RIG ROADS AND OLD CARS

Replies to This Discussion

Permalink Reply by Galen Cox on August 17, 2009 at 6:58am

Ok guys tell us about your 300 dollar rig cars you know those ones.... the one you drove back then. The ones you drove as fast as you could on those muddy roads...etc

Permalink Reply by Galen Cox on August 17, 2009 at 8:17am

Yes the bald tires hahaha.

Yeah I thought you like that Karl. Woke this morning and thought of those old roads and then the roughnecks old cars. Get a big kick out of watch you guys drive them roads. Side to side in and out of the bar ditches. No mufflers, doors coming up. It was like if the driller saw you on the road he start to show off infront of you.......

If I did know better you'll were hanging your heads out the windows throwing beer cans out... saying many colorfull medafores... NOW that was OILFIELD TRASH!!!!

Permalink Reply by Galen Cox on August 17, 2009 at 8:26am

No hub caps running any kind of a tires. You could always fine a pieces of those old cars on the roads.

It had to be a roughneck to invent the first mudboger......

Permalink Reply by Kim Bufton on August 17, 2009 at 10:15am

Here’s a bit of a long one for ya Galen, not so much a rig car to get there, this was a rig car belonging to the rig.

Way back when, (about 80-81 if the mind has not slipped another cog) I was working a drillship out of Singapore and was on my time off in Perth, Western Australia. A buddy rang me up and asked if I would go drill on a rig to fill in for his driller that had dropped his scooter on his time off. Well, never letting my mates down I jump on this little 8 seat plane with the rest of the crew and fly up to the rig about 1000 miles north of Perth. On the way we ran into this major low pressure front (tail end of a cyclone, or hurricane to you guys) and the pilot said he would have to fly through it as there was no way around. So into this boiling mass of black cloud we plunge, the plane was bounced every way and then some and no one got off the other end without some sort of injury. Mine was a cut to the head from the air vent on the roof, my belt was a tight as I could get it, but it did not stop me from bouncing off the roof. Anyway, we landed on this run way in the middle of nowhere in torrential rain. Being that it was just a graded strip in a station (ranch) paddock there was, of course, no one but the rig crew to refuel it. We roll the 44’s (55’s in US) and barrel pump the avgas into the tanks. By this time (1hr) it had rained so hard that the runway was 2ft deep and the pilot said he would try to get airborne, but he was not taking passengers (many a sad face at that strip). He lines her up on the end of the runway and boots the throttles to the wall and with two huge rooster tails from the props he just manages to clear the barbed wire fence at the end of the strip and disappears into the gloom.

A double crew then pile into the woopee (slang for the rigs Toyota land-cruiser personnel carrier) one half, very dejected, the other half elated to have made it back to terra-firma. Buy the time we get to the rig camp the water is a foot deep as far as the eye can see (and Australia is a very, very flat country). With nothing for it, we stow our gear and head off to the rig in the still heavy rain. After a meeting with the push it was off to relieve the other driller and I start making some hole on this dinky little cooper 750 double. Not what I was used to, I thought it must be just for the top hole, surely this little thing could not drill to 3100mts (10.200ft). The rain keeps up for another 3-4hrs and to the horizon all that can be seen is water, at the elevation of the rig floor the horizon is 16 miles away and we seem to be in the middle of an ocean with a few scraggly shrubs sticking up (did I mention it was a desert??). After a while the push comes up the floor and tells me to pull out of the hole and shut her down as we are heading back to the house. This takes an hour and a half (well had only just spudded) and once everything is secure and the motors shut down we climb into the woopee and head back to camp through 3ft of water. The push, myself and the Co Man have a bit of a talk and listen to the weather forecast, not good, more rain for the next 24hrs, so now its decision time. We walk around the camp in, by now, 4ft of water and the push and co man decide it would be in every ones interest to get the crew out to the nearest town, which is called Onslow and is 85miles north. To get there we will have to cross a concrete ford over the mighty Ashburton River. Once they find out I grew up on a station not too far away (200miles) they decide that the pusher and co man will take the pick up with one crew under a tarp in the back, and I will drive the woopee, with the mechanic as co pilot and the rest of the crews (double remember) stacked in the back.

Away we go, by now it is dark, the rain has stopped as if a tap had been turned off and the stars are out and shinning brilliant as there is no background light from any towns anywhere. That was just as well, because we were now driving through 4ft deep water with no lights as the electrics had shorted out on the woopee. So, steering due north by the stars, with no lights, in 4ft of water and a heaving mass of bodies stacked in the back we make a blistering 10-15mph with a bow wave that would do the Queen Mary proud. It wasn’t long before we lost the push and his guys, but going by dead reckoning we keep her pointed north and after what seemed like 20hrs, instead of the 4-5 it was, out of the dark and off in the distance appears a hill above the water line. Finally, we get to drive up this hill, and low and behold there in front of us is the mighty Ashburton River, in full raging flood. We have no idea where we came out on the banks of this huge river, but I knew the Ashburton crossing was near the coast, which was, of course, down river. With agreement from my co-pilot (who was lost) we set off along the ridge and it was not long before we picked up another set of tracks heading the same way. After driving for half and hour at the heady speed of 45mph we come to the crossing to find the push and his guys lined up along the bank looking at the crossing, which was about a foot under water. I said to the push and co man that we would be crazy to try and cross it, sure the crossing is 40ft wide but with the amount of water flowing over it we could easily be swept off and many would drown.

Well, after a rousing tongue lashing from the push of “f**kin offshore pussy” directed at me, the push and his guys head into the madness of a swollen river. My guys and I sit there and watch as the crawl across the crossing, ready to head down river to pick up survivors when they get swept off, assuming they can get to the bank before being swept out of the mouth of the river a mile away and into heavily shark infested waters. I watch in amazement as the pick up makes it to the other side, though the pick up was on a 60deg angle to the crossing trying to drive against the current and still make progress to the side. On the other side the guys jump out of the pick up and across this torrent I can hear the shouts and jeers of “come on ya pussy” and “some f**ken station hand he is”. Right about then the rain starts up again and my guys all start complaining that they did not want to get stuck on this side of the river with no food or water (it was raining rain water and we are on the bank of a swollen fresh water river, they never thought of that, those city p******). Anyway, I was out voted on this dangerous crossing, so we all jump back in the woopee and head into the unknown. Immediately I can feel the current trying to sweep us down river and I keep as close as I can to the upstream side of the crossing. By the time we are halfway across I am pointing up river at 70-75 degrees from the river banks and gunning it, water is coming over the hood in a wave and I keep it going hard. We are slowly getting progressively closer to the opposite bank, but losing ground to the torrent and all eyes are on the bank where the crossing guide posts are. I start to think “we going to make it” as the front passenger wheel claws at the bank, just as the rear passenger wheel drops of the crossing. All I can think at the time was “thank god the japs know how to make a tough 4by4” and the other wheels with purchase drive us up the bank on to firm ground.

After back slapping all around that we made it so far we head off on the final 25miles to the Readon Hotel in Onslow where we will stay for the next days to we get a plan together for the rig. The push takes off, not waiting for the double crew I have to get arranged in the woopee, before we get under way and the track is fairly easy to follow in the rain, even with out lights, and I stick to a steady 10mph (no star light and light rain, so it felt pretty fast in the dark). The mechanic and myself have our heads stuck out the windows just to see (did I say the electrics were gone, so no wipers). Now the land on the north side of the Ashburton is undulating to 10ft crests of packed sand, so all we have is the well worn track to stick to, which is the norm in that neck of the woods. Up and down, turning left and right as we follow the twisting trail and we are all laughing and talking about the beer to be drank once we hit the Readon Hotel. The Mech and I are keeping our s*** together as we were not out of the woods yet and as we went up a rise and reached the crest I only had time to pull my head in the window and yell “HOLD ON” before we were airborne in a vertical drop of 10ft straight down. The woopee landed nose first with a crunch and all the guys in the back ended up piled up on the Mech, the derrick hand in the middle seat and me in the drivers seat. I though that after making it that far, I was going to be crushed to death by a bunch of sweaty rig pigs. Eventually, the guys on top in the back managed to get the double doors of the woopee open and they all started to clamber out and I could feel the weight get less and less on my head. The last guy tried to use my head as a stepping stone, but after a quick flick to the sack he got the message.

We all eventually get out and looked around, the track had been washed away in a flash flood, no doubt as a result of another washout further in land changing the course of the water flow so as to come down the saddle of two hills and take out the track where we were. The woopee was nose down in the dirt and with backend resting on at 60deg on the edge of the wash out. One of the hands, a roughneck whose parents were of Indian origin, came up to me and said in a stutter “th-th-the n-n-n-next time you s-s-s-say hold on I w-w-w-will”. This hand was as white as a sheet, not and easy task for someone from the Indian sub continent. With nothing better to do I get a hand to climb back into the woopee and get the shovels (at least one is a must in any vehicle in the outback) and I get one team to start to dig away the bank supporting the woopee and another on the other side digging out the opposite bank. At this time I was not sure the woopee would start again, but hell, I had a mechanic and if he could not get er going then I had some rope and a whole slew of paid hands to drag the sucker to the hotel. After a short while I hear a vehicle approaching from the north, so I get a hand up on the north bank to warn them that not only is the track gone, but there are guys working over the ridge. It turned out the be the push and his gang and once they were all standing on top of the bank the co man just shook his head and said “where the f**k did the hole come from, it wasn’t here 20 minutes ago when we passed”. I said that it was just as well it the flash came in the between us or one vehical would be lost and someone would have been dead.

Well, we got the pusher’s shovels and his guys digging on the north bank and before long there was a good enough ramp, so we hook up a snatch rope on to my woopee and dragged if off the south bank. We popped the hood and the mech gave her a once over before asking me to kick it over, I said with what, we have not had electrics all this time, every thing is shorted out and now you think it will turn over?? F**ken city p******, and a mechanical p**** at that. The push (who, as it happens, was the mech’s buddy) yelled at me “do as your f**ken told” well, you can guess what the result was, nothing. So the push drags us up the north bank and I find we have another problem, the whole front end has been twisted and it takes the derrickman and me, hanging on like the devil, just the keep the wheels straight. As soon as you relaxed your grip the steering wheel would spin to full lock left and look out if you fingers were in the way. We get her up the bank and we are getting towed in to town, but man, between the steering problem, worrying about more wash outs and the push jerking on that snatch rope it was hard work. I said to the mech that it would seem we cold do a better job under or own power, so I turn the ignition on, drop her in to second and popped the clutch. The woopee roared to life and I slapped the brakes on to pull the push to a stop (no horn). We unhitched the snatch and with the push leading the way we trundled the last miles into Onslow with the derrickman and me hanging on to the wheel like our lives depended on it (which it did). Eventually, and just a day break, we made it into Onslow as a steady 10mph with the radiator billowing stream.

The co man got the hotel manager out of bed and after waving his check book and credentials under his nose told him to open the bar for the boys (even though it was out side trading hours), get the cook out of bed and in the kitchen and get some rooms ready for his men. We ended up staying the hotel for 4 days till the water level dropped (we drank the bar dry on the second day, so started on the supermarkets crated beer abd made a large hole in that). We went back to the rig to find the camp a mess with all the food rotten and bedding sodden. Luckily for me, I had to head back to the big smoke on the first plane out; as I had to return to my drillship in Singers the next week (it’s nice to have the rig manager as a buddy, the push complained but was told it was an order). I was told it took them another week to get the camp cleaned up, fixed up and restocked and another week to get the rig back up and running (the motor house had floated off and tore down all the cable trays etc as it drifted off 60 yards). It was a hell of a night, full of danger and, strangely, excitement and one I will never forget (must be that livin on the edge everyone goes on about. I still know that pusher to this day (though he has retired now) and after a few beers I will bring up the night he tried to kill us all and we have a good laugh.

Permalink Reply by Galen Cox on August 17, 2009 at 11:11am

Boy you were not just saying this is a long one!! I think you could make a movie of that. It was a good thing you and your mates were young...

Kim do you remember that old movie where the guys were hauling netro in old trucks to an oil fire? It was a French film.

Permalink Reply by Galen Cox on August 17, 2009 at 11:12am

So that was you Karl?

Karl Eiriksson said:

Yeah it was like a contest to wing your empty beer bottle out the window on Hwy. 430 and try to hit the road sign at 75 MPH

Galen Cox said:

Yes the bald tires hahaha.

Yeah I thought you like that Karl. Woke this morning and thought of those old roads and then the roughnecks old cars. Get a big kick out of watch you guys drive them roads. Side to side in and out of the bar ditches. No mufflers, doors coming up. It was like if the driller saw you on the road he start to show off infront of you.......

If I did know better you'll were hanging your heads out the windows throwing beer cans out... saying many colorfull medafores... NOW that was OILFIELD TRASH!!!!

Permalink Reply by Galen Cox on August 17, 2009 at 11:15am

Yes this is a good one Kim

Permalink Reply by Galen Cox on August 17, 2009 at 11:51am

Wages of Fear (Le salaire de la peur, 1953) Good movie It does come with subtiltes... well worth a look see.
The Wages of Fear (French: Le Salaire de la peur) is a 1953 drama film directed by Henri-Georges Clouzot, starring Yves Montand, and based on a 1950 novel by Georges Arnaud. When a South American oil well owned by an American company catches fire, the company hires four European men, down on their luck, to drive two trucks over mountain dirt roads, while carrying the nitroglycerine needed to extinguish the fire
Give it 5 stars

Permalink Reply by Floyd R on August 21, 2009 at 4:57pm

I don't watch those French films anymore...not since the "incident"...LOL

Permalink Reply by James L Henson on August 17, 2009 at 2:33pm

well i had one just thank about those things back in the day. had old four door push button nash ramber with no revers in it to drive out on to the rocker (b) ranch every rock ditch in the road to the rig. yes the were the days when it did take much to fix up or to fix at the rig befor going home. or we ues to pain them at the with a rig wash gun and let it dry. those car wernt beautyfull they were a site to see much less to work on at the rig. some of them ran on gas and some on propan and others latter on desil so we could fill at the rig. no ac four windows down and hope we got there.

Permalink Reply by Galen Cox on August 17, 2009 at 3:45pm

Yeah James lets not for get the qt of trans fuild and drip gas mix. You know the good stuff... you could turn off the car and it would still run.... And you never changed the oil you just added as you go....

Permalink Reply by Galen Cox on August 17, 2009 at 4:00pm

Yeah I remember the old fart that lived down from me at the trailer court......would run that drip gas out of the highlight field south of Gillette O it was good stuff allright.... He bring that stuff home in his water truck. He tell his two boy to get the drum out and they filled it and then sit it up on the car and sifin it in (spelling sorry). Boy you could tell he had a load on... the smell.... yeah it was funny he fill up everything never bought gas. It looked like three moonshiners out there filling and a mixing. The old man would come out with a beer in his hand and looked to see how they were doing. Most of the time drunk off his b***....etc drank all day long pullling drip gas from those wells in the highlight.

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