Google Bomb

Cold weather coupled with precipitation left a decent dusting of snow on the higher and not-so-higher peaks around us this morning, reminding us that Winter isn't far away. We've experienced snow before, in spades of course, the both of us having grown up on the Great Plains. But for me anyway it's taken on a new kind of wonder ever since the lull in snow--the lull in actual weather, for that matter--we experienced from late Summer 2004 until late Summer 2006 (we call it, "when we lived in Southern California"). Like an adopted alley cat who gorges himself daily because he's never forgotten what it was like to go hungry, I think I appreciate snow and Winter all the more now that it's back (or rather, now that we're back to it).

As I contemplated the not-distant white stuff on my walk to work this morning, I remembered how up in the Bitterroots one weekend nearly four years ago, Melissa and I (and Ludwig) were reintroduced to the phenomenon of frozen water falling from the sky, and how we instantly realized how much we'd missed it.

Our original post on the subject is here.

We have the ability to track various types of data about this blog, including which posts get the most traffic. And by whatever vagaries of fate govern such things, the post linked above is our most popular, ever. Well, maybe not the most popular in the sense that it's the most beloved, but most popular in that it's the most visited. So much so in fact that as of this writing if one googles "West Fork Butte Lookout", our blog entry is the very first return, before the National Forest Service pages about it. And despite its age, that post gets a dozen or so visits a week, every week. 

I just thought that was kind of interesting.
Bye-bye, August! And take Summer with you!

Men at Work

Ludwig got a ringside seat to the replacement of Maple Street's water main a couple weeks ago. Melissa said the backhoe guy got really close to him a couple times. See for yourself:

We've had to put off having Ludwig's engine delivered while this was going on. The street's all finished now. 

Sooooo: in other news, Ludwig's engine is coming this week!

The Skalkaho Highway

Only in Montana or Alaska or Wyoming (or Colorado or Idaho or Nevada or...okay, maybe in a lot of states) would a road like this be called a "highway". Montana Highway 38, the Skalkaho Highway to be exact. It runs from just South of Hamilton in the heart of the Bitterroot Valley, across the Sapphires--the only road across them--to the upper end of the Flint Creek Valley, aka the Philipsburg Valley.

View Skalkaho Highway in a larger map

We were in Missoula for a wedding and thought it might be nice to take a long way home, since we had the time. I'm still nervous about Gertrude and her many failings--some of which are prone to exacerbation by rattling, but she keeps on proving herself a worthy and eager car. (I should watch it with such talk lest I jinx us.)

The Skalkaho Highway (the road itself) is very reminiscent of Going-to-the-Sun Road (the spectacular and famous road over the top of Glacier National Park) to my eye, with a few relevant differences: (1) the upper reaches of it (probably 20 miles or so) aren't paved; (2) it's narrower; (3) there are no guardrails.

Melissa seemed happy enough to let me drive (Tater Tot was asleep and didn't offer an opinion), until we started to climb above the trees and I started sightseeing a little too much for her comfort. I reminded her I've never even come close to driving over a cliff sightseeing. She reminded me that on this road, there was no "coming close" to driving off a cliff; you're either on the road or you're tangled up in pine a few hundred feet below the deck. I still don't think I was putting us in any danger but I need to recognize a chance to look at trees and rocks when I get one, so at the falls we executed a Chinese fire drill.

Skalkaho Falls

The lack of movement woke E up and after pointing out the falls to her we kept going, the three of us now enjoying the scenery. Or two of us--the passenger side dropoff got even more severe after the falls and Melissa dutifully kept her eyes on the road:

Hopefully this video gives an accurate impression of the situation.

Here's another. Sorry I'm not fancy enough to put a soundtrack to these like certain other bus bloggers.


The road leveled out at the top where we stopped for some pictures. There was a guy from Butte ("1" county plates) checking a map, appearing lost. I thought that was funny--how do you get lost on a road that only goes from X to Y? Melissa was more charitable and didn't think he was lost.

At 7250 ft, Skalkaho Pass is over 600 feet higher than Logan Pass on GttSR in Glacier National Park. Ludwig, I think, is proud that Gertie so easily traversed this decently high pass. He's only gone higher a couple times himself, while under our watch anyway.

at the top

After the summit we lazily wound down through the woods (firs mixed with aspens now, which seem to make their appearance further this way toward the Great Divide) and I took a couple videos in a novel way. 

Having grown up in Nebraska, something I'd never had much occasion to ponder is that most mountain ranges seem to have a steep side and a shallow side (a result of tilted-block faulting, a common type of mountain building). The Eastern side of the Sapphires is the shallow side in the present case.

it's always encouraging seeing other old cars getting used

Gertie was perfectly happy with the change of pace from the usual, more direct route (re: I-90) and powered us over Georgetown Lake and on home without issue.

"Skalkaho" is Salish for "beaver", incidentally.

Bob Hoover, r.i.p.

I'm not sure how many of our readers are aware of Bob Hoover. Likely any of you who've owned an ACVW and do your homework online will (hopefully!) feel his name at least has the ring of familiarity. He died last week and the ACVW world (and home-built airplane world) lost one of the Truly Great Ones. I won't relate or try to make up details about his ACVW pedigree here; suffice to say that the man knew what the Hell he was writing about. And he was a pretty good writer. That I had half his ability to turn a phrase (though he'd have to admit I have a better grasp on the distinction between "its" and "it's"). Even though he'd've probably given me a severe dressing down had he ever read the more pedantic of my blog posts--he didn't suffer fools like me lightly--he was something of an inspiration in more ways than one. 

I've stolen one of his blog posts from a few years ago (original here) and printed it below. I hope (and think) he wouldn't've minded, as I'm acknowledging it as his (entirely sans edits), and it's not like we're making any money here. So, here you go, Positive Things & VW buses by the late Bob Hoover:

A recent thread asked for positive examples of the benefits of VW bus ownership. That is the sort of question that reveals far more than it asks. On the surface it appears to be a simple request for information, to which I’ve responded in the first part of what follows. But peering deeper into our navels we’re liable to come upon a lint-ball we’re unwilling to touch.

Those of you who have seen my 1965 bus know it is not a thing of beauty. The paint scabrous and pie-bald. One reason for its rough appearance is because the bus is in constant use, there is no time for cosmetic things.

Tasked with a 900 mile trip several times a year plus an occasional longer jaunt -- more than 1,500 miles to attend the Big Sur outing, or hauling a ton of Portland cement to the top of Mt. Palomar, the bus is expected and required to do all. And it does.

The simplicity of the engine’s design makes it amenable to modification, allowing incorporation of modern technological benefits not available when the vehicle was manufactured, such as electronic ignition, a full-flow oil filtration system, a better cooling system and more reliable electrical components; it now uses an alternator rather than a generator and runs better for it.

The bus handles better than it did when new, thanks to better tires and a stronger suspension system. Most importantly, the bus gets better gas mileage, requires less maintenance and is more reliable. Because of its age the cost of insurance is low, as is the annual license fee and it does not require the biannual smog inspection expected of younger vehicles, although its emissions are an order of magnitude less than those allowed by law.

My bus has not had an easy life and I am at least its fourth owner. It has suffered from collision and all of its major mechanical components have worn out through its years of service. But as things wore out, they were repaired, overhauled or replaced so that today only the front axle assembly and chassis are original as-manufactured parts, and the front axle will be replaced before I set out to drive to Inuvik, a few oceans away.

All of these things argue for the positive aspects of bus ownership yet to the mainstream of American thought, my bus and I are examples of failure. The bus contains not a single molded plastic cup holder. It has neither carpeting, air-conditioning nor stereo. Indeed, it has no radio at all and incorporates none of the supposedly necessary features common to modern vehicles designed for the lazy, thoughtless and immature.

My bus has neither buzzers nor chimes nor even a light that springs on when I open the door. All of that falls to me. If light is needed, I must turn it on. I am responsible for my own safety, and for the safe operation and maintenance of the vehicle. In a society were no one is ever at fault, the buck stops here.

And therein lies the message and the only valid answer. Why do I own and drive an old bus? Because I can.

The reliability -- the honesty and functionality -- of anything is nothing more than a reflection of the person in charge. My bus. My responsibility. If it craps out, it’s my fault. No excuses. This applies equally to every aspect of our lives because we have the capacity to shape our lives and determine our own destiny.

You are the person in charge. You may accept or deny your responsibilities.

The evidence indicates most have chosen denial.

The purpose of this list is not to preach the obvious but to illuminate the obscure. Unfortunately, in the modern age the obvious is often obscured and not by chance alone. If the logic of that is unclear it’s good evidence your life is not your own.

-Bob Hoover

Lost

We were on our way back from Butte, checking out the Three Bears Alaska store there (what is the deal with that?) when Tater Tot fell asleep. We know the rule about letting sleeping kids lie so we decided to take a side trip along Lost Creek Road up to Lost Creek State Park.

The entrance was clogged by some older dude and his wife trying to turn their rig around--a big truck with a big fifth wheel camping trailer goosenecked to it. He wasn't doing a good job. Gertie is small and nimble so she slipped by, only to be halted by the guy's whistle. Paranoid that I am, I expected him to inform us that our car was hemorrhaging some fluid or other but he just asked us "if there's a place up there to turn around." I blithely told him there was.

The road lightly winds up the canyon which gets to being pretty steep and narrow. See how many dikes you can find on this section of the canyon's North wall.

Tater was still asleep at the end of the road, so Melissa and I took separate hikes (walks, actually) to the waterfall. The main campground is the trailhead. There's another trail that goes way back to the source of Lost Creek but that kind of trek wasn't on our minds, this day anyway. The kid eventually woke up and we walked with her to the falls. She liked it in her own cautious way.

I like climbing up things.

That's the waterfall, Lost Creek Falls. This is all about half an hour from our front door (click the miles at the end of the post for a map).

For her part, Gertie was delighted at the prospect of getting some dust on her tires. Rally ready!

We all thought the park was cool, and since its proximity (did I mention it's only a half-hour away?) can't be beat, I imagine we'll be making this trip a lot in the coming years.

(miles 3618-3631 (click for map))

post script

When we got back into town our across-the-street neighbor asked if there was a fire someplace. "Why would he ask that?" you ask. Because he saw this pyrocumulus building off to the Northwest. It turned out it was some trees being converted to charcoal and gas back in the Sapphires someplace, maybe sixty or so miles away as the crow flies.

Bus Bus Bus

Tater Tot built the bottom 2/3 of this contraption and was trying to crown it with Fillmore, but she couldn't quite get it to work. I stepped in and now have to admit to having a hand in making a bus-bus-bus. At least nothing got cut up.

Movement

Gertie Fully Loaded

Ready for the hot trip to Anaconda

Bye bye, Zoo Town

Gertrude's Last Tank

In conversation with my friend Ben sometime last year after we got Gertie, he expressed no small measure of surprise that our >35 year old car could easily best 20mpg. And given that the EPA considers cars getting high twenties per gallon "fuel efficient', his surprise was warranted. I mean, has the technology come only ten or so miles per gallon in forty years? (Hybrids and diesels notwithstanding; I'm talking straight gas engines here.) 

The Type III was a very advanced car for its time. Electronic fuel injection made its worldwide production car debut in the 1968 Type III, a good fifteen or more years before it became the norm on passenger cars. And they get decent mileage, relatively. Detractors might say that it's easy to design a car that gets good mileage--just make it tiny and woefully underpowered. But Gertie's no slouch. She's not going to win any races, but she cruises all day at 70mph just fine and will pull 90 in a pinch (and probably faster if the topography is forgiving). And while she's pretty small, unlike today's cars she's made of metal, not plastic--loaded up she weighs about as much as an unloaded modern Honda Civic.

Anyway, I got to thinking that I should keep closer track of Gertie's mileage, and maybe brag about it a little. So I made that little thing over there on the driver's side of the blog, which I'll try to update at every filling.
As Tater Tot likes to say, "Go Gertie, go!"

More Leftovers

From Missoula, in front of the Childrens' Museum.

East Missoula

The quickest way I've found to i.d. a Syncro on the fly is the location of the gas cap ("Syncro" markings and ride height not being as reliable): two double-you dee Vanagons' caps are under the front passenger door, Syncro caps are at the rear passenger corner (see above).

On the hook at the ballpark in Anaconda