Yeah, that was rather scary-sounding, like Nessie on high-test!
- Barrett
For you guys that did not attend the May NYC Meet-UP: The Jeep Scrambler was a big art project when I worked at the fourth largest military contractor in the U.S. (a company that use to be called Grumman Aerospace).
The FBI should of known better, and possibly they should not have granted me a secrete security clearance, an artist in an aerospace company should of been a big red flag and just doesn't make any sense, especially one that has very-very bad boundries.
I kinda exploited the expertise and manufacturing capabilities to create a suicide machine using "German engineering." This conversation was spun off the savage engineering displayed off Cristian's Linhof.
Wrap around bumpers made from four inch square extruded mil spec aerospace aluminum were created by a friend at work who was a welder for body armor. Part of the culture back then was this thing called "G-jobs" and there were stories of log splitters made from surplus hydrolic actuators from F-14's. Of course this had nothing to do with making the company any money and was totally for personal/individual use. The culture was "G-jobs" were just one of the benefits of employment.
So I kinda made a Humvee before they mage Humvees, a spackle job that used as much aerospace hardware as possible. My gas lines are braided aircraft hydrolic lines. AN mil spec hardware secures a 350 horse power Chevy Corvette engine. Like Doctor Frankenstein I created a monster that incorporated a Ford nine inch rear end with Lincoln Continental disc brakes; a half ton suspension on a quarter ton vehicle; with dual 2 1/2 inch flowmaster exhaust. Under full accelleration my Jeep sounds like a Nascar on a straightaway, but even at idle there is this deep throaty tone that is so manly.
I think John's favorite part of the story was when I was mean to an engineer I didn't like and somehow tricked him into going for a ride to get some lunch. I got the idea when I inquired why this engineer I didn't like drove two Volvo's. I was told he had been traumatized and almost killed in a car accident, but I took him for a joy ride that I'm sure he will not forget anyway. I guess you can say I just plain mean, but it really was the part of me that I can't control, the artistic part that made me do it.
Coming back into the secured compound the road has a severe crown that often broke chin spoilers or caused car suspensions to bottom, leaving the general area littered with small parts of cars.
I was explaining to my frightened passenger about the 20% speedometer error due to the large oversized tires. " Even thougth the guage says 45 miles per hour we are really doing almost 55," I said. I looked over and saw him holding the grab bar on the dash with his left hand and his right hand hlding the doorhandle in a death grip. "We're in a school zone," he cried, but I was mean and couldn't help but laugh. "So..." I said.
When we hit the crown of the road that was like one huge speed bump the Jeep became suddenly airborn. At 55 mph one is traveling at eighty feet a second, and for about a second we had no contact with the ground. The Jeep was probably only about a foot or two in the air; but when we hit the ground, I hit the brakes hard, and there was this loud screach like when an airplane hits the runway upon landing.
Gypsy, the Jeep, squated like a BMW testing the ABS, but somehow I also scared the guard who hunkered down in the guard booth. When I came to a complete stop; the guard, an old man, came out all pissed off; but his expression suddenly changed when he saw me laughing hysterically. He looked over at my passenger, got the joke, and joined in with the laughing.
At the May Meet-Up, I said that the guard came out of the guard booth with his gun drawn, but this likely was an exaggeration, I am unsure if the guards had guns at that time; but, if they did, this guard was likely ready to draw his weapon. Next, the guard pointed to my passenger; and, then made the gesture of cleaning a dump out of his pants, before he waved me in, still laughing.
The engineer remained as white a a refrigerated corpse. He couldn't speak for a while, and I could'nt stop laughing.
I still own this Jeep and it is in storage in Brooklyn near the Williamsburg Bridge. John desperately wants to go for a joy ride, but first I need a new transfere case.
Cal