Back then, I somehow had time to write a number of stories that had a certain popularity and managed to entertain a bunch of people.
A few of you here will likely remember this old story, and again get a laugh or three.
Hopefully, a bunch of new people will also find this story entertaining-I believe it was one of my more popular stories, and one of my funnier ones.
One thing about my stories-they are all 100% true. I swear to Buddha, these are really things that happen to me, or things I said or did, which I think kinda make it that much funnier.
What follows is something of a car story, a bit of a comedy, and somehow a love story, all wrapped up into one.
I wrote this in the early 2000’s, and the events in the story took place in the late 90’s to the early 2000’s.
I originally released the story in chapter form, with a new chapter released every day, making the story sort of a cliff hanger for several days.
I will do the same again, here.
And now, brace yourselves, without further ado….
Gather ‘round the campfire kids! I have a little story to tell ya’…
Not so terribly long ago, in strange but not far away place they call Lake Havasu, there lived a boy. Actually, there lived a lot of boys there in this Lake Havasu, but our story revolves around one particular boy.
This boy was different, he never seemed to do things like anyone else. He always seemed to go his own way, which was not always a good thing, but does make for good stories. He didn’t even drive normal vehicles, his daily driver was a V-8 powered Ford Ranger with 35” tires and over two feet of suspension travel at all four corners. He had a twisted, warped sense of humor, and seemingly no shame at times. He didn’t even have a normal name-well, actually, he did, just nobody ever called him by it, instead they called him Chicken. What follows is his story, or at least a little part of it…
It was a pleasant evening, just about dusk, here in beautiful Lake Havasu. I had driven my prerunner Ford over to the local community college to meet up with my sister after her photography class. When her class let out, there I was in the parking lot with my strange-looking truck ( back then, there were no other pre-runners in town, and not nearly so many anywhere like now). I met my sister, and one of her classmates as well.
But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself here. Let me go back a few years…
Before I owned the Ranger, I had a VW Baja Bug. It was a 65 factory rag top(or what was left of it). The front end had been pushed out about a foot and a weekend warrior beam installed, 3X3 rear arms, fuel cell, cage, Blah, blah, blah…Anyway, like all off-road vehicles, and VW-powered ones in particular, I was always working on this thing. Despite this, it was usually my daily driver. When I was driving it to work, I had a routine. Get out early, start it up, let it run just above idle until the oil came up to temp, then drive it to work.
No big deal, right? Anyone who has had a remote oil filter setup on a VW may know about how much pressure these things can produce with cold oil-the warm-up procedure just makes a lot of sense. Why? Follow along and learn for yourself if you don’t already know.
So, where the story really gets started, now that I have laid the background down for you, is one morning getting ready to go to work at the chicken restaurant where I had worked for many years(thus the name Chicken Dan, or Chicken.) Not uncommon for me, I was running a little late. The night before I had stayed up late changing the oil and filter out on my beloved Baja Bug’s hi-po 1835 motor. It had a shiny new Fram filter. I had even splurged and filled it with high-zoot Mobil 1 oil. Yeah!
So like I said, I was running a tad (OK, more than a tad) late, and as such decided to cut the warm-up session a little short. To make up for it I would keep the motor at as low RPM’s as possible. No problems, right?
Wrong.
You ever have one of those days when it goes from bad, to worse, to un-fricken- believable? Little did I know, I was just about to commence having one of those days.
Alright, out of the garage, out of the driveway, ease into second gear, away I go. I get about halfway down my street, when all of a sudden the big red light in the dash comes on. Not good. That is the low oil pressure light. I check the gauge, sure enough, oil pressures going down faster than a certain White House intern. Step on the clutch, shut ‘er down, coast to a stop, undo the five points and go around back to see what wonder this friggin VW has bestowed upon me THIS time.
The first thing I notice is oil. Lots of oil. Lots of shiny, slippery, very clean, very expensive, very new oil. And it is everywhere but in the motor, where it is supposed to be. Up the street, just past my house, the oil slick starts with a big blob, tapering down like an accusing finger pointed right to my current position. Letting everyone know that I am the one that has so defiled their street.
But what has caused this sudden exodus of my beloved Mobil 1 oil from the motor? It doesn’t take but a moment to reveal the culprit. That shiny new orange Fram filter. That ugly, piece of crap, worthless brand-new Fram filter has EXPLODED. The remnants of the canister are barely clinging to the stamped, threaded part. There it sits, barely together, while that nice-smelling, brand-new, honey-colored synthetic oil dribbles out of the ruptured seam, wasting itself on the warm pavement in the early-morning sun. ( I should point out here that later research lead me to the fact that the Fram HP series of filters are built to different specs and are, in fact, good filters. The over-the-counter ones, like the PH-8A that blew it’s guts out here-not so much. If you are running a performance motor, run a performance filter!)
So, remember that little warm-up routine I mentioned? Yeah, me too. Oops.