St. Ignace, Michigan

Is tournament time once again, and due to overcrowding at our last stop in Eagle River, WI, we're headed to St Ignace, Michigan this year.

St. Ignace is located in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, just over the Mackinac bridge. It's pretty much at the same latitude as Eagle River, meaning it's up there, and it's cold. I suppose the one saving grace in all this is that it'll shave a good 5 hours plus off our commute time.

The tournament is scheduled to take place on Lake Huron, a fact I am not thrilled about at all. The winds off the lake are insane, and any temps we find there are going to be drastically diminished in the wide open Great Lake. I can only hope the ice is terrible, as they have a back up plan to move it inland into the woods and onto the ponds. Fingers crossed!

The WarWagon, which took a mighty shunt at Eagle River when our Mayhem Coordinator stuffed it into a tree, has been mostly repaired from that damage. The upper bunk has been rebuilt from scratch, vastly improving its integrity and insulation from the elements.

A work party was thrown a week or so ago, a day after I tore my calf. As the injury freed up my schedule, I arrived to hobble around and help, as there were some serious mechanical issues that needed be addressed.

In a 15*F snowstorm, The Sheriff and I got to work, while most of the others just sat in the garage and drank beer by the fire =p Most of the spark plug wires deteriorated to the point of disintegration, and were the cause of much of the misfiring and rough running we had been experiencing. In addition, several rotten holes in the exhaust exacerbated that situation, as well as filled the cabin with toxic fumes. Those were the big projects, say nothing of finishing the interior and wiring up the entire entertainment system, so not wanting The Sheriff to shoulder the entire load, I grabbed the welder and got to work.

The exhaust was terrible, containing several holes, some up to 3" big. And since the damn thing was still attached to the WarWagon, it was not an easy job. Couple that with 15mph winds and snow, and it was miserable. But after a sixer of Blue and a quarter liter of Fireball whiskey, I achieved harmony and really set into a groove. There was no room to wear a welding helmet, so almost the entire job was done blind. I'd identify an issue, close eyes, tack it. Find that tack and tack it again, slowly building up some weld to patch things up. Well, the whiskey must've made me stupid, because despite remembering to close my eyes and save my corneas, I complete forgot about the UV radiation's effects on everything else. Some two hours later, my fate was sealed, and I spent the next three days in abject misery as my cheeks, nose, and freaking EYELIDS were horrifically sunburned. Misery incarnate, I tell ya.

But I got that entire thing welded up, removing that much more from The Sheriff's shoulders. While I was down there, I assisted him in running the new spark plug wires, which we had to cannibalize from his newly built '72 Cuda. To really finish things off, I ran some pipe out the side of the WarWagon, race car style, and shored everything up with proper welds and brackets. The thing really roars now, and there's no more risk of asphyxiation.

With the bodged exhaust and the new wires, she really runs a treat. But just a few days ago, the carburetor took a dump and it doesn't look an easy fix. It is hemorrhaging fuel, and might need be entirely rebuilt and/or replaced. With only 14 days until go time, and several other niggles to address, this is going to come down to the wire.

Same as Eagle River, I shall return with updates, culminating in a full trip report (if I survive it) ;)

Welding exhaust pipe? One backfire plus hot welded joint equals ???? ?

So you turned it into an exterior exhaust system? Now the drunkards won't feel as warm when they are breathing air instead of exhaust fumes.

Well, my welds are ample. I suspect if we have backfiring, it'll be another weak point that'll give up. Once, a backfire exploded the entire muffler. Opened it like a lobster shell.

I hope what with the improvements to the wiring and carburetor that we won't have issues. But more than likely I'll be back here after Valentine's weekend with another WarWagon horror story =D

Quote: Face

with another WarWagon horror story =D

Time for a new War Wagon ... check into the prices for used school buses. Real Low. Leave some seats. Put in a few bars, TVs, a stove, a few refrigerators, an internet dish. chairs and couches. Look for the ones with the engine in front.

One man builds one tiny little Teardrop Trailer each Winter and then sells it each Spring.
You could do far better re-habbing school buses.

Quote: Fleastiff

Time for a new War Wagon ... check into the prices for used school buses. Real Low. Leave some seats. Put in a few bars, TVs, a stove, a few refrigerators, an internet dish. chairs and couches. Look for the ones with the engine in front.

One man builds one tiny little Teardrop Trailer each Winter and then sells it each Spring.
You could do far better re-habbing school buses.

We almost bought one last month. Full sized, front engined, only $1,500. Problem is the only guy willing to soak the registration, inspection, and upkeep didn't have anywhere to store it. In just minutes, we already had a blue print for storage, bar, jacuzzi, an "entertainment pole", etc. But it's not easy finding somewhere to stuff a vehicle 8' wide and 18' long =/

I have returned! Videos are currently uploading, muscles are currently stitching themselves back together, and another trip is in the books. I suppose I'll start now with the trip report, with videos to come as soon as they're ready.

Up next, Another Week of WarWagon Wildness! XD

Rdw4POTUS has made me gun shy, expecting a trip report to rival Eagle River. Sad to say, this one probably won’t be. But I promised a story, and a story you shall have. So let us begin =)

With this year’s tourney happening in St Ignace, it shaved a good 7 hours off our commute. As such, we planned to meet at 5am at the Beaver Club for arrival in mid evening. At 5a on the dot, I arrived to temps in the low single digits and most of the crew present. The crew this year had lost The Fed, as our upcoming trip to the Caribbean shorted him on time and funds, and this trip also found 4 rookies on the Wagon, all of who were in for a shock. Come a tick before 6a, the bags had been stowed, the booze had been loaded, and ten members of The Beav and The WarWagons headed out into another adventure.

The WarWagon ran flawlessly from the jump. The rebuilt carb, the patched exhaust, and the new wires allowing it to run on all 8 of its 440ci cylinders was a welcome treat. With the EZ-Pass taped to a hockey stick to reach far enough out of the cab to be read at the toll booth, we were on the I-90 and motoring out of NY before most had fully woken up.

As we were on the thruway, it was obviously time to start drinking. Mayhem was already dishing out the mimosas and the Bloody Marys because V8 and OJ is a good breakfast, and within 40 minutes we had hit the PA border. Fans of the previous thread know what that means. That’s right, moonshine. So as the sun began to peek over the horizon, we dove head first into the first jar.

An hour or so later we were entering OH, and despite the fact that it wasn’t even 8a yet, jar two came into play. About this time I took the wheel, clearly aware of how loud it was already getting in the back of the bus. One of the rookies, later receiving the nickname of “Shinedog” for reasons which will become apparent, was having a blast. Normally a mild mannered MAWG that only drinks light beer, he was tearing it up and having a good ol time. Several of the other rookies also looked to be enjoying themselves way too much for the hour of the day, but I shrugged it off, leaving it to fate. With The Fed not present to take control of the situation, I was sure Mayhem would keep everyone safe. Yeah. Right. XD

By about 8:15a, I looked back to see my roommate being marionetted about the WarWagon like in the movie “Weekend At Bernies”. As a guy that goes hard always, I wasn’t surprised at his condition, only that he had reached it so fast. It gave me little concern as he almost always gets hammered to the point of blackout, blacks out, then reanimates a few hours later. But when Shinedog wobbled to the front, fell on me, then hoisted himself into the sleeper, I knew things were gonna be different this year XD

Mayhem, The Sheriff, and rookie JJ maintained the pace, drinking for the entirety of the trip. The others fell into and out of consciousness, occasionally waking just long enough to accept the jar of moonshine or whiskey, crack a beer, get rowdy for an hour, and pass back out. By the time we passed Ann Arbor, I had the Sheriff (a large man by any measure) in my lap twice, had been in a headlock once, and once, for reasons only moonshine can explain, had been blindfolded…in a 10,000lb vehicle doing 70 with 10 lives in it. Shortly thereafter I pulled over, declaring I was way too sober to tolerate those type of shenanigans and handed the controls over to rookie Huck, a cattle farmer.

Upon pulling over, Shinedog reemerged just long enough to boot outside the RV (and in front of it, and on the way to the john, and in the john) before returning and passing back out in the sleeper. We also noticed that the WarWagon had begun leaking a fluid of indeterminable source. Even with three guys tasting it, a total under hood check, and tracings of the drips, the source could not be found. We left it to luck and carried on with me now in the navigator position, as I am Sacajawea and responsible for leading my colonial friends all over the country without getting lost ;) Being a cattle farmer, I had little worry with Huck behind the wheel but warned him as best I could about the Mackinac bridge. Rising 550’ over the Mackinac Strait the winds can get intense, and the WarWagon isn't exactly "sleek". As soon as we got to "fall off and you're dead" height, a mighty gust sent us toward the rail which is only about wheel-hub high. I saw correction and then an animated further correction by Huck, who eventually wrangled her back into shape. He looked at me wide eyed, then gave a little "huh-HO!" chuckle, which was enough to put me at ease and make everything OK.

Immediately upon crossing the bridge, we were in St. Ignace. We shacked up at the Bavarian Haus, a decent hotel that boasted "The U.P.'s largest indoor pool". We instantly redubbed it "The Barbarian House" on account of the scores of hockey thugs that had taken residence, got our rooms, and began unpacking. I got my roommate (dubbed Eddie Olczyk) into the room where he immediately crashed again without having rallied. I remember him moaning something about "getting the guy that roofied him", but I got him some water and aspirin and told him to lay down and I'd take care of him. That settled, I got us unpacked and set about making plans for the evening.

The Mackinac Grill was hosting a welcome party, and that's where we headed. By this time I had brought Olczyk back into consciousness (and drinking again), but Shinedog was done. He got up, got dressed, made it to the lobby, and then declared he couldn't do it. He returned to his room and wasn't seen again until morning. For those keeping score, he passed out at 8:30am and wasn't seen again...until 8:30am. Welcome to the WarWagon! =D

The Mackinac Grille had good beer, good food, and put on a good show for us travelers. Some quality toques were given out as door prizes, and despite our trip, we ended up closing out the bar. Just as we always do ;) A shuttle poured us out sometime in the wee hours and with women's curling coming to a close, Olczyk and I passed out to end our first night in da U.P.

Olczyk and I woke too early, if only for the free breakfast. I am breakfast eater almost never, but I learned early on that come tournament time, you eat all you can. It's far too easy to be two games and 15 beers in without having had a chance to refuel, and that is a devastating combination. With only fruit, muffins, and cereal on tap, I lamented the loss of The Fed and his meat heavy offerings before piling as many carbs down my gullet as I could manage.

We arrived to our noon game to what looked like paradise. Same as Eagle River, rinks stretched out further than one could see. Hundreds and hundreds of skaters made their way to and from tents, to their rinks, to the beer bench. And although our rink had become snow covered thanks to a late night flurry, shoveling it off revealed a masterpiece. The hosts this time had a fleet of tanker trucks and machines similar to Zambonis. The ice was of a quality I didn't think possible out of doors, and I settled in very quickly.

Although it was "cold", it was manageable. The wind was a bit much the first game, but hockey's such a workout of the largest muscles that just the act of shoveling the surface had me warmed up to peak temp. Just before noon, our puck dropped for the first time of the week.



The team we played was a skate and shoot team, just out there for fun. The Beav handled them easily with a score around 25-5. It was a nice and easy beginning to our long week, but totally threw us off on what to expect for the rest. We won one, the rest... we should have a chance, right?

Well, teams were set based on skill level. Those who played from little kid through HS and college were "Gold", those who just started playing were "Galvanized", and there were several levels in between. The WarWagons had a few players of "Silver" level, so that's where we were placed. The only problem was that every single player that was actually of Silver caliber dropped out a week before we left, leaving not only just the Copper and Bronze guys left, but forcing many of us to play one or two extra games. As a result, we were pummeled mercilessly. Within the first 3 minutes of the 20 minute half, it was clear we had no business being out there. We might as well have played Team USA (which, coincidentally, was the jersey's they were wearing). We got shellacked, 45-2.

(Language warning for this vid. I was quite frustrated =p)



But I soldiered on, playing every minute of both games, drinking my beer and smoking my smokes (smoking while playing, what a treat that was!!). And after two games, stripping down to bare skin in the 20* weather was no problem whatsoever. I of course did just that, allowing myself to dry then redressing layer by layer with 5 minutes in between to dry them out. And just like last time, I was left bathed in warm, dry body heat, while no one else will listen to me, instead bitching about being cold and wet.

We killed some time in the Wagon before our next game, drinking our beers and wondering wtf just happened out on the ice. We came back a little more fired up (and a lot more intoxicated) and gave the next Silver team a run. We didn't win, but keeping it tight at a score of 11-9 was a huge moral victory. My GoPro had died by then, but with temperatures in the teens it had still lasted approximately 6 hours, a feat I was both surprised and very happy about.

After the games we returned to the Barbarian House to shower and have our post game meal, which took place in The Sheriff and Mayhem's room. That cute couple had a honeymoon suite to themselves, complete with one king bed and a hottub. Upon my arrival, The Sheriff was already in the tub ("making man broth", as he so eloquently put it), and Mayhem was slaving in "the kitchen", which was really just the bathroom with a crock pot in it. We ate our fill of homemade chicken stew, which wasn't bad considering the facilities, and when we were done, all the dishes went into the tub. Yes. The tub. We roll that hard XD

That night found us bowling, where we split teams up and played $5 a frame. Despite all the beer we could drink, my team couldn't get it done and we lost the first 2 in our 2 out of 3 tournament, sending us home $10 lighter. Following bowling, which had oddly went off without a hitch, we did a rare thing; we went to bed.

Come the morning, Olczyk and I were again up too early, again to take advantage of free breakfast. Signs posted on the doors promised a free room if anyone could identify who pulled the fire alarm and set fire to some sort of luggage rack. Knowing it wasn't our crew and wondering how drunk I was to have not heard the alarm, I mostly ignored the post. With today seeing mostly Beaver Club games (Bronze level), I was rather looking forward to the game portion of the day.

But no. Our problem in these tournaments is we tell the truth. As is always said, "It's the Beaver way", meaning everything is done fair and honorably (or at least as honorable as one can be when hockey is involved). As such, we report our skill levels by the book, while nearly every team we've ever faced in almost a decade of tournament play has utilized at least one ringer, if not a whole sandbagging team of them.

We arrived to sun and an actual temp of -2*F. But with not a wisp of wind it was absolutely gorgeous, even better than the day before. Upon seeing the team had two females, my competitive spirit rose. Upon seeing one of them was cute indeed, the rest of my spirit rose. And with our breath freezing to our eyelashes and eyebrows making all of us look like we were wearing glitter makeup, we began the day's games.

The game went well, could've been the best game we had. But, of course, they had one ringer. Just one guy. One guy who presence ruined the whole thing. He was able to play as much as he wanted, was able to skate around anyone he wanted, was able to score whenever he wanted. I never understood this mentality as it would seem to me to be about as much fun as me beating my son in a challenge, but it never fails that we run into teams who do just that. We kept it close, but just couldn't hang with this one guy. We ended up losing 12-9. 9 of their 12 goals was that one dude.



While part of me was frustrated, I must say I was mostly relieved. This was my fourth game in less than 24 hours, I played every single second of all four of them, and I still had one more to go. Usually a tournament is 3 games, 4 if you make it to a championship, but the aforementioned "Silver" members who dropped out caused the WarWagons to drop to only 3 players. With a full team being 7 and a full line being 4, they needed subs. Torn calf or not, making two teams of 7 out of 10 people meant most would have to play an extra game, and being one of the youngest and most fit (also, craziest, stupidest, most sadistic), I volunteered my health and well being for all 5. About the time I completed my post game strip down to bare skin in that -2*F air, I wondered how I'd even manage to put clothes back on, let alone step onto the ice again.

We had about 3 hours to kill before the final game, and I have almost no memory of them. I remember wandering off by myself after getting redressed... I remember at one point being back at the WarWagon... but I don't remember returning to the rinks, or returning to the ice, or much of that afternoon. Perhaps I had just worn myself down to critical levels where only necessary processes were functioning. Or maybe it because of what happened in Game 5.

I remember being on the ice against a team in yellow. I remember we were again outclassed. I remember being extra boisterous as I usually get at the end of tournaments, using my intensity and warrior mindset to counteract the great physical pain and complete exhaustion I was facing. I remember making loud and frequent taunts upon every save I made, exclaiming that I was "Daren Fucking Puppa!" and "ain't shit getting by me!". But shortly into the second half while bringing the puck out of our zone, my winger lost possession leaving me facing a 2 on 1. I reversed course, skating backwards, and my blade fell into a large crack in the ice.

Since I didn't "trip" but the blade was caught, it sort of whipped me down instead of just causing me to fall. I had no time to turn or get anything under me, striking back first and snapping my head back smack into the ice. Concussion #27, and I got it on film (@~5:20 mark on YouTube). I vaguely remember doing it. I don't remember talking, I don't remember The Sheriff skating over to me and seeing if I was OK. About 3 hours prior to the game and 3 hours following is scrambled. But according to the tape (which I cut due to camera issues after the fall), I finished the contest and completed playing every second of all 5 games.



When I finally "came to" fully, I was back in Mayhem and The Sheriff's room. I had apparently met a girl who had promised me to do "anything and everything", complete with vivid definition of what "anything and everything" entailed, as well as when and where to meet her. All of this was retold to me by Olczyk as I sat with a beer in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, trying to remember just what had happened after that game. All 10 of us laughed and recalled the games over a dinner of taco salad, again made in "the kitchen", as Mayhem took his turn "making man broth". I think come the next tournament, I need to not waste time recording games and instead record the after hours, as the positions we find ourselves in would be enough to bring most to tears with laughter ;) Dinner finished, all of the dishes again went into the tub XD

With the business of hockey finished, it was time to really cut loose. We ended dinner by diving into the 9th case of beer, sending a few out into the hotel for reconnaissance. Shortly thereafter, Recon 1 returned with good news; we had found a location for Beer Relay =)

The pool area had been taken over by the Barbarian Horde. There were 50 dudes in there if there was 1, some in questionable dress, and a few in no dress at all. The absolute din they created was more than enough cover for our annexation of the laundry room, so we stole a table, got our cups, and broke out the beer.

With our $10 bowling loss fresh in our minds, we kept the same teams, again playing $5 a round. And with Olczyk and Mayhem on my team, I knew it was money in the bank. We absolutely smoked them, winning back all our money and then some. A damnable clothes rack was positioned "just so", resulting in goose eggs for just about everyone except Joey, who is only about 5' 4". And after a good 6 rounds of beer relay, in which we decimated 2 cases of beer in approximately 40 minutes, we were all flying high and ready to take our show out on the town.

(Language Warning)



As I stated on WoV, we wound up going to Kewadin Casino. I tried warning everyone that we couldn't go as hard as we usually do because this wasn't no backwoods bar, but as 25 hulking drunks crammed into a van made for 12, it was obvious my words had no meaning, not even to myself. Comments flew back and forth of "who's touching me", "what's poking me", "whose hand is this, it's so soft", "hey, I really like your beard", "gee, you really smell good" as everyone tried to one-up the uncomfortable and awkwardness level that results when 25 grown men are laying on each other and sitting on each other's laps.

We poured out into the front lobby amid some shocked and scared looking locals. Several lit up their smokes, a group produced a flask, another huddled around a joint being passed around. All of this right in front of the front doors to the main lobby! I pulled my toque down even farther lest my picture be taken and sent back home before eventually heading through the doors into what I imagined would be a disaster.

We all headed to the bar for tall boys before dispersing about the casino. Several staged up at the tables, bothering me about every little thing they could think about. What game was best, what was worst. How many of them were already on camera and how close we were to being thrown out. What's the best way to win and seriously, admit it, they pump oxygen in here, don't they? I eventually told them their best best was the bar and the tallboys, if they were gonna play to keep it under $100, and don't be an obnoxious ass. JJ went about immediately spilling his beer the first minute and then spilling Mayhem's before minute two passed, so he was kicked from the tables. I left them for the bar for a little bit before finding myself way too drunk for the hour and wrangled 5 more guys to hit the buffet.

We absolutely killed the buffet. All you can eat crab legs and prime rib, are you kidding me?! Our table was right next to the buffet itself, and we overtook it. Every time they refilled that crab bin, all six of is decimated it. You know how you get a plate for your food, and then a giant communal bowl for your empty shells? Within 20 minutes, every one of us had procured our own, individual giant bowl and were using those to bring back crab, 6-7-10 clusters at a time. We 6 were in there for damn near two hours, absolutely gorging ourselves on as much as we could, until our mouths were dry from extreme overeating.

That done, we were done. All the drink and all the food had us in full pass out mode and no room in our gullets for beer. We went back to the bar to see that no only had The Sheriff, Mayhem, and Co. already downed an entire tray of tallboys, but they had since moved on to tequila and were all out on the dance floor, killing it to the live band on stage. Seeing The Sheriff, who is a perpetual grump almost always, up on stage playing air guitar and shaking his groove thing was all the signs I needed to beat a hasty retreat lest we all wind up in jail, or worse, play babysitter all night. I collected Huck, Olczyk, and Shinedog, and just as Mayhem an Co. were getting shut off at the bar, we beat a hasty retreat.

Quote: Face

I had apparently met a girl who had promised me to do "anything and everything", complete with vivid definition of what "anything and everything" entailed, as well as when and where to meet her.

Ah,, so that is why you went to Michigan in the dead of Winter and did a "strip" out on the ice. You were trolling for an Ice Maiden.