I have been asked by a new member why I call my oil burner "Bad Leroy Blue." Well, below is how the truck got it's name. Only slightly edited from the original posting.
Last Thursday we went to Phoenix Arizona to attend my #2 daughter’s (Sabrina) graduation ceremony. We were driving the wife’s Continental, because my Mark “doesn’t have enough room in the front seat.” I’d offered the Mark for the trip, as her extended warranty on her car did not really need the additional 3K mile hit. But she refused. Present on the trip were Vivian and I and #1 daughter (Nikki). We attended the college graduation (Proud Papa Bragging rights: With honors, Valedictorian of her class: Degree in Animation).
We started home dark thirty Sunday morning. Traveling on I-10, I crossed the Arizona/New Mexico line at about 9 AM and I started to hear a ticking noise coming and going – like the serpentine belt was frayed and about to break. I pulled over and the belt was fine and there was no noise at idle. So I moved it on down the road. We get to Lordsburg NM and the ticking is almost constant at 75MPH. We need gas. As I stopped the motor at the pumps, I notice a very loud knocking noise. When I restart it, she’s knocking very bad. Bad, bad knocking sound. Worse than the 6.9L Ford diesel we own. “Girls, we just lost a rod bearing.”
Side note: the oil was sent in for analyses about four months ago. I was watching for anti-freeze, as these 3.8L V-6’s have a history of head gasket failures. Ford has extended their warranty for this failure up to 100K miles and 7 years. The oil showed high levels of bearing metal present, but no anti-freeze. I showed the report to the Lincoln service guy at home and all he did was nod. “The head gasket will go first,” he said. He was wrong.
Ok, we have a sick car that isn’t gonna go the 800 miles back to Fort Worth. There is no Ford dealer within 50 miles. There is no rental car agency that is open on Sundays within 200 miles – the closest one is at the El Paso airport. But there is a Greyhound Bus that comes by at 11:45 at the bus stop, where others travelers with good motors can stop for a Big Mac, with fries and a coke. We park the busted Continental at the motel across the street from the filling station and a nice lady that runs the day desk takes us to the “bus stop.” The plan is: we take the bus to El Paso, rent a car and get home. Tomorrow, I will jump into the Ford F350 pick up and rent a car carrier from U-Haul. The wife will follow me in the rental car, which we will return to the airport rental agency in El Paso that day. We stay overnight at the Lordsburg Days Inn, load up the sick car and head out dark thirty back to Fort Worth.
The LA to New York bus stops and my wife and daughter watch the people exiting. The guys on the buses were spooky looking. The women looked even tougher. The statement from the Stallone movie: “We are about to be FUBAR” comes to mind. Ten seconds later, I’m carrying both of their knives out in the open, walking post, looking like some kind of Samurai warrior, way, way past my prime. I’m trying to project the image that even though I had all of my prison tattoos removed, I am still a bad boy snake eating ex-jarhead, that once ran around the jungles of Viet Nam raping villages and burning women.
The El Paso bus come and is thankfully nearly empty. Luckily the LA bus had all the really strange people on it. Only normal type folks with busted cars went to El Paso. Three hours and two stops later, we exited the bus at the El Paso bus terminal – a real bus terminal, not a restaurant or a filling station. I need a taxi and this guy, eating on a bright red, rapidly melting, Bomb Pop, steps up and asks, “You need a Taxi?” “Yeah.” “20 bucks for all three.”
The taxi was a van with no air conditioning and no shocks and this
big crack in the center of the windshield. The taxi has a sign on the door – “Garcia’s Plumbing.” There was a real taxi sitting next to the plumbing truck, but there were three of us with our bags – far too many for the real taxi. Mr. Bomb Pop told us that this man here will take us to the airport, if we really want to go to the airport, you know what I mean? The driver was very friendly, with good English. But he didn’t believe we wanted to go to the airport. “No thanks, we don’t want to go into Mexico. Honest. We want to go to the airport. We really need to get to the airport. Yes, these women are handing me real knives. Can we leave now?”
At the airport, we rent a 2000 SUX (Buick four door something or the other.) It has 3800 miles on it and a good V6 motor with 3-speed overdrive transaxle. It had a working air conditioner. I pointed it back east and lit it off. All during the drive I’m remembering that in three weeks time, I will be returning to Phoenix with the horse trailer. We will be moving Sabrina from her apartment back to Fort Worth. There she will pound the pavement looking for her first job after graduating. During this three-week delay I would slowly get the truck ready for the trip. You know the little things that need fixing: like make the air conditioner work better, change the oil and filter; check and replace hoses and belts; check and replace the coolant thermostat. Little stuff. Maybe if I get up early tomorrow I’ll have time to change the oil and filter. Nikki asks me three times if the truck will make it. “Sure” I tell her, “No problem.” Is there a patron saint of diesel motors? Damn. I wanted to change the tranny fluid before trying Phoenix.
Eleven hours later we get home. At 06:30, I’m out of bed and under the 1987 6.9L diesel, F350 Ford crew cab pickup. I’m changing the oil and filter. Once done, I’m on the telephone trying to find a U Haul dealer who has a car carrier. Three of the four dealers I call say that all of their carriers have been reserved. None are available. The last dealer I call has a carrier. “Good. Please reserve it for Jerry Heep. I’ll be there in –.” “You better get here quick, because we don’t reserve carriers.” It’s 25 miles from our home to that dealer. I make it in 15 minutes, because I know how to drive a diesel at high speed and I’m bigger than most other cars on the road that early Monday morning. “I need to rent this carrier and pick up my car in New Mexico. I’ll return the carrier here Wednesday.” “Why don’t you rent one there?” “There is no U Haul rental agency in Lordsburg NM.” “But we cannot rent a round trip carrier that goes out of state. You need a one-way rental. All round trip rentals are local rentals. All one way rentals are out of state rentals.” “Ok, I wanna rent a round trip, local car carrier. Can you do that?” “Sure no problem. You’re not leaving the state?” “Absolutely not.” “Will that be cash or credit card?”
An hour later, we are back on the road. Vivian is following behind in the 2000 SUX. I have a 1 ton car carrier hooked up to a two inch ball. I’m doing about 65MPH. On the second rest stop the driver of the 2000 SUX says: “It’s gonna take us 15 more hours if you don’t light the fire under that stinky SOB.” “Yes dear,” I growl through clenched teeth. Back at the truck, I apologized to the old girl and put the foot to the floorboard. The Banks waste gated turbo inhaled through a K&N filter with a roar. The 3.5-inch diameter exhaust pipes blew fire as we accelerated westward. The boost gage was railed at 11.5 pounds per square inch. The exhaust gas temperature oscillated between 950 and 1050 degrees, depending on the hill we just climbed. I kept the speed between 75 to 80 MPH. All the while keeping one eye on the EGT gage and another looking out for the Texas DPS. You could see the fuel gauge needle move as it headed toward empty. The unloaded car carrier flapped behind the speeding truck like a silver bed sheet.
To pass the time, we count all of the shredded Firestone tires we see on the side of the road. We paused briefly in El Paso, just about sundown, to return the rental car. Then it is back on the road again, this time with Vivian riding in the stinky SOB. “It sure is hot in here.” “Yeah. It will get better when the sun sets.” “I thought you fixed the air conditioner.” “I did, but the vacuum valve is stuck closed that re-circulates the air in the cab.” “Oh. What is that up ahead?” “I think those are storm clouds over the mountains.” “We are in the desert and are seeing storm clouds? While back home we have not seen rain in over three months?” “Yep. I hope it doesn’t rain.” “Why?” “It will wash off the nice coating of dust that is protecting the paint from the sun.” But it did rain. Between Las Cruses and Lordsburg, it dumped. It rained so hard that I was forced to slow down to 25MPH. We saw one car on the east bound side hydroplane and do three 360’s before ending up in the median. That last 30 minutes of that Monday run was the first time the water temperature needle positioned itself between the M and the A of the NORMAL printed on the gage. All that day the needle stayed just to the right of the L. If the truck had a tongue it would be panting. We make it to bed by 10:30 local time, 11:30 electrical time.
At 06:30 the next morning, we breakfast at Denny’s. An hour later, the Lincoln is strapped to the U Haul car carrier and we are ready to roll. Using white shoe polish, I write SHOTROD LINCOLN on the rear window.
We light it off going east, heading home. There are clouds up ahead, the remnants of the storm that hit us last night. This is good, as it is blocking the rising sun. We are holding an EGT of about 800 degrees on the straight and level. 18-wheelers are blowing past us, doing the legal speed of 75MPH. The relief driver raises an eyebrow and says: “It’s gonna take us 15 more hours if you don’t light the fire under this hot, stinky SOB.” “Yes dear,” I growl through clenched teeth. Once again, I push the accelerator to the floor. With a mighty roar, the 6.9L diesel streaks eastward. We now keep up with the 18-wheelers. We find by experimentation that if we draft the passing trucks about 50 feet or so behind their tail gates, the EGT will drop to 700 degrees, while still maintaining 70 to 75MPH. On the straight and level, we can do 70MPH at 950 degrees. Even towing an added two tons of busted Lincoln, the truck is getting the same fuel mileage going east as going west. This truck is no longer “Big Blue.” This truck is no longer “she.” This truck is bad. This truck has balls now. Even the relief driver seems impressed with its power. From now on, we be driving “Bad, Bad Leroy Blue.”
A white BMW, California plates, blows past us doing at least 95. He was not using a front door. There were a couple of Texas drivers using him as a front door, however. About 30 minutes later, we see him on the side of the road. A Texas DPS Mustang parked behind him, with lights on. The trooper was standing next to the Mustang, reading the BMW owner’s license into the hand mike. The aforementioned BMW driver was hanging loose in his car. His arm was sitting in the open window. He did not look happy. About 45 minutes later, he blows past us again, doing it just as fast, with no front door. Some people never learn. We never see him again. To pass the time, we count all of the shredded Firestone tires we see on the side of the road. We pull into our driveway at about 2100 local time. There has got to be a patron saint of diesel motors. I’m a believer. Leroy did great. There were 33 tires, or parts of tires. In 1594 miles.
Last Thursday we went to Phoenix Arizona to attend my #2 daughter’s (Sabrina) graduation ceremony. We were driving the wife’s Continental, because my Mark “doesn’t have enough room in the front seat.” I’d offered the Mark for the trip, as her extended warranty on her car did not really need the additional 3K mile hit. But she refused. Present on the trip were Vivian and I and #1 daughter (Nikki). We attended the college graduation (Proud Papa Bragging rights: With honors, Valedictorian of her class: Degree in Animation).
We started home dark thirty Sunday morning. Traveling on I-10, I crossed the Arizona/New Mexico line at about 9 AM and I started to hear a ticking noise coming and going – like the serpentine belt was frayed and about to break. I pulled over and the belt was fine and there was no noise at idle. So I moved it on down the road. We get to Lordsburg NM and the ticking is almost constant at 75MPH. We need gas. As I stopped the motor at the pumps, I notice a very loud knocking noise. When I restart it, she’s knocking very bad. Bad, bad knocking sound. Worse than the 6.9L Ford diesel we own. “Girls, we just lost a rod bearing.”
Side note: the oil was sent in for analyses about four months ago. I was watching for anti-freeze, as these 3.8L V-6’s have a history of head gasket failures. Ford has extended their warranty for this failure up to 100K miles and 7 years. The oil showed high levels of bearing metal present, but no anti-freeze. I showed the report to the Lincoln service guy at home and all he did was nod. “The head gasket will go first,” he said. He was wrong.
Ok, we have a sick car that isn’t gonna go the 800 miles back to Fort Worth. There is no Ford dealer within 50 miles. There is no rental car agency that is open on Sundays within 200 miles – the closest one is at the El Paso airport. But there is a Greyhound Bus that comes by at 11:45 at the bus stop, where others travelers with good motors can stop for a Big Mac, with fries and a coke. We park the busted Continental at the motel across the street from the filling station and a nice lady that runs the day desk takes us to the “bus stop.” The plan is: we take the bus to El Paso, rent a car and get home. Tomorrow, I will jump into the Ford F350 pick up and rent a car carrier from U-Haul. The wife will follow me in the rental car, which we will return to the airport rental agency in El Paso that day. We stay overnight at the Lordsburg Days Inn, load up the sick car and head out dark thirty back to Fort Worth.
The LA to New York bus stops and my wife and daughter watch the people exiting. The guys on the buses were spooky looking. The women looked even tougher. The statement from the Stallone movie: “We are about to be FUBAR” comes to mind. Ten seconds later, I’m carrying both of their knives out in the open, walking post, looking like some kind of Samurai warrior, way, way past my prime. I’m trying to project the image that even though I had all of my prison tattoos removed, I am still a bad boy snake eating ex-jarhead, that once ran around the jungles of Viet Nam raping villages and burning women.
The El Paso bus come and is thankfully nearly empty. Luckily the LA bus had all the really strange people on it. Only normal type folks with busted cars went to El Paso. Three hours and two stops later, we exited the bus at the El Paso bus terminal – a real bus terminal, not a restaurant or a filling station. I need a taxi and this guy, eating on a bright red, rapidly melting, Bomb Pop, steps up and asks, “You need a Taxi?” “Yeah.” “20 bucks for all three.”
The taxi was a van with no air conditioning and no shocks and this
big crack in the center of the windshield. The taxi has a sign on the door – “Garcia’s Plumbing.” There was a real taxi sitting next to the plumbing truck, but there were three of us with our bags – far too many for the real taxi. Mr. Bomb Pop told us that this man here will take us to the airport, if we really want to go to the airport, you know what I mean? The driver was very friendly, with good English. But he didn’t believe we wanted to go to the airport. “No thanks, we don’t want to go into Mexico. Honest. We want to go to the airport. We really need to get to the airport. Yes, these women are handing me real knives. Can we leave now?”
At the airport, we rent a 2000 SUX (Buick four door something or the other.) It has 3800 miles on it and a good V6 motor with 3-speed overdrive transaxle. It had a working air conditioner. I pointed it back east and lit it off. All during the drive I’m remembering that in three weeks time, I will be returning to Phoenix with the horse trailer. We will be moving Sabrina from her apartment back to Fort Worth. There she will pound the pavement looking for her first job after graduating. During this three-week delay I would slowly get the truck ready for the trip. You know the little things that need fixing: like make the air conditioner work better, change the oil and filter; check and replace hoses and belts; check and replace the coolant thermostat. Little stuff. Maybe if I get up early tomorrow I’ll have time to change the oil and filter. Nikki asks me three times if the truck will make it. “Sure” I tell her, “No problem.” Is there a patron saint of diesel motors? Damn. I wanted to change the tranny fluid before trying Phoenix.
Eleven hours later we get home. At 06:30, I’m out of bed and under the 1987 6.9L diesel, F350 Ford crew cab pickup. I’m changing the oil and filter. Once done, I’m on the telephone trying to find a U Haul dealer who has a car carrier. Three of the four dealers I call say that all of their carriers have been reserved. None are available. The last dealer I call has a carrier. “Good. Please reserve it for Jerry Heep. I’ll be there in –.” “You better get here quick, because we don’t reserve carriers.” It’s 25 miles from our home to that dealer. I make it in 15 minutes, because I know how to drive a diesel at high speed and I’m bigger than most other cars on the road that early Monday morning. “I need to rent this carrier and pick up my car in New Mexico. I’ll return the carrier here Wednesday.” “Why don’t you rent one there?” “There is no U Haul rental agency in Lordsburg NM.” “But we cannot rent a round trip carrier that goes out of state. You need a one-way rental. All round trip rentals are local rentals. All one way rentals are out of state rentals.” “Ok, I wanna rent a round trip, local car carrier. Can you do that?” “Sure no problem. You’re not leaving the state?” “Absolutely not.” “Will that be cash or credit card?”
An hour later, we are back on the road. Vivian is following behind in the 2000 SUX. I have a 1 ton car carrier hooked up to a two inch ball. I’m doing about 65MPH. On the second rest stop the driver of the 2000 SUX says: “It’s gonna take us 15 more hours if you don’t light the fire under that stinky SOB.” “Yes dear,” I growl through clenched teeth. Back at the truck, I apologized to the old girl and put the foot to the floorboard. The Banks waste gated turbo inhaled through a K&N filter with a roar. The 3.5-inch diameter exhaust pipes blew fire as we accelerated westward. The boost gage was railed at 11.5 pounds per square inch. The exhaust gas temperature oscillated between 950 and 1050 degrees, depending on the hill we just climbed. I kept the speed between 75 to 80 MPH. All the while keeping one eye on the EGT gage and another looking out for the Texas DPS. You could see the fuel gauge needle move as it headed toward empty. The unloaded car carrier flapped behind the speeding truck like a silver bed sheet.
To pass the time, we count all of the shredded Firestone tires we see on the side of the road. We paused briefly in El Paso, just about sundown, to return the rental car. Then it is back on the road again, this time with Vivian riding in the stinky SOB. “It sure is hot in here.” “Yeah. It will get better when the sun sets.” “I thought you fixed the air conditioner.” “I did, but the vacuum valve is stuck closed that re-circulates the air in the cab.” “Oh. What is that up ahead?” “I think those are storm clouds over the mountains.” “We are in the desert and are seeing storm clouds? While back home we have not seen rain in over three months?” “Yep. I hope it doesn’t rain.” “Why?” “It will wash off the nice coating of dust that is protecting the paint from the sun.” But it did rain. Between Las Cruses and Lordsburg, it dumped. It rained so hard that I was forced to slow down to 25MPH. We saw one car on the east bound side hydroplane and do three 360’s before ending up in the median. That last 30 minutes of that Monday run was the first time the water temperature needle positioned itself between the M and the A of the NORMAL printed on the gage. All that day the needle stayed just to the right of the L. If the truck had a tongue it would be panting. We make it to bed by 10:30 local time, 11:30 electrical time.
At 06:30 the next morning, we breakfast at Denny’s. An hour later, the Lincoln is strapped to the U Haul car carrier and we are ready to roll. Using white shoe polish, I write SHOTROD LINCOLN on the rear window.
We light it off going east, heading home. There are clouds up ahead, the remnants of the storm that hit us last night. This is good, as it is blocking the rising sun. We are holding an EGT of about 800 degrees on the straight and level. 18-wheelers are blowing past us, doing the legal speed of 75MPH. The relief driver raises an eyebrow and says: “It’s gonna take us 15 more hours if you don’t light the fire under this hot, stinky SOB.” “Yes dear,” I growl through clenched teeth. Once again, I push the accelerator to the floor. With a mighty roar, the 6.9L diesel streaks eastward. We now keep up with the 18-wheelers. We find by experimentation that if we draft the passing trucks about 50 feet or so behind their tail gates, the EGT will drop to 700 degrees, while still maintaining 70 to 75MPH. On the straight and level, we can do 70MPH at 950 degrees. Even towing an added two tons of busted Lincoln, the truck is getting the same fuel mileage going east as going west. This truck is no longer “Big Blue.” This truck is no longer “she.” This truck is bad. This truck has balls now. Even the relief driver seems impressed with its power. From now on, we be driving “Bad, Bad Leroy Blue.”
A white BMW, California plates, blows past us doing at least 95. He was not using a front door. There were a couple of Texas drivers using him as a front door, however. About 30 minutes later, we see him on the side of the road. A Texas DPS Mustang parked behind him, with lights on. The trooper was standing next to the Mustang, reading the BMW owner’s license into the hand mike. The aforementioned BMW driver was hanging loose in his car. His arm was sitting in the open window. He did not look happy. About 45 minutes later, he blows past us again, doing it just as fast, with no front door. Some people never learn. We never see him again. To pass the time, we count all of the shredded Firestone tires we see on the side of the road. We pull into our driveway at about 2100 local time. There has got to be a patron saint of diesel motors. I’m a believer. Leroy did great. There were 33 tires, or parts of tires. In 1594 miles.
