A few years back, before slightly thinning and slight gray hairs set in, JagerMeister and I were using his 1978 (?) Chevy truck as a huntin' rig.
Jager's history is frought with CalKustom rig's. The electronics were usually 'modified' by Yager when he removed any noise making buzzer, or tape player that only has one cassette tape that could not be removed, which luckily was the soundtrack to "The Blue Brother's" or George Thorogood. It would be 'uncommon' NOT to see a spaghetti loom of wires hanging from the void area where the stereo would usually be found in a truck. In this instance the spaghetti loom exited the hole in the dash, and snaked down to a Mazda car stereo duct taped to the floorboard. His latest fritz'ed out stereos could always be found on a workbench in various stages of dissection, with spools of cassette tape ribbon intertwined with the guts of years of previously removed stereos out for 'repair', and of course, a mix of mystery motorcycle parts.
Jager proclaimed to be as good of a truck mechanic as he was a car stereo repairman. So his huntin' rigs were always as mechanically questionable as Johnny Cash's Cadillac. Back to huntin'!
We hunted most of the morning which was nice and cool but saw very little deer sign. We were hunting on a narrow, twisty road, with the Grand Canyon on the downhill, and K2 on the uphill.
Jager had a plan for me to drop him off, and then for me to drive his rig around the ridge and meet up with him a bit later. Jager bounded off leaving me with his truck keys, and a simple plan. I started the truck and began my slow descent, with about 3 miles to go in 45 minutes.
Road huntin' is supposed to be slow and deliberate, stopping often to confirm that the giant buck with B&C numbers in the 4 digits was just a stump.
As I began to speed up on the decline, I gently pressed on the brake pedal. No response in the decelleration department. I pressed harder, and instead of stopping, I soon felt like I was being launched off an aircraft carrier. It seemed the more pressure I put on the brake pedal the faster I went. A slight bead of panic began to wet my brow, until I remembered the emergency brake. I pushed on the E-brake only to have it go to the floor with NO resistance whatsoever. I am now swerving wildly to remain on the dirt road at a completely unsafe velocity. I reach down to pull the E-Brake release and try it again, only to grab a handfull of bailing wire that apparently was not doing its intended job as applied by Jager. As I am hurtling down the mountain road, I have a realization that I am having to swerve more than appropriate and the steering is slow to react. Obviously the steering wheel had about 180 degrees of slop in it. I day-dreamt just a a fleeting second wondering how much air I was going to get if I failed to negotiate one of the curves and just how impressive the debris field would be. A quick snap back to my dire situation as I felt something bouncing around at my feet. A quick glance confirmed that Jager's custom car stereo installation had dislodged the twice used duct tape and the stereo was sliding around by the pedals. My rifle fell down onto the floorboard by my feet due to all of the swerving, the scope entangled in the remaining stereo wires, which really was unconcerning since the pedals, E-brake, bailing wire, car stereo wedging itself between the pedals and floorboard combined with the steering wheel slop seemed like some kind of cruel Rube Goldberg machine. As I flew down the mountain, fishtailing and sliding around corners like a speedway ice-racer, I cussed Jager and gravity equally, wondering if this was some kind of 'test'. I tried downshifting but the transmission let out a racket and I could smell the emanations of burnt transmission fluid. I passed our rendezvous point as only a blurr, and apparently 43 minutes earlier than planned. Jager's rig slowed from an incline and me swerving up onto a bank. I quickly exited the truck, my rifle hanging out the door ensnared in the steroe wires, and threw a rock under two of the wheels. I was sweating profusely in 40 degree weather with my spine pulsing with adrenaline. I found a spot in the shade and waited until Jager came out of the woods down the road a quarter mile back. He walked up to his truck and told me that I had missed the rendezvous point by a quarter mile making him walk uphill. I told him he should have warned me about the brakes and the play in the steering wheel. He looked at me quizzically and replied, "Awww, you just need to pump the brake pedal a few times and the E-brake only works on level ground." After some deliberation, I hesitantly got in the passenger side as JagerMeister masterfully drove his rig back home, completely ignorant of the mechanical contraption that would be condemned by even the worst Afghani mechanic.
Did I mention Jager can fix your car stereo?
First of all I should mention that Wardog must have now sense of adventure. You see I prefer to keep my vehicle's tuned down to the point of "Adventure." I find it adds to the hunting experience when we risk life and limb, and that's just getting there.
ReplyDeleteSecond we all know that you judge a real man by the amount of duct tape and wire he has with him at any time.
Jagermeister.