The Dead of Night, Old Growth spiders in my brain.

[Eccentric]

Fantastic Charles. I need a drink after that 'ride' with Mark in the first video.

Liked seeing the restored and modern IHC and Case-IH iron at then end of the track too.

 

[ltdann86]

Awash in sweat and the butterflies of anticipation. Afterall, it did take 2 years to construct, 4 hours to drive here and 45 minutes to prepare. Now encapsulated in a cocoon of steel and nomex, switches are flipped, valves are pulled.
A spritz of ether and with a shudder it barks, coughs, then dies… Another shot of goofy gas and a thumb depressed more forcefully, more out of nervousness than anger, and again a shudder wells , seemingly, from within. The rack dispenses straight No. 2 through stainless lines in succession, depositing each shot into dished pistons, decompressed to cope with what is to come. The clatter of pump and thumping valve train is all that can be heard as a cloud of anticipation emanates from the glinting stack of sonic fury.
The menacing rake, fat 30.5s speaking to the power capable, yet from 50 feet away all seems as such a garish poseur. Surely this thing cannot accelerate 50,000lbs. across 300 feet? It’s just

So

Quiet…

For the purported controller of this fickle beast of burden all is not so calm. Eased into position, a cold hook deposited as retainage against potential earnings, the machine is ready. A quick scan of indicators and a green flag…

It is on.

A white knuckled fist clenches a cold rod of aluminum, inching it forward and beckoning more shots of No.2 to be issued into the 504 cubic inch row of 6. Slowly, slowly the ignored tachometer yawns to beyond 3000 while a centrifugally assisted clutch tries to free itself from its kick of inoperability. Dinner-plates of bloodshot concentration witness the boost gauge flicker to life.
For a moment a roar as if emanating from beneath a pile of pillows causes 3000 heads to swivel to attention as a unit never designed for it announces its birth at north of 6000rpm, ignored for 1 that has now snapped to as 4 turbos engulf the roar with a jet-engine’s whistling shriek. Manifold pressures rocket past the lifeline trigger at 45 psi on its way to 200+ all the while tripping a fire hose of water into the intakes without which, the heart of the beast would cook itself down into a shovel-ready pile of wheelbarrow fodder. A black tornado rises as arms and feet flail wildly, outwardly appearing as a seated marionette, struggling to coordinate throttle, clutch and brakes to steer while a paw flails at the now useless steering wheel. All, of course, unnoticed but for the now ravening beast of burden alight.

8 seconds later…

Benches have cleared, jaws speak to the triumph.
Yet one head sits down shielded from view with a sweat-drenched grin of satisfaction…
And a solitary index finger directed skyward.

Mark Ulmer Lost IH 1086 Diesel Super Stock
Chassis by Doc Christensen
Engine by Hypermax
Fuel and Turbos by Esdon Lehn

On board and trackside views from Rock Valley, IA 2009

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Great....Now I have to spend another 3hrs looking uppulling vid's :msp_smile:

 

[8433jeff]

Great....Now I have to spend another 3hrs looking uppulling vid's :msp_smile:

You could just waste your time instead of enjoy it.

 

[RandyMac]

no waste of time here, thank you all for your time and effort.

I am still feeling a bit water logged, better today.

 

[RandyMac]

The bullet hole truck.

Oh yes, the old Chevy. It was a 1964 C-10 with the 292 cubic inch in-line six and three on the tree. It had been worn out twice before my Dad gave it to me. The rust, oh that rust, when you slammed a door hard or whomped a big piece of something in the box, big flakes fell to the ground. My Dad did a sturdy job of keeping the weather out of the cab, that involved many pounds of fiberglass. To top it off, Chevy painted it this nasty semi metallic green, the type of green you would expect to see on a toxic pond. The engine was well beyond reasonable service limits, on start-up, it would blow a big chunk of black smoke at the ground, for three years after it was gone, you could still see where it sat and was started. The valve guide tolerance was generous, on long downgrades, it would suck what passed for motor oil, into the cylinders, when you hit the gas at the bottom of the hill, it laid down the thickest smoke trail I have ever seen. It almost had an engine fire on a B-17 beat. I smudged out a couple Deputies coming off Little Greyback into Takilma, OR, the bastards sat at the crossroads near the bottom, there was a stop sign there. Normally folks just blew through this intersection, you could see quite aways, I did it because I could cool my brakes and even out the vapor trail. I saw two big white Dodge sedans parked near the sign and just managed to stop in time, the old thing was heavy loaded with warm brakes, hell, on a good day, empty, I had to think ahead before I stopped. When I pulled away from the sign, the old Chevy was chugging on all the oil it spent the last 30 minutes sucking into the cylinders,(insert a string of descriptive phrases) I tried to make it past the cops, didn't happen, with all the panache of a sinking tugboat, we drifted off to the side. Crap, here comes Mr Deputy all helpful like, all interested in how my day was going. The other Deputy got tired of leanin' on his car and wandered up to inspect what was strapped in the box. There was some discussion about origin, permits and stuff, I had all the proper documents, after all, I wrote them. That done with we commenced to shoot the bull, they were very interested in where the wood came, I had a giant slab of all clear, vertical grain Port Orford Cedar, not easy to come by. It was the devil to unload. Getting it in was easy, it was hanging out over a creek bed, I backed under it and carefully cut off a big piece, close to too much. We ended up over the bank shooting each other's revolvers. When I left, they stood behind the truck, I think it unloaded a pint out the tail pipe.

 

[Gologit]

:msp_biggrin: No words yet...need coffee.

 

[RandyMac]

I understand entirely.
My next blast of coffee will be this afternoon:hmm3grin2orange:

 

[RandyMac]

I think it's time to scan in a few more old photos.

maybe later today, maybe not. Headin' out to the shop where the only sounds will be rain on the roof and a low growl from the Pacific.

 

[slowp]

It was so damp and chilly in my shop, that The Grapple Cat didn't leave his warm bed to come and harass me. I didn't stay out there very long. I believe the rain has turned to a drizzle today. Time for outdoor activities!

 

[bitzer]

Good story Randy. Hope you do get some pics up. I've got the rain, wish I could be at the quiet shop right now with a hot fire and a couple a beers.

 

[Gologit]

I need to buy some sun-screen . I'm sorry...I just had to say that. :msp_rolleyes:

 

[Joe46]

I need to buy some sun-screen . I'm sorry...I just had to say that. :msp_rolleyes:

Yup, rub it in. I think we are at day 44 without what they call "official" sunshine.

 

[GASoline71]

LMAO... this is the first time since the weather guessers have been keeping records of the weather in WA State that it has not been above 60 degrees by mid April... EVER.

Gary

 

[RandyMac]

Mid 50s right now with a very heavy Orygun missed.

The Klamath/Siskiyou Mountains are getting a lot of warm rain, flooding is expected.

 

[bitzer]

Late breaking weather update- The rain has taken a new form. 34 and snowing. A good stiff breeze coming out of the NW. It was 80 here a week ago. Classic Wisco weather.

 

[slowp]

It is 57 here. I put on shorts.

I can see shadows, must go out and see what is making them!!:msp_ohmy:

 

[RandyMac]

I got a chapter titled "Confessions of a Sport faller" on the edit table, I am such an ass.

 

[cpr]

I got a chapter titled "Confessions of a Sport faller" on the edit table, I am such an ass.

No, you were. I'm certain the stories are spectacular and appropriate contrition would negate the character judgement...

Whatever, I still like you.

 

[8433jeff]

I got a chapter titled "Confessions of a Sport faller" on the edit table, I am such an ass.

Just post it, and we will decide if you ever were one or not.

Somewhere along the line, sir, you has been rehabilitated, if you ever were one for long, because it doesn't seem you are much of one now.

Least not more than me, which can be a very low mark to exceed at times.

 

[RandyMac]

Well, in my case, recognizing my own excesses doesn't always mean I wouldn't do it again and I do. I do hope to be more selective, as in having the tree utilized instead of just going for the noise. I roamed the wilds looking for interesting trees and felled many of them. I more skills I learned or thought I did, meant looking for more challenges. I would pack a heavy saw a half mile into a canyon, just to fall a Fir snag. Old Growth hardwoods were fun too.

I might not call myself a timber faller now, I do however have opportunistic predator traits.