RGS20inophir
Member
- 90
- 13
- 8
- Location
- Socorro, New Mexico
Well, yesterday started as a normal day. The plan? To move the 530C that a coworker bought from me some time back. I had just finished putting a set of G177 from 98G on the truck, it looks fantastic and the ride quality in my tests around town proved to me that the truck handles and rides better on the new rubber.
So, that morning I was going through the pre-drive checklist, and I found two items that needed attention. 1) the blinker module has failed... and is now leaking potting compound. It would appear that we truly do have "blinker fluid". 2) The hand brake needed to be adjusted. Neither of which were a huge deal. We were going on rural roads / the freeway (not a lot of turns to be seen there) so the blinker could wait. The handbrake was solved in less than ten minutes. Simply move the handle to the middle of the play range and crank down on the adjustment bolt over the drum.
So, we took off, expecting miles and miles of moving at half the speed of smell plus a little bit with the new tires. The speedo calculation of ~7MPH off seemed to hold true. The truck was reporting 55, and we were clipping along at 60 as confirmed by a GPS and timing mile markers. That extra 5 MPH really makes all the difference....
Mile posts are flying by at the rate of one per minute. I was thinking to myself, "We may actually reach our destination in a reasonable amount of time!"
Then... came the dark times. Evidently, this truck feels that over the 770 mile recovery from Utah to New Mexico we had struck a bond... and it wasn't ready to leave me. In the flats I started to notice that the power was fading... 60mph, 50.... 45.... hit 4th, 40, 35..... WHAT GIVES!
Then comes the unmistakable smell of brake pads. WHAT!!!! NO!
I pull the truck to the shoulder pull the hand brake and get out to do a 360. The unmistakable smoke and smell of pads is coming out of every axle. NO! NO! NO!!! This is not how today is supposed to go! My old man's voice comes ringing through, "Son, $%!# in one hand and wish in the other... see which one fills up."
Well, great. 40 miles into a 120 mile trip and I am on the side of the road. She knows what is about to happen... she can feel it... the signing of the paperwork was just the beginning of this divorce... she was going to drag it out...
The smoke continues to pour out... I call the SS Hotline, "HEY Carnac! I have a question for ya!!!" We talk through the problem and we are both in agreement that it is likely a problem with the airpack seals. I call my coworker and tell him to abort his drive... we are having issues.
The smoke has stopped.
I climb in the cab and decide to see if I can hear the air cycling in and out of the pack, it is. But the pedal might as well be a boulder.
I bleed down the wet and dry tanks. The wet tank is just that... wet. Nothing unexpected. However, I noticed that I couldn't bleed the tank down all the way, the gauge is still registering 90 PSI. So, I pull the line off of the commander's side window wiper and crank it full open. PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST.
The tanks are empty.
Start the truck and attempt to move... I might as well have been dragging a herd of elephants, there was no way I was going to get this truck to move. Low range 1st gear and no success...
Time to bleed off the hydraulics.
I slide under the truck as I hear the weather radio scream "THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE IN EL PASO HAS ISSUED A SEVERE THUNDERSTORM WARNING FOR ...." This will truly be a dark time if I don't get this thing rolling in some direction.
I whip out my field kit, and bleed off the front drums. Brake fluid comes squirting out like those first ten minutes you got home after Jr. Prom. Brake fluid is everywhere. I hear the truck settle into the freshly adjusted hand brake... thank goodness I adjusted that prior to our trip south.
I bleed off the pressure from all of the drums, the fluid is clean but is as hot as Chernobyl reactor 2. Protip: wear gloves.
Now that the brakes are off we have a new mission... to get to the rest stop ~1 mile north of where we were. Vending machines, a head, and a safe place to wrench that didn't have a pile of grumpy red ants was calling.
I fire up the truck and wait for traffic to clear, we lumber across the median and onto the shoulder in the northbound lanes. I come rolling to a stop in the trailer parking area of the rest stop. Out of the way of any other motorists. Let's see what we can do to limp home.
I call my customer and CARNAC to let them know that we are in a safe area now, and we are working on a strategy to get home. Option 1) Get a ride home, grab the 87' M35A2C, my towbars/safety chain, and lumber back... dragging this heavy pig all the way home. This is not the ideal solution. Option 2) Drain all of the air and keep the valve cocks open on the tanks thus stoppinig on hydraulics alone. This is also not an ideal solution... but it should be faster.
CARNAC asked me "Have you ever driven a truck on hydraulics alone?" "No, is it that bad?" "Go slow, and give yourself PLENTY of stopping room, downshifting whenever you can."
Ok, we have a plan. We will take highway 1 home... stopping frequently to let the compressor rest and to rest our nerves. Low and slow is now the name of the game.
I think that everyone should try stopping their truck on just hydraulics... in a controlled environment... at least once. You will never forget it. Ever. When you want to stop you will casually hit the brakes, like we always do, and it will feel like there is a brick there. You will start to REALLY press down with your melon masher... and the truck continues to lumber along as if nothing is happening. You then put both feet on the pedal, your butt comes off of the seat, and you feel like you are doing leg presses...
You begin to feel the brakes set.
You will be thinking to yourself "SWEET MOTHER!!! Please stop, PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!" The person sitting on the commander's side, oblivious to the struggle you are both in, will be looking at you as if you have lost your mind. When the truck comes to a stop half an acre past where you wanted to stop... they will ask "What was going on?" As the beads of sweat come off your forehead and the brown trout now in your pants flops onto the floor, it will take nearly every bit of conviction for life and man to keep from choking them to death.
Obviously I am exaggerating this a bit, but only a little bit. It can only be described as an experience... one that everyone who drives one of these beasts should go through so you are prepared for when you HAVE to go through it... because there will come a day that you do.
We limp the truck all the way home, six hours and eighty miles after the trip began.
So... does anyone have a NOS airpack for sale?
So, that morning I was going through the pre-drive checklist, and I found two items that needed attention. 1) the blinker module has failed... and is now leaking potting compound. It would appear that we truly do have "blinker fluid". 2) The hand brake needed to be adjusted. Neither of which were a huge deal. We were going on rural roads / the freeway (not a lot of turns to be seen there) so the blinker could wait. The handbrake was solved in less than ten minutes. Simply move the handle to the middle of the play range and crank down on the adjustment bolt over the drum.
So, we took off, expecting miles and miles of moving at half the speed of smell plus a little bit with the new tires. The speedo calculation of ~7MPH off seemed to hold true. The truck was reporting 55, and we were clipping along at 60 as confirmed by a GPS and timing mile markers. That extra 5 MPH really makes all the difference....
Mile posts are flying by at the rate of one per minute. I was thinking to myself, "We may actually reach our destination in a reasonable amount of time!"
Then... came the dark times. Evidently, this truck feels that over the 770 mile recovery from Utah to New Mexico we had struck a bond... and it wasn't ready to leave me. In the flats I started to notice that the power was fading... 60mph, 50.... 45.... hit 4th, 40, 35..... WHAT GIVES!
Then comes the unmistakable smell of brake pads. WHAT!!!! NO!
I pull the truck to the shoulder pull the hand brake and get out to do a 360. The unmistakable smoke and smell of pads is coming out of every axle. NO! NO! NO!!! This is not how today is supposed to go! My old man's voice comes ringing through, "Son, $%!# in one hand and wish in the other... see which one fills up."
Well, great. 40 miles into a 120 mile trip and I am on the side of the road. She knows what is about to happen... she can feel it... the signing of the paperwork was just the beginning of this divorce... she was going to drag it out...
The smoke continues to pour out... I call the SS Hotline, "HEY Carnac! I have a question for ya!!!" We talk through the problem and we are both in agreement that it is likely a problem with the airpack seals. I call my coworker and tell him to abort his drive... we are having issues.
The smoke has stopped.
I climb in the cab and decide to see if I can hear the air cycling in and out of the pack, it is. But the pedal might as well be a boulder.
I bleed down the wet and dry tanks. The wet tank is just that... wet. Nothing unexpected. However, I noticed that I couldn't bleed the tank down all the way, the gauge is still registering 90 PSI. So, I pull the line off of the commander's side window wiper and crank it full open. PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST.
The tanks are empty.
Start the truck and attempt to move... I might as well have been dragging a herd of elephants, there was no way I was going to get this truck to move. Low range 1st gear and no success...
Time to bleed off the hydraulics.
I slide under the truck as I hear the weather radio scream "THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE IN EL PASO HAS ISSUED A SEVERE THUNDERSTORM WARNING FOR ...." This will truly be a dark time if I don't get this thing rolling in some direction.
I whip out my field kit, and bleed off the front drums. Brake fluid comes squirting out like those first ten minutes you got home after Jr. Prom. Brake fluid is everywhere. I hear the truck settle into the freshly adjusted hand brake... thank goodness I adjusted that prior to our trip south.
I bleed off the pressure from all of the drums, the fluid is clean but is as hot as Chernobyl reactor 2. Protip: wear gloves.
Now that the brakes are off we have a new mission... to get to the rest stop ~1 mile north of where we were. Vending machines, a head, and a safe place to wrench that didn't have a pile of grumpy red ants was calling.
I fire up the truck and wait for traffic to clear, we lumber across the median and onto the shoulder in the northbound lanes. I come rolling to a stop in the trailer parking area of the rest stop. Out of the way of any other motorists. Let's see what we can do to limp home.
I call my customer and CARNAC to let them know that we are in a safe area now, and we are working on a strategy to get home. Option 1) Get a ride home, grab the 87' M35A2C, my towbars/safety chain, and lumber back... dragging this heavy pig all the way home. This is not the ideal solution. Option 2) Drain all of the air and keep the valve cocks open on the tanks thus stoppinig on hydraulics alone. This is also not an ideal solution... but it should be faster.
CARNAC asked me "Have you ever driven a truck on hydraulics alone?" "No, is it that bad?" "Go slow, and give yourself PLENTY of stopping room, downshifting whenever you can."
Ok, we have a plan. We will take highway 1 home... stopping frequently to let the compressor rest and to rest our nerves. Low and slow is now the name of the game.
I think that everyone should try stopping their truck on just hydraulics... in a controlled environment... at least once. You will never forget it. Ever. When you want to stop you will casually hit the brakes, like we always do, and it will feel like there is a brick there. You will start to REALLY press down with your melon masher... and the truck continues to lumber along as if nothing is happening. You then put both feet on the pedal, your butt comes off of the seat, and you feel like you are doing leg presses...
You begin to feel the brakes set.
You will be thinking to yourself "SWEET MOTHER!!! Please stop, PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!" The person sitting on the commander's side, oblivious to the struggle you are both in, will be looking at you as if you have lost your mind. When the truck comes to a stop half an acre past where you wanted to stop... they will ask "What was going on?" As the beads of sweat come off your forehead and the brown trout now in your pants flops onto the floor, it will take nearly every bit of conviction for life and man to keep from choking them to death.
Obviously I am exaggerating this a bit, but only a little bit. It can only be described as an experience... one that everyone who drives one of these beasts should go through so you are prepared for when you HAVE to go through it... because there will come a day that you do.
We limp the truck all the way home, six hours and eighty miles after the trip began.
So... does anyone have a NOS airpack for sale?
Glad you made it back ok!!
