I'd actually been planning this trip for two years. I wanted to do it last year, but the planets weren't aligned properly. Apparently, that is still the case. The idea was to attend the sixth annual FSJ Invasion held every July in Ouray, Colorado. With no less than six FSJs in the staff fleet, it seemed like a no-brainer. Technical Editor Christian Hazel, Associate Editor Pete Trasborg, Publisher Jeff Nasi, and I committed to making the 1,700-mile trek early on. None of us actually made it. There are three versions to this story, if for no other reason than your amusement.
Pete and Christian went to work thrashing on their M-715s nearly every waking moment to get them road-ready. Pete was undoubtedly adding something like a compass that uses GPS satellite input rather than the tried-and-true magnetic kind that has served the rest of mankind for over 2,000 years, all while his engine runs at an uncomfortable 200 degrees Fahrenheit around town. Pete likes things unnecessarily complex, and his M-715 certainly has more wiring than stock. In fact, I'm the sure the linear footage of wire in Pete's Jeep rivals that in the space shuttle and maybe even a Nissan truck.
Christian, on the other hand, simply likes to set himself up for failure. It gives me ulcers just thinking about the projects he takes on. To his credit, he often predicts his future failure, but he goes through with it anyway. "Build a Jeep For $10 in 10 Hours," "Drive a Rust Bucket Across the U.S.," "Sneak Across the Iraqi Border in a Surry Flatfender," and "Running on Five Horsepower For 500 Miles" could all be potential headlines for future stories by Christian. It just so happens that this particular story was "28 Days to Failure" (page 52).
So while the rest of the staff was feverishly working away - Pete adding several miles of wire and Christian learning how to bench press an NP200 with wasted seals - I took a weekend to change the oil in my J-20 and then went waterskiing.
All Christian had to do was find an engine, install it, find a working NP200 transfer case and mounts, install them, figure out the wiring, fix the brakes ... and it was gonna be road-ready in less than a month. Sheesh. | 
It only looks like a smokey tire burnout. It's clearly not. It's Christian's GM powerplant regurgitating oil. |
Christian's free Chevy engine was apparently worth every penny he spent on it. It wouldn't fit in the small trash can below, so he put it in his M-715. | |
Jeff bailed out the Monday before we planned to leave due to the fact he had just returned from a 3,000-mile adventure. I postponed the shove off by a day so Christian could finish his rig, but a wasted engine pulled Christian from the manifest 24 hours later.
With Christian out of the game, we were down to two rigs, my J-20 and Pete's M-715. Pete had been having problems with his fuel system, so I wasn't very optimistic. I headed toward his residence in Riverside, California, anyway (about 80 miles away) hoping he would have it fixed by the time I got there. He didn't. So I sat around while Pete got dirtier than anyone I have ever seen just to change a fuel pump. I mean, it's two bolts and a pair of hose clamps, and Pete looked like he had swapped a tranny and cleaned it with his shirt. Anyway, he eventually got the overly complex M-715 on the road, and we were motoring toward Barstow.
It couldn't have been more than 10-15 miles later that he started worrying about overheating. We pulled over and felt under the hood to find it didn't feel any hotter than under the hood of my truck. I convinced him the gauge-sending unit was the culprit because it was located close to an exhaust port. Besides, it wasn't my bread-truck 366 big-block.
After a failed attempt at following Historical Route 66, we turned around and got back on Interstate 5 to climb up and over the Cajon Pass. Pete's M-715 started puking coolant about halfway up the grade, so we pulled over. Apparently, the largest radiator he could hack into place (from a big-block Chevy truck) and the two hacked-in Ford Taurus electric fans weren't enough to keep his engine cool. One of the fans had pretty much fallen apart (by the way, Pete, zip ties are not a permanent mounting solution) and wasn't working anymore, but we were moving fast enough that he shouldn't have needed it anyway. It was only about 90 degrees, so I was skeptical about his rig making it through the 115-degree desert to Las Vegas, much less all the way to Colorado. We removed the fan and plugged on while he watched the gauge rise and his motor roast.
This was a common sight on our relatively short journey. It began and ended with the hood of Pete's M-715 open. The funny part is that he thinks it's reliable enough to use as a tow rig. People from New Jersey have a strange definition of reliability. | 
The temp-gauge sender was less than an inch from the exhaust ports of Pete's 366. We figured this to be the culprit for the mysterious overheating of Pete's M-715. It wasn't. Nice welds on the header, Pete! |
Somewhere waiting in the wings, the Grim Reaper was lurking. But instead of taking the heart-attack guy in the Ford Ranger, he took my trip to Colorado. | |
It's funny how parts stores in bad neighborhoods attract crappy trucks and odd people. Pete and his M-715 fit in perfectly. We stopped in at an AutoZone for a new electric fan and a few supplies to move the gauge-sender to the water neck. I say we, but I didn't do much in the way of repairs. Instead, this gave me plenty of time to make fun of Pete's Jeep and get a better look at its complexity. Under the hood is pure entertainment. There are dual batteries, one of which isn't hooked up. However, there is enough double aught gauge cable, solenoids, relays, and circuit breakers under there to wire up eight batteries and power a lighted merry-go-round. My all-time favorite is the hydroboost brake booster connected to the factory four-wheel drums. The brakes work so well, in fact, that they drag if Pete doesn't lift up on the brake pedal. I also found a hardware store's worth of loose, lost, and unclaimed hardware in the nooks and crannies, not to mention lost zip ties, spray-can caps, and other miscellaneous crap. If I ever need a bolt, nut, washer, or zip tie for a field fix, I'm heading under the hood of Pete's Jeep.
Between staring at the side-show freakdom under the hood of Pete's Jeep and taking photos of said freak show, I ended up helping a random guy change out a flat tire. He looked as though he was about ready to die in the heat. Apparently, less than six-months earlier, he had - due to a heart attack. He even insisted on showing me the foot-long scar down the middle of his chest leftover from the open-heart surgery. So rather than let this guy keel over and die (again) right in front of me, I insisted that I change out the flat tire for him while Pete monkeyed with his Jeep.
A couple hours later we were back on the road, but still not to Barstow. Pete's rig was overheating again, so we called it quits. At that point, he turned around and steamed his 366 back to Riverside. I headed out into the desert and beelined it home.
I only made it 205 miles into the trip. Maybe next year I can double that. If nothing else, I learned my J-20 gets a thrifty 9.7 miles per gallon.