Will the last Flxible Employee delivering the last Flxible Bus out of Loudonville …PLEASE TURN OUT THE LIGHT. Yes folks, an era ended this past weekend in the tiny village of Loudonville, Ohio was duly noted by the Loudonville Times Photographer and Flxible reporter Jim Brewer. One of the last Flxible buses to be built in the Loudonville, Ohio manufacturing facility was resurrected from its inglorious grave, taken to a spot adjacent to the building where its chassis rails were laid some 30 years earlier, and was attended to by your truly in what was characterized by most of the old Flxible employees left on the property, as well as the Plant Manager, as a labor of love destined to failure. Her nameplate said that she was built in April of 1975. The story, as best that could be pieced together, said that she started life as a 35' transit coach, possibly for the New York City Transit Authority, but was rejected for service as being one two many coaches built for the order. The records show that she was one of 3 units built specifically for demonstration purposes, to show off the company’s workmanship. But I found her setting on the hard gravel parking lot shivering in the 28 degree temperature and blowing wind of a typical Ohio mid-November morning, non descript under an overcast sky. She was leaning far to the right due to no air in her suspension system, low tires, and uneven ground. Large clumps of mold and algae had formed under her windshield wipers over the years, a broken lower windscreen panel added to her desperate appearance. The scuttlebutt around the organization was that they had not heard the sound of her upgraded 8V71 Detroit Diesel in 21 years. I was taken to the vehicle by the Plant Manager and told that the vehicle would probably have to be wreckered out of the place as it was obvious that she would never be able to be started in her current condition. I was then left alone with her and my thoughts. I wanted to look at this objectively, but my distant memories of her brought me closer in to what she had been and what she had meant to us. This was an engineers' vehicle. This was a vehicle whose very existence was for the purposes of finding out what the limits of the mind of bus designers could impose upon her. She had always complied with our desires in the past. Was she up to it one more time? I took my famous "once around" appraisal look at her. This is an art developed by few who can "look" at a vehicles condition and tell from that impression just what it was going to take to get a vehicle back up and running.

The tires looked almost new although it was well known that they were originals from the 70's. The fronts were "rated" as City Service" only, not to exceed 35 mph while the rears were a bit better with a rating of 55mph, standard coach rubber. It needs to be noted here that the Flexible Company never installed new rubber on manufactured coach. All tires were supplied to the manufacturing floor by the purchasing property through their Commercial Tire Lease Provider, be it Goodyear, Firestone, or Cooper at the time. Some coaches even left the factory with less than ideal rubber for the long trip to the property, to be swapped out upon arrival to the "good stuff”. At any rate, the tires, with 20-25 psi of air in each one, were a point of worry even though I had provided for 6 tires and wheel assemblies on the F-350 service truck. I dropped an Oklahoma credit card (an automatic self siphoning hose) into the fuel tank and let a quart or so run into a bucket. Normally, diesel fuel will not "turn" color with age, a putrid green tinge being its trademark color. But this was the stuff that nightmares were made of, it was somewhat thick, and the color of Jack Daniels sippin' Whiskey. From the odor of it, it smelled like gasoline and the acrid smell that accompanies that product when all or the aromatics has evaporated from it. Things were not looking good. But at least I did not see any evidence of algae growth on the tank. I then raised the rear compartment door and looked at the engine. It had that aged smoothness to it that said, "not too many hands have been in here Boss”. I LIKE a clean engine assembly. But as I attempted to operate the fuel throttle I noticed tightness in the lever indicating that the unit injectors were causing the override springs to be compressed. A sure sign of stuck injectors. Were they stuck closed and only presenting me with a "miss: if I were to get her started, or was an injector stuck open, just waiting for some unsuspecting operator to fire her up only to watch in horror as she raced to the limits of her endurance and explode in a pile of flying engine parts, oil, and anti-freeze. Best that I attend to this problem first, as none of the other ones will mean a thing if I don't. The sky was getting brighter now, although the clouds would not give even a small patch to the suns rays. The wind had picked up and my mind drifted back to remember that same kind of winter day 31 years earlier as I stood not too far from here, arriving for my first day on the job as the new Southeastern Regional Service Manager for the Flxible Company. I was standing on the main drag in the parking lot looking past two unfinished coaches parked out front and a simple stick letter sign on the building saying "The Flxible Company". I wondered why they choose such a funny name to be known by. I smartly picked up my briefcase and marched into the building to help them make more history. And with that thought in mind, I reached for my toolbox on the truck and decided that “Ole Blue” and me would write one more final chapter in the company's history.

I pulled the valve covers off and indeed did find one injector on each bank frozen in the "on" position. Apparently someone had tried to "start" the engine and operated the throttle shaft and the rack and plunger "froze" in the on fuel position. The old gasoline syrup did not help matters. I dutifully removed the offending mechanisms and after some disassembly (don't try this with a small vise) I was able to get them back into operating condition again. A quick install and timing set and that part was now done. The next order of business was to install the starter. This was made necessary by the fact that someone had serepetiously TAKEN it. I ain't sayin' they stole it, but nobody better ever get caught by me in a back alley at midnight with a very large bulge under their jacket. Not only was it missing, but it had been so for SOME time. The starter mounted to the flywheel housing using studs instead of bolts and as such the threads were exposed to the elements and they were of the SAE fine thread variety. I ended up having to chase them withWD-40 and a nut. The location of the starter access being from the rear settee area was a positive AND a negative. Good that I was out of the wind but bad that I could not get to the offending studs too easily. Oh well, I've come this far…After the starter was mounted I found more reasons to fricassee the SOB that stole the starter, he also cut the main battery bulkhead connector wire to the starter lead. That is a 0000 cable with special 7/16" terminal leads on it. THEN he cut the solenoid signal wire completely out of the harness. I never did figure out where that lead was located. Now I was beginning to understand the motivations for writing the song "Nobody Knows…the Trouble I've Seen”. I looked up from my woes for a moment and looked across the street and some old thoughts and ideas began to come back into my mind. There, just 100 feet away is a COMPLETE warehouse full of bus parts. What am I worrying about? And to boot, there was an old Flxible comrade serving as parts manager for MCI Service Parts. Somehow, I was beginning to warm up and the possibilities started to be made manifest to me. It would be just like old times. I would request the parts and someone would go and get them and give them tome. WHAT A FREAKIN' CONCEPT! And it was only 30 years old. So, I went in to the parts managers’ office and introduced myself to him. I didn't tell him EVERYTHING about me, just the essentials. He knew why I was in town, but was not any more enchanted with my prospects than the Plant Manager. And then I handed him the cut up starter cable and, a bit misty eyed, I looked around the 85,000 sqft warehouse and said, "do you think it possible that you might have one of these in this place?" I had a brand new one in my hands within an hour. WAHD a country!!!

I proceeded to find out that the two 8 D's that I had brought from Atlanta were not going to fit this coach. It was equipped with factory installed side straps designed to provide for a 3/8" eye cable. Humm! Someone is not happy with me. Wonder what I did? Not to worry mate. I've been in tighter squeezes than this. More wind, more blowing snow, and more problems then I've seen this day have been my misfortune. When the going gets tough…the tough…. go shopping. So off I went to the local auto parts store. Yes Virginia, they have the SAME inept young Whipper Snappers in these small bergs as they do in the Atlanta parts stores. But WHYME? After trying to explain to this dude (Well, he LOOKED like a dude) about batteries and battery clamps and military battery clamps(you mean like in the War in Iraq type clamps?) So I finally got him to call his boss and explained to him what I wanted. He finally directed junior to an obscure bin in the back of the store and to a large dusty blue box whereby upon opening, I was greeted with several shinny new military style battery clamps. They had been waiting there on that shelf for me for maybe…30 years or so. "Unto everything there is a purpose…unto heaven”. With a few twists of the wrists I had the existing cable system strapped securely to the military clamps and pushed the battery tray back into the rack. My next project was the upper fuel system. I say upper because it was quite obvious that the lower fuel system. (Fuel pump, lines, and tank) were not going to contribute to this adventure in the condition they were in. I placed a 2" nylon filter strap wrench on the primary fuel filter and had to reach prematurely for a cheater bar (I was saving IT for a contest with the wheel lugs) to get them to break loose. The filters confirmed that the gas/diesel mixture had made it all the way up to the filters and into the injectors. I then disconnected all of the lines (there are only about 40 of them) and proceeded to blow them out with kerosene and lacquer thinner. After re-assembly I installed my Wiz Bang, super duper, top secret, fits all, fuel supply into the draw line of the primary filter and pressurized the system to 40 psi. Holding the three-gallon garden sprayer with my right arm and aiming a can of either into the cold start port, I pulled the fuel shut-off lever to the on position while at the same time giving the remote starter button a push. The big Detroit rolled over ever so slowly for maybe 4 revs when she coughed, sputtered, heaved, and kicked again fighting for life as the either starter to penetrate her deep inner chambers. Then, she hit for sure with a roar indicating that she was definitely on the good stuff now. I released the either and kept the throttle half open. She was kickin' 21 years of dirt at me through a rusted out exhaust pipe but neither one of us was going to give up now. She was running and I let her go to idle. That familiar 2-cycle rumble sat there and rattled on for a minute or two when I realized that the tank was running out of diesel. (I did not provide for a return line recovery so within 2 minutes she went through $6.55 worth of premium diesel. That's all right girl. We can get more diesel. Can't get this kind of emotional rush for any amount of money. It was just her and I to share the moment. No one else thought it even remotely possible. The sky by now was getting dark. The hills around the Mohican Valley were starting to close in on me. I was cold, I smelled of diesel, I was aching from my contortionist antics with that starter, and I was as giddy as a school kid at my exploits. Time to go get a beer and a pizza and watch the evening news. I had gotten it running on the first day. I need to go collect some debts.

There’s more to come….On the first day God created light...on the second day...He created pain. Day two came at 6:30 in the morning-all the Michigan deer hunters registered at the motel were out front firing up their Dodger am chargers to get out into the woods. Don't any of them EVER repair the exhaust systems on those things? Oh well, so much for waitin' for the ole alarm clock. First light and first awareness are two different things in this part of the world. What with the high hills and the depth of the valley floor, real daylight is slow in coming. But one thing was for sure, the sky would be clear today so maybe a bit of solar heating would be on the agenda to counter the 26 degree starting temperature and 20 mph gusting winds. Back at the bus the next order of business was to get the fuel out of the 95-gallon capacity tank. How to do that and where to put it was a dilemma. I was told NOT to allow a spill on the property (Duh!) but when I enquired about some empty barrels to put the fuel in I was told that none would be forthcoming as MCI had done its part in donating the coach and it was up to me to figure out how to do it. OKAY guys, I got broad shoulders…and an expansive mind to boot. Don't be surprised if that old fuel doesn’t end up in your cut crystal whiskey decanters at the house. So I went down (with the direction of the Parts Manager) to the local BP fuel distributor in town and told him what I needed. (I told then who I was and why I was there and then listened to 3 people tell me about the parts that they built on that bus. Everybody in this town worked for the Flxible Company at one point in their lives) I was offered 2 steel drums and a hand pump for 20 bucks (GAWD I love these off-interstate prices) and directions on how to get to the farm that had the hand pump. Seems as though it was the community hand pump and was at this moment about 10 miles away at a farmhouse/truck repair facility. On the way back to fill up the drums with fresh fuel at the BP station I was met by Ken Utterback, an FOI Board Member, who had been out on a vehicle move the day before and was somewhat under the weather at this point, taking medication and all, but he still wanted to get involved, so he came over to the coach. Anticipating this fuel situation I brought along a plastic drain pan4' sq. by 4" high as a catchall to whatever might waste out of the coach. I was particularly thinking about using it to have to drain the engine oil. But now the left leaning coach was preventing me from getting my rotund belly under her skirt (are we X rated yet?)and access to the fuel tank drain. But I did manage to scoot the drain pan into place and got the drain plug out and then desperately tried to keep up with the drain volume by cranking the dickens out of the pump handle. Finally all the fuel was in the haz-mat barrel and I then flushed the tank as best I could and prepared for pumping the new fuel onboard. By this time Ken had showed up and helped me to pump from the truck-mounted barrel and into the coach tank. With all of the fuel lines having been put back on, the moment of truth was at hand, would the system pick up the fuel and put it to the engine? Would a large gob of crap break loose in the system and clog the lines or filter? Only one way to find out, hit the button Ken and hold the either close into the cold start nipple. (Now I KNOW that word is X rated) She started on the first rev and never missed a lick from then on. Satisfied that it would run okay, Ken thought better of standing out that cold wind with a congested chest any longer and decided it best that he get to the house. I agreed totally as he really wasn’t dressed for an extended stay outdoors. But he had helped me to get over a big hump then and I was grateful.

With the coach running on its own the next issue was to get the air system up and running. This did not look too promising. A large leak was found at the primary tank pressure sender (a 3/8" pipe plug was missing.) Back to the master parts warehouse were a proper brass plug was located and put into place. But still no air build. With that much time (21 years) between operations I thought it worth the time to check the air compressor and governor for a defect but both items checked out. To really get to the bottom of this I needed to get under the coach but how? I went back to the Parts Manager (they have fork trucks to unload parts don't they"?) and asked how much capacity he had in a forklift, answer 8,000 lbs. Humm! Not enough to lift the 16,000lbsof mass on a transit bus. But they brought it out anyway only to learn the hard way that 8,000 won't lift 16,000. But there was always the concept of a half of loaf. Why not lift only one side of the coach by the rear wheels. The operator was a bit skeptical but he made an attempt and up she went on one side and I blocked the tires with a set of 8x8 pine beams to make sure the forklift did not give back any ground. Under the coach for the first time I could see what 21 years of sitting could do to steel. Spiders liked the place too, although I did not see any…. probably took that early bird special offered by Carnival Cruise Lines and skipped town for the winter. After several false reports of leaks (sound propagation under a coach is not easy to differentiate direction) I finally determined the culprit as being the anti-lock relay valve for the rear axle. History was repeating itself here. 30years earlier I was the unlucky Service Rep that drew the lot to install the first 17 coaches to be built with the then federal mandate of anti-lock brakes for the Lynchburg Transit System in Lynchburg, VA After four months of fighting that engineering fiasco, the Congress of the United States went into special session and exempted transit coaches from the legislation requiring that all vehicles over 26,000 lbs be equipped with anti-lock brakes. We were instructed to disable all systems and render them permanently inoperable. Here under this bus, no federal laws applied. I could not DISABLE anything and get out of my predicament. I had an antilock valve leaking and the last antilock valve made for this animal was over 30years ago. So I proceeded to remove the valve and its hosing and brought it to the attention of the Parts Manager and by looking into some old records we were able to find the part number for the valve but it was not in the current inventory system. But its price was.$1994.00. So EVEN if one were available, we couldn't afford it. But, what is the difference between an anti-lock brake relay valve and a plain Jane relay valve? I mean besides 1900 bucks? Well for one, a plain Jane valve don't anti-lock. But if you look under this coach, it ain't anti-locked in a damn long time either. The problem was to find a relay valve that would have the capacity of one as designed for this coach. Back to the Parts Manager's office. We ran a search on the description column of his computer and found 17relay valve hits. A bin call was made and only turned up 5 valves. The most promising one, alas, had ports that were too small indicating a lack of capacity. If it were to be put on, the front brakes would probably apply too soon and the rears would release too late. Not a good thing with 35,000lbs of bus in motion. I decided to make the most of my time there now by inspecting and repairing as many bad operational items as I could find. I didn’t think too much of my prospects of getting the coach out of town but if something were to happen between now and then, I would be ready. The next 90 minutes were spent on twisting and tightening and a detailed inspection. And NOW the skies of the Mohican Valley were growing dark again. In Louisiana they call it Friday night and a time for kicking up their heels. In small towns across this country it is time for high school football games. But in Loudonville, OH on this evening it was time to admit that maybe the idea of this project for getting this coach up and running and out of town was, as they had all told me, destined for failure. I say failure because the group that was supposed to take this coach out of Loudonville was due in town the next morning (Saturday) with two other coaches and an extra driver just for this event. And now it was not going to happen. If the coach could not leave this weekend no one knew when it might go. Weather this time of the year is quite predictable and it would be quite nasty from here on out. Failure itself is never the flash point for dread, only the PROSPECT of failure. You ain't beat until you are beat…or quit. And two things were quite apparent to me that evening, I was NOT yet beat, and I was NOT quitting. Like a scene from an old Dickens Christmas movie, against the dark of the skies, the lone figure of the Parts Manager closed up his warehouse and walked to his mini-van and went home to start a planned early Thanksgiving Holiday with his wife and I picked up my tools and headed for the motel. I was being pulled like a rubber band. Yesterday at this time I was high on success and now I was low on the prospect of failure. As I pondered the moment, a familiarity came over me as the rush of a long forgotten memory; it was also 31 years ago this evening that I too was making my way back home to Atlanta for the Thanksgiving Holiday after 3 weeks of intense training in the art and mechanicals of building a transit bus and the origins of that funny spelling of the name on the building. Failure at this point was not an option that I was going to entertain. I have come this far. The ghosts of the Flxible Company and their proxies WILL NOT LET THISHAPPEN. I will NOT be permitted the luxury to fail now, not with THIS bus and not on THIS ground.

Now, Page three…The final day, the final yard, and a steel curtain defiance to assault. That final yard can be the hardest....time to call in the special teams; Saturdays are Saturdays. In my neck of the woods it is THE day for taking a break. A leisurely wake-up call (I already had learned to tune out those open piped Ram chargers) at 8 and a shower put me back in the mood to "git'er done”. To get anything done in such a large project as a coach move, you have to have a plan and stick to it. All in all, I was pretty much on schedule as far as my PLAN was concerned. But as tired and demoralized as I was the night before, I did not sleep too well-thinking of HOW I was going to find a valve to get this coach up and running. In the back of my mind was this "crumbs on the forest floor” routine whereby I would possibly get this valve leak fixed only to be confronted with "something else" that was not readily apparent without the air pressure being built up. To give you an idea, transit coaches are not like trucks and older highway coaches. They are designed to transport people by drivers who are trained to "point and push" the controls to get them down the road. Over the years much knowledge has been gained through trial and error and misfortune as to how to build a transit coach that will negate the inattentiveness of the driver and protect the equipment and protect the passenger from even extraordinary circumstances while they are being transported. This "knowledge" is made manifest in the numerous hoses, lines, switches, relays, valves, and actuators found all over the coach. As an example, all could be well throughout the coach but a simple wire corrosion on the rear door could cause the rear brake interlock to come on and hold the coach locked to its position with the force of the rear brakes holding it. In certain instances this interlock valve can be made to come on while the coach is in motion, locking it down on the highway instantly, causing a traffic tie up, vehicle damage, and even injuries and death. The numbers of “gadgets” in the coach electrical system are many and when you multiply the number of gadgets by the number of variables, you come out with an astonishing number or "possibilities". Couple that with my experience in the field with these coaches and these possibilities were now being counted while I was trying to get to sleep, jumping over the fence instead of the more conventional sheep as others may encounter. Order of the day? FIND a high capacity relay valve. I'll deal with the variables later-IF and when they jump up. With breakfast well in hand I set off to the only place I knew of that would have a possibility of having it, a town 20 miles away called Mansfield. This is the closest town where you will find evidence of modern civilization-you know, like a Wal-Mart or a Wendy’s, and yes, most importantly, a truck dealership. The International Dealership looked a bit worn around the edges, its location more suited to an industrial setting, Hells Bells, it WAS an industrial setting. But I could not afford to judge this book by its cover. In my mind, at that time, this was my only hope. I went in and showed them this monstrosity of a valve. Of course this was a mistake. They knew IMMEDIATELY that they did not have ANYTHING that looked like THAT-what with the hoses still attached and running off in all directions. The cast in place electronics compartment and the funny bulge in the middle caused a serious doubt to be cast upon my request. At this point you must know something about auto parts houses. At NOTIME do you ever approach one for the purchase of parts without three things, year, make, and model. And today the 17-digit VIN number is now derigueur. I couldn't make17 digits out of ALL of the numbers stamped on the data plate. Once you start talking about generic parts and attempting to "engineer" a part to make a selection, you loose most countermen. All truck parts inventory (with the exception of Ford) are placed in the bins by part number, not like a supermarket where all the milk, butter, and cheese are placed side by side. If you want 2% milk in a truck dealership, you’re likely to find it next to a bag of kitty litter-and on and on. The part number is assigned as the engineer comes across a need to assign one to it, look at a P/N ledger and take the next available one, or group of numbers. Plus, when a part arrives in the dealership for bin placement it is placed in the next available bin-by-bin size. Only a computer knows its location after that event. So knowing I had a relay valve was of no help to anyone without the year, make, or model. And of course I am sure you can see what is coming next when I tell the counterman that it is a New Look 1975Flxible transit coach. Their look makes that kid back in Loudonville seem absolutely Einsteinien by comparison. After about 30 minutes of "looking" through catalogs and shelves it was decided that they were not the ones to help me with this venture. But how about a general truck parts supply house, one who covers all types of parts or even a specialty shop that deals only in truck brake parts. Fantastic idea-lousy execution. These jobbers-being primarily wholesale in nature- don't do Saturdays. Now what? I then went to Wooster, OH, another small town, a college town, but got no better results. So, back to Loudonville without a solution to the problem at hand.

As I said earlier the ghosts of Flxible, or their proxies, would not let this happen. But as I arrived back in Loudonville, I did not see any evidence of the supernatural attempting to seek me out. Time to take some of my own medicine and quite pushing so hard and let the karma flow. I arrived back at the main Flxible building on Market Street and saw that the rest of the transport crew had arrived, their two New Look Flxible's parked on Humm Street. I went into the plant to find them and met up with Ken Utterback et. al. and the decision was made to go to lunch. Always an excellent idea. So Kenny took us downtown to a small café (looked like an abandoned truck stop café. Well maybe not abandoned, they just didn't have any trucks around to fill out the ambiance) There were seven of us now, enough to make a quorum on the issue of this coach problem. After a bit of furniture arrangement in the dinning hall, we made our selections and chatted over old war stories and wives tales. The best part of the lunch was that someone else paid for it. Those are the BEST kind of lunches. After lunch the subject of the dreaded relay valve was finally square on the table. I expressed dismay at not being able to locate one in Mansfield, even as I though it was my best shot, and the prospects that this coach might not get out of town today. Remember I said that I did not see any evidence of a Flxible ghost, or even his proxy? Will, the funny thing about proxies is they can be right in front of you and you never see them. They `nique up on you without your ever knowing it. During the conversation Ken brought up the question of weather I had tried any places in Ashland, just 17 miles down the road. My recollection of Ashland as a town was not much better than Loudonville as far as variety of stores was concerned, and I said no, I did not try them as I thought Mansfield was my best choice. Well, there IS an International Dealer there and he SHOULD have what you’re looking for. So a phone call was made and the parts man said that he may have what I needed but he would have to "see it" in order to be sure. FINALLY, someone who knew what I was trying to do, find a will-fit part. BUT! As usual, there was a caveat, they close at 4:30 and it was now3:30. And we weren't anywhere CLOSE to him. Remember the term "a country mile"? Well whatever that term means, we were 17 of `Em away from him and no Interstates in sight, not even a classy U.S highway was in the offering. But we had something better as it turned out, we had Ken Utterback, his Escort Wagon, and 40 years of ridge running, cop dodging, experience in these Ohio fields. So, with the clock as our pace marker, off to the big city of Ashland we went. Later, one of the passengers in the back of the Escort asked me if I had noticed his judicious use of the passenger grab strap during the trip and was I ever worried about the speed and curves that were being negotiated. I said, "No, I was not worried about anything as long as the car was on at least two wheels going around the curves, it’s when he starts to run on only one tire that I start to have concerns about buckling up”. Well we made it their in plenty of time. We left the Escort in the parking lot with its tires oozing water vapor from the tread, and its little 4-cylinder tongue hanging out, and headed inside. We wanted to see all of the relay valves he could muster up, especially any that might fit a 40 ft trailer with a Michigan Spread axle-looking for capacity. Promptly he produced 3 valves and a visual inspection pointed to the best candidate. We also got new cap-off plugs, 90-degree fittings, flexible air hoses and Teflon tape. We were stepping in high cotton now. Back to Loudonville with a bit more leisurely pace, but not too slow, as the sun was doing its old disappearing act soon and we needed some time to check out the systems once it was up and running. .With the valve on the service pick up tailgate, I proceeded to transform the anti-lock valve over to the plain Jane relay valve. With a professional flashlight holder, the valve was put in place and secured as best could be without engineering to line up all the holes first. A quick check of the accuracy of installation and the engine was fired up and after some hesitation, the system air built up to80+ pounds and the air bags lifted the body up for the first time. It was great sight. We hunted down and tightened several loose air lines and found that most systems were a go or were not necessary to the transport of the vehicle. With some air in the tires we would be ready to go to Chicago. Kenny Utterback, a non-Flxible employee, who does not own a bus, turned out to be the proxy for the ghosts of the Flxible Company. Again, the hills of Loudonville had closed in on us but they this time they could not compress our enthusiasm. With high fives to all, we traipsed off to the Little Brown Inn to get cleaned up and go to a celebratory dinner. Tomorrow, the proof will be in the pudding, or how "close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades".

We end this compilation with not one, but two views of the final day. An Era Ends On Sunday the group gathered at the coach to mark its first movement under its own power in 21 years. The Plant Manager, Carl Roth, was there to see it fire up and move out as I made an archived movie of the event. Ole' Blue was taken to the front (end of the assembly line) of the old Flxible complex building and the tires were aired up to 90psi and checked closely for any signs of separation, dry rot(not ANY indication of dry rot or even expected ozone cracking) and bulges. AL appeared OK. With the tires all aired it was time to place the coach into its original point of entry into this world, the assembly building exit door. Just as was done 30 years earlier, she peaked her nose out of the roll–up door and with her freshly cleaned and polished windows, looked all the more like a newly minted coach. Several photo seekers had assembled at the plant to take pictures and maybe wonder if anew era was about to dawn on this town. No Virginia, just the ending of an era, not a beginning. As one last point of historical correctness, Ole Blue was taken down to the R&D building around the corner. This is where most of my memories and interaction with her took place some 30 years earlier. You see, as a "mule", that is the term I knew her by before she acquired a personality; we used her completed chassis as an experimental platform to try out various things that would come to mind. The Williams Air Throttle was tried out at the Flxible facility for the first time on her, as was the extension of her chassis from the original 35' build length to the current 40'dimension. In addition, the smaller 6V71 was upgraded to an 8V71and, not to be outdone, the latest and greatest Allison V730aluminum case, 3 planetary gear case was installed. All of this modification and upgrade was done in the T&D building by a gentlemen (his name escapes me) now deceased, but his attention to detail and workmanship in the care and feeding of Ole' Blue over the years, was made manifest by the fact that other then age related deterioration, the coach was pristine in its build, modifications, and maintenance. In other words, I found everything exactly where I expected to find it, and in proper professionally prepared condition. (Except for that screwball that stole the starter and main lead).With all of the photos taken and all of the proper preliminaries taken care of, we said our final farewells to Carl Roth and it was off to the fuel station to top it off with diesel. Some 62 gallons later, for total of 90 gal, (and 5 more stories of who built what, from those hanging around the filling station) we were on our way. Meeting these people for the first time and hearing their stories of their employment with the Flxible company as well as their brother, father, and in many cases, their mothers, was an inspiration to me and a source of some sadness too in that this coach did represent the last vestige of a company that made history and made a town to boot, all there in Loudonville, OH As you pass out of the town you must wonder as you look out over the hills and valley, how many houses, schools, infrastructure, and families", were made possible by the likes of the product we were shepparding out onto the highway and to a new home. The plan now was to get the coach to Chicago. The details were as such, to run the coach down the back roads of Ohio and see how the various systems reacted. We made a pit stop about 30 miles in the journey and checked the hubs for heat, as well as the tires. All was well within acceptable limits. The engine was down a bit on oil before we left but I wanted a good run in before I topped it off. I put in 8 quarts, noticing a slight but persistent oil leak around the upper valve cover where I had removed it to make the injector repair. I inquired of the driver if the coach was exhibiting any unusual vices, pulling, darting, tire thumping, brake drag, power, etc. and was assured that all was well.

I continued the lead until we got to US 2 and a divided highway and the coach was let loose to see how it responded to speed. It would do a respectable 70+ mph although I was somewhat concerned about the front tire rating. We backed off the Mario Andretti stuff and settled into a 60-63 mph rate. Occasionally Ole' Blue would feel a compulsion coming on and challenge an empty flatbed tractor-trailer to a hill (and blow them away) but all in all we were doing pretty well. We made it to the Ohio/Indiana border only to find that we had caught up with the other two coaches due to the fact that one of them was limited to being operated in only second gear. I made a few futile adjustments but was unable to coax the tranny into high gear for anymore then a second when she would flash into high gear and immediately go into second gear again. With all of the coaches in a line (3 New Looks) and the service truck bringing up the rear, we lapsed into a long and slow trip to Chicago on the 80/90 Indiana Turnpike. This was not all bad, as I was relieved that the tires on Ole' Blue would now be able to operate the whole way with out any undue concern for their failure. The evening sun, dropping off to the left of us, was now set and the sky took on the usual golden hue but the road signs said that our destination was still several hours away at the current reduced speed. I settled into a groove while listening to channel 13 on the XM Satellite radio. The coaches roared on (literally, the 8V of the Washington Metro coach was running at a screaming 2300RPM and I thought that at any minute it would come unglued,) but I could not worry about that now. Chicago was the target and my aim was on track. Eventually we entered into the city and of course all that encompasses that statement. The roadway is littered with debris, the roadway is perennially under construction, construction barricades and incomplete road construction presents us with all kinds of hazards, the least of which is that I (as the one bringing up the rear) am not a bit familiar with the roadway, the general direction, or the route to be taken. The two fast busses take off leaving me to contend with the slow bus and the driver of the slow bus is from New Jersey. At LEAST I have been through this town on a fairly regular basis to know where I am spatially, but to get to a particular point is beyond my capabilities while I am trying to follow this coach and fend off pushy (I'm sorry, I mean Chicago area Drivers). At any rate, Ole Blue is now on the road doing the traffic speed limit (65-70+) and nowhere in sight and out of range of the walkie-talkies. Eventually my cell phone rings and it is Ole Blue's driver. "I'm in trouble, I think I have blown an air bag. The coach is leaning hard to the left. Look for me on the side of the road. " WHAT side of the road! This NJ bus jockey had taken an express route lane with me trying to keep behind him (just what was needed in a coach that could only do 48 mph) and we were in no position to see or even know where his coach might be. Eventually, we got off the express lane and back onto the regular highway and came up upon Ole' Blue leaning precariously to the traffic side of the roadway while up on a shoulder barely able to support even a Hyundai, let alone a full size transit coach. The traffic was similar to that on the surface of the famous Brickyard of Indianapolis only without the luxury and courtesy of professional drivers. Someone certainly is trying me on here…We were 6 MILES from the garage. Maybe Mr. Zummo would like to take it from here, as he was the driver? Our Goal: Chicago or BUST...and I mean BUST!

Note: This post is coming from the operator’s point of view! Despite a nasty little oil leak from the rocker cover gaskets (which were thoroughly dried out!) and a lack of power to any of the internal components of the coach -- NO HEAT :( -- Ole' Blue wasn't missing a beat. As the matter of fact, I've never driven a transit that "just wanted to keep going". This thing is powerful! As Deuce has observed in his final post, this transit could easily BLOW AWAY truck traffic and still have 2 inches of contact room between the floor and the accelerator pedal. My wife (riding in the angel seat - C/S) was very content, as she had observed her very first cross country bus adventure without incident. We were approaching the Indiana-Illinois border and we all were tired and irritated from our LONG, SLOW trip from Maryland. I personally just wanted to get back to garage and shut her down as we all needed to work first thing in the morning (well, I guess that I wanted to also make a statement as to the speed of the coach too!). I let Larry know we going ahead, and I gently pulled out from the pack at 47MPH and opened the fire up. As usual, it was like moving the thrust levers forward on a 747, the bus instantly woke-up to full power and off we went, absolutely NO hesitation whatsoever. Everything felt fine and there was NO indication of any operational problems. I saw in my side mirrors that the black NJ bus (Fred McGullam at the controls) was also doing the same (although his top speed was only 53 MPH).Ole' Blue and I came across our first and only toll in Illinois. No problem, been there, done that! Off we went again, still a comfortable ride we fly past the 159the Street exit doing between 55 - 60 MPH. I was riding ever so swiftly, relaxed in the center lane. But then, about three to four miles up, coming out of the second curve before the 127th Street exit, there was a very loud BAM, an explosion of some type! I had never experienced anything like this before and the adrenaline rush, survival skills due to an emergency came into play. My wife was screaming that the bus was burning and I was trying to keep the coach steady WITH BOTH HANDS as the rear-end instantly collapsed on the Left rear. I negotiated the lanes and pulled the bus over to a half-assed shoulder, which was probably big enough for a compact car. I didn’t have a choice, as I could smell "burning rubber", the top of the left wheel well was rubbing against the tires and the tires would surely blow out from rubbing if I were to continue. At this point, I got the bus settled into the right "corner pocket" and I was shaking like a leaf. The adrenaline was coming down and the reality of the situation was setting in. We weren't going anywhere! I called Larry! Low and behold the black bus was coming around the bend, he pulled over. Larry WAS NOT far behind (maybe seven or eight minutes). After chewing me out for jumping ahead of the pack, as did the rest of the group operators, he climbed under the coach to assess the situation. WELL...the air bag DID NOT blowout. It was a blown cap from the left"35 MPH" inner-dual that came apart and with it, took the connecting rod from the bus frame to the leveler valve control arm. Much to our surprise, BOTH inner duals were recapped 35 MPH tires. We were unaware of this fact before our departure in Loudonville! Within a few minutes, the coach began to "raise up" and after he was clear, I was told to proceed to the garage as safely, swiftly as possible as the fix was merely temporary. We found ourselves repeating this several times before we made it to the garage. As of this precise moment, Ole' Blue is sitting in her home. We eventually did make it back after about an hour and a half of added delays due to the situation. When we get a break in the cold, I’ll make the repair (Larry talked me through it), get the tires changed and the engine all cleaned up and resealed (rocker covers).Bottom Line: The tires were a "bone of contention" before we left. Larry DID have 6 tires for the bus. Problem was...everyone in Ohio was closed on Sunday and who was going to put them on? Well, in a similar situation, I would definitely have the tires changed before I carried on OR minimally, I would abide by the lower speed limit with which the old tires carried on their stamped rubber sidewalls. For those of you who play with old buses, this is a lesson learned the “HARD WAY". PLEASE BE AWARE of the condition of your wheels. IF in-doubt, do the right thing and CHANGE THEM. Bruce, Chicagoland Historical Bus Museum, NFP.

In closing, Owens responded after multiple positive reactions to the story by saying, “But I must tell you I thoroughly enjoyed myself the whole trip, the cold, the uncertainty, and the last minute gremlins, were just spice in the cake. In a million years I never would have thought that I would be the one returning that site30 years later, tending to the last Flxible bus out of Loudonville. Serendipity sure plays a funny hand of cards. DubleDeuce

OLE BLUE
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