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PostPosted: May 21, 2009, 9:41 pm 
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I'll bet the waxers liked the blue painters tape as well. :P Sorry about the fender stay failure. I actually thought they were overbuilt.

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PostPosted: May 21, 2009, 10:20 pm 
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Strange, I hadn't noticed that, but nobody commented about the painter's tape. If they had I'd have told them it was there to keep the scuttle on, but I planned to paint over it soon so it would match the rest of the body.

Fender stays are a serious design challenge. They're the worst kind of weight (unsprung) and subject to the worst kind of shock (they move when the wheel moves) and they're only supported on one side. Low drag clamshells, that's what we need. Coming soon--the mussel car (with a tip of the hat to MiataV8)

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PostPosted: May 22, 2009, 12:57 pm 
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(slight OT threadjack related to fender stays)

So why not make them high up and body mounted like the old series 1?

Like this
Image

Perhaps these don't work so well, and of course there is always the "then just use clamshels" point.

Or use wheel pants.
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PostPosted: June 19, 2009, 2:09 pm 
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Man, I haven't posted anything about this trip in a month. I'm going to move this topic from my Recreation list to my Responsibility list 'till I get it done.

So I left Kingman, having done all the damage to sensibilities I felt appropriate. Among the spectators at least, the Locost was a hit, and I don't intend to change my lifestyle (or my company's promotional style) to fit the Show and Shine norm. I used to get similar chidings when I was making ultralights--Air Progress Magazine did a story that started out describing Pterodactyl pilots as the ones you'd see at airshows with sleeping bags over their shoulders, looking for a place to mooch a shower, while our competitors were crisp and clean and wore white shirts and looked professional, and man did Air Progress get letters to the editor on that one...pointing out that we'd flown our ultralights 1800 miles to that air show and the professional-looking guys had come via airliner and shipped in their ultralights via trailer, and we were sleeping under our wings with the Stearman pilots while our competitors were snoozing their motels, and guys saying how they'd rather fly their 1929 Waco open cockpit biplane than trailer it and they look just like Pterodactyl pilots when they've been travelling a few days, and one fellow that wrote how he flew a cropduster and he was just as professional as the airline pilots whose big job was greeting the passengers, which is why airline pilots have a dress code and get duded up in their air conditioned hotel rooms while he's loading his hopper with Gypsy Moth pheremones...anyway, there's a place for people who would rather do than display, I'm one of them and if I ever start trailering street cars to car shows, just shoot me 'cause it'll mean my body was taken over by aliens and I'm gone anyway. So I skipped the award ceremony, I had a friend I wanted to visit on the California coast and it was time to hit the road.

I should maybe have hit the road a bit earlier, the winds started picking up in the afternoon, and it was taking a lot of throttle just to...okay, I was going a little faster than I'd planned, but I wanted to reach the coast before dark. About an hour past the AZ-CA border, the right front fender upper stay failed, thus demonstrating the left fender problem wasn't a fluke. I pulled over, unbolted the rear stay, and stacked the right fender on top of the left one already in the passenger seat.

Gosh was it windy. I didn't have any way to measure the windspeed, but it was blowing hard, and that's only an estimate. My bandana blew straight out (click) my Santa hat blew pretty steeply (click) and while my helmet wasn't as spectacular (click), it was a lot heavier than the other stuff. I'm sorry the still photo isn't an action shot, but when I took the Locost out of gear, it started blowing downwind too (click). There wasn't much traffic so I goofed around with it some, trotting alongside steering it to see how fast it would blow. It got going fast enough to be uncomfortable to keep up with, so I called off the experiement.

That's when the first California Highway Patrolperson showed up...


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PostPosted: June 19, 2009, 4:02 pm 
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AND??? What did CHP have to say??? :D

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PostPosted: June 20, 2009, 1:27 am 
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Well Mikey, she got out of her car with a big smile on her face and said (and I quote) "You've got to be freakin' crazy to drive this!" I'm not making that up. There is a slim possibility she was a Battlestar Galactica fan, but I'm 99% sure the word was "freakin'".

dhempy wrote:
Wonder if you found a lady cop she'd be in the passenger seat, too? ;-)

Nope, the passenger seat was chock full o' fenders by then, but I did ask her if I could take her photo with the car. She told me, "We prefer you don't," so okay, I didn't--it sounded like a policy statement and I'm sure the list of things I'd prefer the CHP not do exceeds the list of things they'd prefer I not do, so I didn't say "Oh c'mon, pulEEEZE?" I asked if she'd mind if I used her name in this travel log, I told her I use first names only, she told me her name but asked that I not use it on the internet. She'd never seen a Locost before and thought it looked like great fun, and Chet, she thought your side impact bars were an excellent idea. I tied down the fenders while she spotted for me, she was parked behind me with the rear window light flashing, most folks gave us lots of room and it was nice having somebody to talk with. I got back on board, buckled up, she complemented Chet's car again (and said she'd pass along the web site info to some people she thought might be interested) and wished me a safe and sunny trip back home. She said she'd pull out first so I could see the traffic behind me and I could follow at my leisure. Of course as soon as she pulled out, I grabbed my camera and got a pic of the departing CHP car, with its back window light still lit.

And ten seconds later, there was another highway patrolperson at my side. I took my helmet off, we introduced ourselves, I told her I'd just finished speaking with her colleauge (I gave her full name, figuring it couldn't hurt--the badges only show first intial and last name) and wondered if they'd been in contact, she said, "No, I was interested because you went past me about half an hour ago. This thing moves out pretty good, doesn't it?" She was smiling, but still, I didn't remember passing her, and there wasn't a whole lot of cover for the last 20 miles, which indicated that either she had gone to some trouble to find cover or I hadn't been paying attention when I probably should have. I gave a slightly sheepish smile and said, "Only within the limits of safety and the law." She laughed and said, "Of course. You were making sure you wouldn't get rear ended."

This didn't seem the best time to point out that my only recent accident experience indeed involved getting rear ended. We talked some more, it stayed friendly, I never asked where she'd spotted me or how well I was "moving out" but I did agree that I could probably compromise my safety procedures a bit and accept a greater possibility of being overtaken, and she agreed that public safety would be better served if I got back on the road rather than hanging around with her and filling out forms. "I already have plenty of paperwork," she said. I asked if I could take her picture for this trip log I was writing and she said, "We prefer you don't," so I figure that's the standard answer.

Both officers seemed more interested in safety than in the letter of the law. Officer K inspected the fender stays and assured herself they weren't going to get hung up in the tires, but was willing to let me skate on my fender placement (the passenger's seat). Officer J insisted I slow down in the future, but had a water-under-the-bridge attitude about my previous indiscretions. And so we parted ways, like sheep passing in the night, never to meet again. Presuming I behave myself.

At my next gas stop, both attendents recognized me from Brink. "Weren't you on television, that race to Vegas?" Yep, that was me. "I recognized the car, but the wheels are different, aren't they?" I explained that Chet's car was MAX's stunt double and had about five times the horsepower of the Locost they saw on the tube. The Science Channel had run the Brink episode again, apparently, which explained why some of the Route 66 spectators had mentioned it as well.

I missed my turnoff to the coast and ended up in Lake Elsinore, so I took CA-74 over the hills--a lovely Locost road if it hadn't been clogged with traffic. Sportbikes galore, but the most interesting/unusual/exotic car I saw was my own...with the possible exception of a 2CV with a pretty blond behind the wheel.


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PostPosted: June 20, 2009, 7:09 am 
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Jack, it's about insecurity. How are people supposed to feel good about themselves without looking down on others, knowing their place in the pecking order?

Airline pilots get put on a pedestal by passengers who have no clue as to what it takes to get in that seat.

I'm guessing you were an only child or first born. Your inner child seems to be doing just fine.

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PostPosted: June 21, 2009, 9:58 pm 
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LAGUNA NIGUEL, CA: This is Andrea. She put one of her Beemers outside overnight so the Locost could be inside overnight. We took her BMW wagon to breakfast and...

By the way, if I was one of those guys who aggrandizes his way with women, I wouldn't interrupt myself with this paragraph, but I'd like y'all to know that Andrea is one of my oldest and dearest friends, and she's the reason I put Laguna Niguel on my route home to Oregon. I've known her more than half her life and a goodly portion of mine. If I didn't mention this, there are readers who would put two and two together* and conclude, "Jack mentioned seeing a pretty blond in a 2CV late yesterday, now his Locost is parked in a garage overnight and--do my eyes deceive me--isn't that a 2CV in there with it? Nudge nudge wink wink!" Yes, that's a 2CV, but it's a different 2CV and a different pretty blond (Andrea told me there are a few 2CVs around her area...and since her area is LA to San Diego and has maybe 20 million people living in it, I shouldn't be surprised) and when you read me talking with Andrea like we're close friends, it's not because I'm a fast mover, it's because I've been working on this friendship for a quarter of a century. Thus endeth the full disclosure portion of this posting.

...her BMW wagon to breakfast and I've never ridden in a vehicle (not ground-based, at least) with so many bells and whistles; it's like the anti-Locost. She told me she knows somebody with (I think she said a Mercedes of some sort) that puts hers to shame, hers tells you when you're getting close to planters and pedestrians but the one she was telling me about alerts you if you start drifting out of your lane. I told her my Locost alerts me when I'm drifting--all four tires squeal.

Since she drives a 2CV, she's familiar with the parade float aspect of driving an unusual car. She told me one way to deal with know-it-alls is to agree with everything they say. When somebody tells her something dumb like, "That's a Messerschmitt," she says "Why yes, how did you know?" and lets them ramble on about how they used to own one.

Back at the house, we got to talking about hood ornaments and the lack of one on the Locost, so naturally, we mounted her angel wings on the nose. Sadly, they interfered with forward vision and would probably have contributed to lift, so we took them off before I left.

Nice wings. I don't know the whole story of how Andrea ended up on earth--maybe she retired from the angel business, but then again, maybe she's fallen.

PS--Right on, MiataV8, I'm a first born. My inner child and I get along quite well, now that I've learned not to give him my MasterCard and the car keys.

*As my father used to say, "Two and two equal five, for very large values of two."


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PostPosted: June 21, 2009, 10:37 pm 
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Hi Jack. Great story. One thing though, you commented about "and if I ever start trailering street cars to car shows, just shoot me 'cause it'll mean my body was taken over by aliens and I'm gone anyway. " (I don't know how to add comments). I will be trailering mine to the Mid-West gathering this weekend as it is running like crap :x . Can't figure what has happened. Appears to be wiring or computer. I was going to drive the 1300 mile round trip but I don't want to be left on the side of the road when I know there is a problem before leaving. That way I can still be at the event and meet a lot of names I can put faces to. I agree with the trailer queen status.

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PostPosted: June 21, 2009, 11:21 pm 
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Jack, due to the frequency of playing in the weather you've endured, I think you need this hood ornament.

Image

Get it here:
http://billingsartworks.com/products_convoyDuck.php


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PostPosted: June 24, 2009, 2:30 am 
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I left Andrea mid-afternoon, figuring 12 hours driving would get me home if I went the most direct route (I-5) or 16 hours if I went inland up 395 through Reno...tempting, but even though it was Sunday, the LA traffic wore me down and the weather folks were less than reassuring, and besides, I was getting homesick, so I stayed on the I-5 four lane (actually 10 lane in spots through LA) and called it a day around 10PM in Dunnigan.

Since it wasn't raining that evening, and the weather folks had no such promises for the next morning, I filled the tank before hunting up a bite to eat and a motel room. As I was filling, a pickup truck pulled up and Deanna popped out like a treat from a Skinner box. She had never seen such a cute car; could she take a picture of it, how do you get in it, could she sit in it, and (handing her camera to a spectator--between her effervescence and Chet's Locost, we'd drawn a bit of a crowd) could she have a picture of me and her with the car?

Of course and may I take a picture of you taking a picture of it, you just grab the roll bar to steady yourself and step in, of course you can, and (handing my camera to the same spectator) of course and I'd like a shot of that myself. I sat down on the side bar.

"It's getting cold," she said as she joined me on the side bar. "Are you cold?"

Well no, I'm not, but I know my limits. "Uh...I'm just wondering, are you thirty years old?"

"No I'm not thirty!" she said. "Do I look thirty?"

Speaking of Skinner boxes, this would be a perfect freshman psych class experiment: take a group of men 15 to 95, wire them all up with stomach muscle tensionometers, and bring Deanna into the room. You'll note from the photo that I was wearing every stitch of clothing I had with me and I looked little like Peter Pan and much like Peter Panda, yet (not visible in the photo) thanks to culture and/or heredity, I was nevertheless tightening my tummy in an apparent conditioned reflex. Anyway, no she did not look thirty, but gauging from my tummy muscles, some part of me may have been hoping she was a vampire.

"No of course not, you don't look thirty, you've just done so much in your life already..." and so on I said, scootching her down to the low end of the side bar and perching myself on the fender end. She left shortly thereafter, hopefully headed for somewhere warm.

At the fast foodery across the street, I got teased some for my antics at the gas station, and may have deserved it.

[note: the vampire thing is the punch line of a joke that started at the beginning of page 6]


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PostPosted: June 24, 2009, 1:50 pm 
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"Peter Panda"

You never fail to make some nicely setup, perfectly amusing word joke. I think you might like Patrick O'Brian's "Aubrey & Maturin" series.

'You are unjust to wombats, Jack; and you were unjust to my three-toed sloth..."


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PostPosted: June 24, 2009, 4:14 pm 
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I've been trying, but I remain speechless.

I do think I detect a very slight lean in Jack's posture. I think that were the occasion to rise, even something so unlikely as a meteor, he is absolutely prepared to fling himself over her in complete disregard to his own safety. I think it's something in the genes.

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PostPosted: June 25, 2009, 1:52 am 
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:-) Ah, Horizonjob, you should maybe run that last line through your spellchecker. And milo, I stole that Peter Panda line from my favorite riding mechanic and long time adventuring accomplice Sharon, who quoted it as her reason not to dress as Peter Pan (the new Number 2 at a costume ball, for you Prisoner fans) during Escape from Berkeley last year. That's the secret to building a reputation as a wit--hang out with witty people and save up everything they say. Back to the blog.

There was a woman (nearer my chronological peer group) and her kids (teens and 20s) at the fast food place, the family was moving from somewhere in California to Bend, Oregon. They'd been gassing up when I was at the filling station, and the mom had found my interaction with Deanna quite amusing. I assured her I didn't start it, and that from both the personal and professional side of things, I prefer to play with kids my own age. I'm not sure she bought my story, but the honest truth is, if she'd come up and told me how much she loved my car etc etc I'd have been a lot more intrigued than I was with Deanna, not to mention a lot more comfortable, and I felt it was a bit unfair for her to think I'd selected a 20-something rather than a late-40-early-50-something (I didn't ask) for my photos, when the reality was, Deanna had selected herself while (name withheld) had hung back with her kids and cats. I told her that these cars are my career and that she (Ms. Withheld) had exactly the look I was looking for in a print ad--slightly classier and slightly younger than me, but not so much as to make me look ridiculous.

I gave her my web site address, but I haven't heard from her since, so I suspect she made a better impression on me than I did on her. There's a fair chance that she tossed the address in the trash the minute I hit the door, and that she told her sons, "I hope you mature more gracefully than that clown," and maybe they will. On the other hand, I've heard that "mature man" is an oxymoron, like "jumbo shrimp" or "military intelligence."

I checked into the nearest motel, threw the tarp over the cockpit, went to my room, plugged in my laptop, and mapquested Dunnigan to Cave Junction. 330 miles, five hours to go. I logged on to weather.com and called up the current weather map for the route. Looking good, I said to myself, drifting off to blissful slumber.

As I slept, the weather map gained blotches of color, mostly greens and pink. When I awoke the next morning, I noted the change and said to myself, Maybe six hours. I also said, I've got my rain gear, how wet can I get? I was soon to find out.

Here's the map again, with my route traced over it in yellow.


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PostPosted: June 27, 2009, 8:25 am 
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Let's see, where was I? Oh yeah...
JackMcCornack wrote:
I also said, I've got my rain gear, how wet can I get? I was soon to find out.
I hate to ruin the surprise, but the answer is, as wet as if one put on three pair of pants with vinyl rain pants on top, two t-shirts, a shirt, a sweat shirt, a down jacket, and a rain jacket...and jumped in a swimming pool.

I put my luggage in garbage bags (garbage bags work great, by the way, for keeping things dry--I recommend construction grade garbage bags from Home Lowe's etc), dressed as described above, and headed north on the last leg of my journey. I have no photos to prove it was raining (my camera was in a ziplock sandwich bag in my tool bag in a garbage bag, and a good thing, too) but I went from dry to drizzle in a few miles, and for the next 300 miles, went gradually from drizzle to downpour to deluge.

I was soaked to the skin by the time I hit Red Bluff, after a hundred miles of dueling drizzle/downpour/drizzle. The downpour moments were intense enough to put standing water on the freeway--the front wheels spit off constant spray at my left arm and side, but when I 'd hit puddles, they'd shoot rooster tails so high that from the driver's seat, the tops of the rooster tails would get lost in the clouds. By Weed (another hundred miles) the downpour had won, the rooster tails were a steady companion, and I was passing groups of tow trucks and policement, their lights a-flashin', as they dealt with those less fortunate than me--a spun semi here, a rolled SUV there. I got the hard eyed "Don't you know it's raining?" look from some of the police directing us around the wrecks, I smiled behind my bandana and gave them a jaunty wave with my windshield squeegee, they glared back but stayed at their posts. I made it almost to Yreka--about 20 miles from the Oregon border--before I noted a set of flashing lights that weren't getting smaller in my rear view mirror. Oh yes, those were for me, all right.

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