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1988 Toyota FJ62 Landcruiser

Did some snow wheeling this weekend!
1988 Toyota FJ62 Landcruiser

1988 Toyota FJ62 Landcruiser

Did a little wheeling this morning.
1988 Toyota FJ62 Landcruiser

32 notes - 7 July, 2012

1997 Lexus LX450 and my 1988 Toyota FJ62 Landcruiser

2 notes - 2 June, 2012

The $20 Photo
Part of the reason that I haven’t been active on tumblr is because I recently moved back down to California for the summer, which included a five day roadtrip. And as a habit, I rarely stop on roadtrips, unless it’s for food, gas, or to use the restroom. However, as I was driving along through the middle-of-nowhere farmland that makes up much of Oregon, I couldn’t help but admire the sunset. So I pulled off the small, two lane highway I had been driving along onto an even smaller dirt road that would bring me to a location where I could afford to set up the perfect sunset shot of the 62. There wasn’t a building in sight and the expansive farmland and mountains of Oregon made the perfect backdrop.
I lined up the 62 diagonally across the small road and got my camera out of my bag. After dropping down out of the truck and closing the door, I remembered that I had been driving with my window open. Lesson ingrained into my head from much automotive photography, always shoot the car with the windows up. So I opened the door, rolled up the window and instinctively pushed down the lock to lock the door. I began to walk away and turned just in time to notice that I didn’t have my keys, and the (now locked) door was swinging shut behind me. I ran back, peered through the window, and low-and-behold; my keys, phone, and wallet, all sitting right there on the front seat.
Now, I am not a forgetful person. I pride myself in having lost very few things in my lifetime and having locked myself out of my own truck, with just my camera on me, didn’t compute. I quickly checked the rest of the doors to make sure I was well and truly locked out. All locked. The last town I had driven through was at least an hour and a half back and seeing as visibility was pretty far across the flat plains, there didn’t look to be too much the other direction either.
I began to weigh my options. One: flag someone down and hitch a ride into town to call someone who might be able to help. Two: Flag someone down who would hopefully have a AAA card and who would let me use it. Three: Attempt to find a way to get the doors open. Four: Break a window.
Option One and Two: I walked the minute or two back to the small highway and looked back for my truck. Great, it was conveniently just over a small hill and couldn’t be seen from the highway. Now I would just look like I was trying to lure someone into stopping in the middle of nowhere. With very small hopes of being successful I began trying to wave people down, gesturing as if I needed to use a phone in the hopes of at least getting someone to slow down enough for me to convey my problem. Eighteen-wheeler after eighteen-wheeler drove by without the slightest sign of even slowing. No one stopped. The sun approached the horizon. I gave it a half hour, then slowly walked back over the hill to my truck.
Option Three: I have been in and around my truck fairly often in the time that I’ve owned it, pulling small parts off here and there in an attempt to learn more about it. So I began trying to find a way in. I sized up each panel of the truck to find something I could try to take off that would afford me a way in. Nothing. I pulled the weather stripping off the driver window, I attempted to jiggle my loose driver’s door into giving up it’s grasp on the lock, I tried to pick the lock with a broken old soda can pull tab. Nothing. The sun had fallen below the horizon and if I didn’t get in, there would most likely be trouble of one kind or another.
Option Four: Exasperated, I began to accept what really had to be done. It had been in the back of my head since the beginning, but I had hoped it wouldn’t have had to come to this. Considering I had three more days and around 800 more miles of driving, I was not looking forward to losing the ability to roll up both windows. But it had to be done. I began looking around and eventually found a rock about the size of a grapefruit, with a sharp edge on it. Having seen millions of movies where the protagonist merely punches his shirt-covered hand through the window, I cocked back and smashed the rock against the passenger’s front window. Thud. Nothing but a scratch. Again. Thud. Scratch. Movies are such BS. Already feeling sick about having to break into my own car, these two setbacks were not helping. So I took three steps back and hurled the rock through the window.
Finally. Shards everywhere. A hole just big enough to fit my arm through in order to reach in and unlock the door. But I had to be careful. Sure, I was into the truck, but if I cut myself badly I was going to be worrying about a lot more than having to break a window. I just wanted to get to my destination for the night, yet there was glass everywhere. On the driver’s seat, in the driver’s foot well (where said rock now resided), all over the passenger’s seat and throughout the rest of the truck. I knocked out the rest of the glass so that it wouldn’t be flying around in the cabin as I drove off, carefully wiped as much glass out of the truck as I could, put a towel over the driver’s seat, and drove off.
At some point during this ordeal, possibly while ruminating on how screwed I was, I snapped this photo. And luckily it turned out just as I had imagined. Hopefully those of you who managed to read through this whole story enjoyed it and learned a couple things. If not, at least enjoy the beautiful photo!

12 notes - 29 April, 2012

1988 Toyota FJ62 Landcruiser