Absolutely worth it!
Between 485 & 705 SQ/FT Tom's Neighborhood Workshop
- Thread starter wreckdiver1321
- Start date
Workspaces between 485 and 705 squarefeet.
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
Quick update on the weekend.
I brought my 2011 Cruiser to my brother-in-law's shop to test fit some wheels, but mostly to do some work on the 2003. We're getting really close to having the body work wrapped up honestly. I have a small patch to complete on the passenger's side, which I've already shaped and dry fitted.
Got the underlying structure of the driver's side panel figured out and started the outer panel. We got it pretty close and are almost ready to burn it in fully. We tacked it in place in order to see how it plays with the backing panels, then made those and burned them in before taking the skin off and doing final shaping. Right now not a lot left to do on that front other than final fitment and welding.
I've come to the decision that what needs to happen next is finalize the metal work, then do the undercoat and some of the seam sealer work to get it close. Then I'm handing it off to a body shop to finish everything else. My brother in law suggested we do that rather than do the mud work ourselves because most body shops want to be the ones handling the final prep. That being said, we've cut the cost of body work in half at least thanks to all of this metal fab work we've done. I think this will get us close enough honestly to make the cost of repairs acceptable. Then I can finish rebuilding it and find a new steward for it.
Meanwhile, the family is still falling in love with the new Cruiser, and frankly so am I.
I still hate the wheels but I don't think black is a bad look for them, so I might do something with that. I think with a little lift and a touch larger tire I'll have all the clearance I'll need for the stuff I do. I'm half tempted to stick with a near-stock tire size for better fuel economy and less wear on the drivetrain. Not that the truck can't handle bigger tires. But it's a thought.
I started a list of baseline maintenance items I want to tackle on the truck as well, so I got everything priced out and just need to get everything ordered. Going to do oil changes to the diffs, engine, and Tcase, plus address some preventative things for peace of mind. That way I can start with a blank slate and know exactly where everything stands.
Other than that, I've been doing a lot of staring and a lot of thinking.
I brought my 2011 Cruiser to my brother-in-law's shop to test fit some wheels, but mostly to do some work on the 2003. We're getting really close to having the body work wrapped up honestly. I have a small patch to complete on the passenger's side, which I've already shaped and dry fitted.
Got the underlying structure of the driver's side panel figured out and started the outer panel. We got it pretty close and are almost ready to burn it in fully. We tacked it in place in order to see how it plays with the backing panels, then made those and burned them in before taking the skin off and doing final shaping. Right now not a lot left to do on that front other than final fitment and welding.
I've come to the decision that what needs to happen next is finalize the metal work, then do the undercoat and some of the seam sealer work to get it close. Then I'm handing it off to a body shop to finish everything else. My brother in law suggested we do that rather than do the mud work ourselves because most body shops want to be the ones handling the final prep. That being said, we've cut the cost of body work in half at least thanks to all of this metal fab work we've done. I think this will get us close enough honestly to make the cost of repairs acceptable. Then I can finish rebuilding it and find a new steward for it.
Meanwhile, the family is still falling in love with the new Cruiser, and frankly so am I.
I still hate the wheels but I don't think black is a bad look for them, so I might do something with that. I think with a little lift and a touch larger tire I'll have all the clearance I'll need for the stuff I do. I'm half tempted to stick with a near-stock tire size for better fuel economy and less wear on the drivetrain. Not that the truck can't handle bigger tires. But it's a thought.
I started a list of baseline maintenance items I want to tackle on the truck as well, so I got everything priced out and just need to get everything ordered. Going to do oil changes to the diffs, engine, and Tcase, plus address some preventative things for peace of mind. That way I can start with a blank slate and know exactly where everything stands.
Other than that, I've been doing a lot of staring and a lot of thinking.
Personally, I'm a big fan of this approach. Granted it may limit you in certain situations, but on the whole, I think the advantages outweigh the disadvantages, especially for a vehicle (correct me if I'm wrong) that is intended to be a family overlanding rig.
jbrentd
Well-known member
My 4Runner had some black wheels on it when I bought it. At first I liked them, but I grew tired of them. They always made the tires look awful with that black wheel vs brownish-black tint to the tire. And from a distance, you can't really see the details of the wheels...because they're black. So, I found a nice set of OEM 5-spokes (one of my favorite OEM wheels).
Speaking of that 4Runner, I had planned on keeping it for a long time, but I found quite a few spots of rust along the rocker panels and wheel arches. After watching all of the work you have had to put in on your old LC, it makes me glad I ditched it. It's a shame, because that truck was extremely clean otherwise.
Speaking of that 4Runner, I had planned on keeping it for a long time, but I found quite a few spots of rust along the rocker panels and wheel arches. After watching all of the work you have had to put in on your old LC, it makes me glad I ditched it. It's a shame, because that truck was extremely clean otherwise.
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
Exactly.
Forgive me, I think I worded this poorly. I don't have an itch to go to like a 34 or 35 inch tire, and stock size is a 285/60R18, which works out to a 32. I like narrower tires generally and I'm planning on either 275/70R18 (a 33) or a 265/70R18 (a 32). The Land Cruiser has so much clearance and such a short wheelbase (compared to my Nissan Frontier) that I won't be limited really by that size range for the kinds of places I go. Plus, the weights and dimensions are not dramatically different from the stock 285/60R18.
BFGoodrich KO2 specs:
285/60R18: Diameter 31.5", weight 53.64lbs
265/70R18: Diameter 32.6" weight 55.38lbs
275/70R18: Diameter 33.2" weight 58.16lbs
Overall, going from the stock size to 265/70R18 would get me 1" more diameter and an unsprung weight addition of only 6.96lbs. The 275s would be a 1.7" height increase and only 18.08lbs more weight. Overall not a big impact either way. I've not decided exactly what I want to do yet.
That's a great insight on the wheel color. I'm thinking gunmetal is the way to go on this one. I like the contrast with the white, so I want something darker than the stock silver look. I do have a set of 100 Series wheels that seem to work other than some interference with the front calipers. I have a thin spacer on the way for further testing, but I like the way the 100 Series wheels look on the truck a lot.
Yeah, if you see rust, especially on the outer skin, it's time to get out. I made the mistake of unmasking the beast on my 100 Series and after two years of chasing corrosion gremlins frankly I wish I never bought it. That being said, it has taught me some really valuable lessons about body work and rust, so there is a silver lining there. I also will be able to use the proceeds from that to finance the 200 build out, so it's not a total disaster, just a massive pain in the ****.
OutlawDrifter
Well-known member
265/70r18 would get my vote, if you're changing from stock size.
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
Definitely going a bit larger, but the final size choice is still up in the air.
jbmatth
Well-known member
Well Tom, I'm not sure it how it happened but I haven't been getting notifications on your thread updates since early summer. I did catch back up and would like to say congrats on the fun family trips, the deer, the cabinet builds, and of course the new LC, they really are nice vehicles. When I saw you were in Dallas to pick that up I started to get sick thinking you drove right by my house to head home but luckily you took the more visually appealing route albeit a bit more weather I'd suspect. I'm back now so keep it up and I'll tag along again.
JB
JB
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
JB! Happy to have you back with us!
Believe it or not I'm actually chewing through your thread from start to finish, which is why I haven't commented on it yet. Thanks for catching up and the kind words! Very excited about the new Cruiser and the prospect of having a clean slate to start the new project. I need to finish those photos and get the story uploaded.
Ha, yeah going through New Mexico was definitely a nice detour. The weather was great until I hit Wyoming though, which I had to deal with either way.
Good to have you back!
rattle_snake
Well-known member
Understood what your goals are, however...
I still suggest the Interco TSL Mega, in 50-17.50-20. 63/32 Inch Tread Depth should work well in deep snow.
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
Might I introduce you to my friend Micah and his Lexus 200 Series, Tiny.
They're actually kind of a funky intermediate size as far as SUVs go. It's much smaller than a Sequoia, Tahoe, or Expedition, but larger than the 4Runner, Explorer, Bronco, or the like. They're built with similar underpinnings to the full-size Tundra though, with the same differentials, engine, and transmission. Width wise, I wouldn't want to go any bigger, and they've got a real sweet spot as far as length and wheelbase. Big enough to be super useful for cargo hauling but small enough to be nimble and tackle tougher trails. It's a really unique and heavy duty platform that's insanely overbuilt. Thanks to that, they're also extremely long-lived. I know of several 200 Series that are in excess of 300k miles on the original drivetrain, and I know of a few over 500k. The older variant, the 100 Series, has a few examples with over a million miles on them.
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
I found a couple of pictures that are steering me in that direction too honestly. These are 285/65R18s, so the same diameter but about an inch wider. It's a good representation of the size for the vehicle though, and gives me a good idea of what I'd end up with as far as look and ground clearance.
I dig it. I think I'll end up with that size. I can always go bigger later if I feel the need, but for the type of 4x4 trails I do I don't think it will be necessary at all. Plus I have it on good authority that the mileage and performance hit with this 285/65 is pretty negligible compared with the 285/60s the truck comes with.
They'd also be that bit lighter, narrower, which I prefer, and about $50/tire cheaper. And my speedometer would be closer to accurate.
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
It's 8 inches shorter, 2 inches narrower, four inches less wheelbase. I guess it's not dramatically smaller but it's definitely smaller. About the same departure angle, dramatically better approach angle. Way more clearance under the doors.
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
They definitely look like a mile off the ground
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
THE TRIP
"The dangers of life are infinite, and among them is safety" - Goethe
I had this quote rolling around in my head as I was being patted down at 4 in the morning by a less-than-enthusiastic new TSA agent while trying to board my flight to Salt Lake City. I was taking a risk, spending 300 bucks on a pane ticket to go pick up a vehicle I've never even seen in person let alone driven. Hell, I hadn't even heard the thing run. I had placed my faith in a stranger on the internet, photos I had seen, and the engineering prowess of Japan's finest automaker. I was headed to see, and ostensibly purchase, a 2011 Toyota Land Cruiser with only 128k miles on the odometer. I had absolutely lost my mind.
The hunt had begun about four months earlier, when I finally came to the decision that the only course of action I wanted to pursue was to finish the repairs on my 2003 Land Cruiser, rebuild it, and sell it on to finance a new build. I have no desire to continue dealing with the endless rust issues that generated constant headaches for me. I knew that in two or three or four years I'd have some maintenance or repair task to perform, rendered nigh on impossible by the fusion of metals due to the corrosive powers of Midwestern salt. I saw that future and I hated it. I needed to change directions.
My initial plan was to take another crack at a nicer, lower-mileage 100 Series and transfer all the parts over. The new suspension, the bumpers, all that stuff. I'd do a fender swap and paint the new one to match the old one so I could have the snorkel on the new truck and an untouched stock truck from the rust bucket I had started with. However, the call of the newer, nicer, and more powerful 200 Series began to ring in my head. Worse still, the cost difference was not that great. A really nice 100 Series is $27,000. A pretty nice 200 Series is $30,000. For a $3,000 investment I could get better front suspension, nicer seats, better fuel economy, more horsepower, better lighting, a Bluetooth connection, a center console cooler, and a more modern interior in more or less the exact same form factor. Same size, same weight, better reliability. Suddenly the $3,000 seemed paltry. That quickly turned into $5,000 once I ran the numbers. My plan was hatched: I'd finish the 100 Series with funds from a tax return, sell it on, and hunt for a nice 200 Series to start anew.
Well, my ingenious plan, as ever, was foiled by my own complete and utter lack of patience. We got in the neighborhood of tax time and I started looking at trucks for sale. That soon turned into asking more questions about a certain truck from a dealer. That one didn't work out, but the taste sent me into a frenzy. I started checking daily on car selling sites to find a deal on a dream truck. I asked for more information from a few dealers and looked at many pictures of many trucks, eyes straining for signs of rust or damage. I even flirted with the 100 Series idea again, but the thought had released me at that point. I didn't care about the 100 Series any longer.
Eventually, I located a white 2011 located in Dallas. The location gave me a lot of hope that it would be rust free. The photos made it look very clean. Someone had already gone through the trouble of removing the running boards, installing crossbars and a roof box, and putting in a very nice set of Dobinson's storage drawers in the back. They had installed hideous wheels but decent tires. It was a color I really liked, with very low mileage for a Cruiser, and the price was right. I quickly fired off an email and started a conversation with the sales rep. Before long I had her sending me photos of the underside to scope for rust and determine the condition. I liked what I saw even more.
I inquired about flexibility in the price and was told it was absolutely rock solid. I looked into shipping quotes but discovered the immense cost of transporting a London flat across the United States. A quick and dirty calculation showed I've save a ton of money if I flew down and drove the thing home. I called my wife and my mother and father, and the answer was the same: "Buy the damn thing and shut up already."
So, taking a brave pill, I put down a $500 deposit on my credit card, got the purchase paperwork in order, and bought a plane ticket. 10 days later I found myself utterly deprived of sleep, wishing I hadn't packed my camera in my backpack as the mildly gruntled TSA agent played pool with my balls.
The humiliation complete and confirming I was not, in fact, a villain, I got to my gate and boarded my first flight of the day. The flight attendant flashed a disapproving look as I squeezed my overstuffed 48L Osprey pack into the overhead compartment and sat down. I tried very hard to sleep, but the short hop did little to restore my weariness. Instead I arrived not at all refreshed and more tired than I was when I left that morning. I spotted the nearest coffee shop and proceeded to order the most caffeinated thing on the menu in the largest possible size, then walked to my next gate to get to Dallas. I had another cup of coffee on the plane and read a book. After 7 hours of air travel, I arrived in Dallas to a text message requesting the gate I had arrived at. I walked out to find a beautiful late model Mercedes-Benz C-Class Coupe waiting for me. I shoehorned my pack into the trunk, laughed at the people around me in parkas and gloves in fifty-degree weather, and hopped in for the short drive to the dealership, where fate awaited me.
To be continued...
"The dangers of life are infinite, and among them is safety" - Goethe
I had this quote rolling around in my head as I was being patted down at 4 in the morning by a less-than-enthusiastic new TSA agent while trying to board my flight to Salt Lake City. I was taking a risk, spending 300 bucks on a pane ticket to go pick up a vehicle I've never even seen in person let alone driven. Hell, I hadn't even heard the thing run. I had placed my faith in a stranger on the internet, photos I had seen, and the engineering prowess of Japan's finest automaker. I was headed to see, and ostensibly purchase, a 2011 Toyota Land Cruiser with only 128k miles on the odometer. I had absolutely lost my mind.
The hunt had begun about four months earlier, when I finally came to the decision that the only course of action I wanted to pursue was to finish the repairs on my 2003 Land Cruiser, rebuild it, and sell it on to finance a new build. I have no desire to continue dealing with the endless rust issues that generated constant headaches for me. I knew that in two or three or four years I'd have some maintenance or repair task to perform, rendered nigh on impossible by the fusion of metals due to the corrosive powers of Midwestern salt. I saw that future and I hated it. I needed to change directions.
My initial plan was to take another crack at a nicer, lower-mileage 100 Series and transfer all the parts over. The new suspension, the bumpers, all that stuff. I'd do a fender swap and paint the new one to match the old one so I could have the snorkel on the new truck and an untouched stock truck from the rust bucket I had started with. However, the call of the newer, nicer, and more powerful 200 Series began to ring in my head. Worse still, the cost difference was not that great. A really nice 100 Series is $27,000. A pretty nice 200 Series is $30,000. For a $3,000 investment I could get better front suspension, nicer seats, better fuel economy, more horsepower, better lighting, a Bluetooth connection, a center console cooler, and a more modern interior in more or less the exact same form factor. Same size, same weight, better reliability. Suddenly the $3,000 seemed paltry. That quickly turned into $5,000 once I ran the numbers. My plan was hatched: I'd finish the 100 Series with funds from a tax return, sell it on, and hunt for a nice 200 Series to start anew.
Well, my ingenious plan, as ever, was foiled by my own complete and utter lack of patience. We got in the neighborhood of tax time and I started looking at trucks for sale. That soon turned into asking more questions about a certain truck from a dealer. That one didn't work out, but the taste sent me into a frenzy. I started checking daily on car selling sites to find a deal on a dream truck. I asked for more information from a few dealers and looked at many pictures of many trucks, eyes straining for signs of rust or damage. I even flirted with the 100 Series idea again, but the thought had released me at that point. I didn't care about the 100 Series any longer.
Eventually, I located a white 2011 located in Dallas. The location gave me a lot of hope that it would be rust free. The photos made it look very clean. Someone had already gone through the trouble of removing the running boards, installing crossbars and a roof box, and putting in a very nice set of Dobinson's storage drawers in the back. They had installed hideous wheels but decent tires. It was a color I really liked, with very low mileage for a Cruiser, and the price was right. I quickly fired off an email and started a conversation with the sales rep. Before long I had her sending me photos of the underside to scope for rust and determine the condition. I liked what I saw even more.
I inquired about flexibility in the price and was told it was absolutely rock solid. I looked into shipping quotes but discovered the immense cost of transporting a London flat across the United States. A quick and dirty calculation showed I've save a ton of money if I flew down and drove the thing home. I called my wife and my mother and father, and the answer was the same: "Buy the damn thing and shut up already."
So, taking a brave pill, I put down a $500 deposit on my credit card, got the purchase paperwork in order, and bought a plane ticket. 10 days later I found myself utterly deprived of sleep, wishing I hadn't packed my camera in my backpack as the mildly gruntled TSA agent played pool with my balls.
The humiliation complete and confirming I was not, in fact, a villain, I got to my gate and boarded my first flight of the day. The flight attendant flashed a disapproving look as I squeezed my overstuffed 48L Osprey pack into the overhead compartment and sat down. I tried very hard to sleep, but the short hop did little to restore my weariness. Instead I arrived not at all refreshed and more tired than I was when I left that morning. I spotted the nearest coffee shop and proceeded to order the most caffeinated thing on the menu in the largest possible size, then walked to my next gate to get to Dallas. I had another cup of coffee on the plane and read a book. After 7 hours of air travel, I arrived in Dallas to a text message requesting the gate I had arrived at. I walked out to find a beautiful late model Mercedes-Benz C-Class Coupe waiting for me. I shoehorned my pack into the trunk, laughed at the people around me in parkas and gloves in fifty-degree weather, and hopped in for the short drive to the dealership, where fate awaited me.
To be continued...
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
DALLAS
"Do one thing every day that scares you." - Eleanor Roosevelt
I arrived at the dealership with a pounding heart and a dry throat. Here I had come all this way, to a city I'd literally spent no time in, to buy a vehicle I'd never driven. As we pulled up, I discovered the conspicuous lack of Land Cruisers, or any vehicles for that matter, in the parking lot out front. I had noticed what looked like some nice vehicles in the photos of the Land Cruiser, but "nice vehicles" was an understatement. I walked into a showroom with two Range Rovers, a gleaming 911, no fewer than two Lamborghinis, and a myriad of exotic shapes with fast names and big price tags. It suddenly made my quite large purchase of a Toyota SUV feel a lot more humble. I was informed a TPMS sensor was being changed, as well as the battery. I set my 40-lb backpack next to me and began to sign a lot of paperwork.
I held onto the $32,000 cashier's check until I actually saw the truck. I walked up to it and immediately was greeted by a pang of imposter's syndrome. Who the hell was I to be buying such a nice vehicle?
While the photos from the dealer made it look nice, walking around it made it look stunning. The truck had no imperfections in the body lines. Sure, the paint had a few chips on the hood from numerous road trips and some faded trim pieces, but other than that there was nothing to note at all. No issues whatsoever. The paint gleamed in the sunlight, the headlights shone clear and bright, and all of the glass was flawless. I opened the doors and was met by a less-than-perfect interior, but one without any major issues. The seats were in great shape, every button worked, and everything with wear on it was easy to repair or refresh. The engine fired up on the button and idled smoothly, there was no drivetrain thunking when shifting into gear, and the engine compartment appeared to have everything in order. A flurry of talking with the dealer then ensued, and within minutes I was driving my new Land Cruiser off the lot, my bank account significantly lighter.
I hustled into the mad dash of Dallas traffic and entered the freeway. Spotting a gap, I floored the accelerator, and with a throaty growl from the engine my head nearly bounced off the back glass. Holy **** this truck has some guts to it. Absolutely taken aback and stunned by the excess of horsepower suddenly at my disposal, it took me a moment to notice I was suddenly brushing against 90 on the speedometer. Gently easing back into the flow of traffic, I aimed for my lunch spot in downtown Dallas: Pecan Lodge, an incredibly highly rated local BBQ joint.
Feeling very much the interloper, I wove my way through the narrow canyons of urban Dallas. At one point a sudden change of a traffic signal caught me by surprise, and I discovered another one of the Land Cruiser's party tricks: the brakes. Without even full application of the fat pedal, the seatbelt retracted and sucked me back into the seat while the truck stood on it's nose in a howl of protesting rubber. Holy ****, this truck has some stop to it.
Arriving at my destination, I stepped back for a second and just stared for the first time. Wow. The shape was captivating, the stance felt eager and ready to tackle the world. I knew right then I'd made the right call. Giving the truck another once-over, I paid for my parking and walked to my lunch.
Pecan Lodge ended up being the perfect lunch stop.
As a huge fan of barbecue, I was in heaven sampling pulled pork, brisket, and coleslaw from a place with such dishes woven into it's DNA. I sat in contented silence munching on some of the best meats I had ever tasted, thinking that my trip had been worthwhile just for that experience alone whilst planning my next move. From downtown, I'd have to stop to get provisions before hitting the road.
I mapped out a local Walmart and a Kroger, then paid my bill and walked across the street for yet another coffee, this one far better than the last. Once again caffeinated, I walked back to my new Land Cruiser and was once again struck by it just sitting there awaiting the journey. I took another few minutes to organize my stuff, putting my clothes and backpack into separate drawers, before giving the interior another once-over. I found a few more things, but nothing that made me unhappy. Then I stepped back and looked at it again, and everything was right with the world. I was a guy, on his own, with a long road trip ahead of him and a car he was fast falling in love with to to take him places.
Sufficiently flying high on excitement, adrenaline, consumerism, and caffeine, I hit the local grocery stores for jerky, protein shakes, trail mix, a case of water, some pillows, and batteries for my air pump. I once again arranged all my stuff in the drawers before dropping the 60 section of the rear seat and laying my air mattress across it, pumped it up, and beheld my new sleeping arrangements.
It's not the Ritz, but compared to some places I've slept, it'll do just fine.
I stopped at the closest gas station with the cheapest gas I could find, filled the tank to the brim, and aimed west, away from the hustle and bustle of Dallas towards the desolation and loneliness of the Texas panhandle.
To be continued...
"Do one thing every day that scares you." - Eleanor Roosevelt
I arrived at the dealership with a pounding heart and a dry throat. Here I had come all this way, to a city I'd literally spent no time in, to buy a vehicle I'd never driven. As we pulled up, I discovered the conspicuous lack of Land Cruisers, or any vehicles for that matter, in the parking lot out front. I had noticed what looked like some nice vehicles in the photos of the Land Cruiser, but "nice vehicles" was an understatement. I walked into a showroom with two Range Rovers, a gleaming 911, no fewer than two Lamborghinis, and a myriad of exotic shapes with fast names and big price tags. It suddenly made my quite large purchase of a Toyota SUV feel a lot more humble. I was informed a TPMS sensor was being changed, as well as the battery. I set my 40-lb backpack next to me and began to sign a lot of paperwork.
I held onto the $32,000 cashier's check until I actually saw the truck. I walked up to it and immediately was greeted by a pang of imposter's syndrome. Who the hell was I to be buying such a nice vehicle?
While the photos from the dealer made it look nice, walking around it made it look stunning. The truck had no imperfections in the body lines. Sure, the paint had a few chips on the hood from numerous road trips and some faded trim pieces, but other than that there was nothing to note at all. No issues whatsoever. The paint gleamed in the sunlight, the headlights shone clear and bright, and all of the glass was flawless. I opened the doors and was met by a less-than-perfect interior, but one without any major issues. The seats were in great shape, every button worked, and everything with wear on it was easy to repair or refresh. The engine fired up on the button and idled smoothly, there was no drivetrain thunking when shifting into gear, and the engine compartment appeared to have everything in order. A flurry of talking with the dealer then ensued, and within minutes I was driving my new Land Cruiser off the lot, my bank account significantly lighter.
I hustled into the mad dash of Dallas traffic and entered the freeway. Spotting a gap, I floored the accelerator, and with a throaty growl from the engine my head nearly bounced off the back glass. Holy **** this truck has some guts to it. Absolutely taken aback and stunned by the excess of horsepower suddenly at my disposal, it took me a moment to notice I was suddenly brushing against 90 on the speedometer. Gently easing back into the flow of traffic, I aimed for my lunch spot in downtown Dallas: Pecan Lodge, an incredibly highly rated local BBQ joint.
Feeling very much the interloper, I wove my way through the narrow canyons of urban Dallas. At one point a sudden change of a traffic signal caught me by surprise, and I discovered another one of the Land Cruiser's party tricks: the brakes. Without even full application of the fat pedal, the seatbelt retracted and sucked me back into the seat while the truck stood on it's nose in a howl of protesting rubber. Holy ****, this truck has some stop to it.
Arriving at my destination, I stepped back for a second and just stared for the first time. Wow. The shape was captivating, the stance felt eager and ready to tackle the world. I knew right then I'd made the right call. Giving the truck another once-over, I paid for my parking and walked to my lunch.
Pecan Lodge ended up being the perfect lunch stop.
As a huge fan of barbecue, I was in heaven sampling pulled pork, brisket, and coleslaw from a place with such dishes woven into it's DNA. I sat in contented silence munching on some of the best meats I had ever tasted, thinking that my trip had been worthwhile just for that experience alone whilst planning my next move. From downtown, I'd have to stop to get provisions before hitting the road.
I mapped out a local Walmart and a Kroger, then paid my bill and walked across the street for yet another coffee, this one far better than the last. Once again caffeinated, I walked back to my new Land Cruiser and was once again struck by it just sitting there awaiting the journey. I took another few minutes to organize my stuff, putting my clothes and backpack into separate drawers, before giving the interior another once-over. I found a few more things, but nothing that made me unhappy. Then I stepped back and looked at it again, and everything was right with the world. I was a guy, on his own, with a long road trip ahead of him and a car he was fast falling in love with to to take him places.
Sufficiently flying high on excitement, adrenaline, consumerism, and caffeine, I hit the local grocery stores for jerky, protein shakes, trail mix, a case of water, some pillows, and batteries for my air pump. I once again arranged all my stuff in the drawers before dropping the 60 section of the rear seat and laying my air mattress across it, pumped it up, and beheld my new sleeping arrangements.
It's not the Ritz, but compared to some places I've slept, it'll do just fine.
I stopped at the closest gas station with the cheapest gas I could find, filled the tank to the brim, and aimed west, away from the hustle and bustle of Dallas towards the desolation and loneliness of the Texas panhandle.
To be continued...
Last edited:
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
THE DRIVE - PART 1
"It's not because things are difficult that we dare not venture. It's because we dare not venture that they are difficult." - Seneca
There's something about road trips that grips me. The soft hum of the tires spinning against warm asphalt, the gentle rocking of the vehicle over bumps, the constant changes of scenery outside the window as the world goes about its business. There's beauty out there along the road, everywhere.
Everywhere except west Texas.
My God, what a desolate place. Exiting the constant din of Dallas life, I was smacked hard in the face with the emptiest place I'd ever witnessed. No people, no buildings, no trees, no animals. Nothing but slightly rolling plains covered in ugly, scratchy shrubs. The only interesting things come form the lost souls that gave up looking for somewhere better and settled into their hovels out there among the nothingness. Boredom crept into edges of my vision, compounded by the lack of sleep and copious amount of coffee coursing through me. I wasn't feeling tired, but I felt a malaise creeping in from the outside.
I pounded across Texas, steering for Amarillo and the border with New Mexico, hoping I'd put enough miles behind me to get out of this godforsaken place just soon enough to find a spot to sleep. I listened to podcast after podcast, absorbing hours of political, philosophical, comedic, and introspective ramblings, all of them blurring together as the hours slipped by, bit by bit. Feverishly, I sped across the state, chased by the specter of exhaustion and the desire to be closer to the mountains and valleys of my home.
After what felt like an eternity, I rolled into Amarillo well after dark, finding an Arby's to get a quick sandwich and do a little research.
Thanks to a handy little app called iOverlander, I was able to identify two potential spots to lay my head for the night, both state parks. One was outside of Santa Rosa, the other outside of Tucumcari. Both were very cheap and would provide me some distance from the highway. My sleep deprived brain knew Tucumcari, an hour closer, was the better bet.
I drove on into the night, watching the mile markers count my way to the border. More time passed and podcasts fell.
Closing in on 11pm, the border of New Mexico opened its arms and shuffled me across. Almost immediately, I began looking for the exit that would grant me a reprieve from the endless miles of dark boredom. Before long, I found my turn and exited the interstate onto a dirt road leaking to Ute Lake State Park. I rocked up to a completely empty lakeshore with several dispersed camping spots costing a paltry $8 per night. I paid my fee, found a nice spot along the shore where I'd have a good view when the sun rose, set the parking brake, killed the engine, crawled into my sleeping bag, and fell into the black void of gnawing unconsciousness. Only an hour later, I awoke to the realization that I had made a mistake. My thick, plush air mattress that I opted to bring on the journey rather than my light and small backpacking sleeping pad had zero, and I mean zero, insulation to it. I was cold.
The insulation of my sleeping bag was being crushed against my back and the mattress, and the exterior air temperature of 20 degrees was quickly creeping its way into my weary bones. I got up and started the truck, slammed the climate control to "hot", and waited for the shivering to stop. Once it had, I shut the truck off and crawled back into my sleeping bag. Within 45 minutes I woke again, cold as I was the first time. Knowing I'd be at this all night, I set my alarm for 90 minutes, started the engine, set the climate control for 65 degrees, killed the interior lights, and slipped back into my sleeping bag with the truck idling under me. My alarm snapped me awake an hour and a half later. Groggily, I checked the fuel gauge and noted it hadn't so much as twitched. Satisfied I would not be stranding myself without fuel in the middle of nowhere, my head fell heavily against the pillow and my eyelids slammed shut.
I awoke, warm and comfortable, four hours later to this beautiful sunrise over a windswept lake.
I again looked around the truck. Frankly it looks even better in this setting and in this light. The truck was built to travel and explore the middle of nowhere.
My sleeping arrangements worked out even better than I had hoped. With the seat folded down, it created the perfect sleeping platform. With my head nearly against the front seat, my feet nearly brushed the back glass. Regardless of where my head was, I'd have a great window view to outside. Being inside the vehicle makes for a much quieter night than sleeping in a tent. The flat floor next to the bed allowed the perfect spot to set a bottle of water, my phone, and my watch. The 40 section of the back seat makes the perfect method of getting into and out of bed, with a spot to keep my shoes and a small climb up into the bed. Really quite a nice setup.
After getting dressed and refilling my water bottles, I eased back into the driver's seat and hit the road into Tucumcari along historic Route 66.
With all the hype surrounding America's most famous highway, I was in for a bit of a shock. Hotels, gas stations, restaurants, repair garages, all shuttered, boarded up, and abandoned. The scene was like something out of a western ghost town, including the ubiquitous tumbleweeds. The road itself was cracked, faded, and marred with age. Towns that had obviously once held the bustle of a main thoroughfare now were reduced to mere husks of their former selves. So much built and so much abandoned. I rejoined the interstate and drove to Santa Rosa, feeling somewhat melancholic about the passage of time and the wear from weather and neglect. Luckily, Santa Rosa had something to look forward to: breakfast and coffee.
I stopped at a small local coffee shop, got my Americano, and a breakfast bowl of eggs, peppers, and onions. Also a few slices of avocado but I don't like the taste of grass, so that didn't get touched, but the rest of it was delicious and helped fuel me for the day ahead.
I fueled up and struck out to the west again, this time towards Santa Fe.
The southwest beckoned before me, whetting my appetite for new views and new adventures. Red rock mesas loomed in the distance, more podcasts flowed through the speakers. I was in my element. Like I said, there's something about road trips for me.
The scenery into Santa Fe evolved at a constant rate. Flatlands, minor scrub brush, mesas. Plenty of notifications of the dangers of elk crossings. Overall a beautiful part of the country. I wound through several valleys and eventually dropped into the outskirts of Santa Fe.
The experience was definitely not what I was expecting. In my head I had envisioned an old but open town of adobe. with plenty of historical significance and a touch of the modern to it. What I saw laid out in front of me was much different. The surrounding area reminded me a lot of Billings, my hometown, but the old town center felt like a different country. Old, winding, and tight streets led to a historic town plaza littered with southwest nostalgia and history. An old mission loomed above me, adobe buildings reached out from either side, and a flurry of traffic, both human and vehicular, littered the area. Hotels and restaurants blended well into the old world charm. This was not at all what I expected. It was better. I quickly filed this city away in my brain as a place to return to in the future.
Try as I might, locating a place to park close to downtown Santa Fe on a Friday morning turned out to be nearly impossible, especially for the slightly oversized 200 Series. Unable to stop, I snapped a few fleeting photos of the downtown area and navigated to an open park where I was able to stop and get my bearings for my next destination: Los Alamos.
See, I'm a history nerd, and my brother is a physicist. Having an insight into the breakthroughs and difficulties of creating an atomic bomb, I decided this opportunity could not be passed up. Who knows when the next time I'll be in New Mexico will be? So I set my Land Cruiser's satnav for Los Alamos.
The drive was divine. Peaceful. Serene. The desert landscape continued to bewitch me.
The actual road to Los Alamos is an event in and of itself. It turns from a canyon bottom drive to a series of curves following a narrow desert canyon, which then clings to the side of a butte before cresting a hill. Atop that hill, the Los Alamos airport stretches from the lip of the canyon to the town itself, which sits nestled upon an intermediate step in the landscape between mountains and the canyon below. A sign welcomes you to Los Alamos and soon you see a sign of the past.
Littered throughout this area are signs of the history of this place. Guard towers, old buildings, historic markers, a couple of museums. All of it wrapped in beautiful scenery and a really nicely kept town. I stopped and briefly had a chat with an erudite gentleman from the National Park Service, who has been lecturing on the history of Los Alamos for the past 30 years. In fact, his father made a living doing the same thing. I got a good overview of the area, took some mental notes for my next trip, and drove over the free-to-the-public Bradbury Science Museum, where I perused the exhibits and learned a little more about America's atomic past and present.
Seen below is a scale model of the world's first atomic explosive device, the Gadget.
And of course replicas of the only two atomic bombs ever dropped in warfare, Fat Man and Little Boy. These seemly innocuous hunks of metal belie the enormous impact they had on history. The indelible mark left on the world, and all conflicts that have erupted since, is almost palpable standing next to them, especially if you know the story of their creation and subsequent use. Fascinatingly, they're smaller devices than I expected them to be, with a veneer of simplicity in their outward design that masks a much more complex heart within. Despite being mere models, the experience is humbling.
Despite my ravenous curiosity and desire to stay and learn, I had to push on. I hopped back in the Land Cruiser and headed out the way I came in, down a winding mountain road to the valley below. At the bottom, I turned north in search of more unexplored places.
My destination for a late lunch was the picturesque mountain town of Taos. Unfortunately, I had left Los Alamos later in the day than I had expected to, so my time in Taos would be far more limited than I had planned for. Undeterred, I coaxed the truck through the arroyos and past the town of Espanola, which was quite a bit more developed than I had thought it was going to be. This part of New Mexico puzzles me.
There's a sense of natural beauty around every corner here, an amazing array of wildlife and incredible scenery that is begging for development. You'd expect to see a myriad of quaint, picturesque tourist areas full of new construction and perfectly arranged houses. In contrast, what you actually see feels less cared-for, perhaps something more akin to the windswept plains of eastern Montana. The landscape is pretty, but it feels as though the locals don't care. That can't be the case, there must be some facet of this that I'm missing, but the feeling I got from the area as I drove through was more apathetic than I expected given the surroundings and the legacy carried by places like Taos.
As I pondered this, I rolled into Taos in search of what seemed to be the most logical fare to fill my stomach with: tacos.
I'm a taco nut. You could probably fill a tortilla with well-seasoned tree bark and I'd happily eat it with some onion and cilantro. Nothing felt more appropriate for that time in that place than some local tacos. A quick Google search pointed me towards a highly-rated taco truck off the main road, and the experience further solidified a theory I have long held about taco restaurants: the best ones in the world are all on wheels. Be it a bus, a trailer, or a rickshaw, the best purveyors of these delectable morsels seem to gravitate to a more mobile setup. Fine by me, as that makes them easy to identify.
These were every bit as good as I was hoping.
My stomach full, I loitered around in the truck for a short time, wandering around Taos, looking at the pueblo-inspired architecture. I briefly stopped at the historic pueblo there, but unfortunately did not have the time to explore it on this trip. Getting this close only piqued my interest and fueled my insatiable curiosity. I cannot wait to come back here.
As the sun began to drop lower, I gassed up once again and pointed my nose to the north, crossing yet another state line into more familiar territory: Colorado.
To be continued...
"It's not because things are difficult that we dare not venture. It's because we dare not venture that they are difficult." - Seneca
There's something about road trips that grips me. The soft hum of the tires spinning against warm asphalt, the gentle rocking of the vehicle over bumps, the constant changes of scenery outside the window as the world goes about its business. There's beauty out there along the road, everywhere.
Everywhere except west Texas.
My God, what a desolate place. Exiting the constant din of Dallas life, I was smacked hard in the face with the emptiest place I'd ever witnessed. No people, no buildings, no trees, no animals. Nothing but slightly rolling plains covered in ugly, scratchy shrubs. The only interesting things come form the lost souls that gave up looking for somewhere better and settled into their hovels out there among the nothingness. Boredom crept into edges of my vision, compounded by the lack of sleep and copious amount of coffee coursing through me. I wasn't feeling tired, but I felt a malaise creeping in from the outside.
I pounded across Texas, steering for Amarillo and the border with New Mexico, hoping I'd put enough miles behind me to get out of this godforsaken place just soon enough to find a spot to sleep. I listened to podcast after podcast, absorbing hours of political, philosophical, comedic, and introspective ramblings, all of them blurring together as the hours slipped by, bit by bit. Feverishly, I sped across the state, chased by the specter of exhaustion and the desire to be closer to the mountains and valleys of my home.
After what felt like an eternity, I rolled into Amarillo well after dark, finding an Arby's to get a quick sandwich and do a little research.
Thanks to a handy little app called iOverlander, I was able to identify two potential spots to lay my head for the night, both state parks. One was outside of Santa Rosa, the other outside of Tucumcari. Both were very cheap and would provide me some distance from the highway. My sleep deprived brain knew Tucumcari, an hour closer, was the better bet.
I drove on into the night, watching the mile markers count my way to the border. More time passed and podcasts fell.
Closing in on 11pm, the border of New Mexico opened its arms and shuffled me across. Almost immediately, I began looking for the exit that would grant me a reprieve from the endless miles of dark boredom. Before long, I found my turn and exited the interstate onto a dirt road leaking to Ute Lake State Park. I rocked up to a completely empty lakeshore with several dispersed camping spots costing a paltry $8 per night. I paid my fee, found a nice spot along the shore where I'd have a good view when the sun rose, set the parking brake, killed the engine, crawled into my sleeping bag, and fell into the black void of gnawing unconsciousness. Only an hour later, I awoke to the realization that I had made a mistake. My thick, plush air mattress that I opted to bring on the journey rather than my light and small backpacking sleeping pad had zero, and I mean zero, insulation to it. I was cold.
The insulation of my sleeping bag was being crushed against my back and the mattress, and the exterior air temperature of 20 degrees was quickly creeping its way into my weary bones. I got up and started the truck, slammed the climate control to "hot", and waited for the shivering to stop. Once it had, I shut the truck off and crawled back into my sleeping bag. Within 45 minutes I woke again, cold as I was the first time. Knowing I'd be at this all night, I set my alarm for 90 minutes, started the engine, set the climate control for 65 degrees, killed the interior lights, and slipped back into my sleeping bag with the truck idling under me. My alarm snapped me awake an hour and a half later. Groggily, I checked the fuel gauge and noted it hadn't so much as twitched. Satisfied I would not be stranding myself without fuel in the middle of nowhere, my head fell heavily against the pillow and my eyelids slammed shut.
I awoke, warm and comfortable, four hours later to this beautiful sunrise over a windswept lake.
I again looked around the truck. Frankly it looks even better in this setting and in this light. The truck was built to travel and explore the middle of nowhere.
My sleeping arrangements worked out even better than I had hoped. With the seat folded down, it created the perfect sleeping platform. With my head nearly against the front seat, my feet nearly brushed the back glass. Regardless of where my head was, I'd have a great window view to outside. Being inside the vehicle makes for a much quieter night than sleeping in a tent. The flat floor next to the bed allowed the perfect spot to set a bottle of water, my phone, and my watch. The 40 section of the back seat makes the perfect method of getting into and out of bed, with a spot to keep my shoes and a small climb up into the bed. Really quite a nice setup.
After getting dressed and refilling my water bottles, I eased back into the driver's seat and hit the road into Tucumcari along historic Route 66.
With all the hype surrounding America's most famous highway, I was in for a bit of a shock. Hotels, gas stations, restaurants, repair garages, all shuttered, boarded up, and abandoned. The scene was like something out of a western ghost town, including the ubiquitous tumbleweeds. The road itself was cracked, faded, and marred with age. Towns that had obviously once held the bustle of a main thoroughfare now were reduced to mere husks of their former selves. So much built and so much abandoned. I rejoined the interstate and drove to Santa Rosa, feeling somewhat melancholic about the passage of time and the wear from weather and neglect. Luckily, Santa Rosa had something to look forward to: breakfast and coffee.
I stopped at a small local coffee shop, got my Americano, and a breakfast bowl of eggs, peppers, and onions. Also a few slices of avocado but I don't like the taste of grass, so that didn't get touched, but the rest of it was delicious and helped fuel me for the day ahead.
I fueled up and struck out to the west again, this time towards Santa Fe.
The southwest beckoned before me, whetting my appetite for new views and new adventures. Red rock mesas loomed in the distance, more podcasts flowed through the speakers. I was in my element. Like I said, there's something about road trips for me.
The scenery into Santa Fe evolved at a constant rate. Flatlands, minor scrub brush, mesas. Plenty of notifications of the dangers of elk crossings. Overall a beautiful part of the country. I wound through several valleys and eventually dropped into the outskirts of Santa Fe.
The experience was definitely not what I was expecting. In my head I had envisioned an old but open town of adobe. with plenty of historical significance and a touch of the modern to it. What I saw laid out in front of me was much different. The surrounding area reminded me a lot of Billings, my hometown, but the old town center felt like a different country. Old, winding, and tight streets led to a historic town plaza littered with southwest nostalgia and history. An old mission loomed above me, adobe buildings reached out from either side, and a flurry of traffic, both human and vehicular, littered the area. Hotels and restaurants blended well into the old world charm. This was not at all what I expected. It was better. I quickly filed this city away in my brain as a place to return to in the future.
Try as I might, locating a place to park close to downtown Santa Fe on a Friday morning turned out to be nearly impossible, especially for the slightly oversized 200 Series. Unable to stop, I snapped a few fleeting photos of the downtown area and navigated to an open park where I was able to stop and get my bearings for my next destination: Los Alamos.
See, I'm a history nerd, and my brother is a physicist. Having an insight into the breakthroughs and difficulties of creating an atomic bomb, I decided this opportunity could not be passed up. Who knows when the next time I'll be in New Mexico will be? So I set my Land Cruiser's satnav for Los Alamos.
The drive was divine. Peaceful. Serene. The desert landscape continued to bewitch me.
The actual road to Los Alamos is an event in and of itself. It turns from a canyon bottom drive to a series of curves following a narrow desert canyon, which then clings to the side of a butte before cresting a hill. Atop that hill, the Los Alamos airport stretches from the lip of the canyon to the town itself, which sits nestled upon an intermediate step in the landscape between mountains and the canyon below. A sign welcomes you to Los Alamos and soon you see a sign of the past.
Littered throughout this area are signs of the history of this place. Guard towers, old buildings, historic markers, a couple of museums. All of it wrapped in beautiful scenery and a really nicely kept town. I stopped and briefly had a chat with an erudite gentleman from the National Park Service, who has been lecturing on the history of Los Alamos for the past 30 years. In fact, his father made a living doing the same thing. I got a good overview of the area, took some mental notes for my next trip, and drove over the free-to-the-public Bradbury Science Museum, where I perused the exhibits and learned a little more about America's atomic past and present.
Seen below is a scale model of the world's first atomic explosive device, the Gadget.
And of course replicas of the only two atomic bombs ever dropped in warfare, Fat Man and Little Boy. These seemly innocuous hunks of metal belie the enormous impact they had on history. The indelible mark left on the world, and all conflicts that have erupted since, is almost palpable standing next to them, especially if you know the story of their creation and subsequent use. Fascinatingly, they're smaller devices than I expected them to be, with a veneer of simplicity in their outward design that masks a much more complex heart within. Despite being mere models, the experience is humbling.
Despite my ravenous curiosity and desire to stay and learn, I had to push on. I hopped back in the Land Cruiser and headed out the way I came in, down a winding mountain road to the valley below. At the bottom, I turned north in search of more unexplored places.
My destination for a late lunch was the picturesque mountain town of Taos. Unfortunately, I had left Los Alamos later in the day than I had expected to, so my time in Taos would be far more limited than I had planned for. Undeterred, I coaxed the truck through the arroyos and past the town of Espanola, which was quite a bit more developed than I had thought it was going to be. This part of New Mexico puzzles me.
There's a sense of natural beauty around every corner here, an amazing array of wildlife and incredible scenery that is begging for development. You'd expect to see a myriad of quaint, picturesque tourist areas full of new construction and perfectly arranged houses. In contrast, what you actually see feels less cared-for, perhaps something more akin to the windswept plains of eastern Montana. The landscape is pretty, but it feels as though the locals don't care. That can't be the case, there must be some facet of this that I'm missing, but the feeling I got from the area as I drove through was more apathetic than I expected given the surroundings and the legacy carried by places like Taos.
As I pondered this, I rolled into Taos in search of what seemed to be the most logical fare to fill my stomach with: tacos.
I'm a taco nut. You could probably fill a tortilla with well-seasoned tree bark and I'd happily eat it with some onion and cilantro. Nothing felt more appropriate for that time in that place than some local tacos. A quick Google search pointed me towards a highly-rated taco truck off the main road, and the experience further solidified a theory I have long held about taco restaurants: the best ones in the world are all on wheels. Be it a bus, a trailer, or a rickshaw, the best purveyors of these delectable morsels seem to gravitate to a more mobile setup. Fine by me, as that makes them easy to identify.
These were every bit as good as I was hoping.
My stomach full, I loitered around in the truck for a short time, wandering around Taos, looking at the pueblo-inspired architecture. I briefly stopped at the historic pueblo there, but unfortunately did not have the time to explore it on this trip. Getting this close only piqued my interest and fueled my insatiable curiosity. I cannot wait to come back here.
As the sun began to drop lower, I gassed up once again and pointed my nose to the north, crossing yet another state line into more familiar territory: Colorado.
To be continued...
XJSuperman
Well-known member
Your writing reminds me that I like to read. At least when the topic and the writer are worth reading. Have you written any books Tom? Maybe you should.
Something as simple as a roadtrip, something I've done myself many times, and yet you take the time to describe the details and paint the picture of each one. Hell, I'm not even paying attention to the pics in this post. I'm too busy reading.
I'll have to strive to convey my own antics in a more improved manner.
Carry on, I'll be back for the next chapter after I return from a search for tacos, which btw, is your fault.
Something as simple as a roadtrip, something I've done myself many times, and yet you take the time to describe the details and paint the picture of each one. Hell, I'm not even paying attention to the pics in this post. I'm too busy reading.
I'll have to strive to convey my own antics in a more improved manner.
Carry on, I'll be back for the next chapter after I return from a search for tacos, which btw, is your fault.
Love your roadtrip Tom. That stretch from Wichita Falls to Amarillo has to be the worst. I travelled that so many times in my childhood having spent my first 16 years of life living in Amarillo. You pretty much summed the place up.
Bret
Bret
jbmatth
Well-known member
I enjoy reading your descriptions of these areas, I've traveled many of them in the past couple of years and am familiar with the feelings you describe. I will second the thoughts on the panhandle of Texas, the only place worse I've driven is the panhandle of Oklahoma, I could drive for an hour and see nothing, no cars, homes, trees, fences, or even windmills. Stopped in a town called Slapout, inquired about the population and she replied we are down to 4 now, not thousand, not hundred, just 4, that's all you need to know.
JB
JB
OutlawDrifter
Well-known member
Agreed
Seeing photo's of fatman and little boy is always fascinating to me, though having them in front of me ....... Id be overwhelmingly compelled to recreate the scene from Dr Strangelove..... Slim Pickens Riding the missile
Trapps
ALLIANCE MEMBER
Excellent writing! Thanks for the effort and sharing.
Boosted1
Well-known member
Great story and congrats on your acquisition.
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
Wow, thank you XJ. I really appreciate that. I have put some extra effort into these posts.
I have not written anything really, but the thought has crossed my mind. Maybe that's something I'll try at some point. Got a lot of story ideas rattling around in my head but they change constantly and I can't find time to hammer out a few hundred pages worth of writing at this point in my life honestly. But it is an idea that's simmering.
Nothing better than a really good taco, my friend. Nothing.
Thanks Bret!
I cannot fathom why we felt the need to fight Mexico for that chunk of territory.
Ha, there's a few towns in Montana like that. Twodot and Checkerboard come to mind.
I've not had the misfortune of traveling through the Oklahoma panhandle, but if it's less exciting than southern OK, Lord help anyone traveling through there. I thought North Dakota was bad, but northwest Texas just seems somehow less interesting and less pleasant. I don't know how that's possible, but they've managed it.
Thanks Marc, I appreciate the feedback!
Ha! The idea crossed my mind.
It's humbling to stand next to them. A really strange feeling that something so simple could cause so much. Very cool museum there.
Thanks Trapps! Appreciate the feedback!
Thanks Boosted! Appreciate having you along for the ride!
MadeByMiller
Well-known member
Here I am to echo the praise that everyone else has rightfully showered you with, ha! Really enjoying reading and following along with your recent adventure. I've not ever been to Texas, but I was a bit startled by the experiential differences we share with the state of New Mexico. I've driven through it a few times (from Gallup through Albuquerque to Raton on the interstate) and found it to be much more like your description of West Texas than the beauty you found in NM.
Your writing is some of the best on this site, thank you for sharing. There is real value in the effort it takes to write a story rather than simply deliver a message.
Your writing is some of the best on this site, thank you for sharing. There is real value in the effort it takes to write a story rather than simply deliver a message.
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
THE DRIVE - PART 2
"Until you step into the unknown, you don't know what you're made of." - Roy T. Bennett.
Colorado welcomed me like the embrace of an old friend. Flat, rolling plains slowly marched upward to towering fortresses of rock and snow in the distance as the sun continued it's descent toward the horizon. Patches of snow turned into fields, and fields became a continuous blanket, smothering the scrub grasses. The road quality changed from marginal to good, and the traffic fell away behind me. Finally, a mountain state.
The year 2018 marked the last great adventure in my 2005 Nissan Frontier. It also marked my first time exploring Colorado by 4x4, and the biggest disaster to occur to me on a road trip. After exploring for a few days and visiting the famous Imogene Pass between Telluride and Ouray, my rear differential pinion bearing failed in a spectacular manner, allowing the pinion gear to slowly chew large chunks of metal away from the ring gear and carrier, all while providing a constantly changing pinion depth. Hell of a way to destroy a rear axle. The rest of the story is a blur of finding a tow truck to Montrose, finding out our goose was cooked, getting a rental car, and completely changing the trajectory of our trip over the next week. I was determined this visit, in 2023, would not be a repeat of that performance.
Instead of taking the scenic route, I opted for a direct path from Taos to Fort Collins, as most of the trip would be in the dark and I didn't want to waste time driving through a pretty area that I couldn't even see. As such, I headed straight for Pueblo.
More podcasts were absorbed, feeling like the conversations were getting through more by osmosis than active listening. Minutes blurred into hours as I charged north. Off the plains finally, I pulled into Fort Garland and turned right, aiming straight for the more mountainous terrain of La Veta Pass. The Land Cruiser came to life around me in this environment, almost as though it was longing for the adventure found in the pines and rocks of these lower foothills. The 5.7l engine churned happily as it climbed, the steering felt alive and nimble as I navigated the bends in the road leading to the pass. Snow, which had kept it's distance until this point, crept onto the road until covering it in fits and starts as the altitude rose. Slippery environments are where the 4x4 system of the Land Cruiser really shines though. Rather than a simple transfer case and locking hub system, the Land Cruiser utilizes a user-lockable Torsen limited slip center differential feeding power to all four wheels at once, making it more of a hybrid all wheel drive than what you typically find in the US. This system does a remarkable job of providing stability when the going gets greasy because of the differential wheel speed it allows for. That wheel speed is simultaneously kept in check by the center diff and the frankly brilliant traction control system. A small amount of slip, and you can feel the entire vehicle working to bring the nose and tail back where they belong. It's an incredibly solid and reassuring feeling, built upon the existing solidity of such a well-built vehicle.
I stopped to relieve myself and once again stare at the truck, looking absolutely at home in the snowy mountain environment. In that moment I could feel this relationship solidifying, the start of something special just making itself known. Sure, I hated the wheels and the roof box was worn out and the roof bars were noisy and shaky. But the truck itself felt so incredibly solid and eager. It felt as though it was longing to escape the dreariness of Texas into the wilds and see new places for itself, not just for me. It felt like the Land Cruiser was sharing my incurable wanderlust. What a great thing, because I can only dream about what is in store for this truck.
Dropping off La Veta Pass, I rejoined the plains along the Rocky Mountain Front and turned north along I25, hitting Pueblo around dusk. From there, feeling impressed with the 21mpg I had averaged since leaving Taos, I pointed the Cruiser towards the hive of activity that is Denver.
Colorado is a curious state in my estimation. For such a mountainous and rugged state, it has been somewhat overrun by an enormous amount of people and infrastructure in the last 25 years. Despite this, the mountains are still beautiful and captivating, and they still somehow feel remote and wild. Drop off the mountains to the east though, and it feels as though you've arrived at the cradle of civilization. Once you enter the clutches of city life at the southern tip of Colorado Springs, it's non-stop until the northern border with Wyoming.
Despite this urban encroachment into such wild beauty, I feel that the Denver area is still beautiful. The mountains to the west are a constant reminder of where you are and the beauty of the natural world, while the city they've carved out is for the most part clean and attractive. It feels modern, with every available amenity you could ask for, while still providing a backdrop unique to the mountain west of the United States. For a while I wanted to live in the Denver area, but was overwhelmed by my love for Montana and stayed put. Despite that, I'll always love coming back down to the Mile High City. Unfortunately I couldn't stop to enjoy it for a bit as I was in a dash north to beat the weather.
My original plan was to camp somewhere north of Boulder, maybe in the vicinity of Fort Collins, somewhere out of the way in the woods and mountains of Colorado where I could put the backcountry camping plans with the Cruiser to the test. As I was trekking north though, I grew more an more concerned by the biggest question mark of the trip: Wyoming.
Wyoming in the winter is it's own beast. Western mountain ranges plunge frigid katabatic winds across open eastern plains of nothingness, with absolutely nothing to stop them save for the folds of the landscape. Unabated, the winds kick up incredible flurries of snow and ice, often making travel dangerous, if not impossible. Often, roads between the northern half and southern half of the state are cut off completely, leaving locals and travelers alike stranded until the storm abates and the state's meager resources can be put into action to clean the roads of powder. The roads were getting worse as a system of storms inched westward. I knew that if I stayed in Colorado, there was a chance I wouldn't be able to get home without a major detour or, at worst, another day of travel. Being a denizen of southern Montana, I know all too well the challenges of crossing Wyoming during a winter storm.
With this in mind, I pulled to a stop outside a Chick-fil-A in Castle Rock. As I ate my chicken sandwich, I checked the road reports and got detailed intel from a friend living in the state. It looked like I was in for snow-covered but passable roads, with black ice and blowing snow the only hazards thus far. I formulated a bit of a plan: I'd push past Fort Collins, past Cheyenne, and into central Wyoming as far as I could that night to beat any road closures, then push on as needed during the day. I jumped back in the Land Cruiser, fueled up, and wove my way out of Castle Rock, struck by what a nice-looking place it was. I'd never been there, but having seen it for myself now, I was definitely planning on returning.
From the clean, relative calm of Castle Rock I sped north into the outskirts of Denver, where I was once again reminded that in big cities, speed limits are merely a suggestion and defensive aggression is the order of the day. Jockeying across five lanes of traffic in the biggest city in this part of the country, I was once again struck by how nice a city Denver is. Despite being jam packed, busy, and growing faster than it can handle, Denver has managed to remain a nice place to be.
Modern buildings, huge car lots, and a football stadium rose up all around me as I was welcomed to the city. Unable to stop, I continued on undeterred into the sleepier relaxation of Fort Collins. Jordan Peterson rationally explained subject after subject through the radio as I cruised north, determining that I was still in good shape for a long, rough push into cowboy country.
Finally, I crossed the border into Wyoming and shortly thereafter pulled off at a truck stop just south of Cheyenne. I fueled up the thirsty Land Cruiser and gathered some additional supplies: more water, jerky, an energy bar, and two coffee drinks. One was to keep me going that night, the other was for the following morning when I woke up, whenever and wherever that happened to be. My plan began to take a more definite shape: I'd fuel up at every major settlement, ensuring I'd never be below 3/4s of a tank for spending the night in the cold weather or, worse, I got stuck and needed the fuel to extricate myself or keep warm until being rescued. My goal would be to get north of Wheatland, where I could find some public chunk of land to sleep on and continue on early in the morning.
Shortly after driving out of Cheyenne, classic Wyoming began to reveal itself, first with blowing wind, then with drifting snow, then black ice. The Land Cruiser marched on, undeterred, as though it was just as eager to meet it's new home as I was to get it there. Not a single slip, slide, or even a bit of tire spin occurred. The truck was planted and firm, as though on rails. The roads deteriorated further.
Not to be beaten though, I pushed on as blowing snow turned into light snowfall blowing out of the east. Light snowfall turned to heavy snowflakes as the wind picked up, traffic all but disappeared, and the roads worsened. The needle on my speedometer steadily fell from 75 to 70, then 60, then 55. Progress across the state turned agonizing. More podcasts distracted me from the ardor as the road developed a thin layer of snow, then nearly an inch.
Eventually, around 10:30 PM, I pulled into Wheatland as the snowfall became thick with malicious intent. Once again I filled the truck to the brim, staying cautious for the journey ahead.
Again pushing north away from the lights of more civilized and sane people, I braved roads that were only getting worse. My plan to sleep near Wheatland was more or less abandoned as I saw the weather get worse. I was still wide awake and capable enough to continue, so my next goal was to get as far as Glendo, maybe Douglas, before calling it a night. Somehow, the roads improved slightly just north of Wheatland, and I was buoyed by the thought, thinking maybe I could easily make Douglas and stay there. Once past Glendo, though, the hammer fell.
Nearly an inch or snow became two, then three, with the occasional drift spanning the full width of the road. I slowed to 50, then 45. The weather closed in around me with a thick pall of snow falling from the sky. The temperature outside plummeted from 45 near Denver to 10 degrees near Glendo. Progress was sketchy, to say the least. At some points, the only reference point I had was the markers on either side of the road, aptly made taller in this part of the state by sticks, in order for plows to locate the tarmac. The road climbed past Douglas, where the tracks of those who had gone before me all but disappeared, trimmed down to a single set of tracks from an 18-wheeler.
Knowing the weather was like this, I thought staying in this area would be foolhardy, so I resolved to push further to a new goal: Casper.
The area between Douglas and Casper is a bit of a blur, both metaphorically and realistically speaking. I remember only the constant snowfall and watching the road markers as Dr. Peterson calmly spoke in my ears and the Land Cruiser stoically marched on under me. The world outside became increasingly hostile, the temperature dropping below zero and the snow only getting more intense. Again, not a single sign of stepping out on the part of the new truck. No misbehavior whatsoever. Just confidence and solidity.
My exhaustion was starting to leak through the surface. My eyes burned.
Blissfully, Casper appeared out of the gloom ahead of me. Not a soul was out on the interstate or on the roads in town. It was as though a switch had been thrown and everything stood still. I pulled off the interstate for another fast fuel up and again took leave of my senses as I thought of pushing onward. The outskirt town of Bar Nunn looked to have a decent place to stop, and I was not wanting to be caught by the storm and stranded. Roads to the west were impassable, and backtracking to the east would be such an enormous detour as to take an impossibly long time.
Instead of being sensible, I plowed on into the darkness.
I realized shortly after passing Bar Nunn that I was pushing too hard and things weren't showing any signs of improvement. In fact, the Land Cruiser was now dutifully pushing through four inches of snow on the road. Without complaint, it must be noted, but bad conditions nonetheless. I was on the verge of calling it when I came up behind a semi truck, chugging along at no more than 30 miles an hour outside Antelope Hills. This sudden roadblock was all the push I needed to get me to stop.
Shortly after I pulled up behind the semi, a parking area appeared off either side of I25. I pulled off amid a bevy of trucks tucked in for the night, found an open spot between two, and parked. Without leaving the truck, I pulled off my sweater, turned the lights off, set the climate control for 65, grabbed a water bottle, and crawled into my bed, now sporting a thick horsehair blanket thanks to a roadside curio shop I had stopped at earlier that day while in New Mexico. Warm, and with the soft woosh of wind around me, I collapsed into a deep unconsciousness just after 2:30 in the morning.
I awoke to a world covered in ice.
At 7 AM, the rushing sound of a semi driving past stirred me from my black sleep and back into the land of the living. I unceremoniously relieved myself, literally ******* into the wind as I clung to the doorframe of my truck. I changed clothes, put on a warm hat, slammed the coffee I had purchased the night before, threw back a handful of trail mix, and headed north once more.
Rejoining the road, I discovered conditions had improved dramatically. Tire tracks were visible ahead of me and the wind had died to merely gale force. I once again turned on my podcasts and held on for the very long, but completely unremarkable, drive to Buffalo, then on to Sheridan.
I really do wish I had more to say about this part of the drive. It was uneventful, though dreadful.
I pulled off the interstate one final time at Sheridan, where I fueled up and stopped at a local coffee kiosk, where I checked in with Garage Journal and Instagram. The barista asked me what I was up to, and I informed her I was returning home to Billings. With a surprised look, she wished me luck on my journey home. I thanked her with a 200% tip and hit the road again.
Not long after Sheridan spans the border with Montana. The road sign welcoming me home was met with a whoop and a feeling of exhilaration for completing such an arduous journey. I did it. I was home. At least, almost.
Curiously, the roads almost immediately cleared up, the skies parted, and the stormy weather abated. It was as though Big Sky Country was giving me a warm welcome back to my home. It felt incredible that after just 36 hours, I had traveled from downtown Dallas to the border with Montana. I had road construction, detours, traffic, and horrific weather. I learned a lot, and got time to myself. I was happy with the journey, and even happier with my purchase.
The new Land Cruiser had been broken in in style, and proved itself incredibly worthy of the position it is to hold in my life. I pulled into my workshop, got out, and stared, watching the thin layer of snow slip off and onto the floor. What a perfect beginning to our story. I cannot wait to watch it unfold.
"Until you step into the unknown, you don't know what you're made of." - Roy T. Bennett.
Colorado welcomed me like the embrace of an old friend. Flat, rolling plains slowly marched upward to towering fortresses of rock and snow in the distance as the sun continued it's descent toward the horizon. Patches of snow turned into fields, and fields became a continuous blanket, smothering the scrub grasses. The road quality changed from marginal to good, and the traffic fell away behind me. Finally, a mountain state.
The year 2018 marked the last great adventure in my 2005 Nissan Frontier. It also marked my first time exploring Colorado by 4x4, and the biggest disaster to occur to me on a road trip. After exploring for a few days and visiting the famous Imogene Pass between Telluride and Ouray, my rear differential pinion bearing failed in a spectacular manner, allowing the pinion gear to slowly chew large chunks of metal away from the ring gear and carrier, all while providing a constantly changing pinion depth. Hell of a way to destroy a rear axle. The rest of the story is a blur of finding a tow truck to Montrose, finding out our goose was cooked, getting a rental car, and completely changing the trajectory of our trip over the next week. I was determined this visit, in 2023, would not be a repeat of that performance.
Instead of taking the scenic route, I opted for a direct path from Taos to Fort Collins, as most of the trip would be in the dark and I didn't want to waste time driving through a pretty area that I couldn't even see. As such, I headed straight for Pueblo.
More podcasts were absorbed, feeling like the conversations were getting through more by osmosis than active listening. Minutes blurred into hours as I charged north. Off the plains finally, I pulled into Fort Garland and turned right, aiming straight for the more mountainous terrain of La Veta Pass. The Land Cruiser came to life around me in this environment, almost as though it was longing for the adventure found in the pines and rocks of these lower foothills. The 5.7l engine churned happily as it climbed, the steering felt alive and nimble as I navigated the bends in the road leading to the pass. Snow, which had kept it's distance until this point, crept onto the road until covering it in fits and starts as the altitude rose. Slippery environments are where the 4x4 system of the Land Cruiser really shines though. Rather than a simple transfer case and locking hub system, the Land Cruiser utilizes a user-lockable Torsen limited slip center differential feeding power to all four wheels at once, making it more of a hybrid all wheel drive than what you typically find in the US. This system does a remarkable job of providing stability when the going gets greasy because of the differential wheel speed it allows for. That wheel speed is simultaneously kept in check by the center diff and the frankly brilliant traction control system. A small amount of slip, and you can feel the entire vehicle working to bring the nose and tail back where they belong. It's an incredibly solid and reassuring feeling, built upon the existing solidity of such a well-built vehicle.
I stopped to relieve myself and once again stare at the truck, looking absolutely at home in the snowy mountain environment. In that moment I could feel this relationship solidifying, the start of something special just making itself known. Sure, I hated the wheels and the roof box was worn out and the roof bars were noisy and shaky. But the truck itself felt so incredibly solid and eager. It felt as though it was longing to escape the dreariness of Texas into the wilds and see new places for itself, not just for me. It felt like the Land Cruiser was sharing my incurable wanderlust. What a great thing, because I can only dream about what is in store for this truck.
Dropping off La Veta Pass, I rejoined the plains along the Rocky Mountain Front and turned north along I25, hitting Pueblo around dusk. From there, feeling impressed with the 21mpg I had averaged since leaving Taos, I pointed the Cruiser towards the hive of activity that is Denver.
Colorado is a curious state in my estimation. For such a mountainous and rugged state, it has been somewhat overrun by an enormous amount of people and infrastructure in the last 25 years. Despite this, the mountains are still beautiful and captivating, and they still somehow feel remote and wild. Drop off the mountains to the east though, and it feels as though you've arrived at the cradle of civilization. Once you enter the clutches of city life at the southern tip of Colorado Springs, it's non-stop until the northern border with Wyoming.
Despite this urban encroachment into such wild beauty, I feel that the Denver area is still beautiful. The mountains to the west are a constant reminder of where you are and the beauty of the natural world, while the city they've carved out is for the most part clean and attractive. It feels modern, with every available amenity you could ask for, while still providing a backdrop unique to the mountain west of the United States. For a while I wanted to live in the Denver area, but was overwhelmed by my love for Montana and stayed put. Despite that, I'll always love coming back down to the Mile High City. Unfortunately I couldn't stop to enjoy it for a bit as I was in a dash north to beat the weather.
My original plan was to camp somewhere north of Boulder, maybe in the vicinity of Fort Collins, somewhere out of the way in the woods and mountains of Colorado where I could put the backcountry camping plans with the Cruiser to the test. As I was trekking north though, I grew more an more concerned by the biggest question mark of the trip: Wyoming.
Wyoming in the winter is it's own beast. Western mountain ranges plunge frigid katabatic winds across open eastern plains of nothingness, with absolutely nothing to stop them save for the folds of the landscape. Unabated, the winds kick up incredible flurries of snow and ice, often making travel dangerous, if not impossible. Often, roads between the northern half and southern half of the state are cut off completely, leaving locals and travelers alike stranded until the storm abates and the state's meager resources can be put into action to clean the roads of powder. The roads were getting worse as a system of storms inched westward. I knew that if I stayed in Colorado, there was a chance I wouldn't be able to get home without a major detour or, at worst, another day of travel. Being a denizen of southern Montana, I know all too well the challenges of crossing Wyoming during a winter storm.
With this in mind, I pulled to a stop outside a Chick-fil-A in Castle Rock. As I ate my chicken sandwich, I checked the road reports and got detailed intel from a friend living in the state. It looked like I was in for snow-covered but passable roads, with black ice and blowing snow the only hazards thus far. I formulated a bit of a plan: I'd push past Fort Collins, past Cheyenne, and into central Wyoming as far as I could that night to beat any road closures, then push on as needed during the day. I jumped back in the Land Cruiser, fueled up, and wove my way out of Castle Rock, struck by what a nice-looking place it was. I'd never been there, but having seen it for myself now, I was definitely planning on returning.
From the clean, relative calm of Castle Rock I sped north into the outskirts of Denver, where I was once again reminded that in big cities, speed limits are merely a suggestion and defensive aggression is the order of the day. Jockeying across five lanes of traffic in the biggest city in this part of the country, I was once again struck by how nice a city Denver is. Despite being jam packed, busy, and growing faster than it can handle, Denver has managed to remain a nice place to be.
Modern buildings, huge car lots, and a football stadium rose up all around me as I was welcomed to the city. Unable to stop, I continued on undeterred into the sleepier relaxation of Fort Collins. Jordan Peterson rationally explained subject after subject through the radio as I cruised north, determining that I was still in good shape for a long, rough push into cowboy country.
Finally, I crossed the border into Wyoming and shortly thereafter pulled off at a truck stop just south of Cheyenne. I fueled up the thirsty Land Cruiser and gathered some additional supplies: more water, jerky, an energy bar, and two coffee drinks. One was to keep me going that night, the other was for the following morning when I woke up, whenever and wherever that happened to be. My plan began to take a more definite shape: I'd fuel up at every major settlement, ensuring I'd never be below 3/4s of a tank for spending the night in the cold weather or, worse, I got stuck and needed the fuel to extricate myself or keep warm until being rescued. My goal would be to get north of Wheatland, where I could find some public chunk of land to sleep on and continue on early in the morning.
Shortly after driving out of Cheyenne, classic Wyoming began to reveal itself, first with blowing wind, then with drifting snow, then black ice. The Land Cruiser marched on, undeterred, as though it was just as eager to meet it's new home as I was to get it there. Not a single slip, slide, or even a bit of tire spin occurred. The truck was planted and firm, as though on rails. The roads deteriorated further.
Not to be beaten though, I pushed on as blowing snow turned into light snowfall blowing out of the east. Light snowfall turned to heavy snowflakes as the wind picked up, traffic all but disappeared, and the roads worsened. The needle on my speedometer steadily fell from 75 to 70, then 60, then 55. Progress across the state turned agonizing. More podcasts distracted me from the ardor as the road developed a thin layer of snow, then nearly an inch.
Eventually, around 10:30 PM, I pulled into Wheatland as the snowfall became thick with malicious intent. Once again I filled the truck to the brim, staying cautious for the journey ahead.
Again pushing north away from the lights of more civilized and sane people, I braved roads that were only getting worse. My plan to sleep near Wheatland was more or less abandoned as I saw the weather get worse. I was still wide awake and capable enough to continue, so my next goal was to get as far as Glendo, maybe Douglas, before calling it a night. Somehow, the roads improved slightly just north of Wheatland, and I was buoyed by the thought, thinking maybe I could easily make Douglas and stay there. Once past Glendo, though, the hammer fell.
Nearly an inch or snow became two, then three, with the occasional drift spanning the full width of the road. I slowed to 50, then 45. The weather closed in around me with a thick pall of snow falling from the sky. The temperature outside plummeted from 45 near Denver to 10 degrees near Glendo. Progress was sketchy, to say the least. At some points, the only reference point I had was the markers on either side of the road, aptly made taller in this part of the state by sticks, in order for plows to locate the tarmac. The road climbed past Douglas, where the tracks of those who had gone before me all but disappeared, trimmed down to a single set of tracks from an 18-wheeler.
Knowing the weather was like this, I thought staying in this area would be foolhardy, so I resolved to push further to a new goal: Casper.
The area between Douglas and Casper is a bit of a blur, both metaphorically and realistically speaking. I remember only the constant snowfall and watching the road markers as Dr. Peterson calmly spoke in my ears and the Land Cruiser stoically marched on under me. The world outside became increasingly hostile, the temperature dropping below zero and the snow only getting more intense. Again, not a single sign of stepping out on the part of the new truck. No misbehavior whatsoever. Just confidence and solidity.
My exhaustion was starting to leak through the surface. My eyes burned.
Blissfully, Casper appeared out of the gloom ahead of me. Not a soul was out on the interstate or on the roads in town. It was as though a switch had been thrown and everything stood still. I pulled off the interstate for another fast fuel up and again took leave of my senses as I thought of pushing onward. The outskirt town of Bar Nunn looked to have a decent place to stop, and I was not wanting to be caught by the storm and stranded. Roads to the west were impassable, and backtracking to the east would be such an enormous detour as to take an impossibly long time.
Instead of being sensible, I plowed on into the darkness.
I realized shortly after passing Bar Nunn that I was pushing too hard and things weren't showing any signs of improvement. In fact, the Land Cruiser was now dutifully pushing through four inches of snow on the road. Without complaint, it must be noted, but bad conditions nonetheless. I was on the verge of calling it when I came up behind a semi truck, chugging along at no more than 30 miles an hour outside Antelope Hills. This sudden roadblock was all the push I needed to get me to stop.
Shortly after I pulled up behind the semi, a parking area appeared off either side of I25. I pulled off amid a bevy of trucks tucked in for the night, found an open spot between two, and parked. Without leaving the truck, I pulled off my sweater, turned the lights off, set the climate control for 65, grabbed a water bottle, and crawled into my bed, now sporting a thick horsehair blanket thanks to a roadside curio shop I had stopped at earlier that day while in New Mexico. Warm, and with the soft woosh of wind around me, I collapsed into a deep unconsciousness just after 2:30 in the morning.
I awoke to a world covered in ice.
At 7 AM, the rushing sound of a semi driving past stirred me from my black sleep and back into the land of the living. I unceremoniously relieved myself, literally ******* into the wind as I clung to the doorframe of my truck. I changed clothes, put on a warm hat, slammed the coffee I had purchased the night before, threw back a handful of trail mix, and headed north once more.
Rejoining the road, I discovered conditions had improved dramatically. Tire tracks were visible ahead of me and the wind had died to merely gale force. I once again turned on my podcasts and held on for the very long, but completely unremarkable, drive to Buffalo, then on to Sheridan.
I really do wish I had more to say about this part of the drive. It was uneventful, though dreadful.
I pulled off the interstate one final time at Sheridan, where I fueled up and stopped at a local coffee kiosk, where I checked in with Garage Journal and Instagram. The barista asked me what I was up to, and I informed her I was returning home to Billings. With a surprised look, she wished me luck on my journey home. I thanked her with a 200% tip and hit the road again.
Not long after Sheridan spans the border with Montana. The road sign welcoming me home was met with a whoop and a feeling of exhilaration for completing such an arduous journey. I did it. I was home. At least, almost.
Curiously, the roads almost immediately cleared up, the skies parted, and the stormy weather abated. It was as though Big Sky Country was giving me a warm welcome back to my home. It felt incredible that after just 36 hours, I had traveled from downtown Dallas to the border with Montana. I had road construction, detours, traffic, and horrific weather. I learned a lot, and got time to myself. I was happy with the journey, and even happier with my purchase.
The new Land Cruiser had been broken in in style, and proved itself incredibly worthy of the position it is to hold in my life. I pulled into my workshop, got out, and stared, watching the thin layer of snow slip off and onto the floor. What a perfect beginning to our story. I cannot wait to watch it unfold.
MacTexas
Well-known member
You mentioned podcast, what is your top five you listen too?
jollygreengiant
Well-known member
I'll echo what the others have said. Excellent writing! You always hear people talking about the big cities but never anything in-between. Your story of your trip really brought the small towns, backroads, and landscape itself into vivid detail.
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
Thank you Logan, I really appreciate that!
1. Pat Gray Unleashed
2. The Jordan B. Peterson Podcast
3. The Jocko Podcast
4. Car Talk
5. The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe
Thanks Jolly!
I think that's a big part of road trips that people don't talk about as much. There's a lot in the leaving and the destination, but for me it's the path in between that's the biggest draw. I love the stuff you see along the way.
zc15
Well-known member
Crazy journey. Way to make the most of the trip!
Also, congrats on getting your top tool box chest. I don't remember if we ever saw that update in the thread
Also, congrats on getting your top tool box chest. I don't remember if we ever saw that update in the thread
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
The timeline is a bit mixed up right now, I need to update everything with some additional photos and explanations with shop updates. I've been so busy in other places.
racer-john
Well-known member
Here's another one from Ontario, Canada. Thoroughly enjoyed reading about your trip and the purchae of the Yota.
jbrentd
Well-known member
I'm not a reader, but you had me...word by word. Glad you made it home safely. I've purchased a couple of cars like that, but they were both about 10 hour drives that I took in straight shots. One was smooth and one was sketchy. Your trip adds a whole new layer of sketch, what with the weather, road conditions and desolate landscape. Did you pack a sidearm for the trip? Maybe I've watched too many scary movies (thanks to my wife), but I would be fearful of crossing paths with someone with bad intentions.
Bob Heine
ALLIANCE MEMBER
Brent, I don't know why but my wife likes scary movies as well. Chainsaws are bad enough used as intended.
OP
wreckdiver1321
Well-known member
Thanks Jim! Glad to have you along.
Thank you Brent, I appreciate that!
No sketchiness involved really, I made sure the dealership was legit and through reviews and whatnot, so I knew I was good there before I even left.
As far as everything else goes, I was pretty well prepared. Wyoming is always a nightmare in the winter, so I packed additional warm layers (three flannels, long johns, thick socks, a sweater, gloves, and a hat) and had more food and water on hand than the trip warranted, enough for three unplanned days. I had several items onboard that would act as a shovel if needed, and I have a lot of experience with stuck vehicle recovery so I knew what I was getting into on that side. The rest was just playing it smart and driving carefully. I also bought some basic gear when I was in Texas: a pocket knife, a lighter, some kindling, a small flashlight.
Desolate country is somewhat of a hallmark of my life, so I'm pretty well versed in what to do there. Really if you get out in the middle of nowhere you're pretty safe to sleep as long as it's public land or somewhere with dispersed camping. I chose the spot in NM because it was a state park with dispersed camping opportunities, so I knew I'd be good there as long as Walter White wasn't parked nearby. If that was the case I'd move on, but I had the whole place to myself.
Where I slept in Wyoming was dictated by the conditions. I left a lot of space between me and the other trucks, and kept the doors locked at all times. My knife was within arm's reach and so was my phone. I parked somewhere with cell service and had good sight lines out of the vehicle as well as a planned escape route if someone smashed my window. All I had to do was floor it because I had already turned my wheels to the right direction.
As far as a gun, no I was unarmed in that regard. Normally I have one but packing one into a carryon is frowned upon as it turns out.
I've crossed paths with a lot of people traveling like this. Just keep your wits about you and be aware of your situation and you'll be fine. Nobody wants an altercation more than you do really. Make yourself harder to attack and you make yourself safer. I actually prefer being in the middle of nowhere like New Mexico as opposed to the situation in Wyoming, but I had to deal with what I was given.
Overall I felt very secure. No concerns from fellow travelers other than a lady begging for gas money in Dallas. I think being 6'1" and 200lbs probably helps too, but really I think keeping a situational awareness mindset at all times and being smart goes a long way.
I imagine that might carry some further concerns for a one-armed feller such as yourself.
