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Towing Displacement

Jimway

Jimway

Well-known member
I recently found a little project underneath a pine tree. When I first found it, it was covered with about two inches of pine needles and a unique green film growing all over it, Now I know that I have the smallest and slowest Mate on the Forum, but I have my eye (red as it is) fixed on one of them big Convincers. The Ranger just isn't going to be able to handle one of those big boys although I'm certain that I'm going to look good behind the helm, maybe not as good as Sim, but still pretty darn good. So I've been thinking that a full size truck might just be in order. A smart fella would just go to the car lot and buy one but that takes all of the fun out of it. I spyed the truck in question, peeking out from underneath a pine tree. When I say underneath a tree, I'm not fooling. the branches reached around the top of the vehicle and drape clear to the ground, leaving only the grill showing. When I first saw it, it spoke to me. All it could muster in a squeaky little voice was "help". The owner of the vehicle, feeling sorry for me while no doubt questioning my sanity, offered the vehicle in exchange for a small fee. "Parked it there eight years ago when it started smokin so bad it would pretty much fill up the intersection" he stated.
 
:needpics:

And I have a feeling this will turn into a restoration adventure story in true Jim fashion! We can only hope it does!
 
Only smoke from my Dodge is that sweet black kind when I roll coal passing them Chebbies and Ferds. I think you got it confused with a typical 6.0 Powerchoke with blown headgaskets.
 
So standing down in a deep depression on the property, I inquired as to how the vehicle ended up down there. "Well, I meant to park it up there but I guess I pulled to close to the embankment" he said. "She slid down the bank there and ended up against this here tree". "I tried to jump out but the door handle broke off in my hand" he added. I smiled and raised my eyebrows. "Yeah" he said. The old guy gets a battery out of the barn and comes back with the keys and title. Engine has terrible looking oil in it but it is full of oil and the radiator is full of antifreeze. We install the battery and I try the motor. Nothing but a click click click. The old guy taps upon the fender mounted solenoid. I try the key again. The motor turns slowly over about four times and much to my astonishment lights off with a sad wheeze. Four maybe five cylinders begin to generate some heat. There is no smoke. Transmission fluid is low. "I'm going to go get some transmission fluid and see about some wheels and tires" I tell the old guy. The truck is sitting on blocks. "I got the wheels and tires fer this thing in the barn" he says. "Oh" I say. "I got me an idea on how we can get that truck up out a that hole" says the old guy. "You know anything about old tractors?" he asks. I smile again. "Thought so" says the old guy.
 
The old guy takes me up to the barn where we find the wheels and tires for the truck, they got chrome on them so I'm thinkin that the truck is gonna see a few more hp just cause of that. The old guy pulls the cover off of a pretty good sized but compact tractor. It is green and yellow. "45 John Deere Model D" I say with confidence. "What do you want to know about it?" I add. "Looks like she has hand start, power take off, turning brakes, and still has the water injection on it". "Look here, the radiator shutters still work too" I tell him. " She's a 44" says the old guy. "Hasn't run since some hoodlum abscounded with the distributor back in the seventies". " Bought me a new one and put it on but couldn't get it to start". " Been sittin in here all this time". "I open the compression releases on both cylinders and pull her over on the flywheel. She turns free. I check for oil at the test plugs on the side of the block (no dipsticks on this old girl) for both engine and transmission. She's full. I check the main tank and starting tank, they are clean and dry. "The plug wires are on backwards" I show him. "This one goes to this cylinder, and this one goes to that cylinder" I say as I change the wires around. "Let's pull the plugs and check for spark" I add. We pull the plugs and I slowly pull the big flywheel over and hear the impulse mechanism click in the magneto just as the timing marks meet from the flywheel. There is a nice blue snap of a spark at the plug. "Looks like you put the mag on perfect, works too". Got any fuel?" I ask. "We got to start on gas but once it warms up, it'll run on almost anything" I tell him. I brush the dust off the seat that sticks out the back and put the trans in neutral, set the throttle to low, set the service brakes, close the radiator shutters, move the clutch handle to disengaged, and turn the fuel lever to start. The old guy fills the starting tank with gas. I close the choke on the carburetor and rotate the flywheel. If you know what to listen for you can hear the cylinder when it pulls in the air fuel charge. I pull it through to fill both cylinders. You can hear the whistle at the compression releases. I open the choke half way and pull past the timing mark and when the magneto impulse clicks, she fires. It blows the coffee can that was covering the exhaust stack clear up to the top of the barn. The motor catches and starts banging away. I close the compression releases and she sounds real healthy. The old guy is standing there shaking his head back and forth. We move some stuff from in front of the tractor and the old guy opens the barn doors wide. I put her in second and push forward on the clutch handle to engage the clutch. Several thousand pounds of low end grunt moves forward into the light of day. The old guy squints in the daylight with a grin from ear to ear. "This thing will pull that truck out of there" he says and shakes his head up and down.
 
So we throw a few gallons of diesel fuel in the main tank and switch it over from gas. We grab up all of the chains we can find and move the tractor to the top of the embankment. Once it's warmed up, you can feel the ground shake as it sits there at the edge of the hill idling. We hook all of those chains together and hook on the the frame of the truck and the drawbar of the Deere. The tractor, although compact, is sporting it's heavyweight attire. It has calcium in all tires and wheel weights all around. An extra set of wheels, with weights, is mounted to the big rear wheels. I jump in the truck and give the old guy a wave. He selects low gear on the old tractor and engages the clutch lever forward to take up the slack. The exhaust stream darkens as the governor kicks the throttle open. The old tractor kind of waddles back and forth sleightly as the big two cylinder engine goes to work with a vengence. Once moving, the exhaust stream from the tractor clears as the governor closes the throttle. The old tractor drags three tons of truck forward to the bottom of the embankment like there is nothing back there. We stop and the old guy backs up the tractor and shortens the chain. I reach down to get out to help but there is no door handle. The old guy laughs at me. The old guy throttles up to high idle and engages the clutch. As the full weight of the pull up hill comes on, the governor opens up. A dark stream of exhaust shoots upward. The big rear tires wrinkle under the load. The old guy pulls back some on the throttle. The tractor does not miss a beat as it pulls the truck up the embankment. I'm looking down at the place where there used to be a door handle and wondering what to do if the chain should break. As I crest the hill I get the full view of the tractor with it's front wheels a few inches off the ground. the old guy has one hand on the wheel and one hand on the clutch. Both feet are working the turning brakes to steer the tractor. Once on flat ground, we park the truck. It's getting late and I decide to come back the next day to check out the truck for the ride home. It will be a forty five minute run at speed to get it home and I figure it would be a good idea to give it the once over. Maybe even find a door handle in case I got to bail out at altitude. Maybe even get a couple of more cylinders working. Definitly got to find someone to follow me home.
 
I come back the next day and the old guy has the tractor out washing it in the driveway. He hands me my money back that I paid for the truck and I'm thinking 'Oh-oh'. He tells me to take the truck for payment for getting the tractor running for him. Suddenly, it's kind of a free truck. I'm amped up. This day I clean out some of the stuff that has accumulated in the interior and bed of the truck. I open the glove box and Mr Field Mouse stares back at me. I scruntch up my nose, turn my head to the left and close the glove box door with a gentle pat, but not before grabbing the factory owners manual. I recheck oil, transmission fluid (ominously low), power steering fluid, and the like, and then fire it up. Its missing badly and the whole thing shakes. It sounds like it is running underwater. I check the battery and there is no charge form the alternator. I put in some trans fluid and warm it up for a half hour. Fresh fuel seems to help some. I jump in the cab and drop it into drive. I let off the brake and apply a little throttle. It shakes forward and I move out uncertainly down the lane. It is a country road with no traffic. It sounds like something is going to fall off of the front end but the trans shifts through the gears and the brakes work marginally. I turn into a driveway at the end of the road to turn around. The two little kids that were playing in the yard run into the house with scared looks on their faces. I see the curtains move just a tad in the kitchen window. I guess this thing must look like it just came from the bottom of the black lagoon with it's green covering. I park back at the old guys place. There is no smoke or oil dripping or overheating. There is no charging, dome light, or forward vision through the green covered windshield either. I figure I'll come back tomorrow with some more fuel, glass cleaner, paper towels, air compressor and other stuff. I'm standing there looking at all of that motor. The little label with the engine information says that it is a 7.5 liter. 'Doesn't sound very happy', I think to myself. I check back on Mr Field Mouse in the glovebox, hopeing he has vacated the premises. He is still there, in the very same pose. I then notice that there are little black holes where his eyes should be. "Poor little bugger" I say out loud. He smiles back at me. I figure tomorrow I'll come back with the battery all charged up and make a run for home. Once I get it home, I'll get to work on all of it's short commings and it'll be purring in no time. When Mrs. Jim finds out that the truck is free she offers to help out with some on site cleaning of the interior and glass before the big trip home. We'll start out early and have some quality time. I have got to remember to mention the little issue of Mr Mouse before anything bad happens...
 
Ahh, 460 inches. I kind of like the way that sounds. Not quite eleven and a half liters, but hey. Truck is teal and white, four wheel drive, manual hubs, towing package, grey interior (and mouse), sits up pretty high too. Looks like I could park the Ranger right in the bed of it. Oh Yes, it says xlt right there on the fender underneath all of those years of slime.
 
Jim nice find. I like those old two tone trucks, don't see any of them any more, teal and white look great together.

I can't help it though, it really was Found Off Road Dead.

If I remember correctly, those old 460's get a real kick when you put a set of 429 timing gears in them.
 
I talk (Bribe) Mrs Jim into going with me to pick up the truck so that she can follow me home. In case something bad happens, at least I wont have to walk home, as long as Mrs Jim, (MJ), slows down long enough for me to jump in. The usual rain, in this neck of the woods, puts us off for a couple of days. Sunday morning finds us up and about early. MJ is not a morning person but some coffee starts to bring her around. When we drive up and she sees the truck she says "Eewww". She gives it the once around and says "What color is it, really?" "I think the darker green part is teal and the lighter green part is white?" I offer. "This thing runs?" she asks. "Kind of" I say quietly. MJ tilts her head to the right and studies me for a moment. "Think it will make the trip home?" she says, slowly. "Maybe" I say and kind of scrunch up my shoulders in a shrug. MJ drops her head forward and exhales. MJ opens the door of the truck and sniffs. She pulls out a bottle of perfume like a six gun and gives it a few squirts like she's fanning the trigger of a Colt Peacemaker. She rolls up her sleeves and starts cleaning windows. Continuing to clean out the interior, I come across new ball joints and tie rod ends and remark concerning how much they cost. Tells me the story about the funny noises coming from up underneath there too. A pile of greenish black paper towels quickly grows next to the truck. With clean windows and a spritz of perfume, the old truck looks and smells a little more inviting. I do a little checking on the alternator, trying to coax it to life but it doesn't seem to be working. I'm hoping that the battery will last the trip home, along with myself. I fire up the truck, drop it in gear, MJ mounts up in her little car, and we're off. The old truck shudders forward. Once out on the pavement there doesn't appear to be a lot of power. The brakes hang up pretty good at the first stop sign. Luckily there is not much traffic on the back country road. I look in the rear view and MJ gives me one of those little starlet waves where they keep their fingers together and fold their hand at the knuckles. AS I pull away from the stop sign, It looks like the oil pressure flickers for a moment. The truck shudders and then another cylinder pitches in. You can feel the power come on. I get it up the 50 mph, dust and the occasional pine needle flying out the back. There seems to be a little blue tint to the rear view picture but the trans slips into overdrive and chugs along. I roll up to the next stop sign. the oil pressure gauge drops ominously low, as does my confidence in a successful ride home. A blue fog rolls in from behind. I pull away from the stop sign thinking about how I should have brought my truck and a tow chain. As the truck goes into third, the oil pressure is pretty much nothing but still another cylinder awakens and the truck motors smartly ahead, producing a steady thickening stream of blue smoke. By the time we get about half way home, the oil pressure is down to zilch. I pull off the road at a turn out and come to a stop. The engine sounds better than it ever has with only one dead cylinder, as it sounds to me. I can see clearly in my mind, ground up rod and main bearings. The smell of burnt transmission fluid wafts past. I quickly shut it down and look underneath. Little pools of vital fluids are dripping here and there onto the ground. They have blown back onto the muffler and are burning off. "She's smoking" says MJ as she rolls up. I tell her about the oil pressure and make the question aloud concerning how much the scrapman might pay for all of the metal present. I check the oil fully expecting to find shiney specks in what little might be left. There are no specks and the sump is full. "We better tow it the rest of the way" I say. "I don't want to hurt it any more than necessary" "Honey, I don't think your little truck is going to tow this thing" says MJ. I make a quick call to my Buddy who lives a few miles up the road. "Tow that thing right to here" he says. "I'll have my truck out of the barn and all warmed for you when you get here." "Put it in the barn if you want" "I can't help you tow cause I have to be in town for awhile" he adds. We leave the truck there on the side of the road.
 
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