ames, Iowa, with a carload of coeds. When the cop asked what they were doing, the girls coolly told him they had gotten tired and pulled over on the overpass to play cards. He didn’t like their answer but accepted their second story about running out of gasoline.
That experience was totally unexpected. The gasoline guage in the car didn’t work but I had filled up in Marysville and driven to Ames. I filled up in Ames before leaving for the return trip and expected to next buy gasoline in Marysville. The Iowa attendant must have stopped before the tank was full.
Twice I have run out of gasoline and coasted into a station.
Been stuck multiple times but never had to walk far for help.
But I fear I’m using up my chances. I’ve heard cats have nine lives, I don’t know how many people have, but I have used more than nine and may be running out. It is best that I be more careful.
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