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NOTE: We do as
much of our own mechanical work as possible; but when our expertise is exhausted,
rely on those whose life's calling is to know every part of our truck's diesely
depths. It is to these skilled, honest mechanics that we dedicate this page; we highly regard you!
"75MPH
around a 35MPH corner"
10
A.M.: It's hot. Infernally hot for this time of morning. 95 degrees
Fahrenheit, to be exact. Awaking before dawn to get a head start on the
heat has it's benefits; I've been working on the hydraulic brake system on
one of our trailers for over five hours now. I'm already drenched with
sweat and brake fluid... but the brakes still aren't working.
As the
morning wears on, the thermometer and my frustration level develop into a
mutual routine: They're both rising. Crimony... it's going to be long day!
Some
background to this story:
We are in
Redding, CA . I had been given the opportunity to go to three week
specialized worship school in Redding and, being as my family of five are
glorified modern gypsies, (we've been traveling N. America in full time
Christian ministry for twelve years) we all drove our caravan of two semi
trucks and RV's straight in from Utah to make the deadline for
registration.
In the
middle of class one day I get a phone call from my sister saying that my
dad was in horrible pain and that I needed to get back to the RV's
immediately. Hitching a ride back to the RV park with a friend, we arrived
to find my dad in the throes of a massive heart attack. After calling 911
and the ambulance arriving almost before I hang up (the hospital was less
than a mile away!), we rush to the hospital in a sweaty state of fearful
anxiety.
Long
story short, my dad survived. Barely.
That's
when the heat waves started. First 100º F, then 110º and finally 119º. For
a week! The poor air conditioners in the RV's couldn't keep up. Anything
over 110 degrees and it just couldn't keep it under about ninety-eight
inside.
So there
we were, my dad newly out of the hospital, needing months of rest; and now
this heat! The first few days all we could do was take him to the mall or
some other air conditioned place to stay cool during the day.
But that
gets old fast. It's time to get out of town and head for the cooler
weather on the coast, a trip of about 200 miles. The only problem is my
dad can't drive his truck and I'm going to have to shuttle the rigs over
the mountain pass to the coast, one at a time. No problem.
That's
when I found the brakes on "The Silver Bullet" aren't working. These
brakes are a real pain in the can; custom made from Chrysler and other
name brand parts, it's a feat worthy of a Nobel Peace prize to keep them
working.
12 P.M:
It's no use. I need more time and have to order new parts. I'll just take
the whole family and drive the other truck and trailer (the white trailer
in photo above), which has better brakes, over first. I can come back
tomorrow to fix this piece of junk.
So, after
an especially thorough pre-trip inspection, we head out of Dodge.
In
Northern California, highway 299 is both loved for it's beauty and feared
for it's tight curves and steep grades. There are three big long hills on
the road with 6, 7 and 8% grades respectively.
The truck
I'm driving unfortunately isn't equipped with a compression brake, so the
only means of slowing this behemoth down is through the wheel brakes. A 14
liter diesel engine doesn't have any compression, so using the gears to
keep your speed down is a meager effort at best.
Things
are fine though. We've crossed the first two hills with nary a problem. To
the consternation of the traffic behind me, I just take the downhills
slowly and make up for my lack of a compression brake with low inertia.
We're
halfway down the last hill when I step on the brakes before going around a
corner. All of a sudden they feel dangerously mushy. And there's no place
to pull over even if I could get stopped! The best I can figure is that
the trailer brakes have just failed. Already smoke is pouring from the
truck wheel wells and the brakes are fading fast.
Since I'm
in 5th gear (the truck has ten) I reason that it might be
possible to reach the bottom before I get to a dangerous speed. Babying
the truck brakes, I ease the truck around the first corner, but notice
that my speed is rapidly increasing.
And
there's nothing I can do to slow us down.
I have to
keep shifting up so I don't red-line the engine RPM s.
I'm in 6th
gear and rapidly have to move to 7th.
I hold it
in eighth gear as long as possible, but ninth is just around the corner.
And
speaking of corners... We just passed a sign that reads; SHARP RIGHT TURN
AHEAD, 35 MPH!
Uh... now
would be a good time to start praying.
That's
it. We're done. Speed: 60 MPH. The corner is about a quarter mile
away.
My life
flashes before my eyes. We all get right with God and start calling for
mercy. My poor dad, here he is not supposed to be experiencing any stress!
As the
corner comes into view, I notice that the uphill traffic has a passing
lane, so there are three lanes on the highway going around the corner.
Speed:
70 MPH
I
remember how race car drivers cut corners, decide that's the best option
and begin pulling left into the oncoming lane. Please Jesus, don't let any
cars come by!
A car
appears and honks while driving in the other lane to get around me.
Speed:
75 MPH
I'm in
the left lane.
As we
reach what I judge is the right place, I very gently swing the rig back to
the right and onto the right shoulder, nearly grazing the edge of the
rocks jutting out from the mountain.
We all
feel the center of gravity shift and a slight shudder as the tires
struggle to grip the road. Any sharper of a turn and we'll flip over and
go sailing over the 500' drop on the left side of the road. Any less sharp
of a turn on my part and we'd go sailing out over that same ledge.
But we
don't flip.
Through
some miracle of physics, we've just gone around a corner designated for a
maximum speed of 35 MPH at 75 MPH!
The rig
fishtails a little, but I'm able to corrective steer and keep it going
straight. We made it!
Speed:
85 MPH. We're still going too fast.
That's
when I see it on the road ahead. A short, uphill stretch! As we reach it I
apply what's left of the trucks brakes and to our great joy, feel the
speed drain from the vehicle. There is just enough uphill area to stop us
before it goes back down for another 8 miles. We're safe!
I pull
the truck off the road and order everyone out, expecting a fire from the
burning brakes. Some of the grease was burning on the hubs, but it went
out soon after stopping.
That's
when we see a flag lady come running up over the short incline that just
saved our lives. Oh Lord, no.
But yes,
there was road construction just over the little hill and we most
certainly would have plowed into something had it not been for that little
hill! The flag lady knew what happened as soon as she saw our faces. We
probably looked a sight! Right then and there, we had a prayer time,
thanking God for the little hill and His mercy in allowing our lives to be
spared.
After an
hour of calming down, letting the brakes cool and fixing the short that
caused the trailer brakes to fail, we head back down the mountain.
Speed:
15 MPH
(c) Theron
Walz
"Houston, we have a
negative on that trajectory."
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Part I
5/6/05 - 5/13/05 En route from Houston, TX to
Price, UT. The
first incident occurred when driving over North Pass from La Veta, CO to
Montrose, CO. Papa was ahead of me when he pulled over on the side of the
road and radioed that his trailer brakes had quit working. We tried to
find the problem, but couldn't, so we drove on. On the way through
Montrose to the RV park I noticed the Silver Bullet (our cargo trailer)
seemed to be getting heavier. When we got to the RV park I did a post trip
inspection and found that the brakes had melted into the rotors. They had
gotten so hot that the paint on the rims melted and the axle grease burnt!
The next morning, Papa & I got to work replacing the bearings, shoes,
races, calipers, hydraulic lines and other parts. We had all four wheels
up on blocks for a week!
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Part II After we fixed everything,
it was time to head to Price. Leaving at 11AM on the 14th, we got
just outside of Montrose when Papa radioed from behind that my
trailer wheels were smoking. Off to the the side of the road we went
again. Who knows what went wrong, but the brakes were smoking again.
I told Papa; "I've had it with this thing, let's get our stuff
out and blow it up." He didn't go for it, so I just unhooked the
brake line and drove on with just the truck brakes. The Hwy. Patrol
Officer that stopped behind us didn't like the idea, but what can
you do?
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Part III Just before Grand Junction, CO,
I hear the dreaded call over the radio from Papa again; "I just
blew a tire!" A tire on the fifth-wheel had thrown a tread. We
pulled over at a rest stop and got out to find water leaking all
over the place. The blown tread had broken off a drain hose fitting
on the fresh water tank and drained all our fresh water. About this
time Mama had had enough. She broke down and started asking
the proverbial "why?" question in God's direction. (I'll never
understand women, but I could kind of see her point) We replaced the
tire and drove merrily on our way to Grand Junction and Sam's Club
to buy a bunch of bottled water.
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Part V
By the time
we got to Green River, UT it was 7 PM and getting dark. Half way
between Green River & Price Papa calls on the radio; "We'd better
pull over, I think I just saw something fall off the trailer."
We pull over, look over the wheels on the RV and to our horror see
that one is held on by two studs that are red hot and ready to break
off! By this time Papa & I are already covered in grease from head
to toe anyway, so we sigh and put our "zuit suits" on again and get
to work prying the wheel off the hub. We didn't have any spare studs
and the holes in the rim were ground so far out that it was hopeless
to try to fix it. Anyway it was 9:30 and was dark, so there we
parked for the rest of the night. Ending: Papa drove into
Price with the truck the next morning and found some studs that
might work. Well, they were too big, but nothing our grinder and big
hammer couldn't make fit. We arrived in town at 10 AM and started
setting up the tent. What a day! |
 "Breaker. Looks like we have a wheel detachment, am
proceeding with emergency stop. Over."
11/04 - En route from Lindale, TX to Houston, TX.
While driving down Hwy. 69 one morning, I was doing a regular mirror check when
I thought I saw some smoke coming out of the rear of the trailer. With the word
"fire!" running through my head, I immediately transmitted the above message to
my Dad (actually it sounded more like: "Mayday! All my wheels have just fallen
off and I have lost control. Make sure you find a good home for my guitar; goodbye,
world!!!").
Skidding to a stop in
front of Noonday Auction Yard, I instructed Calvin to grab a jug of water as we
scrambled to the back of the trailer. Thankfully, there was no fire, instead the
wheel bearings had blown out and the whole wheel assembly was dragging on the
ground at a 45° angle. The spindle was red hot and pretty
much ruined. We convinced the gentleman that owns the auction yard to drive his
tractor out on the highway, lift the bumper up with his bucket and hold it there
while I drove the crippled rig into his yard. Ending - We were able to
fix the spindle, buy a new hub and tire and were on the road 2 days later.
Thanks to Darrell & Cody for their help.
"...Ten-Four, I think tha...Oops! There goes another one!"
10/04 - En route from Gold Beach, OR
to Lindale, TX. On our way down to Texas, it seamed like we were blowing
tires faster than balloons at a two year olds birthday party. As soon as we put one on,
another one would blow. Ending - Five new tires
later, we did arrive at our destination.
Pull over, dang it!
4/03 Price, UT We had
just finished tent meetings in Price and were pulling out of town when a car
drove up alongside of Papa and waved for him to stop. So urgent was his gestures
that we stopped right on the highway. After getting out, the man who waved us
down walked up and said, "Your trailer axle just fell off".
Lo, and behold, there the axle
was, dragging on the ground attached by a 1" weld! Thinking quickly, we removed
the tire, used a trucker's winch to attach the axle back to the trailer and
threw the tire in the back of the truck. The man that flagged us down then said
that he knew someone who could fix it for us.
We followed him to a machine
shop in Helper, where the owner put 2 experienced welders to work on our
trailer. Two hours later, he sent us on our way after charging us less than half
what the work was worth. Thank you to those folks!
A swim in the sand
2/01 En Route from Kerrville, TX to Paso Robles, CA. In order to understand
this story, you must know we always have some kind of sign on our rigs making
some reference to the Lord. So consequently we get a lot of "Hawaiian good luck
signals" and other similar responses. Driving along I -
10 in S. California one day, my brother Calvin & I nearly got a mouthful of California
sand. (And an earful, nose full and truck full). We were driving along when a
large motor-home with a tow car started to pass us. When this RV pulled
even with us, I took one look at the driver and knew we were in for it. What
his motives were, I don't know; but when his tow car was even with our truck, he
swerved as hard as he could into our lane. With but a split second to react, I
touched the brakes, swerved right and plunged out into the Mojave desert.
Whoa! Sand is slippery. The rig jack knifed one way and then the other with
Calvin & I calling on Jesus to help us. I finally was able
to steer the rig back on the road, only now we were headed perpendicularly
to the highway! With the trailer nearly jackknifed and pushing us sideways, we felt the truck lift up on two wheels.
I swung the steering wheel to the right and suddenly we were back in business;
WITHOUT a mouthful a nice California sand! Ending: we
pulled off the road right there and had an impromptu prayer meeting, thanking
our Lord for His protection.
Old Red: A tribute
Old Red, you were a dang good truck, but you sure
coulda been a little faster!
For 2 1/2 years we pulled our 20,000 pound fifth wheel
with a 1986 Ford non-turbo 6.9 Diesel 1 ton truck we called "Old Red". To give you an idea
of how dangerous this was, the truck was only rated to carry 10,000lbs; and
that's INCLUDING the truck itself! We rebuilt the engine once, put in 32 new
glow plugs, 4 fuel pumps, 2 alternators, 1 vacuum pump and a hundred other small
parts. We drove all over the Western U.S. with that thing and, boy were we
blessed.
The alternator belt
Salt Lake City, UT circa 1999.
As we were driving along I-15 North of the city, we all heard the
famous "it" sound.
You know that sound that happens when you least expect it, the one that makes
your heart go into palpitations? Usually, the "it" sound waits to happen when
your out in the middle of nowhere, but not this time.
The alternator bracket broke and caused the belt to smash into the fan,
henceforth making the "it" sound. Already having one of those days when you feel
like going back to bed, Papa groaned, coasted to a stop on the side of the road
and got out to take a look under the hood. Just happening to glance between his
feet, he saw a wrench laying on the ground. Picking the 1/2 In. size miracle off
the pavement, he removed all the old parts with it. Then using some of his
mighty mechanical ingenuity, Papa hooked a truckers winch to the fender, then to
the alternator, put the belt on and then tightened the winch.
Ending: We went merrily on our way, ate lunch and went home. We drove with
that setup for a whole week until we could get parts!
The Thermostat
Middle of Nowhere, New Mexico. 12/00.
It was snowing, it
was cold and we were a long way from anywhere. Our spirit's were high however,
for we were spending Christmas with family! Calvin & I were listening to
Mannhiem Steamroller Christmas music when our happy bubble was burst. Papa
came over the radio saying, "Hey, you guys really must be worshipping
back there, I think I see the Glory cloud following you." Now, as
"airy"
as Mannhiem Steamroller is, we probably wouldn't be bringing heaven to
earth with it. No, there was a REAL cloud of white smoke following us. AHA!
Antifreeze. Who can miss that deathly sweet smell? Pulling over to the side of
the road, we put on our coats and got to work.
A bolt had broken off on the thermostat housing and caused
the water to leak out onto the manifold. We had to pull the vacuum pump,
alternator and a bunch of hoses and brackets to get to the problem. The
special, machined bolt had broken off INSIDE the engine block. Taking a chisel,
Papa was able to tap the broken piece around until it came out. Great, now what?
The nearest parts store was over 100 miles away. Well, we got our
Nuts and bolts box out and opened it up. And there, resting off to one side was an
EXACT REPLICA of the bolt that was broken. Neither Papa or I remember ever
seeing it before. Bolting it all back together again were were preparing to
leave when we saw a small part laying off to the side. The thermostat.
Ah, to heaven with it. We put a sheaf of cardboard over the front grill and
drove off. Ending: We had a merry Christmas that year.
"I'm sorry Sir, that line is busy."
Las Vegas, NV. Circa 5/00.
On our way to Salt Lake City, UT, we had stopped in Las
Vegas to visit friends. After a leisurely day of swimming at the Oasis RV Park's
swimming pool, a friend, my brother & I decided that we wanted to get a bite to
eat at Jack in the Box. Turning a right hand corner in front of a gas station, I
saw a gray streak shoot out from the pumps. Next thing we knew, that little gray
streak had slammed into our truck. Still recovering from the whiplash, I was
trying to process what had happened when my friend said, "Hey! He's
getting away!". The car had taken off down the road trying to get away from us!
Well, without further ado, I slammed the pedal to the metal and gave chase. (Those
of you who have ever driven a non-turbo 6.9 diesel know that when you "floor
it", the only thing that results is a gigantic cloud of black smoke).
What a sight we must have been! Driving along a side road in Las Vegas (not a
place you want to be) with the fender caved into the wheel and the front bumper
hanging straight out in front, attached by one rusty bolt.
We didn't get too far before the other car swerved behind a big dumpster, trying
to hide. We pulled behind them only to see the two men running away from their
crippled car. (We found out later that they were illegal immigrants from a sunny
southern country.) Forgetting that we weren't in the nicest part of town, I took
off running after them. God must have been with us, because one of them stopped,
came back to his car and faced the music. (Undoubtedly so his buddy could get
rid of his drugs and what-not.)
Then we really had a scene on our hands. It seems this
gentleman had smashed into another car at the gas station before taking off and
hitting us. Now a very upset African-American man drives up & threatens to beat
the tar out of this Latino guy. We had the makings of a pretty bad fight on our
hands. Being as calm and nice as I could, I explained that what we needed
to do was quiet down, exchange insurance information and call a policeman.
Leaving my friend and my brother to keep an eye on everything, I walked over to
a convenience store to call 911.
What do I hear the first time I've ever dialed
911 in my life? A busy signal! 911 was
busy! I couldn't believe it. I was finally able to convince the store manager that we had a
situation, so he called a special number and invited the LVPD to our little
impromptu gathering. 45 minutes later, they showed up.
Ending: It turns out that the man who hit us had borrowed the car, not
stolen it, and better yet, it had valid insurance! Once in Salt Lake, a friend
offered to paint the new fender while we installed a new bumper and other parts.
We then took the rest of the insurance money and with it purchased another tent
center section needed for the next set of meetings!
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