Thirty Years in a Housetruck
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Dennis The Bus Dweller
- Seasoned Nomadicista
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OK you guys have been bugging me for almost a year to write another blurb, so here it is. I kind of think it's a boring read, but it'll have to do, the exciting stuff doesn't happen until 1976.
I have a photo that I want to scan for inclusion with this episode. Once that's done, I'll port it over to the "30 Years" book edition on the Bus Barn.
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Fall of 1975 progressed, as the seasons are wont to do. Great chevrons of Canada geese tread their way south across the sky seeking warmer climes for the coming winter. The days grew shorter and the light weaker, and the nighttime temperatures colder. All of this was somewhat of a new experience for me. In Los Angeles, the changing of the seasons is not all that obvious, this would be my first true taste of winter.
The roommates at the Schoolhouse organized a Halloween costume party, and the intent was to invite a bunch of people, some of whom we might even have known, and get together for a large meal, ingest some intoxicants and laugh our masked asses off. I had plans to dress up as Dracula, all the better to nibble on young ladies necks.
The reality was that Halloween night came, but no guests or costumes were to be seen. The roommates kind of languished around the house in the evening, and by dark it was apparent that no festivities were forthcoming. I retired to the Housetruck, lit a fire and did some quiet reading before going to bed. Not long after falling asleep, the truck started rocking violently as several of the other occupants of the household stood outside and shoved back and forth on the walls of the truck in unison.
Just having gotten to sleep, and being groggy from being awakened, my first concern was that the truck was rocking enough to cause my kerosene lamp to slide back and forth on the shelf it was sitting on, getting very close to the edge at each oscillation. I called out to stop the rocking, telling them that "I had kerosene" (I was groggy, remember). Apparently the revelers outside thought that I was attempting to threaten them with retribution, so they went back into the house calling me a "bad sport". I went back to bed and back to sleep and that was the end of the big Halloween party of 1975. I don’t get to make contact with any female necks.
When the instructors at the welding class said "no vehicles in the shop", I guess I didn’t listen too well, because somehow I managed to talk them into allowing me to bring the Housetruck to school in order to allow me to weld in support steel for the windows in the loft and living room.
In order to prepare for this project, I needed to move out of the truck temporarily. Fortunately, Jay was out traveling in Panama, so I moved into his cabin, taking my bedding, books, storage gear and all out of the truck. Jay’s cabin was once the stable back in the days when the Schoolhouse was actually used for tutoring students. Back in those days, motor cars weren’t invented yet, and some students rode in on livestock instead of schoolbuses. There was a large sleeping loft, and a small "airtight" wood stove. For the most part, it was drafty and cold as well as cluttered, but it was just for a while, so I persevered.
The truck was much too big to get into the shop, so I parked it outside the big rollup door and moved the wire feed welder over to the opening. A single night’s session and I had the metal framing installed. Back at home I cut the sheet steel wall sheathing away to produce an opening and installed the two windows. The weather was not very cooperative, I got rained on six different times while putting in the living room window. The final precipitation was a nice pelting of hail, which I didn’t mind so much.
The new windows made an amazing difference in the interior of the truck, I now had light and a view. The window in the sleeping loft was a new window that I had purchased from a local second hand market, and Woodley had purchased one also to use as his kitchen window. These windows had the latest in safety features, which was that they were designed to allow egress in an emergency by lifting two handles. This caused the glass, screen and frame to swing out on hinges. Seemed like a nice addition to my loft in case of fire. The loft window was directly above the cab of the truck, so it was quite easy to step out the window and onto the roof of the cab, no ladder was needed to get up or down.
With the window project complete, and Jay due back from his travels, it was time to move my junk back into the truck. Towards the end of the day, I was carrying a milk crate packed full of books back to the truck when I stepped on a short length of wet dimensional lumber laying in the sloped driveway. Wet wood can be as slick as ice, and when my boot lost traction, I fell backwards fast, launching the crate of books into the air. It came down hard on my left leg and to this day, I don’t know why my leg didn’t break
With no further disasters, I settled back into the truck to enjoy my new views.
I have a photo that I want to scan for inclusion with this episode. Once that's done, I'll port it over to the "30 Years" book edition on the Bus Barn.
==============================================
Fall of 1975 progressed, as the seasons are wont to do. Great chevrons of Canada geese tread their way south across the sky seeking warmer climes for the coming winter. The days grew shorter and the light weaker, and the nighttime temperatures colder. All of this was somewhat of a new experience for me. In Los Angeles, the changing of the seasons is not all that obvious, this would be my first true taste of winter.
The roommates at the Schoolhouse organized a Halloween costume party, and the intent was to invite a bunch of people, some of whom we might even have known, and get together for a large meal, ingest some intoxicants and laugh our masked asses off. I had plans to dress up as Dracula, all the better to nibble on young ladies necks.
The reality was that Halloween night came, but no guests or costumes were to be seen. The roommates kind of languished around the house in the evening, and by dark it was apparent that no festivities were forthcoming. I retired to the Housetruck, lit a fire and did some quiet reading before going to bed. Not long after falling asleep, the truck started rocking violently as several of the other occupants of the household stood outside and shoved back and forth on the walls of the truck in unison.
Just having gotten to sleep, and being groggy from being awakened, my first concern was that the truck was rocking enough to cause my kerosene lamp to slide back and forth on the shelf it was sitting on, getting very close to the edge at each oscillation. I called out to stop the rocking, telling them that "I had kerosene" (I was groggy, remember). Apparently the revelers outside thought that I was attempting to threaten them with retribution, so they went back into the house calling me a "bad sport". I went back to bed and back to sleep and that was the end of the big Halloween party of 1975. I don’t get to make contact with any female necks.
When the instructors at the welding class said "no vehicles in the shop", I guess I didn’t listen too well, because somehow I managed to talk them into allowing me to bring the Housetruck to school in order to allow me to weld in support steel for the windows in the loft and living room.
In order to prepare for this project, I needed to move out of the truck temporarily. Fortunately, Jay was out traveling in Panama, so I moved into his cabin, taking my bedding, books, storage gear and all out of the truck. Jay’s cabin was once the stable back in the days when the Schoolhouse was actually used for tutoring students. Back in those days, motor cars weren’t invented yet, and some students rode in on livestock instead of schoolbuses. There was a large sleeping loft, and a small "airtight" wood stove. For the most part, it was drafty and cold as well as cluttered, but it was just for a while, so I persevered.
The truck was much too big to get into the shop, so I parked it outside the big rollup door and moved the wire feed welder over to the opening. A single night’s session and I had the metal framing installed. Back at home I cut the sheet steel wall sheathing away to produce an opening and installed the two windows. The weather was not very cooperative, I got rained on six different times while putting in the living room window. The final precipitation was a nice pelting of hail, which I didn’t mind so much.
The new windows made an amazing difference in the interior of the truck, I now had light and a view. The window in the sleeping loft was a new window that I had purchased from a local second hand market, and Woodley had purchased one also to use as his kitchen window. These windows had the latest in safety features, which was that they were designed to allow egress in an emergency by lifting two handles. This caused the glass, screen and frame to swing out on hinges. Seemed like a nice addition to my loft in case of fire. The loft window was directly above the cab of the truck, so it was quite easy to step out the window and onto the roof of the cab, no ladder was needed to get up or down.
With the window project complete, and Jay due back from his travels, it was time to move my junk back into the truck. Towards the end of the day, I was carrying a milk crate packed full of books back to the truck when I stepped on a short length of wet dimensional lumber laying in the sloped driveway. Wet wood can be as slick as ice, and when my boot lost traction, I fell backwards fast, launching the crate of books into the air. It came down hard on my left leg and to this day, I don’t know why my leg didn’t break
With no further disasters, I settled back into the truck to enjoy my new views.
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splummer
- Posts: 563
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- Location: western maine , the other alaska
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new guy here , i just read your story ,nice also just got into this forum , like a few hrs ago and i think i will spend some time here ,i also have a bus, a 87 international x school bus, and we have turned her into a home away from home, so far we have usedher for camping and doing fairs.we like to be onthe road but not this winter , soon tho, way to many projects here to do before winter, all i can say is nice site. thanks steve
Here's the copy that I intended to write a year ago, but the events of that season prevented me from completing it. The narritive seems topical, as we are having an Arctic Blast tonight. It's currently 17°F, and I expect that it will go down to at least 15°, if not lower. (I know, some of you say, "big deal, that's the high temperature in these parts")
There may be another episode coming up soon, as I have more material from December of 1975 that I should squeeze in before the new year.
===========================================
Winter approached, and it began to get genuinely cold. The formerly “coldâ€
There may be another episode coming up soon, as I have more material from December of 1975 that I should squeeze in before the new year.
===========================================
Winter approached, and it began to get genuinely cold. The formerly “coldâ€
OK, I know, a little over a month since the last inception. Here's another episode for you. This closes out the year 1975, and allows me to get some old letters off my desk that have been hanging around for over a year as research material.
<hr>
The new winter conditions made for fast lessons in driving. Not only were the roads frequently wet from rain, but often icy, if not packed with at least a thin layer of snow. This made for some interesting road conditions for all of us.
One Friday night after one of the early snowfalls, Jay came home from being in the city and announced that "the roads were murder". Then next morning, after another dusting of flurries, I cancelled my plans to drive into the city for my welding class.
Woodley's wife, Anne had purchased a used car to commute to work and school, a blue 1964 Rambler sedan named "Frank". One cold morning Woodley and I were going to meet Anne at her friend Barbara's home out on Seavey Way. Barbara was renting an old homestead cabin out in Goshen near the river that was now owned by a gravel quarry. When we came to the end of the pavement, Anne's car was sitting wedged sideways between the guard rails of a narrow bridge over the Coast Fork of the Willamette. It had been a frosty morning, and while the ice had melted off the roads, the bridge was still covered in what we here call "black ice", which is difficult to see and more difficult on which to control a car.
There was no damage to Anne's car, the front and rear bumpers were just contacting the guard rails on each side of the bridge. The pavement was still icy, and after hot-wiring her car and starting the engine, we found that it was stuck well enough that the rear tires would only spin on the ice. This gave me an idea, so I pulled out a tow strap from the back of my car and hooked it to Frank's rear bumper, connecting the other end to the front bumper of my car. Woodley got in Frank's front seat, and while he spun the rear wheels on the ice, I gave a pull backwards with my car, which was still on the pavement off of the bridge, so there was no ice under my tires. Frank was quickly pulled sideways back to proper alignment with the lane, and Woodley and I continued our drive to Barbara's house, about a half-mile away. Anne was just starting her walk back to the bridge and car after finding Barbara not at home. She was rather amazed that we were able to extricate Frank from the bridge, but hey, that's what guys ~do~.
Paul had a more serious encounter with the road that winter. He was driving along Interstate 5 just outside of Eugene one dark night when he rounded a curve and saw a dead deer laying in his lane. There was no way to change lanes to avoid it, and no time to stop, so he swerved the best he could and missed it. Unfortunately, the car didn't recover from the maneuver, went up an embankment, came down, flipped upside down and came to a rest on the highway. No injuries, but the car was pretty beat up. After righting the car and checking the fluids, Paul drove it home to the Schoolhouse, relating the incident to us with the words "I guess it wasn't my time to go".
The damage to his car was $1,800, which was a fortune back then, today that will almost fix a dented fender. The roof was caved in over the back seat, and the mirrors sheared off. All of the fenders were scraped from sliding on the pavement and the muffler had been ejected in the rollover. He continued to drive it during the worst of weather until the insurance claim had been processed. I tried to convince Paul to take the insurance money and let the Schoolhouse Auto Repair crew do something creative with the car, like build a geodesic dome on the back and turn it into a mobile herb garden. He wasn't impressed. Paul's insurance company ended up paying for the repair, and Paul kept that Celica for a lot more years.
I do remember having to scrape a lot of ice off my windshield before going anywhere in the mornings. One day I was in a hurry, and the ice wasn't coming off very well. The engine hadn't warmed up enough to make the defrosters work, so I took off driving anyway, and after rolling down the window, stuck my head out the window to see where I was going. This worked pretty well until my glasses fogged up and iced over.
One unnecessary winter trip I remember was Christmas Eve, 1975. Somebody, maybe Jay decided that we should drive into the city and get some ice cream. I thought it was nuts to drive all that way for a sugary treat, but Woodley decided it was a great idea, and Jay was going to drive, so I went along for the ride.
The streets weren't really a problem, it had been sprinkling rain, so everything was clean and wet. We arrived at the Nice Cream parlor (alternative shop run by hippies), and each had some iced confection. I remember being impressed by how quiet it seemed that night, the hustle and bustle of the holiday season had settled down, and calmness replaced the nervous hum of the city. Along Blair Street, there was a vintage house, neat and tidy with some simple yard decorations added, and the windows looked to have a display of the occupants collectable Christmas china arranged to be seen from the sidewalk. Somehow, all the glitz and glitter of the commercialized season seemed far away when I saw this heartfelt home and simple decoration.
<hr>
The new winter conditions made for fast lessons in driving. Not only were the roads frequently wet from rain, but often icy, if not packed with at least a thin layer of snow. This made for some interesting road conditions for all of us.
One Friday night after one of the early snowfalls, Jay came home from being in the city and announced that "the roads were murder". Then next morning, after another dusting of flurries, I cancelled my plans to drive into the city for my welding class.
Woodley's wife, Anne had purchased a used car to commute to work and school, a blue 1964 Rambler sedan named "Frank". One cold morning Woodley and I were going to meet Anne at her friend Barbara's home out on Seavey Way. Barbara was renting an old homestead cabin out in Goshen near the river that was now owned by a gravel quarry. When we came to the end of the pavement, Anne's car was sitting wedged sideways between the guard rails of a narrow bridge over the Coast Fork of the Willamette. It had been a frosty morning, and while the ice had melted off the roads, the bridge was still covered in what we here call "black ice", which is difficult to see and more difficult on which to control a car.
There was no damage to Anne's car, the front and rear bumpers were just contacting the guard rails on each side of the bridge. The pavement was still icy, and after hot-wiring her car and starting the engine, we found that it was stuck well enough that the rear tires would only spin on the ice. This gave me an idea, so I pulled out a tow strap from the back of my car and hooked it to Frank's rear bumper, connecting the other end to the front bumper of my car. Woodley got in Frank's front seat, and while he spun the rear wheels on the ice, I gave a pull backwards with my car, which was still on the pavement off of the bridge, so there was no ice under my tires. Frank was quickly pulled sideways back to proper alignment with the lane, and Woodley and I continued our drive to Barbara's house, about a half-mile away. Anne was just starting her walk back to the bridge and car after finding Barbara not at home. She was rather amazed that we were able to extricate Frank from the bridge, but hey, that's what guys ~do~.
Paul had a more serious encounter with the road that winter. He was driving along Interstate 5 just outside of Eugene one dark night when he rounded a curve and saw a dead deer laying in his lane. There was no way to change lanes to avoid it, and no time to stop, so he swerved the best he could and missed it. Unfortunately, the car didn't recover from the maneuver, went up an embankment, came down, flipped upside down and came to a rest on the highway. No injuries, but the car was pretty beat up. After righting the car and checking the fluids, Paul drove it home to the Schoolhouse, relating the incident to us with the words "I guess it wasn't my time to go".
The damage to his car was $1,800, which was a fortune back then, today that will almost fix a dented fender. The roof was caved in over the back seat, and the mirrors sheared off. All of the fenders were scraped from sliding on the pavement and the muffler had been ejected in the rollover. He continued to drive it during the worst of weather until the insurance claim had been processed. I tried to convince Paul to take the insurance money and let the Schoolhouse Auto Repair crew do something creative with the car, like build a geodesic dome on the back and turn it into a mobile herb garden. He wasn't impressed. Paul's insurance company ended up paying for the repair, and Paul kept that Celica for a lot more years.
I do remember having to scrape a lot of ice off my windshield before going anywhere in the mornings. One day I was in a hurry, and the ice wasn't coming off very well. The engine hadn't warmed up enough to make the defrosters work, so I took off driving anyway, and after rolling down the window, stuck my head out the window to see where I was going. This worked pretty well until my glasses fogged up and iced over.
One unnecessary winter trip I remember was Christmas Eve, 1975. Somebody, maybe Jay decided that we should drive into the city and get some ice cream. I thought it was nuts to drive all that way for a sugary treat, but Woodley decided it was a great idea, and Jay was going to drive, so I went along for the ride.
The streets weren't really a problem, it had been sprinkling rain, so everything was clean and wet. We arrived at the Nice Cream parlor (alternative shop run by hippies), and each had some iced confection. I remember being impressed by how quiet it seemed that night, the hustle and bustle of the holiday season had settled down, and calmness replaced the nervous hum of the city. Along Blair Street, there was a vintage house, neat and tidy with some simple yard decorations added, and the windows looked to have a display of the occupants collectable Christmas china arranged to be seen from the sidewalk. Somehow, all the glitz and glitter of the commercialized season seemed far away when I saw this heartfelt home and simple decoration.
true that; a simpler time which is a lifetime behind us.
in a similar winter, a country away, we walked the mile along the seawall to the nearest bar only to be three of the four patrons in the joint. the fourth was our neighbor who drove through the drifts in his Farmall tractor. which was left idling outside while he sucked down his brews!
as always, thanks for sharing
in a similar winter, a country away, we walked the mile along the seawall to the nearest bar only to be three of the four patrons in the joint. the fourth was our neighbor who drove through the drifts in his Farmall tractor. which was left idling outside while he sucked down his brews!
as always, thanks for sharing
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Dennis The Bus Dweller
- Seasoned Nomadicista
- Posts: 1874
- Joined: Mon Nov 15, 2004 9:33 am
- Location: Southold N.Y.
- Contact:
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Dualfuel
33 years in a truckhouse...
My wife forwarded me a link to your forum Mr. Sharkey. I would probably not have found it myself, being too tied up in cruising for vintage snowmobile parts right now...but I did. I really enjoyed the story so far. You write the way I do, namely in short bursts of very readable narrative. Similar to Louis Lamour, in that your story moves. Its a great style.
Your life facinates me too. I suppose after 33 years its not all action but it does show an apparent lack of ADD. I could never do what you have done, for as long.
In 1983, I moved into a 1963 Chevy school bus with a 6'4" Swede from Ely Minnesota named Jack Burl. We made an epic (to me, at least) journey from Palm Springs to Michigan in that bus. I learned about road karma, and tuna glop, amoung other life lessons.
In 2005, I found my self living in the back of an M109 2.5 ton shop van in Abu Ghraib Prison in Iraq. Being there "at the convience of the Government" subjected to stoploss, I felt compelled to do as I pleased as far as was prudent. This included changing my uniform to T-shirt, shorts, and flipflops, and converting the shop van to an alternatively powered truckhouse. It ran on used motor oil for 10 months. Keep writing...DF
Your life facinates me too. I suppose after 33 years its not all action but it does show an apparent lack of ADD. I could never do what you have done, for as long.
In 1983, I moved into a 1963 Chevy school bus with a 6'4" Swede from Ely Minnesota named Jack Burl. We made an epic (to me, at least) journey from Palm Springs to Michigan in that bus. I learned about road karma, and tuna glop, amoung other life lessons.
In 2005, I found my self living in the back of an M109 2.5 ton shop van in Abu Ghraib Prison in Iraq. Being there "at the convience of the Government" subjected to stoploss, I felt compelled to do as I pleased as far as was prudent. This included changing my uniform to T-shirt, shorts, and flipflops, and converting the shop van to an alternatively powered truckhouse. It ran on used motor oil for 10 months. Keep writing...DF
Ok Dualfuel, Sharkey's right, now you have to ante up and tell the stories! You could start with the one about living in the Deuce "house truck". I have a Deuce, 1972 M35A2 multi-fuel, but it does not have the box on the back, just the standard bed. I wrestled with the idea for a long time of getting a M109 and making the ultimate off road camper/house truck. I could not bring myself to making one out of my standard deuce, it is just to nice, low mileage rust free from the battlefields of SoCal where it served the 264th Signal Batt in Compton, California all it's life. Rather silly isn't it, not wanting to get scratches on my "macho" truck now that it is all painted up nice, and restored.
So- we will all wait to hear some of your life narratives- please don't keep us waiting long!!
So- we will all wait to hear some of your life narratives- please don't keep us waiting long!!
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