The Journal of Big Sally II
Views from the Windowseat . . .
19 July 2018
First full day back from rescuing Big Sally II from a road margin in a Champaign, Illinois, suburb. Way suburb.
Bought her by maxing out my credit card, literally.
On the drive back to Neosho, I discovered, to my thrilled horror. that she would hit eighty miles an hour on a long downhill slice of interstate . . . my eyes were on the traffic ahead of me, not the speedometer. No rattle, no fuss, just eighty terrifying miles per hour. And I really needed to get the brakes gone over by a mechanic; they were really stiff.
But she's home.
She''s not parked on the old butcher's market shop slab in the back yard; she's parked at the local glass company's store four or five ninety-five degree blocks north of the house. The driver's side window is double-paned. Who thought up that one? The vacuum seal has ruptured, and the space between the glass is full of lines of condensate and discoloration. Can't see squat. A highway patrolman would out-of-service me in a heartbeat. I'd be escorted to a rest area, fined, and don't even -think- about moving it till it was corrected.
CDL license holders are held to a higher standard than regular driver's license people. The gendarmerie will nail you, especially for a moving violation, even, maybe especially, in a private vehicle.
Anyway, I went to the glazier's to ask if I could just drill a series of holes (special ceramic drill bit) around the perimeter, then score a line connecting the dots, and pop the inner panel out. The very knowledgable lady at the desk looked at the bus, made pithy, trenchant, and germane observations, and asked if I could bring the bus back tomorrow, when the guys would be back from an installation gig in Arkansas. Since it's such a pain in the behind to get Sally on and off the slab without mowing the cross-alley neighbor's bulbs or ripping the soffit out of the next-door neighbor's garage . . . I just left the bus there and walked home.
We'll see.
Before stopping at the glass merchant, I had taken Sally to see the Locksmith. I did not have a key for the front door. (Hey, she's an old bus.) Sixty-five dollars and an anatomy lesson on bus door lock systems, I had keys and an understanding that two years after Sally was built, Ford changed to eight cuts per key instead of the five cuts I needed . . . and after that they went to ten cuts per key . . . with a different tailstock.
Learning my size 38 off.
Looking now for my impact wrench so I can start taking the seats and overhead bins out.
Stay tuned.
19 July 2018
First full day back from rescuing Big Sally II from a road margin in a Champaign, Illinois, suburb. Way suburb.
Bought her by maxing out my credit card, literally.
On the drive back to Neosho, I discovered, to my thrilled horror. that she would hit eighty miles an hour on a long downhill slice of interstate . . . my eyes were on the traffic ahead of me, not the speedometer. No rattle, no fuss, just eighty terrifying miles per hour. And I really needed to get the brakes gone over by a mechanic; they were really stiff.
But she's home.
She''s not parked on the old butcher's market shop slab in the back yard; she's parked at the local glass company's store four or five ninety-five degree blocks north of the house. The driver's side window is double-paned. Who thought up that one? The vacuum seal has ruptured, and the space between the glass is full of lines of condensate and discoloration. Can't see squat. A highway patrolman would out-of-service me in a heartbeat. I'd be escorted to a rest area, fined, and don't even -think- about moving it till it was corrected.
CDL license holders are held to a higher standard than regular driver's license people. The gendarmerie will nail you, especially for a moving violation, even, maybe especially, in a private vehicle.
Anyway, I went to the glazier's to ask if I could just drill a series of holes (special ceramic drill bit) around the perimeter, then score a line connecting the dots, and pop the inner panel out. The very knowledgable lady at the desk looked at the bus, made pithy, trenchant, and germane observations, and asked if I could bring the bus back tomorrow, when the guys would be back from an installation gig in Arkansas. Since it's such a pain in the behind to get Sally on and off the slab without mowing the cross-alley neighbor's bulbs or ripping the soffit out of the next-door neighbor's garage . . . I just left the bus there and walked home.
We'll see.
Before stopping at the glass merchant, I had taken Sally to see the Locksmith. I did not have a key for the front door. (Hey, she's an old bus.) Sixty-five dollars and an anatomy lesson on bus door lock systems, I had keys and an understanding that two years after Sally was built, Ford changed to eight cuts per key instead of the five cuts I needed . . . and after that they went to ten cuts per key . . . with a different tailstock.
Learning my size 38 off.
Looking now for my impact wrench so I can start taking the seats and overhead bins out.
Stay tuned.
Comments
Post a Comment