Getting out with the Airstream

The last of my January catch up posts.

These are all images from the first two outings in my 1962 Airstream. Both were in the Wasatch Mountains, not far from my house and featuring my boy Jake.

Scenes from the Airstream rehab

Considering I have a hard enough time doing lower skill tasks like painting my house (just had a rough go of it this past weekend), and considering that my time is limited, I am having pros do most of the rehab work on my 1962 Airstream Safari.

Here are some scenes from the shop, Camper Reparadise, in Salt Lake City:

The glamour shot



New seven-prong connector and cord





Astradome and Fanstastic Vent via Vintage Trailer Supply





Belly pan recreated and installed after the new axle was in place



Some of the underside repairs





Next up, 12 volt electrical system getting overhauled. Hope to have this back by July 14.

New axle and Colin Hyde's hypnotic manner

Ten years ago in Georgia, I met a guy named Colin Hyde. I was standing there with my 1973 Airstream lined up with the other vintage Airstream people, minding my own business. We were prepping to caravan in to the 50th annual Wally Byam Caravan Club International's meetup. Many hundreds of Airstreams converge each year at different locations for this event. They still do it today. This year's will be in Michigan.

The next thing I know, as I stood waiting in line, Colin is laying on the ground inspecting the underside of my trailer. He informed me that I needed new axles.

It had never occurred to me that it was an issue. I was living full-time in my Airstream and had more than 4,000 miles on my trailer by that point and hadn't noticed anything amiss as I rolled down America's highways and byways. And yet meeting this guy Colin, he almost immediately convinced me I needed new ones and before I knew it I had driven to his shop in Plattsburgh, New York--way up north, not far from Montreal.

I got my axles replaced.

There was something hypnotizing about Colin's manner. I never doubted him.

In production year 1961, Wally Byam, the founder of Airstream switched all new Airstreams to torsion axles. He did this after leading a caravan across Africa from Capetown to Cairo. Prior to '61, Airstreams had leaf spring axles which I am familiar with from farm equipment my family has had over the years.

Leaf spring axle.

Leaf spring axles date back hundreds of years and are still used today in some heavy trucks, SUVs, and a variety of vehicles and trailers--though not too often in modern travel trailers. 

During the 1959 Capetown to Cairo caravan, Wally Byam had torsion axles on his Airstream. This was experimental technology for Wally and Airstream though torsion axles date back to at least the 1930s. Wally had no problems on that epic 1959 trip, whereas many of the other people in the caravan had all sorts of problems with fractures and breakdowns in their leaf spring axles. Hence the switch for 1961. 

My new-to-me 1962 Airstream Safari had its original torsion axle. With the Colin-embedded-in-me fear of old axles, a new axle was high on my list for my newly acquired trailer. But why?

Torsion axles provide the suspension for the trailer (most Airstreams also use shock absorbers to reduce bounce). When you buy any old trailer the old axles often still work, but they don't work as they were designed. With no suspension left in the axles you drag your trailer around and it feels every bump and gets bounced all over the road. For Airstreams, rivets can--and do--pop out. The body can become separated from the frame. Appliances and built-in furniture take a beating. All of this is really, really bad for a trailer. The worst case though is axle failure including a wheel flying off--which is especially bad on a single axle trailer like my 1962 Airstream Safari. In the case of my Safari, when I first brought it home it bottomed out on my not very steep driveway because the arms in the torsion system had collapsed. 

So a new axle was coming my way. Here's my original axle which we had to cut off since it was welded on. On later models the axles were bolted on which meant much less work in switching them out. 

For Airstream and other vintage trailer people who want to read more about this, check this article out by Andy Rogozinski. I am borrowing this image from Andy's article because it illustrates what failed on my original axle:

And another photo of my now retired axle:

As you can see I'd attained the negative angle on my torsion arm. As a result my trailer rode lower and had no suspension. 

Here's my new axle, just before we welded it on:

It's now got a positive angle again which you can see will raise the trailer and give it suspension. With this system each tire has independent suspension and the trailer enjoys a smooth ride. 

So thank you Colin for putting me under your spell and making me a believer in the value of updating my axle. Thanks to my new amigos at Camper Reparadise here in Salt Lake City for doing the hard work of removing my old welded-on axle and installing a new one. A special shoutout to Airstream/vintage-trailer enthusiast and Chad of Camper Reparadise who cut off the old axle. Thanks too to Evan for welding on the new one. 

You can follow Chad here on Instagram, he's a true craftsman who loves his work and does an excellent job of showing his work in photos. 

Click here to follow Camper Reparadise on Instagram (they do amazing work!). 

If you are back east, look up my friend Colin Hyde who you can also listen to and get tons of great vintage trailer advice from on the Vintage Airstream Podcast (the VAP). There, you too can experience his mesmerizing voice!

I didn't attempt to explain why torsion axles don't last--it has to do with the rubber used in them. Andy discusses that in more detail (see link above). One thing Andy doesn't come out and say in his article is that all torsion axles are at or near the end of their life after about 20 years. That doesn't mean they'll outright fail, but they are no longer performing as designed and your trailer will pay the price if you drive with older axles. 

Airstream production in the early 1970s

My May 28 blog post, and an accompanying Air Forums post this past weekend yielded some answers about the historic Airstream production numbers that I was curious about.

Joe Peplinski, the historian for the Wally Byam Caravan Club International (WBCCI), responded with information regarding production in the early 1970s. Airstream was producing a total of 175 trailers per week (in Ohio and California), or about 8,750 per year based on a 50 week production schedule. These are his estimates, not official numbers, but I suspect they put us very much in the ballpark of Airstream production circa 1971.

That's substantially more than are being produced in the current boom. It seems like Airstream must be producing 3,500 to 4,000 trailers this year (my estimate based on the sources I found for my previous post, and consistent with what I was told at the Idaho dealer last Saturday).

Joe's information came from interviewing two longtime Airstream employees for "Airstream Plant Tour Guides," an article he wrote for Blue Beret, March 2016. If you follow that link scroll to page 21. Blue Beret is WBBCI's monthly magazine.

Thanks Joe for this information! This still leaves the 1950s and 1960s as a big void regarding the production numbers I'd love to see. Peplinski makes reference to 1980s production numbers in his Blue Beret article too.

It would also be great to see yearly totals for Airstream's full history. It's fun to piece together what we can all the same.

My 1973 Airstream Trade Wind, photographed in Nevada. December 2007. 

Boom times for Airstream and the entire U.S. RV Industry

Today my mom, sister, nephew, and I stopped by Idaho Airstream in Caldwell, Idaho near my sister's ranch. We had fun looking at the new Airstreams--which are awesome! They are also expensive. I asked the sales guy about hitches as I am trying to pick a hitch for my new vintage Airstream.

One number he mentioned stuck with me. He said Airstream will manufacture about 3,400 trailers this year.

3,400!! That's all?

Really?

The number sounded low so I did some quick and dirty research.

The first number I found online was from 2.5 years ago when they were said to be producing 50 Airstreams per week which would be 2,600/year. Source: Washington Post, "Airstream can’t keep up with demand for iconic silver trailers," January 1, 2015.

The same article said they are on track to increase production by 50%, but didn't give a timeline. An April 2016 Dayton Business Journal article said they were up to 72 trailers per week and on track for 77 by the end of 2016. That's all consistent, and even ahead of the the 3,400 number I heard today.

These would likely be their highest numbers since at least 1979-1980!

"That's all?" wasn't the right reaction. These are boom times!!

This photo, from the Airstream website, is the 2017 International Serenity, it was our favorite today.

I am curious how many they were producing per year from about 1955 to 1978.

After reading the history of Airstream it was likely 1974-75 when sales really began to plummet during the 1970s because of the OPEC induced spike in gas prices that shocked the whole economy.

I've heard from a few sources, including Colin Hyde on the Vintage Airstream Podcast (The VAP), that Airstream is in the midst of a big expansion. You can read more about it in the Dayton Business Journal, November 2016.

In 2016, U.S. RV shipments totaled 430,691 units. These are big numbers! This was a gain of 15.1% over the previous year and the biggest year in 40 years according to the Recreational Vehicle Industry Association (RVIA). That number is for all RVs including travel trailers and all motorhomes. Source: RVIA, April 2017. Here is another RVIA link with some historical data, but it only goes back to 1978!

2016 was also the best year ever for Airstream's parent company Thor. Thor was founded in 1980, the worst year in the RV industry in 40 years. The company began when it's founders acquired Airstream in a fire sale deal from Beatrice who owned Airstream since December of 1967. Since 1980 Thor has grown to become the largest company in the RV industry by acquiring and growing a variety of different RV brands.

Source of Thor's 2016 results: "Thor Announces Record Results for Fourth Quarter and Fiscal 2016."

The industry is highly cyclical and we here we are in the midst of a historic boom. Of course booms don't last, but we can enjoy it while it's here. More RVs for Americans! For better and worse. I've grown to love RVing and especially Airstreaming.

May 30 postscript: I am catching up on past issues of Airstream Life, today the Winter 2016 issue arrived. In it, Publisher Rich Luhr wrote: "Airstream is blowing out sales records every year--and this is the fifth year in a row . . . . the Airstream community is getting stronger. I doubt if it has been so healthy and enthusiastic since the 1970s. The Wally Byam Caravaner Club International (WBCCI) is gaining members again. . . ." Of course Rich is more in tune with the Airstream world than I am, so it's not surprising he scooped me on this observation. His letter was titled It's a Great Time to be an Airstreamer. Of course I couldn't agree more!

It would still be nice to see actual numbers from Airstream, especially historical ones.

Posted from Kuna, Idaho

Update: Read my June 1 post with information on production circa 1971. 

Airstream Calling . . .

I am--almost--back in the market for my next travel trailer, and it will likely be . . .

I'm headed toward my next RV. 

This past weekend I came very close to buying a cool 1954 canned ham. The guy was asking $4,000. I had him down below that, but realized, I wanted something bigger.

My delay will mean waiting longer, but that's OK. I am now focused on a new vehicle. Currently I own a Volkswagen TDI (their dirty/cheating diesels) and a 1997 Dodge Ram 1500. I am likely to sell both of those to buy a Chevy Colorado with Duramax.

I've resubscribed to Airstream Life and hope to have my new trailer no later than next March.  Time will tell.

A Wild West Long... Drive... Home

I like to get in a car and go. Just go. It is a somewhat infamous trait of mine among people who have known me long.

This habit began the first time I had the opportunity. I was 22, just out of college, with a little extra money and a good used Subaru (thanks MJ). I suppose it was a latent though burning inner wanderlust that was simply waiting for the tools. So I toured America. Who wouldn't want to do this? From Ohio I went north to Minneapolis, then followed the Mississippi south to Memphis before cutting over to south central Alabama. East to Tampa, Florida. North to Virginia Beach, Washington, D.C. and from there? Why San Francisco of course! On that D.C. to SF leg in the summer of 1988 was the first time I drove across Highway 50 in Utah and Nevada, America’s loneliest highway. Bernard and I retraced a short segment of that route two days earlier.

Now, 25 years later, about to depart Great Basin National Park, my traveling companion was full of surprises. Bernard had previously crucified me for taking unnecessary or “illogical” road trips—traveling too far for too little time he said. My retort “it was all the time I had,” referring to one of the many roadtrips I took when I met him two years ago.  Here we were, in sync regarding how to drive home. We agreed to take the long way and explore some very remote locales.

As we left the park we took one last look at the “road art” built into the barbed-wire fences bordering each side of the highway. These are humorous and quirky displays, including Bob and Barb Wire, an alien in a wheelchair, and my favorite: “Grate Basin.” At the Border Inn, situated one yard over the border on the Nevada side—where laws are more liberal for gambling and alcohol—we filled up on fuel before heading out into no man’s country.

Road art. 

The route was along the dirt Gandy Road, running north on the Utah side, parallel and within miles of the Nevada border. Our next stop would be Gandy Warm Springs, but before we got there we passed Eskdale. We wouldn’t have known about this Old Testament commune if it hadn’t been for our stop at the Airstream two days earlier. Airstreamers always have the best info.

A Mormon convert who was quickly excommunicated for having his own conversations with God, Maurice Glendenning (born 1891) founded the Aaronic Order in 1942. We saw the Aaronic settlement, Eskdale, off to the east. The little Old Testament-loving town is a long-surviving commune, something that is rare since most experiments in communal living don’t survive long. Glendenning died in 1969 but his religious order continues, and apparently the community is as strong as ever, nearly 50 years later. Somewhere between 200 and 400 people live in this commune, and there are approximately 1,000 active Aaronites.

We arrived at our magical warm springs located at the base of a rocky outcrop of a mountain that rises a mere 300 feet or so above the desert around it near the "town" of Gandy, Utah. In the Basin and Range country this sole little mountain was an oddity. The 82 degree water from the springs nourishes a little desert oasis with ferns, dragonflies, and crystal clear water. This became our lunch spot. We lounged around for about an hour.

Gandy Warm Springs, Utah. 

Our Airstreaming friends recommended Great Basin National Park, a guide book by Gretchen Baker. True to the recommendation, the book was filled with interesting stories about locals from the area. I read many of these to Bernard as we continued northward. We passed through little “towns” where you were lucky to see more than one building, though people still lived in these remote locations. We read about a 1918 showdown between neighbors over wandering cattle where men were shot and killed—though the killer somehow escaped justice. An outcast of the Jesse James gang lived along our route, spending the waning years of his life in hiding in a fortress he built in the Deep Creek Mountains. And we read stories of the Pony Express days.

A stone building not big enough to call a shed, really more of an outside closet, stood along the road we took up into a canyon that came out of the Deep Creek Mountains. This picturesque little stone building was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s as a shed for gunpowder. I don’t know if it was to blow out the crazy terraces the CCC put into mountainsides throughout the West, or just to supply gunpowder for guns, but it stands proud three quarters of a century after it was constructed in the wilderness. Its tiny roof is gone, but the wooden roof rafters remain.

CCC gunpowder building at the Deep Creek Mountains (not visible), Utah. 

Bernard and I agreed the canyon would be a wonderful place to camp with a small group of friends. With white granite, the Deep Creek Mountains are unique among Utah’s many mountain ranges. They're pretty.

Continuing up the Gandy Road we passed the long abandoned CCC camp where 100 men once lived and worked. Then we came to Callao, one of the stops along the Pony Express. Gretchen Baker is correct in her guide, calling this the most handsome settlement in the region. People still live in this little isolated town, but as many homesteads have been abandoned as there are that remain occupied.

An abandoned house in Callao, Utah. Photo by BVG. 

North of Callao is Gold Hill, a once productive mining town whose last heyday ended with the end of World War II. Like Callao there was a combination of abandoned buildings and some that are still occupied, though the occupied properties in Gold Hill seemed more run down, and therefore seemed a little scarier to those of us just passing through. Presumably this was a home for people living remotely who don’t want to be bothered by tourists--or so I imagined. The most interesting building in town is the roofless old general store. Bernard was not impressed and refused to stop. I wasn’t too far off from this instinct and didn’t object.

Along the Gandy Road at Callao. Gold Hill is to the right (north). The Deep Creek Mountains are on the horizon. 

The town is known for producing gold, copper, arsenic, and tungsten and was quite productive from 1871 to about 1945. It's one of a seemingly endless number of mining towns in the American West--many (most?) long ago abandoned. I know that Alta, Utah, for example, was once a booming mine town with thousands of people living there. Hard to believe since today, even with its world famous skiing, there are only a few hundred year round residents.

Gold Hill is home to the second Airstream we saw on the trip, one from the early to mid 1970s, the same vintage as my former aluminum home. It’s possible nobody has used this Gold Hill Airstream since the seventies too.

The final stop came outside of Gold Hill, about eight miles before we hit pavement again (the entire route since the Border Inn was on a dirt road). I brought a cantaloupe and wanted to crack it open before we headed home. The fruit was very cold from sitting in the melting ice of my cooler. We stopped in a grove of Pinyon-Juniper and ate a few pieces.

After the cantaloupe stop it was time for some driving that even I could agree was boring. We crossed back in to Nevada to connect with the first stretch of paved road in half a day and the final leg of the northbound journey. Then it was onto long stretches of I-80 between Wendover and Salt Lake that were straight and straighter. We cruised through the blinding white light emanating from the Bonneville Salt Flats. Bernard was kind enough to let me read to him from one of my favorite novels, Wallace Stegner’s Angle of Repose. He was restless and tired of the drive. Meanwhile I was happy as a clam--spoiled by having someone drive me, a rarity.

We arrived at my house around 7PM after this road tour of a still very wild part of the American West. It was a day of doing what I love to do: Exploring and going. Just going.

Don't miss part one of this post: Unplugging in the Great Basin.

Unplugging in the Great Basin

It was time to unplug for a few days. No Facebook. No telephone. No texts. No emails. Not even a place to charge. No, we exchanged our modern world for a few days of true recharging in the American West.

Welcome to the Great Basin.

My friend Bernard and I drove west last Friday into the forbidding landscape of the Great Basin. This is the largest area in North America with no outlet to the sea. Salt Lake City is on the eastern edge and Reno is on the west. The Great Basin stretches north-south from southern Idaho to below the southernmost point in Nevada to California in the area that includes Palm Springs. In most of its wide open expanses there are few people or roads.

Our primary destination: Great Basin National Park. The park is just south of Highway 50, “the loneliest highway in America,” and ten or so miles west of the Utah/Nevada border. It is one of the least visited national parks in the U.S.

John McPhee's book Basin and Range beautifully discusses this unique region. The topography undulates with one mountain range after another, all running north-south, each separated by valleys or "basins." It's dry country.

Pulling into our campground at an elevation of 7,500 feet we were greeted with a pleasant sight: a 1999 Airstream Bambi. We found a campsite situated next to a rushing mountain stream and surrounded by Aspens. After setting up camp, eating, watching and terrorizing (but not hurting) a giant beetle, we ventured out to begin our explorations. The Airstream was stop number one. Owned by a Salt Lake City couple who married in 1974, and honeymooned at the park (at that time it was called Lehman Caves National Monument), they graciously allowed us to tour their aluminum home away from home. Bernard was underimpressed, but all it needed was an interior remodel.

We drove to a trailhead at 10,000 feet to do a four mile hike to a Bristlecone Pine grove. These trees are the oldest living organisms in the world, with some individuals standing for 5,000 years. This predates not only Ancient Rome but also Ancient Greece, and even the Egyptian pyramids! Shaped by wind erosion, they are gnarled into crazy shapes.

Bristlecone Pine. Photo by BVG. 

My best preppy-rugged outdoorsman look. 

Dinner, campfire, sleep.

Saturday we woke, chilled to the bone, and anxiously awaited the arrival of sunlight in camp. It came and the chill faded. Temps had dropped to 37 degrees Fahrenheit overnight.

Our hike for the day began at 10,160 feet, near the trailhead of the evening before. In front of us: a 2,900 foot ascent up Nevada's second highest peak--Mount Wheeler. I did fine until we hit a certain pitch, then the elevation and my poor conditioning conspired to slow me down. But I plugged along and though it was tough (there were even gale force winds along the way) I loved being on the mountain. We had the summit to ourselves with views for at least 75 miles in all directions, and for whatever reason the wind wasn't bad on top.  

Approaching the summit of Wheeler Peak, Nevada. Photo by BVG. 

On the way down, my weak left ankle betrayed me, it popped and I went down, body-slamming the jagged rocks on the trail. I landed on my left side and writhed around in pain for a few minutes. This happens too much, though it was the first time in at least six months. I had to press on, so after the initial pain began to subside that's what I did. I gimped on down the mountain, though most of the pain was over in the first five minutes. When I took my shoe off at the bottom and stepped on it again the pain went back up temporarily but with some ibuprofen it didn't affect the trip beyond my dramatics when I first went down. 

On the ascent with Wheeler Peak above us. 

Bernard at the summit. 

The summit hike was my favorite outing, though there was still much to see. After the hike we showered in camp with Bernard's solar shower, then headed in to town to check out the local bar. It was, as he aptly put it, a "one-horse town." Baker, Nevada owes most of its existence to revenues generated from the national park. One gas station, a multi-denominational church, two bars, the park visitor center and maybe a dozen houses--that was the whole town. 

Some guy had a snake in hand and he was blocking the entrance to the Silver Jack Inn (and bar) where we wanted to go. I skirted around him, went inside and got my beer. The building seemed to be vintage 1920s--certainly pre-WWII. It was a funky little place. And quiet. 

Back to camp, dinner, another campfire, and bed. It was much warmer the second night and we both slept better as a result.

After breakfast and breaking down our campsite, we went to Lehman Caves and did a 90 minute tour of an amazing limestone cavern (it's one cave despite its plural name). This was easily the best cave tour of my life, though I've only done a few.

The most iconic formation in the cave, part "shield" part curtains. Shields occur in only a small portion of caves around the world. Photo by BVG. 

It was a mellow weekend and just what the doctor ordered. The West maintains its spell over me thirty years after I first visited. It's a great place to live, and an even greater place to unplug from the modern world.

Part two from the trip: A Wild West Long... Drive... Home.

All photos by BVG except for the one of him.

Jim Bierly: A giant moves on

We lost a good one. Jim Bierly, a giant in my life and a friend of my family’s from before the time I was born, died yesterday at 87.

Jim fought in World War II, came home to Ohio and ran a manufacturing business. His daughter will carry on as head of the business. He had four kids.

For twenty years, on every single trip I’ve made to my hometown in Ohio, I’ve seen Jim and his wife Karen. Every trip.

He was one of those guys that you just liked. Solid, good-hearted, dependable. He was always there. He lived in an old Ohio farmhouse that he remodeled 10-15 years ago. I remember going there in the early seventies as a small kid for parties. In particular I remember going sledding there with at least a dozen other kids, I was one of the youngest at that scene.

Four or five years ago, when I went home for Christmas, my mom and I spent Christmas Eve with Jim and Karen and a couple of other people. It was a cold night, but nice out. We all headed outside with our drinks and had a huge bonfire. It was one of my best Christmas Eve’s ever. I can still smell the smoke.

How do you describe a person in a few words?

It was his time to go, but it’s so hard to believe. He was just always there. For years.

I can hear his voice in my head, but I can’t find words to describe it.

Tonight my mom described him as one of her favorite men. 

His first wife, Helen, died of cancer when I was young. She and I share the same birthday. This may have been before or after my dad died, I don’t remember, it was around the same time--probably after, circa 1972. She was the first person I knew who knew that she was dying. She was an amazing woman too. I remember her strong spirit and her positive energy. Jim also had that positive energy. He wasn’t a pushover kind of a guy, but his kindness is what I’ll remember the most.

Jim's body started to give out on him a few years ago, but his mind and spirit remained strong until the end.

Jim’s wife Karen is also a great friend and is an equally large presence in my life. My heart breaks for her.

Jim was a giant.

Goodbye my friend.

Fall in Utah's Wasatch Range, 2012.

En route to Desolation Lake from Big Cottonwood Canyon. 

Briefly a tourist in New York.

Yesterday I got to see some of my favorite people from my meteorite dealing/Airstreaming days. They're doing a show in Brimfield, Massachusetts.

This morning I left Windrock Farm (seeing the new foal before leaving), took the train into New York City (which took 3 hours instead of 2 due to "signaling problems at Grand Central). I made a pilgrimage to One World Trade Center, which officially passed the height of the Empire State Building a few days earlier. I walked around for a few hours, saw my friend Kim, then took a series of trains to JFK.

I didn't get on any flights so had to get a hotel room (I could have gone back into the city and stayed with friends, but it seemed like too far to go).

Here I am, watching Mad Men, and hoping to get on the first flight to Salt Lake in the morning.

A few photos from today:

Windrock Farm welcomes a new filly!

Out of RJ, here she is, less than 10 hours old and born in the nick of time for me to see her prior to heading home. 

She was born under the full moon. Her name: Lunar Lilly. 

Windrock Farm is my sister's farm in New York. 

Images from opening day, City Creek Center, Salt Lake City, by Jim Breitinger.

These are images from the new City Creek Center, which opened yesterday in Salt Lake. I am not a big shopper, but I am thrilled with this addition to our city. It's beautifully done. Over 90 shops and restaurants, including Tiffany and Nordstrom. Over 1.5 billion dollars spent. New residential towers. Stunning views of the LDS Temple and Temple Square (I am not LDS, but appreciate what the Mormon church has done to establish SLC as a cultural center--even if the culture is a little vanilla). 

It's spectacular and only a ten minute walk from my new house. 

iPhone images by Jim Breitinger/Utahredrock. 

Woman and LDS Temple:

Crowds along the revived City Creek:

Boy and fountain:

Night scene, City Creek, spring 2012:

View just to the south from new condo at City Creek Center:

One of the fountains at night:

Lights at Nordstrom:

Painting of NYC at Tiffany's:

Street performer:

Couple and friends in front of Tiffany's:

Water dancing:

The old ZCMI facade revived as part of Macy's: