Ever Had a Road Trip from Hell?

[hankaham]

On the Road Story

This story was told to me but it?s a dozy.

In 1966 I met a Peace Corps Volunteer in Kabul, Afghanistan. He was part of a team that studied river flow in various valleys across the country to identify potential sites for hydroelectric dams.

On one occasion the team headed out toward Bamyon with their paraphernalia in two Bedford trucks. Far out in the isolated boonies the driveshaft on one of the trucks broke. Half of the team stayed with the truck as the rest of the team in the functional truck drove to the next town, 45 miles west to seek a new driveshaft.

A mechanic in the next village told them that he could have a used Bedford driveshaft for them by noon the next day. They took a hotel room and waited.

The next morning, back out in the desert, the stranded volunteers observed a small caravan approaching. Much to their astonishment, one camel had a driveshaft strapped on its back. The volunteers dickered with the Afghans and finally got the price down to about $200, which the volunteers had amongst themselves.

How delighted they were when the driveshaft was affixed and worked. They happily drove to the town where their friends awaited them. Entering town they saw the second Bedford parked by a teahouse. Inside, they gleefully greeted their friends. Can you believe it, they chortled, some nomads showed up with a Bedford driveshaft!

We can believe it, responded their glum friends, they stole it from our truck last night.

Henry H Hamilton III
Otisfield, Maine

[Scorpius1026]

It was the day before my wife and I got married, and we were driving out the Mass Pike to New York. My wife called me just as she was entering the Blandford rest stop to say that her car was vibrating intensely and making loud clanking sounds! I had just passed the rest stop so my friend Shawn and I got off at the next exit going west, turned all the way around to drive east so that we could past the Blandford exit to turn around - about an extra 65 miles of driving. Once we got there we transferred all of the things from her dead Mercury Tracer to our Corolla so that we could head to the wedding. At lunch in the wonderful Blandford McDonalds we got a call from her father saying that there VW Bus had died! Okay, now where down to cars, and folks are late! After some creative reanimation, the VW Bus came back to life and the crew made it to the wedding locale. But wait, while my wife’s father was on the final stretch to the wedding location a Black Bear fell on his truck from a small hillside!

[sailmedic]

When I was a kid my father bought a Volkswagon poptop campmobile. We went everywhere in that van because he was too cheap to stay in a motel. One summer we were driving from Los Angeles to Calgary, Canada. Thank God for campgrounds or he would of never stopped to let us pee. We had stopped at a very nice campground in Montana for the night. In the morning we packed up and were ready to head out. Instead of backing out and heading out the exit my father figured that he would take a short cut and go straight ahead onto the highway. For some reason he had forgotten about the log that we had stepped over about a million times in front of the car. So with a mighty roar he gunned it forward and got high centered on the log. Wwe then went backwards and forwards to get of the log. Now the engine was making a horrible racket and the campmobile was shaking and a rockin down the highway. We pulled into the VW dealer in Helena Montana just about quittin’ time. We chugged up to the service desk and Dad plead his case. Turns out that they couldn’t look at it until morniong and we got a ride to the cheapes Motel in Helena. The next day it was determined that we had broken a motor mount. This being serious in a rear end engine mounted vehicle. One would have to be ordered. More time at the cheap Motel. Two days passed and no motor mount. This was pre FED-EX overnight delivery. We were getting ansy. Not much do in ole Helena. So my father negotiated with the dealer to bend the motor mounts back a weld them in place! I doubt that they would do that now. So after some meatball surgery on the van we were off to Canada. The thing ran like a top until my Dad sold it. That was after we camped by a lake and the wind blew up down towards the water because the poptop acted like a sail. It’s quite hard to jibe a vanogon.

[Pineriverpond]

I’m a snowmobiler but my wife isn’t, so I wanted to share a northern Maine experience with her in the summer by taking her to a remote inn called Pittston Farm to the northwest of Moosehead Lake in July. We drove over miles of dirt roads, by car of course, had dinner and then drove off to hopefully view moose in a nearby special location. We saw a moose at dusk and then headed back to the inn over freshly graded gravel roads with lots of sharp rocks that had been overturned. You guessed it…I had a flat as darkness approached. As a family of foxes watched, I struggled to jack the car and reinflate the tire as logging trucks rolled by kicking up clouds of dust. A “fix-a-flat” aerosol wasn’t enough but my 12 volt air pump finally got us back to the inn with no time to spare. (Phew!)

Next morning the tire was flat and it would not hold air anymore, so I tried to crank my “donut” spare down from under my 2001 Chrysler AWD T&C. It would NOT come down no matter how hard I tried. The cable came down but the tire stayed. The latch was frozen with rust. Fortunately, even though we were in the boonies they had cellphone service and I had good road service coverage. A call was made and “Scotty” from Dover-Foxcroft (85 miles away) came to our rescue. He had to trailer our car back to his town, with my wife and I squeezed into the cab of his pickup truck, where a new tire was purchased and my car put on a lift and the spare was freed. Needless to stay, the donut stayed in the trunk for the rest of the trip to Caribou and New Brunswick. Chrysler mini-van owners…check to see if your spare will come down!

[pursuant]

tales to tell your grandchildren

After listening to another caller who was
about to embark on a cross country trip in a
older auto and you suggesting that they would
break down and have many tales to tell their
grandchildren.
I have one of those tales. It was back in the
summer of 73, my girlfriend and I were
without home or job and set to take a journey
of discovery going cross county in our 68 VW
camper van( complete with mickey mouse tire
cover).We drove across southern Cal in 110
heat and by the time we got to the Grand
Canyon and we pulled over, the car wouldn’t
start. I was able to clean the rotor and
points and gap the plugs and adjust the
valves. We got it started and were able to
drive to Provo Utah and were able to find the
only shop that would work on VW’s. It needed
a valve job. We paid the money ( a good
percentage of our traveling expense).At this point it was only a week and a half into our trip. The car
worked fine until we noticed the loss of
power just outside Northfield
Minn.Fortunately my girlfriend had a friend
in town and we had a place to stay, but no
one worked on VW’s. The only possibility was
the local high school drivers ed teacher who
also had a gas station. He said he could do
it and I left it in what I thought were his
good hands. I few days later and after
repeated calls, I dropped in to find the
engine in a million pieces spread across the
floor of the garage. He assured me there was
no problem and it would be as good as new.
Sure enough, a few days later, he gave me the
keys and I paid another sizable part of our
traveling money. We decided to drive up to
Minneapolis. 10 miles out of town, smoke
starts pouring out of the engine compartment
and the van comes to a sudden stop on the
road, we were able to get towed back into
town and back to out friendly service
station/mechanic. After a few days of looking
into the problem, he said I needed a new
engine block and it would cost an additional
$500-700. At this point I decided the problem
was more his fault than mine so I told him no
go and he said no car then. Being only a few
weeks into our trip and with many miles to
go, we were, shall we say, distressed. At
this point my girlfriend calls her dad back
in Seattle, who gets on the phone with the
guy, we then talked to him he said “promise
him whatever he wants” and then get in the
car and drive off. We did and while the trip
contained many more marvelous adventures,
they did not include the car. We never found
out what my girlfriend’s father said to the
guy nor did we ever pay any money for the
repairs.
Its a great story and I did love that old van
but I sold it shortly after we got back.
Thanks for being so entertaining.

[Sam_Salant]

We often receive long Christmas or New Year letters describing in exquisite detail everything that family did during the previous year. This is our version of these epistles, except we thought we?d do it for a long-ago year in an almost prehistoric period. It is hard to believe, but in the stone-age days before 4-lane highways, 747s, cellphones, computers, I-pods, etc., primitive families like ours had eventful times too. Here goes…VACATION TIME:

It is the end of July. My art business is at its seasonal low, Edith and six-year-old Peter have no school, and Laura is going on three-and-a-half, and hasn?t worn diapers for a long time. Everyone seems old enough to travel.
I dread the long drive along what I think of as the upper shore of Long Island Sound, through what the gas station map calls N.Y. Thruway, Conn. Tpke., R.I., and various Mass. roads, but the map makes the expedition look simple. I have always ragged Edith about her inability to visualize spatial relationships, but she turns out to be a superb navigator, and the best map reader I have ever known. Go figure!
We celebrate our togetherness in our brand new Ford Falcon, which has four of the very first seat belts available in the U. S. We pay extra for them, and they?re great. We feel safe, because they are lap belts, exactly like the ones used on airplanes.
The Falcon also has the first plastic upholstery ever produced in Ford’s own factory, which had once belonged to an outdoor furniture maker. The summer sun beats down on us, and even with the windows wide open the sweat drips off our faces. We have no air conditioning. The temperature gauge hovers permanently near the red overheat area, and it becomes far hotter in our car than any outdoor furniture ever endured. Unfortunately, the plasticizer in the upholstery evaporates in the heat of the car. It is sticky, and clings to all the glass surfaces. The dust in the air clings to the sticky glass, so at sunset or sunrise, in the middle of this twentieth century I have to drive with my head out the window, like a nineteenth-century railroad engineer.
Unafraid, we scrub the inside of the windshield clean and leave home right after an early breakfast. The trip takes all day. We stop frequently for food, stretching, frequent child pit-stops, and the many times I pull off the road onto the shoulder and refuse to drive one inch further until the constant back-seat bickering, shrieking and cries for help cease.
“Peter hit me!”
“Well, she breathed on me.”
“No I didn’t. He leaned in front of me.”
“SHE TOOK OFF HER SHOES AND SOCKS AND STUCK HER SMELLY FEET UNDER MY NOSE AND SAID, 'SMELL THE SEA AIR !”
“Laura? did you do that?”
"My feet got hot. I was airing them out."
Edith interrupts the discussion as only a mother and teacher can.
"OK. Now your feet are all cooled off ? keep them to yourself. How about a nice game of ‘Geography’?"
I volunteer the usual first place-name ? Alaska or Alabama.
Three-year-old Laura pops up, "Me next. Ashtabula."
Peter complains loudly, “You’re not allowed to say that. That’s my word. I told it to you.”
"So what? If I hear it, it’s mine, right Mommy?"
Still the peacemaker, Mommy says "Peter, surely you know another place beginning with ‘A.’ I’m positive that if you give us a good place, Daddy will get back on the road again, and we’ll get to Chatham sooner."
After some thought Peter offers the word "Anthrax."
Mommy explains, "That’s a farm disease, not a place, but I’ll allow it because it’s my turn, and my word is ‘Xanadu.’ Sam, get back on the road. It’s your turn."
I try to say “Ultima Thule,” but after Edith gives me THE look, I weakly substitute “Uruguay,” and the interminable ride continues hour after hour, spiced up by construction detours and traffic jams on alleged village streets in Mass. and especially in R.I., before we get back again into Mass.
My left leg aches from too much use of the clutch in all that stop-and-start driving. As soon as we get back onto a proper road, I offer Edith the wheel.
She takes over the driving while I navigate. The route is never the same two years in a row, because an interstate highway, though long planned, is not yet completely built, so Edith is always sure we are lost. Of course we are lost.
I point out that this is not fatal, because we need gas, and here comes a gas station, and they will straighten us out.
They never do, of course, because their directions always involve instructions like "You’re heading the wrong way, Mister. Turn around, hang a left at the third house on the right with the green roof. Not the light green roof, the dark green one. When you get to the Harris house keep going for four or five miles to a flashing red light. There’s a State Police barracks there.?
The State Police clear up everything. "Reverse your path, and when you get back to that gas station you started from, drive a mile past it. You’ll be right on track.?
“See,” I tell Edith ? that was easy. You can’t really get lost in an automobile. We are just a few minutes out of the way."
She says in a cold voice, “YOU drive ? give ME the map.” I do as I’m told once again, while our beloved children in the back seat sing a song they have just composed. The title is something like "Daddy Always Does It. " and the refrain goes, “Daddy drives the wrong way every single day,” and what’s more they sing it in harmony, with Laura singing bass. It’s quite catchy, but after only an hour or so I seem to tire of it.
I ask them if they know another song. They say yes, and the old reliable 27,352 bottles of beer on the wall begins and doesn’t end until we reach the Cape Cod Canal. Peter explains to Laura that if Daddy isn’t very careful, the car will fall off the Bourne bridge into the water, which everyone knows is poisonous, and we will all die.
Laura says she is too young to die, but Peter has already lived too long, so he is sure to die and nobody will care. I point out that we will care a lot if either one of you dies, which leads to the standard question, asked by all children:
“If both of us are swimming in the ocean, and a big wave comes, and we are drowning, which one of us do you save first?” I have the perfect answer for that one.
"I can’t swim too well, so I will call two lifeguards, and naturally, they will save both of you."
That doesn’t satisfy them, of course, so their Mommy rescues me.
"Who is hungry or thirsty? I think I remember putting an ice chest in the trunk, with something in it for each of you."
The answer of course is “Me! Me!” I pull off the road into a rest stop. By the time the grownups have stretched their legs and the children have filled their empty stomachs they fall asleep. I drive on toward our promised land.
We cross the Canal, ooze on down Route 6 for thirty miles in only an hour in late afternoon traffic, exit onto Route 137 and pass other towns of no interest to us, until we reach Chatham, Mass…

[Hubble_Q_Hubble]

In the mid 1970’s I was stationed with the Army in California. I was taking Christmas leave and returning home (Minneapolis) for 2 weeks. A friend / fellow solider from my home town who had to remain behind asked if I would drive his car back to California. All expenses would be paid…gas, food, lodging plus a little something extra for the bother.

When I picked up the car - a blue 1974 VW Super Beetle - I was given an envelope with $500.00 in it. I immediately called a two other Army buddies with whom I was stationed and who were also on leave and asked if they wanted to drive back and save their airfare. Who wouldn’t jump on this?

One buddy flew into Minneapolis and he and I drove to pick up the remaining member of our traveling group in Central Iowa. As soon as we crossed the border nearly every driver that passed us would hand gesture to us indicating that we were #1. We knew then that trip was cursed.

After picking our our Iowa friend we started to head south and were hit by an ice storm the likes of which that I, a native Minnesotan, had never seen. Travel proceeded at a brisk 10 - 15 mph for the next 5 hours. Common sense would have one pull over a wait out the storm…we, however, were on a mission.

Once we cleared the ice storm, we were able to make up some time. We drove through the night alternating every 2 - 3 hours. The next morning we had cleared Texas and we moving quickly westward. It was Saturday afternoon and the weather was clear. During the early afternoon I heard some noise from the rear - a faint grinding / rubbing sound. I suggested to my friends that we stop and investigate the noise. My friends, however, wanted to “make up the time” and pressed onward…at least until the right rear tire blew. The tire had been rubbing against a shock absorber or such. There is no spare tire. We are now stranded on the road in New Mexico. This is a time when there were no cell phones. Several hours later a Highway Patrol happens along and gets us towed into the nearest town…except for a couple of tanks of gas and some hamburgers, I had not yet dipped into the $500.00. Tow driver was $30.00 (it was the '70’s, remember?). Then we had to find a tire. The little town where we were did not have a parts / tire store and they had to go and pick up the tire…for an extra fee…unless we wanted to wait until Monday when they did the normal trip. Tire and “fees” were another bite out of the money envelope, but we were back on the road.

We were in Arizona when night fell. I wanted to keep driving like we had done the prvious night, however, my Iowa friend wanted to get some “normal” sleep. Try as I did, I could not convince him to suck it up and drive so we pulled into the first motel we found. As I had the cash, I told my travelmates to wait in the car while I acquired the room…trying to save on the extra room fee. As I was paying for the room my friends walk into the Office and ask how much longer they have to wait. Another $20.00 was paid.

Morning found us back on the road. The early part of the day proceeded without incident. As we approached California was had to cross the desert. I was going to nap for awhile as it was hot and suggested that my friend who was driving fill up on gas before we hit the desert. I woke up about 90 minutes later to the sound of the engine dying out from a lack of fuel. 100+ degrees…middle of the day on a Sunday…no gas. The nearest exit was 10 miles away…two of us started to hike to the exit and the remaining guy stayed with the car. About a hour later the car pulls up behind us; our friend who we left behind tried to start the car and it started right up so he proceeded to drive as far as he could. We made it as far as the exit when the engine stopped again. An easy push down the exit ramp and into the gas station. We were on the road again with 15 minutes.

I took over the driving for the next stretch. As we approached Bakersfield I told my frined who was sitting up front to keep an eye out for California Highway Patrol…I wanted to push it and make up time. Within 10 minutes of asking my friend to watch for the Highway Patrol I was being pulled over for speeding…80 mph in a 55 mph…mind you much of that speed was related to the fact that we were going downhill out of the mountains. I asked why my friend has not warned me. His reply was that the Highway Patrol was on the other side of the freeway so it “didn’t count.”

I was handcuffed…speeding is a serious offense near Bakersfield…and taken to the local police station. I was put in a holding cell with a herion addict who was coming down from an extreme binge. My friends has the envelope of money and I had asked them to bail me out immediately. They thought “immediately” meant within next 6 hours and only after they went to dinner and had taken in a show at one of the local “dance” clubs.

After being bailed out, we had just about enough money left for gas for the remainder fo the trip. After leaving the lock-up I threw myself into the backseat not wishing to have anything to do with anyone. We stopped for gas about 20 minutes later. I got out of th car to get a drink. While inside the gas station all of a sudden all hell breaks loose when someone runs in and says that there is a car on fire next to the gas pumps. Needless to say there was much excitement…even more so when I looked to find the Blue 1975 VW Super Beetle with bright orange flames consuming the very rear seat where I had just moments before been planted.

The excitement was controlled…great thanks to the local firefighters who were within a block of the gas station and who were able to respond quick enough and save the car…well, save is a bit of an overstatement. The exterior was unaffected by the fire. The interior however, did not fair as well. The back seat was gone…headliner…gone…front seats…amazingly so were not that bad. They were by no means as they were when I picked up the car a few days earlier, but it was remarkable how serviceable the front seats were. The cause of the fire? VW has an interesting place to put the battery…under the rear seat. Can you guess what happens when a seat coil gets stuck on the positive terminal of the battery while the car is running?

It was about 2:00 AM and we had four hours to get back to our base lest we be declared AWOL. We were about 200 miles away and there was no other transpostation available. Only choice was to head off in the charred interior of a blue Super Beetle.

We made it back on time and were not declared AWOL. We were a bit nauseous after spending several hours inhaling melted plastic / vinyl fumes, but this cleared within the day. I dropped off the car to my friend who, for some reason, had a hard time accepting the fact that the car was scorched from the inside out. His dad was an insurance agent so he had little trouble getting the car replaced. I ended up getting sentenced to traffic probation and fined $150.00.

My next leave…I flew home.

[DocJoe5]

Who knew when the the 5 of us, parents and teenagers, left home on that summer day back in 1969 for the ultimate family road trip to the west coast and back that it would turn into a horror show. Here the scenario: Our car was an all electric American Motors luxury sedan with 60k miles. We were pulling an unairconditioned rv trailer that slept six. With that we headed west taking the most southernly route.
Shortly after leaving home and still learning about setting up for camp, we separated the car and trailer without unplugging the electrical connection. Afterwards we learned about rewiring. A few days later in Georgia we were nearly sideswiped by a tractor-trailer. Emergency braking caused the RV to flip on its side into the median strip. The good news was that the ground was so soft that there was minimal damage to the car and rv, The bad news was that the inside of the rv looked like it had gone through a blender, We lost several days due to repairs and cleanup.
We pushed on into the southwest, where the radiator kept overheating. We bought canvas water bags to top off the cooling system. One day we went to use the last bag, a critter had gnawed a hole in it, so no water!
Not all of our troubles were of a mechanical nature. What started out as the best hike ever, from the south rim of the Grand canyon to Indian Springs, turned into panic city for our parents. We arriving back at the rim after hiking through a thunderstorm, hot tired and foot sore, to the wrath of our parents and park rangers.
After spending a 110 degree day in Pheonix we decided to only travel at night and sleep bt day, out side the rv. So we saw Las Vegas at 3am, wow all that neon! What a difference elevation and temperature make as one climbs into the mountains. Ask my Mom, who fainted while driving to Flagstaff. I grabbed the wheel from the back seat and the car slowed to a stop when her foot slipped off the accelerator. After all the heat we had been through the Colorado river really looked inviting. On went the suits, then a run down a pier and jump in the water. It was so cold I thought I couldn’t get out fast enough.
Continuing along the northern tier of the country, the car continually went “down hill”. The airconditioning completely quit, forcing us to travel with the windows down and maps taped to the inside of the side windows as shades. To add insult to injury a railroad crossing barrier came down on the hood like a gullotine. Finally while driving in North Dakota, we had to pull under a tree as a rain storm approached because the electric windows failed. We got a new car at the next dealership we came to!
To put icing on the cake, I didn’t get back to college until the last day of registration and lost my confirmed housing for the fall semester. I nearly had to live in that RV, for the fall semester.

[q8rdave]

This is my response to a Christmas-in-July ad from my BMW dealership in which I recounted an event in the European-delivery road trip. The ad included an invitation to meet the sales manager Steve for ONE measly dish of ice cream. (That would be the trigger to get me to part with $60,000?). The paid staff member who was assigned the open-yourself-to-ridicule task of sending out the ad is named (first name only for obvious reasons) “Jean”.

"So Jean, what kind of ice cream? I won’t come out for just any old off brand stuff. I drive a BMW after all. How about gelato?

That was the first ice cream that I spilled in my new BMW. We had stopped for gas on the way to Venice. The homemade gelato at the shop next door was too exquitie to pass up. It all pink and gooey from the wild strawberries picked by a Teutonic waif named Heidi who also hand-churned them lovingly into full-fat, Alpine-grass-feed cream. In true American tradition we had to drive-on rather than eat it at the little cafe where we bought it. Half way through my very yummy serving as I dangerously juggled the cup, spoon, steering wheel and gear shift (this is the only good argument I can make for having the abomination known as “automatic transmission”), we hit snow. Even in a BMW when zooming through the two-lane hairpins in the Italian Dolomites that can be a hazard (especially if you are also eating gelato). It was quickly brought to my attention by my somewhat chilled brain that the necessary though extremely difficult decision was either to release the gelato … or die. I - at the behest of the other person in the car - chose the former. (I must admit that I did consider that the points for style would be very high for dieing by driving a stunning, brand-new, black BMW coupe head first into a rocky European ravine. But I still chose to pitch the gelato.) Most of the wanted but unwanted gelato was unintentionally applied as a clever abstract relief to the rigidity of the German design of the dash. Eventually, a bit of the ooze did make its way into the inner structure of the instrument panel. Even now, when the heater is on, the faint yet saliva- (and anxiety-) inducing aroma of fraises des bois is still circulated from all the vents as a souvenir of the trip AND a not-so-subtle warning about driving and eating at the same time."

[lunardaze]

At age 19, me and two of my friends, Ben and Justin, decided in the end of March, to pool our money together (roughly $700) and simply cruise the open road for a week and a half. We all had vacation time and needed a break from the women in our lives. (Life was rough at 19!)

So, we got into my red, 2-door '96 Grand Am GT, packed it to the gills with duffle bags in the trunk and a cooler in the back seat, and set off from Wisconsin for the unknown. We didn’t have any sort of map with us, we just wanted to drive South. We would sleep in rest areas and just let the road take us wherever it wanted…as long as the signs said South.

Day 1 went well, as we made it through the boring flatlands of Illinois, until we got to the bottom of the state…it was dark, roughly 8pm, when we stopped at a rest area for a stretch and bathroom break. Upon returning to the vehicle, we discovered that my headlights would only function if I held the brights on. (Headlight on/off switch was built into the turn signal.) Not wanting to get pulled over for blinding fellow motorists, we stopped for the evening, found a secluded spot near the semis, and fell asleep…very cramped.

We woke up early, brushed our teeth in the public restrooms and headed back out. We figured we would find a dealership after making our way through the beautiful Smoky Mountains. Well…darkness came upon us before we could make it out of the twisty, narrow, mountain roads, so instead of blinding motorists, we pulled off to a gravel “Scenic Vista” area. We stretched at bit, and retired to the cramped sports car for the evening…roughly 9pm.

All of a sudden, we’re awaken by a sharp pounding on my driver side window. I opened my eyes, but couldn’t focus on anything. Again, the sharp knock of someone knocking on my window. Then I see a faint glow of light coming through the nearly 3 inches of snow on my car! I opened my door to a raging snow storm and ranger telling us that the mountain was being shut down and we had to evacuate immediately!

After explaining our headlight situation, the ranger said we had to either, A) Find a way to drive it down the mountain, or B) wait for him to return from his rounds to pick us up and leave my car on the mountain for an estimated 2-3 days.

Basically, I chose to, at 2am and half asleep, drive an hour and a half, down this mountain, in a snowstorm, while holding my brights on. We made it to civilization, and pulled into the first motel that came into view. Being as amped up on adrenaline as I was, I walked around to see that all the vehicles in the parking lot had motel-issued passes hanging from the rearviews. I fashioned a great look alike out of a magazine page with a picture of Elvis on the backside and hung it up. We put clothes in the windows, and my two friends slept as I wandered and kept an eye out for security.

Immediately the next morning, we found the closest Pontiac dealership and proceded to tell them what was wrong. It was a “dimmer switch” which is basically the entire directional arm. Well, that part was $178 + tax + an hour of labor, putting our grand total to nearly $300…nearly half our budget! After some strong begging and pleading, we convinced the service department to simply let us buy the part and give us a ballpark onto how to change the blasted thing…thankfully, I carried a small tool kit with me. It’s something I never leave home without now!

Problem solved, we eventually made it down to Panama City Beach, FL. for what was, unbeknownst to us, the beginning of Spring Break. Being the broke kids that we were, we, after a tireless search, found an open spot in a resort parking lot for us to spend the night. After dark, we snuck into the neighboring resort’s pool and hot tub for a dip until getting chased out by security.

We retired to the vehicle, being refreshed from the first water our bodies had seen other than rest area sinks, and fell asleep once again. We woke up to the familiar sharp taps of flashlight to window. I greeted the security guard, and prepared to move along, when he told us he would let us stay there as long as I would take my foot off the brake!!! (Brake lights were on!)

Well, the following morning we departed and began to cruise the strip. On the side of the road, we spot some college students with handmade signs proclaiming “FREE PANCAKE BREAKFAST.” We jumped on that bandwagon, and got our plates with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and sausage. Happily chowing on this incredible hot meal, we were approached by a rather large gentleman who asked if we liked magic. We said, “Sure dude! We love magic!” He then asked to perform a card trick for us. We obliged and watched as he picked our card from the deck. We applauded, and then we were given this line, “You guys know what else is magical?” Mouths full, we shrugged our shoulders. “Jesus Christ” was his reply. Now, our friend Ben was a product of a private Lutheran school up until High School, and he hated every minute of it…Ben and the Bible Magician begin to square off in a friendly argument of why “born-agains” like to push their views off on others. Needless to say, we gulped down the rest of our free O.J. and hit the road again.

We cruised all the way through the bajous of Louisiana, paid a homeless guy $20 for a case of Red Dog beer, ate fresh crawdads, and even accidentally drove on Bourbon street…apparently it’s for pedestrians only!

After sleeping in a Mississippi wayside, we woke up and Justin took the wheel as I drifted back to sleep after sharing a doobie with the boys. (WE WERE 19 AND ON A RAOD TRIP!) Well, Justin decided he could drive 85 in a 70. That got us pulled over, searched, and busted with some paraphenalia, and a small bag of grass. Instead of us all taking the fall, Ben claimed everything as his. (Thank you Ben!) He was taken to the troopers car and they sat there for what seemed like an eternity.

They eventually returned, Ben with tickets in hand, and the trooper and his partner got us all out for a roadside chat. He held up the baggie and said, “Do you guys know what this is?” Our reply was, “Um, a bag of weed?” “NO!” he said sharply. “This is the road to nowhere! Do you guys know what road you need to be on?” I sheepishly looked down the highway and said, “Um, what is this sir? 55 North” “NO,” was his answer. “You boys need to be on the road to Jesus Christ.” Justin and I immediately glared at Ben, waiting for him to open his mouth after our last encounter with the Bible Magician.

Thankfully, his kept his lips shut as we listened to the trooper’s life story of how he was an ex-acid dealer and old hippy, whom was on his 3rd marriage, and how his life was in shambles until he turned himself over to the Lord and became a officer of the law. We politely nodded, and got sent on our way…free from the Southern prison we though we were headed to.

After that, we went to Graceland only to find that it was $25 to visit. It’s also $5 to have your picture taken in front of a PAINTING of the the Graceland gates!

We were extremly low on funds at this point, and somehow got Justin’s mom to wire us $200 for gas to get us home.

We made it up to Iowa, where I remembered “Field of Dreams” being filmed. We found the local visitors’ center only to discover that the field didn’t open for another week! Thankfully, the visitors’ center also served as a community center, complete with sauna and showers! After explaning our story to the cute girl behind the counter, we got into our skivies and took full advantage of the center’s ameneties.

Finally, instead of heading home to our normal lives, we made an executive decision to drive over 4 hours out of our way to Ben’s family cabin in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. A sanctuary where we could stretch out and tap into his dad’s liquor cabinet. We rested for 2 full days before heading home.

We got to see parts of America that we’ll probably never see again. It was, by far, the best…and worst, most trully unforgettable, week and a half I’ve ever had on the road.

We also came home with an 2 foot long, real alligator head…don’t ask. Hundreds of pictures, a broken dimmer switch, and memories that will haunt us forever.

P.S. I think my friends are still wanted in the state of Mississippi…shush!

-J
Milwaukee, WI

[Denise_Stephens]

YES! We call it “On the road to Morocco.” When I was in college, I went on an exchange trip to Seville, Spain. It was either 1982 or 1983. While I was there, my mom Dolores and great-aunt Lou came to visit me. As we were so close to the southern coast of Spain, and Africa is just a short hydroplane ride across the strait of Gibraltar, Mom asked if we could take a short trip to Morocco. It sounded like fun so I made arrangements through a travel agent for a hotel room for the 3 of us in Cadiz, Spain, round trip tickets on the hydroplane, a hotel room in Morocco, and some tours while in Morocco. We had to get ourselves from Seville to Cadiz, a trip of several hours (I don’t remember exactly how long) but no big deal. I decided we’d take the bus.

Fast forward to the bus station in Seville maybe about 1:00 in the afternoon. We’re going to Cadiz to spend the night and go to Morocco on the hydrofoil the next day. I am standing in line to buy our tickets. A man approaches me and asks where I want to go. He says he can take us there in his car faster and cheaper. (This is common - lots of “taxi drivers” are roaming the bus station, trying to hire themselves out.) I politely decline. The next thing I know, Mom is waving at me from across the bus station, the smiling taxi driver standing next to her, saying, “Denise, c’mon, we’re going with this guy!” Oh sheesh. Even at the time, I had an inkling I should have insisted we stick with the bus, but I figured if my mom - a woman whom I always thought exercised very sound judgment - was OK with going with this guy (who I’ll call Mr. Taxi), it would be OK. Aunt Lou also trusted my mom implicitly and never showed any misgivings, so we settled on a price and proceeded out the door to his car. Oh look. It’s an aging and quite petite lemon-yellow Citroen. It reminded me of the cans that you had to open with a “key” to get to the gelatinous ham product inside. Oh well. We were committed. So, we climbed inside, me in the front and Mom and Aunt Lou in the back, and set off.

I don’t remember now how far it was from Seville to Cadiz. Maybe 3 or 4 hours. We were about an hour into our drive when all of a sudden, it hit me that I had forgotten my passport back at my flat! None of us were happy about it, but we had to turn around and retrieve it because without my passport, I wasn’t leaving Spain. So, back we went. It took me all of 10 minutes to run in and get my passport, then we were on our way again. Mr. Taxi very casually says he’s going to make a quick stop on our way out of Seville (for the second time) at a school where his girlfriend works to tell her he’ll be late getting home. We stop, no big deal. After several minutes, he emerges from the school arm in arm with a hugely pregnant woman. Surprise! She’s going with us! We shuffle around - now I’m in the backseat scrunched between Mom and Aunt Lou while pregnant girlfriend (I’ll call her Mamasita) is ensconced in the front seat. Off we go.

We’re maybe as far as we were when we had to turn around the first time when we hear a tell-tale thumping noise and the car starts acting funny. Great. We have a flat. So, we pull over to the side of the highway and pile out. Mr. Taxi hauls our suitcases out of the back to get to the spare tire, and guess what? It hardly has any more air in it than the flat! But what can we do, we’re between towns in southern Spain and there’s nothing around, so Mr. Taxi spends the next 30 minutes, at least, moving tires around so that the flattest one is in the least offensive position. He gets our bags back into the trunk and we resume our former positions in the Citroen and head off down the road again, at a greatly diminished speed so as to not cause any more damage to the tire rim. We’re limping along at maybe 40 mph on the highway, cars speeding past us.

By now it’s late afternoon or early evening. We come to a turn-off and Mr. Taxi looks at me in the rear view mirror. “Where is it you want to go? Cadiz? Do you know how to get there?” he questions. Oh my gosh! I am beside myself. “You acted like you knew where you were going!” I nearly shriek. He just shrugsd his shoulders. We decide to take the turn-off and a short distance down the road, we see a mileage sign - Cadiz in about 45 minutes. Whew. It’s getting dark and we are so tired of being folded up inside this car.

Finally, we get into Cadiz. It’s dark. There’s a lot of traffic. Mr. Taxi is looking this way and that, driving quite slowly, trying to figure out which way to our hotel. The next thing we know, there are sirens and flashing lights from not one but two police cars - behind US! They’re pulling us over! Oh my lord. Now what? La Policia take me and Mamasita in one patrol car, Mom and Aunt Lou in the other patrol car. Mr. Taxi has to drive his car and one of the officers goes with him. They’re taking us to the police station! No explanation, no nothing. We can’t imagine what in the heck is going on. I should point out that my Spanish was OK, I could pretty much understand and be understood, but Mom’s Spanish was rusty (she minored in college) and Aunt Lou didn’t speak a word of the language. I’m fretting about the two of them by themselves with La Policia, not being able to understand or be understood. We get to the police station and they bring us all in, still no explanation. Then, they take our passports! Oh holy Mother of God. What now? We all have heard stories of people’s passports being confiscated in foreign countries. Poor Aunt Lou is as nervous as she can be. She’s smoking a cigarette and her hand is shaking so hard, she doesn’t have to tap off the ash. Mom is giggling a little bit as she’s looking around, wondering what is going to happen next. Mamasita looks a little dazed and Mr. Taxi is nowhere to be seen. I’m just fuming. This never would have happened if we had taken the bus! (Of course, then I wouldn’t have been able to go back for my passport and I couldn’t have gone to Morocco without it.) Eventually, La Policia take me into a back office and start asking me questions: who is the guy we’re with, who are the two older ladies, where are we going, how long have we been in the country, and on and on. Still, no explanation of why we’ve been taken into custody.

Eventually, they let me back out into the waiting area with Mom and Aunt Lou, who look incredibly relieved to see me. Mom relays their adventures while I’ve been gone. Aunt Lou was thirsty so Mom requested “agua” for her. It came in a very traditional clay drinking jug with two spouts and poor Aunt Lou spilled it all down the front of her. Mom needed to use the restroom so a burly male officer accompanied her - until she pointed to the floor outside the restroom and said “Aqui!” (which means “here”), indicating she didn’t want him following her in. He gruffly complied. Fun and games in the Cadiz police department!

By now, it’s nearing 10:00 p.m. We’re tired, we’re stressed, we’re hungry. All of a sudden, a police officer comes and gets me again and takes me into the office. The backpeddling begins: we’re so sorry, they say, it’s all just a case of mistaken identity. An American student went missing a couple of weeks ago and they thought I was her. They show me her picture but I look nothing like her. They apologize for the incovenience, give us back our passports and let us go. Just like that. But not, of course, before we got directions to our hotel!

In retrospect, here’s what I think was going on: Cadiz is a port town with, at that time, a pretty significant drug and probably white slavery problem. Mr. Taxi was Pakistani and middle Easterners were pretty active in smuggling and other illegal activities in Spain. Mom, Aunt Lou and I look as American as you can look. So, I think we immediately aroused suspicion. La Policia probably figured Mr. Taxi was up to no good, one way or another, and when they didn’t find any contraband in his car or evidence of illegal activity, I think they trumped up that story about the missing American student to justify hauling us in. But the thing that still makes my skin crawl, to this day, is… where would I be if I hadn’t remembered my passport and made us turn around to go back for it! I may still be in a jail in Cadiz, Spain.

[deborah51]

where to begin? several years ago my husband and i decided to take a trip to the south of france and we travelled in his 1992 ZR1 corvette. we were on our first day in france and had just spent a great day sightseeing in monaco. on the way back to our hotel in vence, about 20 kms from nice, the car started making funny noises. we kept driving and my husband calmly told me that the power steering had just gone out. we managed to make it back to the hotel, and drove into the parking lot when the car literally died. well the good news was we were at the hotel, the bad news was that the power steering pump had bought the farm! it was late, around 6 pm, and we were not sure what to do. we live in germany and decided to call the german equivalent of AAA and they informed us that there was a chevy/cadillac dealership located in nice! we spent an anxious night but first thing in the morning we called the dealer ship. my husbands french is passable and we were able to tell them what happened and they said, bring in the car. well the problem was that the car was undrivable and so we had to make arrangements to have the car brought to them. thus began a long series of stressful and expensive events. we didnt know who to call, so contacted the gentleman who owned the villa we were staying in who happened to be german. he put us in contact with the woman who looked after the hotel and she was able to arrange to have a truck come and take the car to nice. it had to be loaded on to a flat bed truck and we were on our way. 40 minutes and 350 euro later, we were at the dealership. once the car was in the garage, it caused quite a commotion! they had never seen a ZR1 before and asked my husband if he had put the engine in himself!!! not a good sign! well to make a very long story short, we had to leave the car and wait to hear what they proposed to do. we rented a car for the remainder of the trip and kept in contact with the dealership. they had to find a pump, and of course, there were none to be had in all of europe. so it had to be ordered and shipped from the states! we were only scheduled to be in france for 6 more days, but the pump would not be there in time, so we had to leave the car in france. we needed to get ourselves home and checked flights which were so expensive, we could have bought a new car! we ended up taking a train back to germany…a gruelling 15 hour train ride and came home to wait and see what would happen! it took over two months for the car to be repaired and in the meantime, my husband was worried about his “baby”…when the car was finally repaired, he had to fly down to nice to get it and then drive it back to germany. it was a very expensive undertaking and about $3000 later, the car and my husband were back safe and sound at home…he has proposed a couple of trips with the corvette since, but i have politely declined and told him he can if he wants, but im only interested in trips within a 30 km radius from home.

[deborah51]

it was my first trip to europe with my sister and a girlfriend. we were in a small hotel outside of zurich, switzerland and we took the train into zurich for a day of shopping and sightseeing. as luck would have it, we met some guys from the states who were in a country and western band and they invited us to come see them play that evening in a bar in zurich. we went and saw them and came out of the bar late and discovered that the trains going back to the town where we were staying has stopped. we then took a very expensive cab ride back to the hotel only to discover that the door to the hotel was locked, we had no key and there was no one to open the door for us. we tried calling, pounding on the door and even trying to access a second story balconey to no effect. we decided to spend the night in our car in front of the hotel, but soon where attracting some attention from a group of guys so decided to drive around for a while. we got back to the hotel around 4 am and sat in the car waiting for someone to come out of the hotel, so we could go in. needless to say, we were tired, wired and pissed off! finally, someone came out, we rushed out of the car and made it to our room! we fell into bed and about an hour later there was loud pounding on our door. apparently, we were parked in a bus zone and the hotel manager wanted us to move the car. we got out of bed, bleary eyed, mascara running and hair a mess and went out to the car only to discover we had locked the keys in the car in our rush to get out of it earlier. well there we are, trying to someohow get the doors open, while a group of japanese tourist sat on the bus watching these crazy american women trying to unlock the car doors. we must have been pretty entertaining, because they were even taking pictures!!! well, about half an hour later, someone took pity on us and they managed to get the doors unlocked and we moved the car and then crawled back into bed…it is a great story, but not very fun at the time. and of course, as luck would have it…we locked the keys in the car a second time while in italy! dont know how it happened, but this time, we knew how to open the doors and it was only a minor inconvienence that time! did i mention we never figured out how to turn on the headlight on our car, so only drove during the day…a great trip nonetheless, and i loved europe so much, i ended up living in germany!!!

[John_B]

Back in the Dark Ages (late 1970s/early 1980s) when Mrs jb was a sandwich mechanic …errrr… flight attendant with Lufthansa, I?d occasionally tag along on trips for almost free. Recently married, just bought a house, no money, direly in need of a win in the lottery or similar to remedy our fiscal mess, we figured that 2 days off in San Francisco could be usefully invested in a trip to the dens of iniquity/gambling parlours in Lake Tahoe (the Nevada bit) and a chance at some mega jackpot on the one-armed bandits.
Hired a Ford Escort from Dollar and headed off through all these romantic sounding places like Placerville, Pollock Pines and Kyburz, climbing pretty much all the time.
About 3 miles out of Kyburz in the middle of the Desolation Valley National Park (should have told us something…), the engine starts missing and then missing A LOT and I?m looking for a place to do a U-turn and drift back down to Kyburz when it stops. Dead. I roll back onto the shoulder (minor hysterics from flossy sitting next to me due to lack of power brakes and the panicky use of the handbrake, but anyway.)
Engine turns, but won?t even catch.
Look at the map - slap between Kyburz and Strawberry - (you couldn?t make this up) so I head back down the hill on foot. Of course, no-one stops to give me a ride and an hour and a bit later, I?m in Kyburz. 4058ft ASL, population 75.
Call up Dollar, they promise to send a tow-truck to first pick ME up and then the CAR and then head of for Lake Tahoe. HOURS later, a tow-truck appears (from SFO?), picks me up, we head off for the car, collect a mildly distraught Mrs jb who figured I?d been eaten by the bears (or the locals) and was fearsome of a fate worse than death for herself, and get to Lake Tahoe (and a new car) at oooh, about 7pm. Oh and and I don?t think Strawberry (5738ft ASL, population 0 according to the 2000 Census) even had a phone booth…
Wasted $50 in the casino, grabbed some food and got back to San Francisco at some ungodly hour where the guy at Dollar was mildly sympathetic to a) our plight and b) my argumentation that as I hadn?t had any UTILITY from the rental i.e. spending 3 minutes and 32 seconds in Lake Tahoe wasn?t the REAL intention behind hiring the car, I shouldn?t really have to pay ANYTHING.
Until the manager turned up who accused me of a) not returning the original car with a fuel tank of gas (I kid you not) and b) breaking it, although I?m convinced it was altitude sickness, having spluttered and coughed a tad myself in the Himalayas.
So it wasn?t for free.
Fast forward a couple of months.
A day off in Boston, Cape Cod doesn?t have a casino or similar, but it might be a nice day out. Avis (I learnt my lesson with Dollar…) tries to give us an Escort. ?Not a chance? I said and recited the whole dramatic episode. ?Look? the girl says ? this is a BRAND NEW car. Nothing?ll go wrong. I promise.?
We?re in the Escort, driving through Hyannisport and … nothing. No signs of altitude sickness, nothing. Just dead. Not a flicker.
Knocked on the gates of the Kennedy Compound to use their phone (politely declined) so it?s off to Barnstaple airport and the usual ritual.
Didn?t bother with the “lack of utility” guff - not much point really - but I do think Teddy could have invited us in for a beer. Not to much to ask…

[garf222]

This was a ‘road trip’ in that it involves cars, & I knew exactly where my actions were taking me. My best friend & I had this terrible proclivity to play pranks on each other. So when he came over with his new 57 Chevy (well 16 years old) I asked him to wait in my basement while I retrieved something for him. I brought back in the beautiful chrome cigarette lighter from his car & a sledge hammer and asked him if he would mind smashing the hell out it for me, which he promptly did. (He did have a rather destructive nature) I thanked him, commented on what a fine job he had done, & told him I would be right back at which point I replaced the now flattened lighter in his new car.

Needless to say the next day at school when I went to leave I discovered that almost every part in my truck that was easy to remove had been taken off and put in various places on the truck where it did not belong. It took hours to reconfigure out the spark plug wires, etc, etc. Apparently a good chunk of the school had helped him to ‘resort’ the workings of my truck… ah, karma!

[Dwight_Henderlong]

Our worst road trip happened in the summer of 1968. I bought a new Ford pickup with an 8ft bed. I constructed, on the bed, what was then called a dog house but now is called a truck cap. Then I made 2 bunk beds across the front for our 2 boys, ages 4 and 6, and finished it with two 6ft bunks on either side of the truck bed for my wife and me. After some persuasion I got my wife Betty to agree we should go on our first camping trip. We visited state parks in Indiana. Turkey Run, Brown County, and Spring Mill. Everything was going fine, but not being travelers, little did we know that travel and different food and water can affect sosme people’s systems. Sadly we both got locked bowels! Mine were locked in the open position and, unfortunately, Betty’s were locked in the closed position. My system soon settled down but Betty’s was more of a problem. After 2 days of food going in and nothing coming out, she decided to take an Exlax. Nothing happened. The next morning,another Exlax. Still nothing. That night she took the 3rd Exlax and went to bed. About 1am they all kicked in. She woke me saying “I have to go NOW!” I offered to walk her to the Bathrooms but she exclaimed, “I said NOW!” We had brought alongt a metal can with a lid for the boys, just in case, that was about 12" tall and about 2’ in dia. I whispered “use the can.” Well she did and it was anything but comfortable. I opened the cap door and hung my head over the tail gate, struggling to breathe. Even though I was concerned about the safety of our boys I was laughing uncontrollably. Have you ever tried to laugh with out making a sound? I knew if she heard me I was a dead man. After she got off the can she got a charlie house in each leg. By now I was near death but still didn’t dare make a noise. Some how we got through this nightmare. Next morning Betty said she wanted to get out of there now! We packed up and were leaving, planning to stop at the bathrooms on our way out and empty the can of it’s evil contents. They had just closed the bathrooms for cleaning so down the road we went, can and all, until we came to a gas station. Back then the attendent came out to fil your tank and you should have seen the look on his face when he saw my wife headed for the ladies room, clutching the can as though someone might take it from her. When she came back she announced, “if you want me to go camping you’ll have to buy something bigger like a tent and a porta potty.” Well we did buy a tent and then a couple of fold downs and then several travel trailers. We camped for over 30yrs and had some great times even adding another son. However, with all the great rigs we had, we still talk about the camping trip in the “dog house” on the truck. It was hard to believe then, and still is, that my wife was such a good sport and still willing to go camping after that first trip. Sometimes it makes you wonder how come our wives stick with us! Dwight Henderlong

[mairasimonson]

Is there a better way to start married life together than to move from Minnesota to Alaska three days after the ceremony? My husband, whose new job prompted this cross-country move, and I drove the Alaskan-Canadian (Alcan) highway in a UHaul while towing our Pontiac on a flatbed trailer. The first days were problem free, except for the border crossing into Canada, where we were advised to enter Canada, promptly pull a u-turn to re-enter the US to declare my husband’s hunting rifles, and to not tell the US border patrols that we just entered the country with undeclared firearms. Three hours later we were back in Canada, after a second u-turn on the US side. The next day we were in British Columbia. We were about 20 miles passed the small “town” (one gas station and small restaurant) of Wonowon when a tire blew on the flatbed trailer. Now, one must know that on the Alcan highway there are no shoulders…you’re lucky to have large portions of paved road. With nowhere to pull over, we gingerly drove to the next dirt road where space to pull in was provided. Naturally, there were no cell phone towers to get a signal on our phones, so we dropped our Pontiac off the trailer and drove back to Wonowon. From the small restaurant, we called the UHaul dispatch, which is based out of North Carolina. I tell you this as it helps one understand why the dispatcher was astounded when we answered his irrelevant questions of what major city we were near, what major landmarks did we see, or at what exit number we were located, with “we’re on the Alcan Highway…there are few major cities near, there are few exits and the major landmarks are trees…lots of them.” Nonetheless, UHaul sent a repair truck from Grande Prairie…some 100 miles away. Eventually, we on the road again with a sealed trailer tire and a tow strap holding down the wheel-well which had come loose when we didn’t immediately pull over. Later in the trip, we arrived at Fort Nelson to stay for the night. Now, we have accumulated a good number of days of being together in the UHaul so our patience of each other was wearing thin. As we pulled into the town, it started raining…hard. Unknown to us, many of the hotels were full since the town was having some event that weekend. After stopping at a number of hotels, just to be turned away, we were no longer speaking with each other. With the rain pounding and both of us on our last straw, my husband pulled into the lot of another hotel whose overhang would provide a dry exit from the truck. However, unfortunately the overhang was lower than the height of the truck, a fact learned when we ran into the overhang. Another call to UHaul dispatch in North Carolina was made and this time we could tell them a major city, an exit number and a major landmark because we had just hit it. Despite literally striking the hotel, the staff allowed us to rent a room and we settled insurance particulars the next day with a newly dented upper corner of the UHaul. The next days were event-free and we finally made it to our new home state. On our final day of travel, we started noticing a distinct sulfur smell coming from the hood. We pulled into a small gas station and once again made the call to the UHaul dispatcher, with whom we were now on a first name basis and who knew better than to ask us for the city, exit number or landmark. It was determined that we had nearly blown up the battery and a new one would be needed. A few hours later, with a new battery installed and the old one in the back that we were instructed to return to the UHaul in Anchorage, we were once again on our way. Once in Anchorage, with all our possessions unpacked, we drove the truck and trailer to the UHaul for return, looking much like the station wagon at the end of the movie, National Lampoon’s Vacation. The UHaul agent took one look at the old battery, the dented truck and the tow-strap holding the wheel-well and asked us, “where did you come from?” There was quickly a nod of understanding by this agent when my husband replied, “Minnesota.”

[tom_mciver]

This is based on a trip I took in 2003 when I was visiting friends in Minneapolis. It’s in the form of a poem because, well, it just is! You might have to bleep a word or two.

A Traveller’s Tale by tom mciver April 8th, 2003.

I went down to Omaha, Nebraska, USA
Now why the hell did you do that, you very well may say?
I went to meet a woman there, to see what may transpire
A winsome wench with long red hair, an object of desire.

And did you find there what you sought? You ask, your interest tweaking
Well, no, you see, 'cos I forgot my heater core was leaking
Which meant it overheated as I drove around Des Moines
And then I wished that Triple A’d persuaded me to join!

I had to stop each mile or so to add more water to it
Sometimes I had to scoop up snow, but I just had to do it.
I filled that thing with coolant while my hands began to freeze
My ears were cold, I slipped and fell and skint my bloody knees!

And as I limped along the road, through freezing, windy weather
I thought of her, how it would go when we two got together.
And more and more I thought how she would greet me at her door.
Would waiting make her want me less, or make her want me more?

And if her welcome was not warm, would that be hard to take?
I stopped to fill it up again, that’s when I lost the brakes.
I slithered off the road and then a snowbank stopped me cold
I cursed that car I cursed the road, I cursed a thousandfold!

I thought of her in Omaha, tucked up all snug and warm
While here was I now stranded by the roadside in a storm
What right has she, I thought with ire, to be so warm and dry?
And with that thought a single frozen tear sprung to my eye.

I’ll bet, I thought, that when eventually I get there later
She’ll say “What kept you?” or something like that and then I’ll hate her!
Well by and by someone came by and helped to drag me out
As on again I trundled I was riven then with doubt.

This woman would not welcome me, she’d say I was too late.
She’d criticise, she’d nag and moan, my lateness she’d berate.
Just what the hell, I thought right then could I have once been thinking?
She’s going to knock me back, she’ll think that I’ve just been out drinking!

So as I nursed that truck along in Omaha’s direction
My anger level rose as I considered my reception
I’d not be welcome now, I thought, well, sod that for a lark!
I trundled closer, freezing cold, now driving thru the dark.

To shorten this, my narrative, to cut right to the chase,
I stumbled to her door, a funny look upon my face.
She opened it, she smiled at me, I felt my left eye twitch
She said “Come in, you must be cold!” I said “Fuck you, you bitch!”

I turned around and walked away and never once looked back
I left that gal, I left that town and headed up the track.
So if you go to Omaha, especially if it’s snowing
Remember my sad tale, take my advice and just keep going!

[BigRedDog]

Road Trip from Hell

It was a dark and stormy morning (sorry). My son Jamie, a soon to be graduate of New Trier High School in Winnetka Illinois, was in the process of visiting colleges throughout the mid-west. On this trip we were on our way to an overnight at Wittenberg College in Springfield Ohio.

We got up early on a Sunday morning to find a steady rain pounding the pavement. Unfortunately the first leg of our journey just took us deeper into the storm. After about 4 hours of driving we decided to gas up and switch drivers in Indianapolis. We found a BP station. While I fueled the vehicle with 93 octane E10, Jamie loaded up on some sort of liquid candy. No hurry, we were on schedule, just a bit damp. Then it happened; while I was sitting in the passengers seat filling out the gas book (old habit), Jamie turned the ignition to start. With the engine cranking longer than usual (this car starts itself when asked) I looked up from my book in time to see the aluminum hood flex from an explosion. Smoke came out from under the hood, but no fire. Upon opening the hood we found that the explosion had blown the intake manifold wide open.

So here we are 4 hours from home in the rain on a Sunday afternoon with a dead car.

I know that road trips can have their pitfalls; I?ve picked up nails, had flat tires, trailer tire blowouts, and broken exhaust systems on bad roads. I have always been able to deal with these unexpected but manageable issues on the road. Never have I had such a catastrophic failure as this.

So once again, here we are stranded out of town. I remembered that this car came with road service, so I give them a call. Road service agrees to come by to pickup the car and drop it at the nearest dealership, 10 miles away. Okay, so what about us? ?Sorry dude, you?re on your own? and the dealership isn?t open until tomorrow?. Thanks dude. Still raining.

Two hours later, the tow truck arrives. He agrees to take us along with the car to the dealership. Still raining.

I can only get a rental car at the airport, $45 weekend rate. We call and wait for a cab, $75 ride to the airport in the rain.

It has taken so long to get to the airport the weekend rate is over, $95 for the rental car. Still raining.

We go back to the dealership to pickup some gear and take pictures of the engine. Luckily we brought the waterproof Olympus camera because it?s still raining.

The young tattooed desk clerk at the motel wants to see my AARP card, the highlight of my day? I?ve just saved 5 bucks and you guessed it, it?s still raining.

Dry cloths, clean bed and a place to sit down; time for dinner and it?s raining even harder. Okay, I?m over the rain. Let?s eat: ribs, beans, corn-on-the-cob, and a cold one, maybe two. Now I can go back, lie down and recap what has just happened.

After all this moaning and groaning you?re probably figuring that I was driving an old jalopy or a nitrous guzzling hoar? how wrong you are. This car was a 6 month old 2008 VW Touareg with 5080 miles on the clock. Now I?ve purchased and driven both new and used cars all my life, but this one was new. With a new car you are supposed to get this nice sweet trouble free honeymoon period. You buy a new car specifically to avoid breakdowns of this nature.

The following morning we stopped by the dealership only to find all the service writers and techs shaking their heads and saying ?We?ve never seen anything like this before?. That?s reassuring. VW gave us a loaner Nissan (go figure) and sent us on our way. I wanted to continue on to visit Wittenberg (since they were offering Jamie a $52K scholarship!) but he saw the explosion as ?Bad Mojo? and wanted to bail. Great.

Boy has this been an expensive trip, a blown weekend, a few hundred in rentals and motels, $52K in lost college money and another $40K in a trashed car.

Later the next week I received a call from the service manager of the Indy VW dealership. Good news, they found the problem to be bad gas ?there was 18% alcohol in the fuel?. ?While this voids your warranty we?re still going to fix it because we?re such good guys?. As you can see, the road trip from hell is not over? it?s still raining.

Once again, this is just great. Not only did my car blowup, but they want to blame me for making it happen and they want to give it back to me. Bogus. First off I only use BP 93 octane fuel with 10% ethanol and I certainly didn?t put E85 in the tank. Secondly, this is Volkswagen?s 3.6 liter VR6 engine with fuel injected directly into the cylinder; how did fuel get into the intake manifold?

At this point I needed to gather my resources and circle the wagons. I called my insurance company saying ?How do you feel about insuring me in a vehicle that has blown up?? I spoke to chemical engineers, fuel engineers and lawyers at BP; I learned about flash points and alcohol?s hydrotropic properties. Then I consulted with my lawyers (read drinking buddies) and wrote a letter to Volkswagen telling them that I didn?t want to put my family in a car that had exploded and that I wanted a new car; and they did it. Thirty days later I was driving a new car.

All?s well that ends well.

Let me know if you want to know why it exploded.

Allen

[myneps]

My big adventure… I decided to take a trip to Cape Cod from Swanzey NH a few years ago. We loaded up the Caravan “Of DOOM” and headed down the road, my twin 2 year olds, my wife and I. Along the way we talked of trips from hell with our parents. A few hours down the road we were on I495s and we decided to stop at an exit and get a break. As we rolled to the end of the exit the transmission went out and the van stopped, we were able to coast down to a church parking lot under a shade tree. No cell phones so I decided to hike up the road and look for a Uhaul. I put on my bright red wind breaker and was on my way. After several miles of walking I came along to a yard sale. I asked where Uhaul may be. They said its about 5 miles the other way. I noticed a girls 10 speed for sale at the yard sale. I made an offer and I was on my way. My wife was standing by the van laughing when I got there as she saw my bright red wind breaker from a distance. She said did I beat up a girl and steal her bike? I laughed and was on my way after she said they were hungry and thirsty. A few miles down the road I came to a McDonalds and went thru the drive thru on my dependable trusty girls ten speed. I rode back to deliver the goods and was off again to find this uhaul that even the McDonalds people said was just down the road. I rode for miles and stopped at a taxi place they said Uhaul was another 10 miles. I loaded the bike in the back of the taxi, got to uhaul, rented a truck and trailer, went back to load the van. We got home in the afternoon, exhausted and now broke decided to stay at home for the week. Moral to my story, dont travel without a phone and dont be affraid to get good directions, ha ha ha.