Wastelands of Suburbia

Happy Birthday.

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 01:52:00 +0000

So Dr. Girlfriend's little guy, Chris, had a birthday this week, and rather than go with the typical Super Mario Brothers pi offering, I figured I would get him his first toolbox and set of tools. After an hour and close to a hundred bucks at Harbor Freight, he had a pretty impressive set of starter tools, that, if forgotten, lost, stolen, or broken, would, in the end, just have been Harbor Freight tools. We are slowly going through everything to learn what does what.

With all that stuff, you need a decent toolbox. I was initially just going to get him your basic plastic Stanley (Or similar) box, then I thought about it and asked "What would I want?" The answer was metal. I managed to scrounge up this vintage blue hammertone toolbox at my folk's house. It had been my grandmother's for craft stuff, so it was not only a nice solid box but a nice solid heirloom. So I cleaned up the outer finish with just a wee bit of Minwax Furniture Refinisher and #0000 steel wool to take off the paint spatter and leave just the original hammertone paint. I then hit it with some Meguiar's Cleaner Wax and my yard sale buffer. Brought the shine back quite nicely if I say so m'seff. Finally, I topped it off with a custom set of decals with his name-you can pick ones up like this off Ebay, they are two-layer, but come on one transfer film like any other die or laser cut decals. For about eight bucks, you can really make something pop with personalization.

The toolbox went over like no one's business-we are carefully choosing our first project now. Maybe a birdhouse?

PLUM CRAZY.

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 03:44:00 +0000

(Imagine, if you will, a time when a purple car was feared on the road.)

OK, so things have been a bit car and bike-heavy lately. My apologies to those looking for the little kitschies of the past, they come in dribs and drabs. I've been working on various projects and I'm just getting around to posting these shots from a few weeks ago. While at the lovely Dr. Girlfriend's lair, we caught a small car show, and I saw a few Mopars. My friend b (aka brian) is a bit of a Mopar nut so I never hesitate to hook him up with a few shots of my finds. I saw this squadron of Road Runners and GTXs-the one to the left is tan, the right blue, and of course this Plum Crazy purple in the leader's position. The over the top colors of the late late 60s and early 70s Mopars were the pinnacle of craziness at the time, and no fly yellow Ford Splash or Chevy SSR is ever going to be able to do a thing about it.

(and....in blue)

I feel like I'm phoning this one in, but it's late-more later.

Days Of Thunder Past...

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 18:27:00 +0000

(The size of this post really does not give my new camera's resolution justice-click the photo for a better look)

As a resident of the Pocono Mountains, I love when race weekend comes to the famed Tri-Oval at Pocono Raceway-the hysteria is palpable as you see car haulers, RVs, vendors, and thousands of race fans pour into town for three days of speed,sun and beer. I'm not as much a NASCAR fan as I once was, but I had to snap a picture of Jimmy Spencer's Heinz 57 Pontiac Grand Prix, circa approximately 1990. The Friday's logo is not period perfect, but considering it sits in front of a Friday's in Wilkes-Barre, about twenty minutes from the track, I'll let it slide, as it's obviously for promotional purposes. While I was certainly not a pre-teen in 1990, I did enjoy building the Monogram model kit of this car:

(Of course the driver of the car at the time was Hut Stricklin, seen molded in plastic at bottom right. Jimmy would have been too expensive to cast even in plastic, given his size in 1990.)
NASCAR has jumped the shark for me-the fancy graphics on TV and the WWE-ness of it turns me away. I like the old days when it was grittier and no one knew much about it north of the Mason Dixon line. But I'm halfway to Old Fart now, so what do you expect?

The Sweet, Crunchy Joy of Recognition.

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Sun, 03 May 2009 00:04:00 +0000

Whilst cruising through Berwick, PA with the beautiful Dr. Girlfriend recently, I began to react to a landmark with familiarity....this was odd, you see, because I had never been down this particular street before in my life....the small car lot sales office above is what I saw....

For the life of me, I could not remember at first where I had seen it, but it soon came to me-it is a vintage Shell station-you see, in a previous life I was a gas jockey, and quickly became interested in the various architectures of different oil companies' stations..This small Shell dates back to the 1930s if I am not mistaken. Here's a stock photo of one:

(This photo is probably originally from company literature...it has appeared in various books I have read and owned about gas stations, so I can't really properly credit it.)

One of the tactics used in the early days of gas stations was the 'homey' design of stations like the one you see here-the idea was, if a person felt as if they were going to someone's home, they would be more comfortable with pulling in for gas. As more women began driving during and after WWII, this and other methods were employed to get their business. Texaco's "Registered" restrooms was one such method-a company inspector would make rounds to franchises and check the restrooms for cleanliness, giving them their seal of approval. Texaco then used this in their ad campaigns, with the slogan "Something a Lady Appreciates". The signs also appeared outside the station restrooms:

Sometime later, the restrooms became "certified"-it is likely the certification was merely with Texaco, not unlike the "registration" before it... But "certification" sure sounds official enough when you are needing to badly take a dump and are worried about pubic crabs being able to pole-vault out of an unfamiliar john via tossed out matches floating in the water. For you, the travelling shitter, this was surely a relieving sight:

(Aahhhhh....no chance of unwanted pregnancy at THIS unfamiliar gas station! It's CERTIFIED!)

Speaking of Texaco, on another side street we spotted THIS used car lot, which has the giveaway green and white porcelain enameled exterior that could only come from the Sign of The Star:

I've been poking around for a picture of a 'corner' design Texaco Station like this one, in original Texaco livery-if anyone sees one, let me know, I want to post it for comparison.

The Ultimate in Luxury, To Be Sure?

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 11:50:00 +0000

Perhaps circa 1969...Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Tenny Town Motel, Route 11, outside Bloomsburg, PA. This sign has surely remained unchanged as long as I have been alive, save for maybe a few repairs over the decades. The candle is no doubt part of a trend I have noticed in marketing of motels of this era-the notion of being available even late-the defunct Lamplighter chain of hotels with their name also hint at this trend, and of course most recently the Motel 6 slogan of "we'll leave the light on for ya" hearkens back to this folksy trend from a time when the guy behind the desk was probably on the deed as well. My apologies for shooting in the sun-Dr. Girlfriend and I were stopped momentarily, and since by sheer sake of taking pictures Homeland Security now labels you a terrorist, I had to work quick. I did get this nice closeup however, in better light:

(COLOR TV! By RCA no less! I want that little piece of vacu-formed goodness so bad it hurts-if this place ever closes down, I am sooo watching the roll-off for that thing.)

A Sad Passage of Time, and Hope for One Possible Future.

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Sat, 18 Apr 2009 02:13:00 +0000

(Beauty and Sadness....all at once-a slice of life, a look at a simpler time.)

Take a look at the above picture. Look at the twinkling chrome of a new motorcycle on a glorious late spring day. Look at a bike that has yet to see Reagan getting shot, Yuppies, or the fall of the Berlin Wall. Breathe deep and note the mind goes to fresh cut grass, the faint whiff of gasoline, the unmistakably fresh smell of May. Smile at styling trends like sissy bars and aftermarket fairings, that have yet to become passe' or ridiculous with the rolling of the years and fleeting and fickle tastes of the Human Race. Revel in the nostalgia of this literal snapshot of time each and every time you see an old Honda CB750. Like this one:

(Reality-always more ugly, more painful to look at-the realization of One's Own Mortality in the form of a rusted hunk of metal and rubber and fiberglass.)

The same bike-the VERY same bike-just this month. The owner was nice enough to provide 'before' and 'after' pics to potential Craigslist buyers, and Jon was nice enough to provide them to me, for my endless contemplation and full range of emotions.

What stories could it now tell? How many miles? How many riders, how many passengers on how many of those countless spring and summer days? How many tires, fill ups, rest stops, toll booths, roadside hot dogs, wrong turns, speeding tickets, smiles? How many regretted and missed rides due to inclement weather, prior commitments, kids, soccer games, communions, graduations? How many times hearing oneself utter the phrase "I gotta get that thing running again"? How many things placed on the seat for storage, with the knowledge that the bike was not going anywhere any time soon? How many tears shed at the sight of this forgotten piece of Japanese, American and personal history? How many regrets?

I implore any and all with the notion, tools and means to restore an old bike. Resurrect it. Like Lazarus, make it live-Rise and Ride. Scrape knuckles. Make dirty Levi's. Stain driveways and garage floors. Connect or reconnect with your kids by working on it together-Leave it for a new generation, with new stories to tell. Relive your OWN childhood, or start a new one-screw the notion of Midlife Crisis. LIVE. RIDE.

These bikes are still plentiful, cheap and available, as are parts and advice. Restoration can be as cheap or expensive as you choose, with credit going to the riders, the Road Dogs, the Rats, the ones that are out there on Saturdays or getting you to work on time no matter how they look-the frowns go to the primadonnas who park them in concours condition on engineered wood living room floors, or suspended from ceilings, sneering to themselves and all who will listen for the sake of "The Cycle as Art".

The nods of approval from those in Mini vans and SUVs with LCD screens for the kids, and from those who have gone, singly tracking, down this road before you, are free. The knowledge gained from the guy who Had One of Those Way Back When, that you meet at the auto parts store or gas station cannot be put in terms of dollars and cents.

The Internet Age leaves us with myriad resources and scores of others who have gone before us. It was not until I realized I had legions of enthusiasts with the patience of saints behind me, incapable and above flaming me as a 'noob', that I would come to the conclusion that I too could restore a vintage bike. It was not until I would meet a guy two hours away with nothing else in common with me but a free Saturday afternoon and a similarly-equipped, thirty year-old hunk of steel (in better shape than mine), that I would know that Brotherhood could exist outside ones family. It was not until that guy would be willing to ride that same two hours to help me rebuild carbs for the first time, that my faith in humanity would be restored. Life has begun again, and hope springs as eternal as a singular May day that seems like a million years ago.

Finally. And still NOT FOR SALE!

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 18:36:00 +0000

(Yep, still NOT FOR SALE (sign sits on dash, can't you read?) is this crumbling '57 Chevy BelAir 2-door Hartop. Makes you wonder what the dude is clinging to. I didn't ask.)

After much blogging about it in the past, I finally had the chance, WITH the camera in the car, to snap a pic of the Famed '57 before the ogre came out to get me. This car has sat here for no less than THIRTY YEARS that I know of for sure, and shows no signs of moving any time soon. Sad.

Bus of The Living Dead.

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 18:17:00 +0000

(From the right angle with some careful cropping, this chopped-up bus appears to be rising from the grave. Rte. 611 South, North of Martins Creek, PA.)

Moon and Space Culture.

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 13:12:00 +0000

(Spotted on the roof of a small recycling center in Wilkes-Barre, PA, this "capsule", most likely cobbled together from recycled junk, looks to be spaceworthy and ready for flight.)

This little unit reminds me of the Andy Griffith TV Show Salvage from 1979:

(Check out the pre "Silver Spoons" Joel Higgins as the washed-up astronaut!)

(This home-built capsule has sat behind a gas station outside Martins Creek, PA for as long as I can remember. It has been slid back a bit, but at one time I think it was there to attract business-I also think at one time a space-suited, helmeted mannequin sat inside. Someone spent some time on this. Check out what appeared to be an authentic Strategic Air Command decal on the side.)

John F. Kennedy's promise to put the US on the moon was a watershed event for the nation, still in the midst of the Cold War. While the true motive remains a matter of conjecture, in the 1960s, America fell in love with Space Culture. The idea of the office of the future being in outer space appealed to more than one youngster, and more than one NASA astronaut or specialist of today can trace his decision to head for the stars back to those original Gemini and Apollo missions. As the idea of space travel began to settle in the nation's psyche, it appeared in art, architecture, advertising and the like.

(Why build a rocket when you can just buy one from US Surplus? This Titan rocket is near Cordell, GA)

(What better place to have a Rocket Lounge, than outside Alamogordo, New Mexico? Sadly, the idea only WAS a good one-the Rocket Lounge is now closed.)

(Space Culture is not exclusive to the US-here, an abandoned gas station in France sports a fancy rocket with steel contrail-talk about things I love! Abandoned places, gas stations....still, I ain't goin' to France)

(Williamcreek, Australia. What makes me grin at this is the notion that this stuff probably actually fell from space and landed here.)

Meanwhile, elsewhere on the camera.....

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 17:06:00 +0000

We had a few other pics on the camera from our trip-there was probably more we should have shot-Berwick and the surrounding area are what The Wastelands used to be, only 30 years ago:

(I'm a sucker for a nice airbrushed vintage van. This one sat languishing in the lot of a Sunoco station in Berwick, on the way to pick up the new/old Zook. Much of my generation's beginnings are found in the once sweaty, foggy interiors of vans like this. How could you look at this and not think of the beach?)

(Since 1979 and Three Mile Island, there is nothing more ominous to a Pennsylvanian than nuclear plants and their cooling towers. The Berwick Nuclear Power Plant, owned by PPL Utilities, looms in the distance. Photo by Jon.)

(Of course, Jon is no slouch when it comes to bike customization. A resurrected Speed Triple, given the Hooligan treatment by Jon, with big thanks going to our friend Wee Paul for his paint work. Photo Jon.)

Another Acquisition.

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 23:09:00 +0000

(Like any good vintage bike, my new Zook has already marked it's territory, as witnessed by a small puddle of gas due to a leaky and incongruent fuel filter. Seen at about 5pm off the front wheel is another drip-this time of fork oil-apparently, like the recently arrested on "Cops", the bike took umbrage at being bound so tightly on the ride home. Swept back handlebars were to no doubt accomodate the vintage fairing, and have to go as first order of business.)

Folks, feast your eyes-the latest in my long and storied history of low-cost motorcycle acquisitions. For a mere $395, I picked up this lovely 1979 Suzuki GS850G about an hour away in Berwick, PA. Of course, one must factor in the gasoline and time spent (I also enlisted the help of my good friend Jon to make the move, utilizing his van and tie downs-which will fairly and no doubt illicit a return favor), plus the cost of title transfer, etc. But it was a fun day, and surprises abound.

For example, we really weren't expecting the thing to start, but the previous owner (who had an impressive shop, boasting no less than five vintage Harleys in various stages of restoration and/or customization) was able to get it to fire with a bit of starting fluid. The bike had been posted on Craigslist, and the relatively small pic betrayed the garage-kept condition she was in. Mild oxidation on both the steel and aluminum was typical of a bike that had sat inside, but nothing compared to the outright rot I have seen on some of my finds in the past. With right around 9500 miles that were obviously well maintained ones, this baby was an outright steal IMHO. Also, the Zook came with a vintage 70's-style touring fairing. While laughable to some (myself included, if only on the surface), these are still highly desired by some riders (as they ain't makin' any more), and nice examples are often sufficient to fund the cost of a low-buck restoration-such as this one. I was going to completely 'rat' this bike out-that is, a complete treatment of flat hi-temp stove black from pretty much stem to stern, as well as chopping off all the unnecessary bits:

("Looks uncomfortable" Jon said, as I suggested this treatment prior to us actually seeing how nice the Zook was. From a few years back at a show, this one looks like it would be at home in the upcoming film Terminator: Salvation-actually being ridden by a Terminator, who, once the flesh is burned off, has no real ass to speak of nor get bruised anyway.)

However, the condition being better than expected, I think I am going to do a serious cleaning, wrap and paint the exhaust, remove the rust from the shocks, etc, and keep it as a mild resto-mod type deal. As usual stay tuned-there will most likely be a few projects needing finishing first, but the bike doesn't need too much, so I'll get it running and then the full resto will no doubt take place in the off-season.

History Out-Steampunks Steampunk!

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Sun, 08 Feb 2009 00:08:00 +0000

(The 1932 Helicron. Someone fetch me my duster and goggles!)

This rare (I'd call one in existence rare) 1932 Helicron prop-powered car does not run on steam, but is still Dystopian enough to be at home in the mythical world of Transatlantic dirigible travel and Babbage Difference Engines. Pushed into a barn in the late 30s, it appears to be only partially restored (note condition of wood). I don't know much more about it, but I can't resist blogging about a good barn find. It is owned by the Lane Motor Museum in Nashville. Anyone wanting more pics email me.

For car guys, the Barn Find (a pristine or unmolested car, in original condition, parked and forgotten in a barn or garage for decades and then discovered) is the Holy Grail of automotive existence. I have discussed the topic in previous posts, as it is a favorite In the 1980s, Porsche had a print ad that described one man's dream of finding a vintage Speedster in a barn for $500 (damned if I can find a copy-anyone who can, let me know!) Recently, Life imitated Art when this Speedster was found and sold from a Mississippi barn:

(If a barn find is a car nut's dream, a 1954 Porsche Speedster with likely racing pedigree is a wet dream. Sale price on Ebay was $24,600.)

Without documentation it's hard to say if this car actually raced or was simply painted to look the part-it did, however, have a roll cage installed, which suggests the previous owner was at least concerned about his safety. The same cannot be said for, say, James Dean, who met his end in a slightly tinier Porsche (the 550 Spyder), a mere two years after this find rolled off the assembly line:

(note lack of safety cage of any kind-if I'm correct, the Dean Porsche was not equipped with seat belts either. Rumor has it the Dean Car was cursed and was killing folks long after Dean's death in 1955.)

My ADD has gotten the best of me-sorry. Suffice to say the Helicron is a sweet find, and not your usual Superbird rotting in some old lady's backyard

Tool Academy...

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 00:06:00 +0000

(Kobalt's flagship stainless steel tool chest, available complete with stereo. Price: $1398 at my local Lowe's. Ouch.)

I can probably say with all certainty that I’ve always wanted a mechanic’s tool chest. Even as a kid, I looked at the shiny red boxes at Sears, taller than I was, and thought of all the stuff I could stow in there-the coins, the shiny rocks, the pocket knives, and yes, the tools-all of it would find a home in the seemingly endless array of drawers that would somehow always be cooler than my painted blue dresser. My own father’s tool box was a humble Craftsman with a carry handle on the top, and it pretty much contained every tool he owned that would fit inside. My neighbor’s father, however, was a different story.

My neighbor growing up, whom I’ll call Link (not his real name, “Link” is taken from my dad calling him The Missing Link growing up-due to his largely simian features and behavior) had a tool chest of his own at an early age. Link’s father was a mechanic of sorts-he had fixed Jeeps and tanks in Germany in the Army in the mid-60s, and always had something in his garage with the hood up. He was famous for taking an absolute piece of crap car and not only making it run like a top, but for putting a more than passable coat of paint on it as well. Link’s Dad dropped a replacement engine in my ’82 Volkswagen Rabbit after I performed a distance test with a hot engine and no coolant (Rabbit+Suburban Junkyard=FAIL). Though he had never worked on one, he only asked for the factory Bentley manual (which I had been looking for an excuse to buy anyway at the time), and $100-though that figure did grow to $125 in the end-still a steal, especially since my motor had run me less than $400. The install was flawless.

Link’s Dad was by no means a rich man, so his workshop was an extension of that-much of his shelving was from scrap wood for the actual shelves, and metal formed into brackets. His hardware and fasteners hung in old jars, their lids nailed to a board and suspended from the low rafters of his basement. I always thought they looked like specimens in a weird Hardware Museum, or some do-it-yourself wing of the Smithsonian. In the dark crannies and corners, it was obvious that many of the tools that dwelled there were hand made or repaired by the look of the welds.

(Link's Old man may have had a tool chest like this-the details are lost to memory-I just know it was freakin' cool)

Most importantly, however, was the beaten red tool chest he had as the center of his Tool Universe-I don’t even remember the manufacturer, though something tells me it was probably a Craftsman-Link’s dad would most likely have been unable to afford little else at the time. I remember looking at it as he worked, the endless supply of tools that seemed to come out as he needed them, never shy of what he needed. Even though I was none too handy as a kid, I knew I wanted that level of proficiency with tools. Sadly, my experience consisted of disassembly and then partial reassembly, which would eventually lead to my restricted access to tools (Thanks, Dad.). It would not be until much later that I would begin to accumulate my own set of tools, and, eventually, the various means of storing them. Still, I do not have the tool chest of my dreams.

(You simply cannot work on a car like this, and not have a tool chest like this.)

There is, of course, a reason or two for this. The main reason is that professional tool chests are insanely expensive. The reason for this is the same reason business phone service is insanely expensive-the provider knows you are making money, and prices their product accordingly. Manufacturers like Mac, Snap-On or Matco can talk all they want, but the truth is there is no need for anyone to have $12,000 toolbox (this is without tools, mind you), professional mechanic or not. One need only look in the garages of their friends and neighbors to see the various, garage-expedient methods of tool storage that those twin mothers of invention, Necessity and Poverty, have spawned over the years.

(True Ingenuity. This Mexican speed shop owner has taken a truck utility body, cleaved it in half, and mounted the sides on the walls of his garage (note wheel arches at bottom). The Bardahl Racing color scheme is a great touch. Brilliant in its simplicity.)

(A shot of the garage of fellow blogger and hopeless collector Mister Jalopy. Check him out-I want to go to this garage when I die. Maybe even before.)

(A particularly gross Matco in yellow. Price was $7200. It better have had tools in it.)

The second reason is the syndrome known as the Endowment Effect, that makes us feel anything we own has greater value than the same item owned by others, for no other reason than that it is ours. I personally saw this play out in my car selling days, when truck owners felt their trades commanded far greater value than what any color pricing book had to say. Sufferers of this syndrome are often easy to spot-they can be seen countless times on places like Craigslist, asking fifty dollars less than they paid for a five year-old item that originally cost $2000-thinking they are gracing someone with not only their precious hand-me-downs, but at a gracious discount!!

Sufferers of the Endowment Effect are rampant in the used tool chest market-mechanics, in hock up to their eyeballs and looking to recoup lost funds, place their eighteen month-old tool set up for just a hair less than the Tool Truck Guy sold it (or more often financed it) for. They believe that some more stupid individual will feel he’s getting a fire sale price because he’s going out of business, and take absolutely no time to check values on the Interwebs to see if he’s getting ripped off.

Before this turns into one of my trademark rants, suffice to say an inexpensive yet decent tool chest is hard to find. Sure, Craftsman always has them on sale, but you never seem to have the cash for exactly what you want when they are in the process of marking it down. I have seen killer deals like the Matco box you see here, but again, they always seem to come at the wrong time. Add to that the fact that a killer deal on an orange box always seems to coincide with a deal on a green one-you can never get lucky on a matching set.

(I missed one of these on Craigslist for a paltry $300! Although, in retrospect, I'm kinda glad I did. Mac S&S limited edition.)

It is because of this that I have decided to (ever so slightly) throw caution to the wind and jump at the first chest I find regardless of color that meets my requirements for features (low and wide, as one higher than my eyeballs makes no sense to me at all at Six-Foot-Two.) I will then strip or sand each box down and paint it to my own personal preference. Each box to come after will receive the same colors and treatments. There is no work going on in my garage shop so violent I need to worry about Rustoleum Professional Formula getting nicked, and if it does, I can sand the spot and paint it-that’s the beauty of Rustoleum (is that their slogan?)

So, on to color. At the risk of sounding effeminate, I’m so over red-while my vintage tendencies would suggest I’d gravitate towards the Original Tool Chest Color, I want something different. Couple that with the fact that my workshop is gradually turning into silver pegboard walls and grey or black trim (undecided), the idea of steering my palette into the more sedate colors available seems prudent.

Originally I thought of black-however I think the color in my garage would resemble the Monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey. It would be a matter of time til Brian or someone would bash me on the back of the head with my own wrench like some crazed ape.

Silver, or more aptly, stainless steel, is becoming very popular-however, like stainless appliances, they can be hard to keep clean-not conducive to a greasy-hands environment.

Green is cool, particularly the Kennedy Machine tool chest green, or similar shades. These scream vintage in a way Snap-On doesn't-less of a salt flat, '49 Mercury vintage and more of a Shopsmith, Electronics home study course vintage, if that makes sense-it probably doesn't. It does to me, however, and I guess that's all that matters.

(This is the toolbox your fastidious grandfather would not let you within a mile of when you were a kid. Inside, enough precision tools to build a belly tank lakester, or a rocket to Mars.)

I've forgone the garish hues offered (the teal blues, Kawasaki greens, Harley oranges, etc.)and, for the time being, have settled on a gray exterior with blue drawers. Both colors (smoke gray and safety or navy blue) are available from Rustoleum in the Professional formula. Think of the old Civil War Chess set and you'll get my idea:

On the Road To Coatesville.

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 00:40:00 +0000

(A pretty rare variant of the Deuce and a Half with a bucket-most likely for commo work?)

On the way down to pick up the welder (about a 2 hr drive) I spotted these two army trucks. There has been more than one time In my life when I wanted one of these go anywhere, heavy as all Hell trucks to do some nasty job only a truck of this caliber could do. I dreamed of having one with a wrecker, pulling snotty rich kids out of ditches in their Mom's Range Rovers deep in the woods for cash.

(That's more like it. With this, all things are possible. You can barely see the commercial Holmes wheel lift attached to the back. Actually I think this one is a 5-ton and not a Deuce and a Half.)

I'm kind of a big deal now.

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 00:16:00 +0000

So I posted my first instructable on how to make a gun case from an old army duffel bag:

How To Make A Pretty Nice lined Gun Case From An Old Army Dufflebag and Blanket! - More DIY How To Projects

If you have never been to instructables, and you have even an inkling of creative, independent spirit, I strongly recommend it-there are hundreds of step-by-step sets of directions with photos on how to do everything from recipes to welding up a recumbent bike for yourself. I felt my instructable represented a demographic that was lacking-home-made tactical gear. I'm sure it pissed the vegan souffle' crowd off, but it was necessary to wrest the DIY movement away from the hippies and back to it's Hamm's swilling, garage-dwelling, black and white TV on in the background roots-if only for a moment.

More Horse Trading.

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 00:01:00 +0000

(Before. The new welder before I cleaned off the barn gook. I'll probably end up waxing it too-it's just how I am.)

My trading continues-I scored this sweet, nearly new Lincoln arc welder with 50 foot extension cord I can plug in my dryer outlet for power, two boxes of rods, a new mask, and hunting rights on a 75 acre apple farm. All for some, ahem, hunting gear that may or may not have included an ancient shotgun. I'd like to get this fired up and make a wheeled cart to lug it around-it's kind of a pain to carry it where you need it. Actually, that gives me an idea-more later.

Frustration, Exuberance, Frustration....

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 01:44:00 +0000

(What looks like a sad little droid from the Sand Crawler scene in Star Wars is actually the latest acquisition, not to mention a straight up trade for my old truck, Warhorse.)

All good things must come to an end, but not as quickly as bad things should. After months of begging, pleading, cajoling and dropping my pants on the price, I decided to offer the War Horse up for trade on Craigslist. Amid offers of welders, mechanics tool chests, guns, pot, and one white Russian baby with blue eyes, I settled on the above dealie-a 1962 Economy "Jim Dandy" tractor. While this may seem like absolute craziness, hear me out.

First off, I needed a tractor with a plow to loan to Dad. Seems that his plow guy, a former classmate of mine and still referred to as "That Kid" by Dad (the "Kid" is 37 or so),is not able to reach the nooks and crannies of Dad's driveway to Dad's satisfaction. Mind you, Dad would never mention it to the Plow Guy-no. He, like all people who retire and take up complaining full time, chooses not to address a problem with the idea of solving it, but instead chooses to subject his progeny with tales of woe and nostalgic yarns of "the way it used to be". Apparently, it used to be that a fellow could hire a guy for like a quarter or something, and have him plow 50 acres of snow in ten minutes and not push your driveway gravel up into the grass while doing it. Also apparent is that those days are gone. I'm sure the Plow Guy (as we have not spoken or seen each other in some time), like most around here, has a monstrous diesel 3/4 ton crew-cab plow truck that can probably push a mountain but takes as much space as the USS Intrepid to turn around in. If it can't be done in three straight swipes, it can't be done. I'm sure this is the root of Dad's trouble. Hence the tractor trade.

Economy Tractors are tough little buggers-the Jim Dandy, along with its slightly bigger brother the Power King, are all gear driven-where most yard or garden tractors have a series of belts driving gearboxes or hydraulic motors, the Economy designers set it up so that their tractor had one belt driving the rear wheels off the engine. Some are also equipped with dual transmissions, a feature allowing one to gear down to a crawl, go take a whiz, come back and never have quit plowing or mowing.

The guy that had this before me had supposedly rebuilt most of the gearing and internals-unfortunately, the starter/generator was apparently not among the items reconditioned-after a few successful starts, the starter began to do little more than a faint rustling along with a rancid electrical smell. A rebuild is around $125, but the Yahoo! Power King group had more than adequate advice on how to get the old girl running. Turns out I can rope start, push start in third gear, and rig an old electric motor to start it up until I can complete the rebuild, and will simply have to deal with not being able to use my lights if the battery is not charging.

A happy little Jim Dandy similar to mine keeps an old Mustang company. I hope to get a hood for mine as well. Note large tractor features in such a small package.

As time goes by I'll chronicle the restoration of this little wonder.

HOTBOX II!

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 02:16:00 +0000

(Another great photograph that, like last year, could be from any decade in the last three or four. Photo courtesy Stiv)

Some good ideas only occur once and then never again....however, oftentimes the very BEST ideas go on and on year after year. And so it is/was with our Hotwheels races, officially titled Hotbox from here forward. Last year on Labor Day Weekend my closest friends and I gathered for an event dripping in nostalgia-a full day of racing vintage and new Hotwheels cars on a monster "road course" to determine whose rod is the hottest, so to speak. Last year I had won after coming from the rear of the pack on a consolation round, and was looking to make it two years in a row.

(Under Construction. Daryl, Chad and Brian put their heads together, combined it with beer [see photo] and get the credit for designing this year's course-how many people can take credit for designing a race track? Few, that's how many. Photo Stiv.)

(Long Way Down. The finished product allowed, like last year, a long sprint to the finish-this helped equalize things for cars less nimble in the loops and turns, giving them a chance to catch up at the end. Caught for posterity are Dr. Girlfriend's feet, Brent's erect posture midsection-down, Marci mid-pose, an yet to be identified racer and Miss Shannon ruling the track. The addition of more kids this time around lended legitimacy to the event and made it less like Manchildfest '08)

This year, however, was not my year-the addition of a much wider field, and the relative wear and tear on last years winner, Twelve Lashes, left me finishing mid-pack. In the end, it would come down to Dewey Walck and Brian's kid Ian (since a puberty-induced growth spurt referred to as the Thin White Duke) in a heated battle with MATCHING Audi R8's. Ian would just squeak by for the win in a Battle of the Ages.

(The Return of the G. If Gerald had not already lived in the 'Burg, he would have received the price for longest distance traveled to the event-he had just rolled in from a full summer surfing in Cape Cod, no doubt with Vampire Weekend. Here Daryl appears to go for his Glock, which he inadvertently left at home.)

(Mischief. Every year we feel more like we are getting away with something-maybe it's the beer. Me, George, and G. Photo Stiv.)

(MC in the place to be-I was given honorary MC rights since I was the defending champion-I had every intent of coming off with some '84 LA Olympics space alien "spirit of world competition" crap, but the lack of a flying saucer dropping me off made me sound MORE like the paranoid NWO nut that I am. Photo still Stiv.)

Auf Wiedersehen Greta :-(

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 18:54:00 +0000

(Big George calls the networks to inform the world that Greta is going away.)

Change is good. Everything happens for a reason. Sometimes you need a change of scenery. No phrase can provide me the comfort I need having to sadly sell my beloved Greta for some much needed cash. She was a great girl, and will be sorely missed in the driveway. I really can't talk now.

An Icon keeps it's appeal...

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Fri, 30 May 2008 01:42:00 +0000

(Many VWs have worn the "Herbie" Number 53-this, however, is the second car built for the original movie. Strong provenance. Pap's was this color, sans stripes, and was a '64, not a '63 like old Herb here.)

The Volkswagen Beetle. A veritable icon. While little can be said of the People's Car that has not already been said elsewhere, I'd like to at least throw my hat into the ring with some Beetle anecdotes of my own.

As a kid, things appeal to you that may never appeal again-but if you are lucky, they will, and their re-emergence will make you smile, keep you young and maybe save your very soul from ruin. One of those things for me is the many incarnations of the Beetle.

When I was a kid, my Pap had a '64 Beetle-he had seen and driven them during WWII in Germany and had been impressed with the simplicity and indestructability of the little car. When they came stateside, he eventually bought one. Though he would own many other cars in his lifetime, I am convinced the white Beetle was his favorite. I know for sure it was mine at the time.

See, to a kid, the sound of a Beetle is hard to distinguish from a race car. It's swoopy, bulbous features are the stuff of Saturday morning cartoons. I was fascinated with how the engine looked so much like our lawn mower. I loved the long running boards covered with black rubber. The spartan interior is nothing negative to a kid-it's all cool textures and smells and someone small has no trouble fitting in the rear seat.

(How do you make a rolling cartoon more appealing to a kid? Metal flake and offroad lights help. Especially if the metal flake is lime green, and the offroad lights are KCs. Looks like a rare right-drive Manx. My neighbor growing up had a similar design in brown metal flake, with lots of diamond-pleated naugahyde inside.)

One night, Pap came and picked us up somewhere-I have no idea where, it's lost to the memory of childhood. What I do remember was it was snowing like crazy. I distinctly remember huge flakes of snow committing suicide on the Beetle's flat windshield. I remember the steady buzz of the motor, and the sure-footedness of a goat as the Bug purred through the dark...we got home with ease.

(Ahhhh, kit cars-like a rubber nose and glasses with fuzzy mustache for a Beetle-anyone can be someone else for less than eight grand)

Pap's brother, my Great Uncle John, had also been introduced to the Beetle in the Great War. Uncle John had a gold Super Beetle he drove into the 80s-It had a crank out sunroof and black Wolfsburg Interior-I was mortified to learn he had DRIVEN it to the junkyard without asking anyone if they were interested in it. The spare held up the driver's seat, but I would not have cared-free is free, then and now.

Ultimately, I would own a VW bus-if only for a short time. My other uncle had owned one and taken it all over the country once-I guess I associated it with freedom. My friend G had a Bus camper that had a rare "turtle top" conversion. He was literally selling it to protect it from a flood-a series of storms in our area in the early 2000s left his house at the time submerged. I took the van, nicknamed Werner, for $600 at the time-a steal, but sadly, like many projects, it never panned out and I sold it to a guy who loved it far more than I did for a few bucks more. Hey, I had to make a profit.

Espresso VS Espresso

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Tue, 27 May 2008 21:45:00 +0000

I like to consider myself a bit of a trendsetter-I may be fooling myself, but more than one instance has proven it to be the case. In high school, I was the first guy in my class to discover The Cure. I enjoyed brewing my own beer, fine cigars, Netflix, and home theater with an actual movie screen long before anyone I knew. It's probably a case of foolish pride, but so what-I was first.

About 15 years ago I was first in my group to discover the gourmet coffees of the West Coast and their worldwide origins. I learned the difference between Cappucino, Espresso (I still cringe when someone adds an "X" in the pronunciation) and the Latte'. I relished my first taste of real Jamaican Blue Mountain and eagerly awaited the arrival of our first Starbucks.

At a yard sale at the time, I purchased the black Krups Espresso Maker you see on the right-at the time they were going for around 50 bucks so I considered it a steal for the five bucks I paid. I used it quite a bit, and transported it with me from apartment to apartment and made many a foofoo coffee drink to impress the ladies. Once, I opened it up to clean it before the pressure had been released, sending fine, powdered espresso all over my kitchen, leaving me with white raccoon eyes where my glasses had protected them from the blast.

We did not get our Starbucks til last year-although I go, the negative stigma of their globalization has made them passe' by most folks' standards. That, and the relatively uncultured nature of our populace cannot understand paying three dollars for "burnt" coffee (what they mistakenly call dark roasted blends). Recent budgetary concerns have led me back home to work on the pricy custom drinks I now find myself hooked on. I pulled out my trusty old Krups, only to find the all-crucial steam cap, that blocks water flow from the heating chamber, was missing. Fifteen years ago I'd have panicked, but the glory that is Internet led me to a supplier of dinky little hard to find coffee maker parts. For $7.65 I was back in business, still far less than the cost of a new machine. I was thrilled!

Within a week I had already misplaced the little bastard. I looked everywhere, and had written it off to my house guest, Karen (She, the Trader of Lucinda and Bringer of Donnie), helping out by emptying my dishwasher and perhaps putting it away somewhere less likely. When she said she had not seen it I began to get a little pissed.

Fortuitously, I discovered the white Krups unit you see on the left at the flea market in Saylorsburg. Complete with all the pieces and a MANUAL (never had it the first time!), it was only FIVE BUCKS! Again! I checked for the disk and sure enough it was there. I took the whole mess home and got ready to make more espresso. As I set them next to each other, I could not help but think of the old Mad Magazine "Spy VS Spy" series. I also noticed my original unit needed a cleaning, so I got to it, as I turned it over I noticed the steam cap stuck to the underside of the spout. Ah well, now I got a complete set of spare parts, albeit in white.

Junkyard HEAVEN on Earth!

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 00:59:00 +0000

Above is a picture of Heaven. The Rusty Gates. Here Men can go to die happily, or to search for parts for their vehicles. Of course I'm referring to the original Harry's U-Pull-It, The originator of the "self-service" parts yard. I have spent two Saturday's here in as many months, painstakingly cajoling parts from various 87-91 Ford F-Series trucks to continue the repairs I've started on my 1991 F250, affectionately referred to as War Horse. More to follow.

Rolling Funeral Parlor.

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 20:29:00 +0000

Part Munstermobile, Part 70's flocked wallpaper, Part Steampunk Scifi fantasy-meet the new interior roofline of my Buick, Marge. Sold to me by my dad who inherited it from my late grandmother's estate, her namesake was possessed of the typical sagging cloth headliner common in 80s General Motors vehicles. You generally see these cars easily going down the road-often secured with tacks, staples, screws, etc.(all of which are poor fixes by comparison), they generally flap violently in the breeze created by a rolled down driver's window (the air conditioning usually having given up the ghost the same year). The embarrassed driver slouches down, partially to hide his identity, partially to prevent getting softly bonked in the melon by flapping cloth.

After a few weeks of such silliness, I decided to fix it. Now mind you, in this post-Christmas financial climate, I'm not exactly rolling in the Benjamins. Couple that with the relatively ridiculous price of headliner material and the task was a bit daunting at this time of year. However, my infinite abilities and resourcefulness won out-I managed to find a nice, cheap piece of embossed velour in the form of a curtain panel. From there it was just loosening the surrounding trim, prepping the headliner panel and carefully gluing down the fabric. A few hours to dry, and the whole unit is trimmed of excess fabric and reinstalled. I would say total work time was probably less than an hour total. If you do this, make sure u mark all your screw holes that will soon be covered in fabric-I had a bit of trouble trying to line up the holes that my visors screwed into. Also get the headliner fabric as free of old glue and foam as possible-the fabric will be less likely to separate in the future.

Something almost anyone can do, and very satisfying results in my opinion.

Gearhead weekend...

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Sun, 04 Nov 2007 23:33:00 +0000

This weekend saw me, for the first time in months, blowing the dust and stink off myself and doing some mechanical work for a change-now, mind you, none of this was on my own projects, but productive nonetheless. First my best bud George needed a little help with his BMW 525i, Schultzie. Named for the John Banner Character in "Hogan's Heroes", He was a Craigslist find, with a rebuilt top end and just over 100k at time of purchase-essentially a new car under the hood. However, some enterprising rogue had, early in Schultzie's life, installed a security system-badly. This chop-job had left a hard to find short in the right side low-beam headlight. WIth state inspection looming, we set to work soldering the damaged wire back together and sealing it up with heat-shrink tubing.

Next up was my friend Karen's 2005 Jeep Liberty. Rolling into town to visit her mom, she had lost the spring load in her serpentine belt tensioner pulley. I was charged with locating the part, supplying the tools, and doing the repair. While it was a little harder than we thought (somewhere in '05 the minds at Jeep chose to change the tensioner unit to a larger pulley, making our belt suddenly too small at 5:30pm on a Sunday-it would require replacing new pulley with old on the new assembly), but we managed to finish before dinnertime today. Kudos to the guys at National Auto in Stroudsburg for being able to furnish an ordered part on a Sunday, after ordering it Saturday night around 7pm!! I will always call them first as a result of this little bit of miracle-working on their part.

I always make a point to do good work for friends-it pays for itself in the long run. When someone trusts you with their car work, they will generally trust you with anything. It also makes for a nice barter skill-I normally don't keep score that way, but everyone always seems to remember my helping out with a repair when it's time to buy a round at the pub.

Everything I have learned about cars has been through doing and asking questions. I am not what I would call "self taught"-I generally research everything I do first, and ask around to see how difficult a job is. While I am certainly not a mechanic, I am no slouch either. as I gain tools and knowledge, I work towards that end, however.

Double Top Secret Plan in the works....

noreply@blogger.com (Suburban Junkyard) — Sat, 20 Oct 2007 04:55:00 +0000

Without giving too much away, The Brain and I are in the process of planning a theme party-it will focus around a certain 80s male teen fantasy-oriented film (not porn) and will involve audience participation in the tradition of Rocky Horror. It will involve vodka, airsoft guns and beef jerky...that's really all I can say at this point.