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EJ, UnIncorporated
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The Jeep
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Becoming a gearhead: baby teeth
I was not born a "Jeep Guy." I was born seated on a "Big Wheel." For the longest time, the Big Wheel coursed though my blood, calling to me with the need for speed. Heck, part of me would still love to jump on a grown-up sized Big Wheel and tool around a parking structure (maybe with some handle-mounted squirt guns!). The older I got, though, the less my heart
beat with racecar driver blood and the more I leaned toward "explorer."
I started considering ORVs sometime during college. Not seriously enough to really pursue one, but the seed was planted. By
the time I graduated from UNM (right by the shining Sandia Mountains), my heart was split between burning rubber and blazing trails. When a best-friend picked up a used YJ, he inspired me to the world of Jeepdom.
What follows is a love story; a story of a barely-contained passion. It has been an education, full of joy... and expensive
lessons. It's the story of one man's growth from the masses of the technically challenged to the ranks of the still-technically-challenged-but-just-stupid-enough-to-try.
Take it as an inspiration. Take it as a warning. Take it with a grain of salt and two lumps of sugar. What follows is my story.
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Starting to lean (circa 1990)
I was in college, more or less bound to a semi-closed campus, when the ORV transformation started taking hold. I started dreaming of getting off-campus (in my own vehicle) and escaping up to
Cochiti Canyon. Pickup trucks were the most popular ORV of the area and I had family in town that fell on the Ford side of the Ford/Chevy
blood feud.
I wanted to seperate myself from the crowd. I wanted to project the image of "rugged individualist". I was also in college
and on a budget that couldn't afford much more than ramen soup. New vehicles were out.
I liked the looks of early Toyota Land Cruisers and Land Rovers. They seemed eminently capable yet unlike every other Jeep or pickup truck that was already kicking up the dust.
Entering Jeepdom (1998)
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| Checking for illegal a'le'inns |
Late in 1998, I made the plunge on a '99 Sahara TJ. The recently redesigned Wranglers had the right capability, better reliability
than the old YJs and (frankly) a better look. I didn't know that much about the aftermarket at this point, so it seemed
smart to get beefy but stay stock with as much as I could and keep the Jeep clean for its brief 3-year/30k warranty.
This shot in scenic downtown Rachel (Nevada) wasn't long after the purchase. It's a much younger Jeep. A much younger me,
too, but since then, the Jeep has grown from a stock 4-wheeler you see to a stout expedition vehicle. A very good thing.
I've grown too, but has that been good...? Not so much.
It was around this time that the Jeep told me its name: Rigby. I thought it odd. A bit British
for an all-American Jeep, but Rigby insisted. Since he was my chauffeur (and he be my rig), Rigby it was.
My Second Mod (late 2001)
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| I love Jeepin' *thiiiiiis* much! |
A few months shy of my three year warranty expiration, I found myself unable to cope without a rear gear rack. No, not J.Lo's
underwear, most folk would know it as a "luggage rack." I scoured Jeep magazines and finally settled on this Garvin Trail Rack. I wanted to do it myself but installation required drilling (which scared the hell out of me) and actually lifting the body
tub off the back to get the mountings in place. Holy Cow!
As much as I still aspired to be a trail-tough kinda guy, I simply didn't have the facilities (nor a clue)... but I still
needed the functionality that a rack would provide. Since you don't need to know how to rebuild an engine to race a car, I
bought the piece from a place called "Performance Products" in Van Nuys and had them install it (back when they did that kind
of thing).
It wasn't long after the installation that Jenny got her own Jeep. Over the next few years, Betty (the female counterpart
to "Rigby") entered the family and grew through several upgrades, including a matching Manik brush guard. Not long after,
the trail rack pictured above would eventually find it's way to her Jeep (nice rack, lady!).
And then it happened...
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| Rescuing Rigby: even tough guys get the blues |
In early 2004, I heard the first signs: a strange pulsing sound coming from the exhaust (reminscient of an old beater). I
let it grow, knowing it was only the muffler and I'd get around to fixing it sooner or later.
When I finally took it in, it was like learning a son had tuberculosis: the header (exhaust manifold) was coming apart. The
headers should last something like 160,000+ miles and mine was cracking up well before 40,000. Turns out Rigby was born in
a bad stretch (1991-1999): the design overheated the headers and led to premature failure.
In fact, there was a whole class action lawsuit going against DaimlerChrysler over the issue with no resolution in sight. It was going to be expensive no matter what...
but just thinking about some stranger digging around in Rigby's guts! Noooo! Unfortunately, this was in another
universe from my paltry mechanical skills.
What kind of a system would replace the stock manifold? Bigger headers allowed more air flow and greater power for the engine
(and an engine that doesn't work as hard for the regular stuff will actually save gas). Double bonus. Rigby desperately needed
to gain back some of the power lost when he upsized his tires.
I called around and did some research. The guy at the Burbank Midas said aftermarket headers were illegal in California! Was
this true? Turns out it wasn't, as long as the part has been certified to meet state standards for noise and emissions. Bad business, Midas...
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Bringing it home (circa 1992)
 One of the problems with my first leanings were that they were imports. I wish I could say there was some patriotic motive
there but it was strictly fiscal: tariffs made the imports more expensive. Further, I'd been looking at used imports,
meaning parts were getting scarce (and therefore more expensive).
Domestically, I had the option of a Jeep CJ (or older... but parts issues came up again); an International Scout or a Ford Bronco (somewhere between '66 and '77). I loved the look and feel of the early Broncos. There was something about it, a certain semi-square
mystique. While all three had possibilities, I started leaning toward that Bronco.
To be honest, I suffered paralysis by analysis. I was driving beat-up old sedans (seriously thinking about recreating the
Bluesmobile) when Carl got his YJ (circa 1995). That was my true spark of Jeepin' inspiration. I learned about "after markets" not long
after – a community of owners and manufacturers that flock to a platform and breathe new life into it. By 1997, circumstances
suddenly changed: I was in California, I had a new gig... I found myself thinking about a new vehicle.
My First Mod (early 2001)
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| Trivial Pursuit: Manik discontinued this brushguard |
I simply couldn't wait three years before I started modding my Jeep. This Manik brush guard was one of the first. I aspired to be a trail-tough kinda guy (I'd have to learn to weld to be one of those),
but this was all bolt-on. With directions, I figured I could handle it. I was right... barely.
The first challenge was tools. I was (am) an apartment dweller sans garage. Still, I had to equip myself and hope I could
find space. Where would I put the 2-post hydraulic lift? No idea. Don't care. Shove the tools in the closet, they need
to be had!
The other thing I needed was a clue. Didn't have one. I couldn't buy a clue. Not having gone to business school
(or mechanics school), I had no idea where to shop for "OEM parts." I scoured the aisles. Found out after rooting under large
rocks that "OEM" actually stands for "Original Equipment Manufacturer." Oh.
While the brush guard required no drilling, it did require a good deal of upper body strength and a huge amount of patience.
Perhaps most surprising is that despite this being my inaugural personal modification, it's somehow still on there today –
and doing a great job of protecting the fenders and hood!
Made for each other (late 2003)
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| His and hers Jeeps |
Our Jeeps kept growing. Rigby sprouted a 9,000 pound winch and I swore (and prayed) to never reenact the winch scene from the "Gods Must Be Crazy." Right about the same time, Rig ditched his stock 30" Goodyear Wranglers and donned 33" BFG/ATs (that's "B.F. Goodrich/All-Terrains";
not "Big Freaking Gun/Anti-Tank").
One should not slap on big tires without a lift of some sort; otherwise the tires rub the inside of the wheel wells. To prevent
rubbing the wrong way, I went with a 4" suspension lift (no body lift – it destabilizes the tub on frame). Gas mileage
and acceleration suffered but now I had some serious ground clearance and decent articulation. I wasn't planning on rock crawling
– Rigby was my daily driver – but I could traverse some serious terrain and get where I needed to go.
Other doodads included aluminum safety-tread plates that I had "Line-X'd" for protection and riveted to the body. The rear corners were covered, as well the front and tops of the forward fenders.
Both Jeeps got Jungle lights (which I mounted and wired [in the process, inventing words that would make sailors blush]).
Both Jeeps got Citizen Band radios, which didn't have much power but they kept us in touch when we went on the occasional convoy. Sometime later came window netting. Rigby wore it like racecar safety netting. Betty wears it like fishnet stockings. Vive La Différence.
It gets worse...
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| Greg's Tune-Up |
At this point, Rigby was already under the weather. I'd been a lax driver, not noticing low tire inflation on those beefy
33s. Driving low messed up the treads and eventually knocked the snot out of the alignment. At this point, "under the weather"
became "pummeled by a hurricane of metal fatigue".
After pulling in to the local Arco to fill up, the parking brake pulled right off the floor board. Too much pulling.
This effectively locked the wheels and Rigby had to be towed out of the gas station. Thank goodness for AAA.
A friend recommended a local garage just a mile and a half away so I went with it – and they did a great job ($70).
I was sad to learn they didn't fix exahuast manifolds, but when asked, he gave me some leads for local exhaust shops (I try
to give my business to non-chain local guys). As for this garage? I knew I'd be back for a general tune-up.
The growing header problem ($1000+) wasn't the only thing on my mind. With the tires promising to be a $700+ dent, there were
also cracks in the windshield and I was noticing glitches in the electrical system... when Rigby suffered a sudden hernia
and refused to go on.
The clutch line broke, the transmission groaned, I groaned and we all rolled to the side of the road. What in the world were
we going to do?
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