THE TANK WAGON

 

When I went to work for Chuck Alarcon in 1977 he had a 1966 Ford F-600 Tank-wagon that held 1500 gallons of anything wet you wanted to put in it. We sold and serviced quite a few accounts within the Denver – Boulder area and some beyond. Bobby worked in the two-bay service station and there was another building; detached and large enough for more than four cars at a time. While Chuck got me started on the tank wagon Bobby kept up maintenance on the trucks and cars Chuck owned as well as a long list of clients that kept us all busy. There were five underground fuel tanks behind the big shop with a loading dock for the tank wagon. In the alley, behind the larger shop was a storage room for oil in cases, drums and barrels.

I was driving up the hill on State Highway 7 toward a farm just north of the highway and west of I-25. When I went to slow down to make the turn across the road the brake pedal went all the way to the floor. I live for this stuff! Fortunately there was a hand brake on the tail of the transmission so it wasn’t that difficult, with the help of the gears, to slow it down and stop.

I used the farmers phone to call Chuck. I told him what happened and said I’d unload the fuel and come back empty. It was only 300 gallons of regular gasoline so no problem. Although, when I was driving back there was a road crew 2 miles east of Lafayette working on some pot holes. I was going downhill about 60 miles an hour when I saw the flag-dummy (that’s what I call them – it’s a simple job and any dummy can do it) turn his sign around with the STOP part showing. I started hitting gears and slowed it down enough into low 3^rd gear and pulled the hand brake, slowly filling the cab full of smokey asbestos. I stopped about 10 feet away from the flag dummy and stuck out my head. I yelled out the open window, “Not bad for no brakes, huh?” I’m sure he had no idea what I meant.

Bobby was waiting for me in the big garage. He pulled off the rear left drum and found the wheel cylinders were extended as far as they could and the brake drums were too worn to be used again. But we figured out a way to get them to work. I was back on the road in less than two days and all seemed well from my viewpoint.

A couple of weeks later I loaded the tank wagon with 1500 gallons of regular unleaded then pulled around in front of the shop to load a barrel of oil or antifreeze. I don’t remember. I was headed for Joe Burns’ service station on east 6^th Avenue in Denver. But I do remember starting the truck and getting ready to pull across the street to head toward Broomfield. It’s a good thing I had to stop because If I’d taken the other route I would have already been on a doomed mission. I pulled around back, unloaded the fuel and took a week’s vacation.

Chuck sent the Ford down to a shop on York Street. We picked out a new Chevy C-60, 2 ½ ton with a 366 big block Chevy and five speed Clark transmission with a 2-speed rearend. The truck was an ugly green but when they finished stretching the frame and put the tank, pumps, meters and all on it, they painted it with Imron® red and we were back in business.

So now for the rest of the story. When we got the truck it had new highway tires on it. It drove very nicely down the highway and wasn’t too bad off-road either. But it was lousy on ice like most big trucks are whether loaded or not. I loved to drive through the side streets of Boulder. Even though there are laws about that, we might have been blessed with work-arounds for laws, regulations, etc. And Flagstaff Road above Boulder is a beautiful drive any time of the year when the roads are dry. But one day between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I had to go up to Walker Ranch with 500 gallons of unleaded and 300 gallons of regular gasoline. The also had a 250-gallon tank for diesel but it wasn’t in need of servicing.

It had been snowing most of the morning and it was rather chilly that morning. I was surprised that there were people at the park looking over town from their perch atop Flagstaff. It really is beautiful. The trip uphill was slow but I never need be in a hurry in a tank wagon. I got all the fuel pumped into the tanks, made out the invoice, dropped it in the box and began back downhill. Just after going past what is now Kossler Lake, the first of the hairpins appears. I wasn’t going more than 20 mph but I could feel the rear tires losing their grip and the second I touched the brake pedal I could feel the wheels lock up and the truck started skidding rearend toward the right; front end toward the left. My first thought was to open the door, which I did. I figured if it was going over the forest and through the streets of Boulder it would have to do so without me as a passenger. Thank goodness I didn’t panic and jump. I just tapped the brakes lightly enough to straighten out the wheels and caught some sand on the right side of the road. It actually stopped right at the curve so I set brake to see if it would hold but it didn’t.

So, into 2^nd gear, low on the rearend, I herded the 2 ½ ton tank wagon down the road at 8 mph. Probably took less time than I remember but that still wasn’t soon enough for me. Like I said, getting in a hurry in a truck like that doesn’t end well most of the times.

When I got back to the shop I told Chuck about those tires. They barely had 3,000 miles on them and were still good highway tires. So Bobby, Chuck and I peeled off all four tires on the rear and put snow tires on it and I started packing chains in one of the side compartments.

There are a hundred stories I could tell you about some of the wildest stuff you would probably believe, and I know your mother heard about plenty of them, but I still believe there’s a great plan in the scheme of all our days here. I’ve been recording this stuff in my journals since I was 15 years old. It never grows old for me. Guess you could say it’s probably why I’m still here.