There’s something about American trucks

There’s something about American trucks. Now I’m not talking just any American truck here. I’m talking pickup trucks, Jimmy’s, Suburbans, like that. The old Suburbans especially, before they squared the headlights.

Pretty much what Mable looked like, except for the faux wood

I used to drive a 1978 GM Suburban by the name of Mable. Huge beast of a thing. Shitty gas mileage, yes, but this was a proper truck. And she just seemed to fit me so well. The day I got her I felt like I’d already been driving her for months. She had this classic look, evocative of the 50’s, like a combination of a station wagon and a big ol’ pick-up truck. Huge bench seat in the front, another in the back, and acres of cargo space behind that, all enclosed by a burgundy steel shell with big, long windows. Add the big barn doors on the back? Classic.

So what was I doing with such a big truck? The usual answer is that the man with the big truck is trying to compensate for a perceived lacking. Maybe, but I did have a pretty good excuse. I’d just bought a trailerable 24-foor sailboat, weighing in at about 3000 pounds, so I needed something to tow her with. Something hefty, something big. (I ended up living on that boat for 6 months, sans truck, but that’s another story).

1969 Suburban

The thing was, she was just a fucking pleasure to drive. The seats were comfortable, and you were up high where you could see all the traffic. The power was nice, and the exhaust had this eager, throaty note to it. I mean she’d purr, no matter what you were asking of her. Once you’ve driven a V8 it’s very, very hard to go back. I miss it.

Mable was the rear wheel drive model. This made winter driving rather interesting, but I coped – happily. When she was warming up she had this condition of revving too high for too long: a sticky choke. If starting off on snow you had to leave her in neutral, then give the shifter (on the steering column, naturally) a gentle tug towards you, down to first, then back to neutral, back to first, alternately spinning the wheels and gaining momentum. I only once got stuck over the two winters I had her, and that was a snow-plow’s fault.

Worthy payload

When I lived in South Carolina there were pick-up trucks and SUV’s everywhere. And some of them actually used their trucks for real. You know what I’m saying here: hauling tools, timber, and other worthy payloads from here to there. The most righteous of these drove old workhorses, splattered with mud and road debris. They left the windows rolled down when they went in for their 6-packs and smokes. Often you’d see confederate flags on the bumpers, and, if out rural, a shotgun rack in the cab. These were real trucks, driven without pretension.

But then you had the trucks that most people drove. Guys showing off. Not hauling anything – just driving it to work, and then out to the bars where they’d get tanked up and then just drive that baby on home, no bother. Sometimes they’d find a mud puddle somewhere and get the truck looking all bad-ass, but you could tell it was just for show. They’d be washing it off at the weekend.

Speaking of which, what’s this obsession with washing your truck? I supposed I can see it if you had a shiny new candy-red sports car, but what’s with the truck? A truck is supposed to get dirty. It’s a rough and tumble situation. Like a rock.

There’s actually something to those American TV commercials. Big tough construction men hauling God knows what through all manner of muck. All in slow motion, usually at sunset. You could be that man.

But it wasn’t just the guys that had their trucks. You’d see mums, too, getting into their SUV’s to drive the kids to soccer practice. Have you see the Lincoln Navigator? It’s bigger than a Hummer. Women like driving these. I’ve seen it. I guess they feel safer, though study after study shows otherwise. What can I say? It’s America. Size matters.

This one guy I knew in Ottawa got himself a new Xterra. This is a big off-road 4-wheel drive, like a Pathfinder. His monthly payments were $700. Insurance on top of that. I once convoyed with him up a dirt track to a friend’s cottage. He stayed under 10 mph so he wouldn’t pick up any stones or brush against any trees. I was flabbergasted. Still am. Why on earth did he buy it?

1962 Suburban

I never once washed my Suburban. I did drive her fast though. I don’t know what her top speed was – I think I probably got her up to about 180 or 190 kph, which doesn’t sound fast, but in a big loose 1978 truck-mobile you’re going to feel it. I would drive her pretty hard, especially on the back roads. You could drive this thing as fast as a sports car if you knew how to do it.

All this talk of Suburbans (especially the 1978 model) makes me want another. I still get to see them, quite often actually, in American movies. Even the old models, with the round headlights, the gentle curves of the cab, those big windows and the barn doors. No fuss. Just nice straight lines brought softly together. Pretty and mean at the same time. And a V8 under the hood.

1972

I don’t see those kinds of trucks any more, not over here. They’re just not sold here. But back in Canada they were everywhere. CBC used to use them all the time. It’s a perfect vehicle for getting people and gear pretty much anywhere.

I can almost see the designer drawing it on his draftboard, almost hear the welders and machinists putting it all together. The result is something rather special. When I look at a classic American truck I see strength, style, even virility. I can identify with that. And I’m not even American.

If I ever move back to Canada I’m gonna get me another. But this time around I might find it hard to justify the outrageous gas consumption and other associated impacts on the environment. It would be irresponsible.

So I guess I’ll just have to buy another boat.

I’m back

I’m back!

Three weeks without a proper keybaord, and although I still can’t type properly, at least I’m clacking again.

Check out at these bad boys. It’s the only way to type.

The IBM M-Series keyboard. The only way to type.

IBM M-series keyboard

I’ve always loved the IBM “clicky” keyboards. I’ve been using my current one for the past couple of years. The solid tactile response encourages and motivates me, and the clickety clacketing sound is thoroughly satisfying. The size of the keys and their need for firm attack allows me to type even when drunk. But last weekend I spilled some beer on it. It was just a little bit this time, but it didn’t respond well. It got all wonky. Some keys were now ignored; other keys short-circuited, displaying three or four letters and symbols at once. Not good. My writing has pretty much ceased.

I tried my crappy wireless keyboard, but the batteries had long ago leaked into its innards. No worky. So I’m typing this now on my laptop. Not easy. Random keys I don’t even realize I’m touching are causing all manner of mayhem. The screen flickers; entire paragraphs disappear; random applications are launched or closed without warning or explanation.

So I decided to take that big bad IBM apart and fix it. I’ve done it before, I think. But none of my tools would fit the deeply recessed bolts. It’s always like this.  Every single DIY-type job I’ve ever attempted in my natural life has required the purchase of at least one tool that can’t be found anywhere locally. I finally found the one I needed, thanks to a fellow M-series enthusiast.  A great find, but I didn’t order it right away. I spent a few sleepless nights trying to justify spending £5 shipping for a small £4 item. After a week of useless Googling I inevitably broke down and ordered. My toolbox now contains a Wiha deep-socket narrow-barreled 5.5mm T-handled nut driver. Big fucking whoop.

The idea was to take this beast apart, give her a good scrub, and then re-assemble.

Here’s what it looked like before I began:

A right beauty

You can see how lovingly I took care of this gem. Time to open the case.

Not as bad as I expected!

I really need to quit smoking.

So I rolled a smoke from the available bits and proceeded to try and clean up what I could. I used an upright vacuum cleaner and the little whisk brush from my electric razor. I couldn’t find any Q-tips or fancy cleaning helpers, so I just kind of poked and scraped for awhile. Before putting it back together I thought I’d plug it in and try it out. No go – it was still way wonky.

Desperate times, right? I’ve heard you can clean these in the dishwasher, so fuck, give it a shot right? We don’t have a dishwasher, so I just hosed her down in the shower with super hot water on the jet stream setting. I was surprised at how much crap came swirling out.

Several hours on the hairdryer. A couple of hours on the radiator. Next day I plugged it in and tried it. A little better, but some keys were still doubled and tripled and some didn’t go at all.

There was probably some gunk on the contacts. Nothing for it but to compleley tear it down.

Here’s what it looked like fully disassembled:

Everything *looks* organized. But...

But I wasn’t really paying attention when I took it apart. I don’t usually make this mistake – sometimes I’ll even take pictures and draw diagrams as insurance against my natural unhandiness.

Help

102 fiddly springers

Which layer goes where? I’d forgotten. But even if I did figure it out through common sense (read trial and error), do you see that little pile of springs sitting there? That’s 102 springs. Each one has to be pain-stakingly placed just so between the guiding and circuit layers without disturbing the others. Then get everything else just perfect as well. From experience I know that this will take at least three complete attempts: the first to mess it up good; the second to sort of almost figure it out; and the third to completely and properly fuck it up through over-thinking the problem.

I decided that this approach will not do. The hours of fiddling will only result in an explosion of frustration, after which this once-venerable keyboard will be unrecognizable.

So I did the only sensible thing – I looked online for a replacement. Britain is fresh out, so I’ve ordered two from a Canadian E-Bayer. A great deal at £8 each. And shipping to the UK? Ach, a paltry £50. We’ll just have to stay away from the pub for awhile. But that’s OK, I’ll be up here in my writing room instead, typing up a storm on a proper keyboard again.