Osbornonline

''The Forty'' Restoration!

The project has begun! WD-40 has been freely sprayed, swabbed, and spilled, and the torch and grinder have seen frequent use. Dirt that has been riding around in nooks and crannies for almost 60 years and hundreds of thousands of miles from the Heartland to the West Coast has found its next resting place. As I remove parts and pieces, I think about the hands that held the wrench that turned those nuts and bolts; the hitch that has been a part of the truck since before I can remember or the antenna mounts that held the antenna for a radio that had been installed, died, and been removed before I was born. There have only been four people working on this vehicle since it left the show room. My Dad, my wife, a mechanic friend, and myself. My Dad did all of the work until I was old enough to start helping, except when a friend of ours replaced the timing gear set for us, and now my wife is helping me restore it.

Check back often for the latest progress.

I don't have a powerful enough flash on my camera for the distance I've been using, so I've been trying to brighten the pictures in software. With this last group I tried to get a little closer so they'd be brighter with just the flash. What do you think? Let me know here.

Update:

The Forty has been very lonely for the past year or so. Summers are always busy for me, then, just as the "restoration season" started, we had a health problem in the family, which has taken a great deal of time. Then, to top it all off, the owner of the shop I was using traded it, and it looked like my whole operation was going to get - and, for short time it was - stuffed in my 2-car garage at home. Unfortunately, for a time even that hasn't worked out, and she has been stored beside the garage, sleeping again, until time and space are available.

But... This can't last forever! Stay tuned...

Why is this page GREEN? This is the closest that I've come so far to the original color of The Forty.

''The Forty''

Our 1940 Chevrolet Pickup - One Owner

Stay tuned - more pictures to follow! Updates in RED

In the fall of 1940, my Dad decided that the '35 Chevy Coupe and trailer weren't filling the bill on the ranch in southeastern Colorado, so he dropped into Ray Chevrolet in Lamar on one of his weekly trips into town. He was actually looking for a '41, but there were none in stock. There was, however, a brand new '40 available, so he left the coupe and $700 with Bob Ray, and drove the pickup home.

This is the story of The Forty.

He said it was so new that "the paint stunk as it burned off of the engine." Since he didn't need it any longer, the salesman gave Dad his salesman's truck manual for the '40's, which I've still got, along with the owner's manual. He also told Dad the The Forty would go faster than the '35 Chevy Coupe he traded for it. This was not true; the coupe would do over 80 mph.

The Forty standing guard - 1947" src="images/1940/4709JtTN.jpg" width="200" border="0" />
Cousin Judy with The Forty standing guard -1947	Cousin Yvonne - 1947. (Judy is there, behind the ink splotch.)	A row of cousins - 1947. (Try that with a new pickup) I wonder where the cat's going.

Then, in 1947 my Mom came along, and in 1952 I came along. Although we had a car, and other trucks came and went, for some reason The Forty was the favored vehicle, and sort of became a member of the family. From the time I could stand up, I usually stood in the seat between my Mom and Dad. (Infant seat? What's that?) Although I have no memory of it, I'm told that the only time I came to grief was one time when my Dad slammed on the brakes, causing me to collect a shiner on the gear shift knob. Why did he stop so fast? He saw a leather binocular case laying in the road - turned out it was empty.


My Mom on the tractor with The Forty doing Field Duty - Aug 1949. That's her Dad behind the tractor.	Dad on the tractor with more of The Forty visable - Aug 1949. That's still Grandpa behind the tractor.	'32 Model D John Deere - abt. 1949 (I know The Forty isn't in it, but it's a cool picture!


My sister on her 3rd birthday -1957- The Forty is one of the pickups in the background.	My sister on her 6th birthday -1960- The Forty is in the background.

By the time I was 10, I was becoming interested in more than just riding, so when we were on county roads, he would slide over to the left, and I would steer as we drove. Then, one day, he stopped The Forty, and we changed places. He coached me though clutching and shifting - the 4-speed, non-synchro transmission - and, with a few jerks and a couple of grinds, we were off. From then on, when we left the paved roads, I drove.

The Forty followed me from Colorado to California, then on to Washington, and, most recently, to Medford, OR. It was driven regularly until the early 80s, when it became kind of "extra," and was parked. (I'm REALLY paying for that now!)

Yes, old memories are the best when they're yours. I recently took the gas tank out and found a couple of tools and a handful of expended .22 brass mixed in with almost 60 years of dirt occumulated between the tank and the seat frame. I remember many times when that brass could have fallen in there. (The dirt was apparently the only thing keeping gas in the tank. It's rusted so badly it practically fell apart.)

I also remember when the tie rods ends were replaced: in 68 or 69 - after one end of the steering arm fell off just as my Dad turned into our driveway. Mortals cannot pick that kind of timing!

When my Dad died in 1994, one of the pictures at his memorial service was of him climbing out of the pickup after coming home from work sometime in 62. My sister and I had each gotten the first camera of our very own, and wanted to get a candid shot of him as he got out. We weren't quick enough on the trigger, so the picture is acutally a pose.


"Hello" - Home from a hard day's work - 1962.

I ran up on a big dry spell (an old farmer's term) for pictures. I know I've got some more, but I haven't found them yet. So... We skip to the 80's.


The Forty behind my '78 Gold Wing - 1985. (The Wing - and the other vehicles - are long gone.)

Why is this page GREEN? This is the closest that I've come so far to the original color of The Forty.

Spring Fling 99 - Northwest Style!

I didn't bother to keep notes on names, so I need some help here. If you or someone you know is in one of these pictures, let me know so I can add the details. A thank you to those who have helped so far.

Tire kicking... At it's best!


Albert Eversfield, Vern Simmonds, & Steve Jewett	The Ron Smith EZ Tank. Nice!


Terry Smith, ?, John Cheney(?) Vern Simmonds	Roger Van Santen(?) Brian Boberick

?, Will Lee, & Kerry Church.
Micheal Smeyers & Rick Morrison (facing away from camera)

I don't believe I've ever seen an ST rider with a half helmet.
Could this be the start of a new trend?
The ST has been identified as belonging to Ray Blair,
but -- who is the Mystery Rider???

99 IBR - Kennewick Checkpoint

The weather in Kennewick was flawless! Sunshine and mild - not HOT - temperatures. Good luck and safe rides to all of the participants.


Motorcycles everywhere you look...	all piled high with everything imaginable...

Morris Kruemcke started out with a 1500 Gold Wing and added just a few items...


	When these lights are turned on, the effect is nothing short of awesome

For an alternative cruising position, the yellow curved pieces are armrests, and his hands go near the yellow arch	The trunk is gone; the fill spout and cap for an auxiliary tank are visible

A closer view of the gas tank

It was my desire for some time to be at Checkpoint One, but, due to my schedule, I couldn't make concrete plans. Even though I left Medford at 9:00 Tuesday morning, making good time and arriving in Portland at 1:00, I wasn't sure I could complete the trip until about 2:30 that afternoon. As I sat in Portland, I sweated the call that could mean that I would have to turn back south. Things cleared up, however, and at 2:30 I was able to point the Wing east on I-84. I crossed into Washington at The Dalles, and, with plenty of opportunity to pass the mostly not-so-slow trucks, the next 100 miles disappear under the tires in, uh, quickly, rolling up to Crocodile Motorsports just before 5:30. After spending most of the time in sensory overload, watching the legends with my mouth hanging open and my camera hanging at my side, I headed back west at 8:30 and rolled into the garage at about 5:30 Wednesday morning. Since my new PIAAS are at home and my just-attained mounting brackets still in the trunk, speeds were down from the earlier ride, and I spent most of a half hour warming up from the low-40's temperatures of 4:00 am. I was GLAD that I had packed the electic gloves and the down coat, and WISHING that I had worn my polypropolene longjohns.

The GIII+ screens below tell the story of my ride. On the left, the time from door-to-door, not counting an hour and a half in Portland where I was biting my nails, or the time I spent taking in the sights and sounds of Checkpoint One. On the right, the time on the road. It was a great trip that I wouldn't have missed for anything.

My Memorial Weekend (1997) Motorcycle Crash

Friday, May 23, 1997 I went down in road construction between the Tri-Cities and Hermiston. As my Wing high sides to the right it and I part company. I feel my knees hit, my feet - toes - hit, then just motion for the next few seconds. Up? Down? At 9:30 p.m. with no street lighting in the area, it's dark with nothing passing my vision (I think my eyes were open) to give me any orientation. Then I'm lying still. My toes and knees sting, and the rest of me hurts. Not badly, just enough to let me know it's there. I have to get up. I'm not really hurt, and, of course, I have to see how badly my Wing is damaged. High-siding as violently as it did, I'm sure that the entire right side is a mess. But, although I have feeling everywhere, when I tell my body to move, nothing happens. Oh well, I'll try again in a minute. It'll work then.

Then, Marilyn is looking down into my face. I know what she is going through. Ever since we have ridden separate bikes, I've had the fear of watching her go down or get ran into; at least, on the same bike, we were together. By the time I can tell her that I'm all right, other people are surrounding me, one identifying herself as an EMT and another as a nurse, telling me not to move. Now, I know I'm okay, but I know that they're doing what they're supposed to do because they don't know that. I lay there, but I demand to know what my Wing looks like. Marilyn tells me that, with the poor light, she can't see any real damage. I wonder how hard she looked.

Someone has called 911, and within a very few minutes a Washington state trooper is looking down on me - looking straight up into the night sky, with faces appearing and receding as different people look down on me is very strange. I am told that the ambulance is on the way. Although I know I don't need an ambulance or a hospital, I know that it's fruitless to argue, and, besides, it feels pretty good to just lie there. The ambulance arrives minutes later, and within minutes I'm on my way to the hospital in Hermiston.

I can hear the radio traffic as we go, and a few minutes later the dispatcher puts out the call of a motorcycle accident at the same location as mine, but mentions two victims. I wonder if there's some kind of mixup, and they're putting my accident out again, but figure that it's not up to me to question it. We arrive at the hospital, and the emergency room people go to work.

Then Marilyn is there and the emergency room people are gone. I find out that the second call was no mistake. Ten minutes after I left in the ambulance, as Marilyn and the state troopers watched, another Wing and trailer hit the same area that got me, and before anyone could do anything, down they went! Hard! The trailer completely flipped over, almost landing on the rider. I lay there undisturbed and unattended, but, I understand - everyone is busy with the other cyclists, and I have no complaint.

I get more pieces of the story. One of the troopers, a Wing rider himself, has gotten word to the GWRRA Region I rally site in Kennewick, our destination, that a Wing is down, and help is on the way in the form of Ken Curry, one of the GWRRA folks. He spent most of the night checking the Wings and trailers and riding them to the rally site, so that we don't have to worry about tow trucks or security. As I lay there, the thought comes to me that it's almost worth crashing to find out how good people can be. Everyone - passersby, troopers, ambulance and emergency room people, Wingers and CMA'ers - have been SO GOOD! We - at least I - forget sometimes how willing people are to help.

Ralph and Susie, already at the rally, are woke up, and Ralph heads down to the hospital, only to find that I have been released, and that we've headed to a local motel. The other Wingers at the hospital needed help more than I did, so he stayed there.

Arriving at the motel, it's fortunate that the hospital has made the arrangements, so that when I came staggering in with bandages sticking out of pants that were slit 'w-a-y up to there, they were helpful, rather than appalled. Also, we hadn't eaten since lunch, and it was now about 2:00 am. When we asked if there was a pop and or candy machine around, the clerk went into the reefer that supplied their salad bar and piled a plate high with anything that looked good, then carried it to our room while Marilyn parked her bike.

The next morning we called Don Brock, who we were told would arrange transportation for me from Hermiston to Kenniwick, probably 35-40 miles. As it turns out, they are our transportation, and, when we try to thank them, we're told "It's nothing! That's what family's for!" We stopped at the hospital and while we were waiting to see the other folks, Jim and Margaret Rogers and Johnny Vallely arrive to see what they can do to help. After a short visit, they escort us back to Kennewick. When we arrived at the rally, we found that Ralph had found a Winger, Jerry Thompson, from Longview who has brought his pickup instead of his Wing, and is willing and able to haul our trailer in his pickup and ride my Wing back, while his wife drives the pickup. We have nothing to do but enjoy the rally and be driven home when it's over. Everywhere we go people stop us to find out how I'm feeling. Whatever they can do to help, they do. We've heard the talk; now I've experienced the walk.

As the days have passed and my bruises, scrapes, and sprains have become less and less noticeable, I realize that, no, it was not ALMOST worth it, it was COMPLETELY worth it to experience my accident. The painful memories will be forgotten, but I will never forget the actions of my brothers and sisters, and friends, both old and new.

My Favorite Granddaughter

Yes!! You can go…

From this… To this!

In a few short hours, just by using the Amazing “Fitz-o-matic Labor-ator” you can lose 6 lbs. 11 oz.
(and 19-1/2 in.) of the cutest weight ever carried. This special offer arrived on April 11^th at 6:37 a.m.
and is being held (and held... and held... :) ) over by popular demand.

These were taken just a few days ago (early December) when she was close to 11 months old. Even
people who aren't related to her think she's a doll. :)