A wierd thing happened on the way to...

[390Nut]

Reading t-dooy's thread: http://www.fordification.com/forum/view ... =3&t=56315 got me reminisicing about some of the memories I have of stuff happening on the side of the road, and I thought it would be cool to start up a thread for everyone to add to. Sort of like the "worst stuck" thread, but not necessarily for the offroad guys.

Anything goes, but it had to have happened on the road (street, backroad, highway, doesnt matter) and involve a mechanical/electrical failure of some sort.
Here is one of the greatest roadside moments of my life, that I will carry with me all of my days. Still remember it like it was yesterday.

Had a plug come out of the engine on a `60's VW Microbus on the freeway once. My bro-in-law and I were stoned drunk, and it lost comnpression and ran like crap, so he pulled over. Found the plug on the side and put it back, replaced the wire and were off. Only problem was, there was heavy traffic, so he tried to dump the clutch. It moved about three feet and stopped dead in it's tracks.

Get out to take another look. Front mount bolt (only one for the transmission side on a VW) had sheared off, and the rear part of the engine was now sitting on the pavement.

So out come the tools, and a few very big rocks from the embankment. Lifted the engine, tool box went under it. Lifted higher, a big rock went on top of the tool box. Finally getting it leveraged into place when a sherrif pulls in behind us.

Sherrif: "what'r ya doin under there?"

Us: "Oh HEY officer, the engine fell out we're putting it back in!" (keep in mind we had just downed several pitchers of beer a half hour before this)

Sherrif: "Huh?" (very strange look)

Us: "Yep, engine fell out. See?" (we let the engine fall back down onto the rock)

Sherrif: "Holy Crap! First time I've ever seen anything like that!" (he's laughing. hard.)

Me: "First time we've been in this situation too, sir!" (me, and thinking, here I am on the side of the freeway, replacing an engine in a VW, seriously drunk, talking to a sherrif's deputy who at any moment might get a whif of the excessive beer smell we both must have had, who is laughing his a$$ off at us. We were downwind, thankfully!)

Sherrif: "You boys need a hand?"

Bro-in-law: "Nah, we're almost there."

Sherrif: "Ok, you boys take care and have a good day!"

Me: "Damn, I thought I was going to jail."

Bro-in-law: "Good thing you didn't, `cuz I would have gone too, and the quarter pound of pot under the seat would have gone into his private stash."

Me: Quarter pound of.. wait, WHAT?"

I didn't even know he had it. I was 17 at the time.

[390Nut]

Nobody else got any crazy stories they are willing to share?

Got to be some good ones out there.

[Racer Z]

I've got one that's long-winded. Sit back and relax, grab a coffee or a beer and have a good laugh.

Back in the late 60's, when I was about 10, my father built a "Dune Buggy". It was all the rage back then. This was a VW Bug with a fiberglass body (open top) and a shortened wheelbase. And it was street legal.

In the early 80's, my younger brother and I took it for a spin one day. Patrick was in his late teens and I was in my early 20's. We drove up to a section of road called Dirt Mulholland. Back then it was still open to traffic, now it is closed and set-up as a bicycle/walking trail. This is an eight mile section of Mulholland Drive between Topanga Canyon Blvd and Sepulveda Blvd in the Santa Monica Mountains of the Los Angeles, Ca area.

We were having fun getting squirrelly around the corners in the dirt. But we were still bored on the clear and warm Sunday afternoon. We saw a gated dirt road leading down a steep canyon to a private farm/ranch. Since we could drive around the gate and over the embankment, we did, just to see what was down there.

We were having fun going down the steep canyon, dodging small boulders and cactus. After a while the canyon flattened out. Then we hit a big rock. I wasn't driving, so it wasn't my fault! We got out to see why the car wasn't moving. The front wheels were point in different directions and one tire had gone flat. We had bent a tie-rod.

We each grabbed a wheel and pushed and pulled until the wheels were better aligned. The flat tire didn't mean a whole lot as there was only 300 pounds at front bumper and these tires had 8-ply sidewalls.

Then we turned around and started going back up the hill. After a bit we hit a deep rut and had get out and re-adjust the front wheels again. We got a bit further up the hill and found another big rock that changed our alignment one more time. I'm not sure how many times we had to stop and fix the front wheels.

Then we ran out of gas. We had started with a full tank and most certainly had not used up even a quarter of it yet. We found that the bent tie-rod had hit the fuel line as it came out of the gas tank and broke the fuel line off. We then looked back and saw the ominous wet trail. This last boulder had flexed the tie-rod once to many times and now it had broke into two pieces.

There we were. Stuck! At the bottom of a road that had clearly been marked "Private - Do Not Enter". We had a flat tire, a broken tie-rod, a broken fuel line and were out of gas. This was long before cell phones and we had no idea how far away a pay phone was. We weren't even sure which direction we should go.

We walked up the canyon and back towards the paved road we had come in on. We finally got to the paved road to see two guy we knew (worked with, but not buddies) drive by. We hooted and hollered and jumped up and down. They threw empty beer cans at us and floored it as they raced past.

We kept walking. This was the desolated area of Los Angeles. We had a nice view of Los Angeles to the south and The Valley to the north. We were on the top of the ridge looking down. But no houses or private drives on this road. We passed a fire station the was abandoned. We finally found a church up in the middle of nowhere. Oh my, there was a working pay phone too. We had only walked 10 or fifteen miles. Maybe it was closer to 8, but it felt like 100. And there was water! We had been walking in the desert sun without shade or water.

We called several friends before one was at home to answer. This was before answering machines had become common and affordable. Unlike today, if a person wanted to live on the phone, they had to stay at home.

So we told "Wiggy" what tools and parts to bring and how to get to this church, and waited. ... and waited....and waited. We finally called him and asked if he was going to come help us. He said, "I got all the stuff just like you said. Stopped and got gas and two blocks later the police stopped me. They gave me a ticket for having an 'ugly car', so I went home and parked it." . . . "No, I didn't think to send someone else to help you."

Wiggy had stayed true to his name, he wigged out when things got tough. Which is why everybody called him Wiggy.

We were between a rock and a hard place now. We had called all our friends we could trust and Wiggy too. Now we had to call in the reserves, the big guns. We called our Dad. That was the last thing we wanted, was to tell him what we had done and the decisions we had made, and we had used his car to do it in.

So Dad came through, like always. He went to Wiggy's and got the stuff we needed. Dad and our other brother, Pete, showed up at the church in recored time, with water and food to boot. Dad drove us to the chained gate and parked it.

We all walked down to the Buggy and we fixed it. The broken fuel line was a bolt-on part, luckily. We replaced the broken tie-rod and poured a gallon of gas in the tank. Then the four of us hopped in and drove up the hill to where the car was parked.

At some point, near the end of all this, I asked Dad why he hadn't punished us. He said, "After all that you've been through today, I think that's punishment enough."

edit: fixed a few spelling errors.

[390Nut]

I think telling Dad would have had to be the hardest part of that entire ordeal!

[mlheppl]

Great stories!
Back in 86 I was out of work and my soon to be father in law offered me a job just outside of Carson City, NV. I lived in Grants, NM and was 22 at the time. My wife (girlfriendat the time) packed up all of our belongings into an 18ft camp trailer and 79 blazer. Donna drove the T bird and I drove the blazer pulling the camper. We left New Mexico on a Friday morning. we got a late start, so we only made it as far as Kingman AZ on day one. Day one was fairly uneventful save a few squirrely moments when the camper decided to push instead of being pulled. Man those things suck for towing.

Over breakfast I told Donna that I didn't wnt to drive over Hoover dam as the road down into Hoover dam was pretty steep and lots of curves. I had already had enough "fun" with the trailer trying to pass me the day before. We decided to go into California and then cut back up to Las Vegas. It would only add a couple of hours to the trip and would be flatter. we left Kingman at about 7:00 in the morning. It wasn't very long and the blazer started running warm. Then it got hot, si I pulled over to let it cool. Checked the coolant level and everthing looked good. I looked the radiator over and didn't see any damage. by the time I got to Needles, It started to get hot again. WTF? this blazer had never given me any issues with overheating. I had a couple of 5 gallon gas cans, so I filled them with water while in Needles. Just in case....

I didn't know much about vehicles and I didn't own any tools. From Needles it should have been about 3 hours to Vegas. Should have been......We were now on the journey straight into hell. Drive 25 to 30 miles then overheat. Pull over to let the engine cool down and check/add water. Go again and repeat this process... over and over and over again. By 3:00 in the afternoon I was exhausted from the frustration and stress of the situation. I was still 100 miles away from Las Vegas. We had passed a few small towns, but it was Sunday and there were no parts places or stores to buy some wrenches were open. I was feeling lucky just to be able to refill the water jugs. By this time the motor was starting to feel the strain of the repeated overheating process and when it would get hot, the motor would loose power and die.

Somewhere between 7:00 and 8:00 that night we were just a few miles outside of vegas. We were on the side of the road letting me and the blazer cool off. We decided to stay the night in Vegas and In the morning I would buy some tools and I would call my Dad for guidance. Donna wanted to stay at Circus Circus so the kids (3 and 4 yrs old) watch the show as they had had a rough day. I didn't care where we stayed as long as I could get an alcohol infusion. By then it was cooling down a bit outside and I was going a little bit longer between overheating spells. I told Donna to follow right behind me in case the Blazer acted up again. Neither of us knew how to get to Circus Circus but figured we'd see signs pointing the way.

We had just got into Vegas traffic and I see my wifes green T-bird whip out around me and pass on by. Just about the time that her tail lights dissapear around the semi in front of me, the blazer overheats again. Great, now I'm in city traffic, the blazer has stalled again and Donna is nowhere in sight. I coast over to the shoulder. By this time I'm mad enough that if I had a rope, I might have been able to pull the blazer and camper into the circus circus parking lot. Wherever in the hell that is.

At this point, I'm out of water, out of cigarettes, out of patience and if I would of had 5 gallons of gas I may have torched the whole rig. While I'm waiting for the blazer to cool, I keep waiting for Donna to pull up behind me. She never does. Great! The only thing I know to do is head to circus circus where we said we'd stay the night. Finally the blazer cools off and I head out trying to find my way to circus circus. I stumble across circus circus and start looking for the T-bird in the parking lot. Finally I found it and there was Donna crying uncontrollably. Shwe tells me I thought I lost you. I will omit my response to her, but it was less than pleasant. (I'm embarrased about it now actually).
It turns out circus circus is out of rooms so we get a room in some fleabag hotel. Thenext morning I get some wrenches and a thermostat (at my Dad's suggestion). Put the new Thermostat in and viola no more heating problems. Probably not the greatest story, but that was my worst roadtrip nightmare.

[Racer Z]

That reminds me of the time I blew up a taxicab.

I drove a taxi in Los Angeles for a short time. I got a ride out of the Port (LAX aka Los Angeles International Airport) to Norwalk, CA. It was a long drive on a hot day through the desert. I was taking a young marine home on his leave. Dropped him off, got paid and headed home. Everything seemed fine.

Soon the temp gauge started to climb. I pulled off and check things the best I could. I called the gas station that owned the cab and they said, "Make sure it has oil and water and drive it home." That's a direct quote.

So I did. After a while the needle made it all the way past the max heat mark. I stopped at a gas station and let cool a bit, checked the water and oil, added a quart and called them again. "Make sure it has oil and water and drive it home."

Off I went. Their car, their rules. Needle pegging the hot side trying to bend the pin. Finally it got so hot it was pinging and barely running. I pulled into yet another gas station and checked it over. Now for the first time it was low on water. With the motor running, I added water with a hose. It would not fill, just kept taking water. Finally I walked around to see water running out the tailpipe as fast as I was putting it in the radiator.

So I called them, again. Now they were pissed at me. I don't remember how I got home, but I left the cab there, about halfway home. It had been a two hour drive to where I had dropped off the Marine.

A few days later I saw this cab in the shop that owned it. They were replacing both heads. These morons now expected me to pay for the new heads. But I had done exactly what they said to do, "Make sure it has oil and water and drive it home." I told them like it was. If they had of had it towed in from where it first overheated, the heads would not have been damaged.

This ended my career as a taxi driver. And NO, I did not pay for the repairs.

[bigmerc2003]

I had a buddy that was accident proned, he has an old Bronco II that was always cracking heads and leaving him somewhere. So one day the head cracks, engine dies so his dad and brother go to pick him and the B2 up with a 2 wheel car dolly. They yell and throw stuff load up the truck and drive off, but while cruising down the expressway they notice a B2 very similar to theres riding next to them and then curve off to the ditch, with all the yelling they never straped it down and the first bump sent it off to the ditch. He later got a full size bronco, beat it up, tore up the motor, went and got a newer one and threw it in the back (the top and gate were off at the time) and being the usual goof he was jumped a set of railroad tracks, flipped the new engine up and out of the back and drug it home about a mile. The truck was too loud to hear the block dragging and the only thing that kept the block linked to the truck was the heavy duty tarp and rope he wrapped it in. Ahhh the good old days