Ever Had a Road Trip from Hell?

Maintenance/Repairs
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221

My roadtrip from hell dates back to a trip to my family’s cottage in 1976 when I was eight years old. We were driving home actually, from Lebanon to Berlin… these are two towns in Connecticut by the way. My father was a college professor back then and the family drove around in a rust-bucket 1964 Valiant.

As we entered the freeway to head home, my dad was driving, my mother in the passenger’s seat, my little sister was sleeping to my left, I was leaning out the completely open window with both arms on the outside. I did this often, getting my head into the wind and enjoying the summer warmth. Anyway, this time something happened - the door opened and I was still with it! My arms were in a good place to hold on to the door - but I was completely outside the automobile! Worse than that - nobody noticed! My sister was asleep and my parents were oblivious. There weren’t even any other cars around. How this all came together I don’t know!

I looked down to my sneakers and my feet were just inches from the ground. This gave me my first idea to save myself. I would slow the car down by dragging my sneakers on the road (like I did with my bike). When the car slowed down enough my father would notice and perhaps see me. I dragged them for probably 5 or 10 seconds and it didn’t seems like I could actually slow the car.

My second thought was to knock on my mother’s window on the passenger side of the car. After all, with the back door completely outstretched and me being on it, our heads were only a few inches away from each other. I guess I was in her blind spot. It took a few knocks (I think she even asked my father if he heard something) but eventually she turned her head. I wish I could have bottled the face she made seeing me knocking on her window, outside of the moving car speeding down a highway.

Of my many, many childhood memories this is one of my favorites. I haven’t venture out of a moving car since.

Dann
Cambridge, MA

222

In the summer of 98 we loaded our 16 yr old daughter and our 12 yr old sun in our 76 VW Westphalia and header out west from Kentucky.
At a stop in blistering hot Kansas on wide expanse of asphalt, which was soft to the touch, the start would not spin. Being familiar with the little quirks of this model I told the family that the only thing we could do was push start. Amidst much grumbling they got out and pushed it the short distance required to bump it off.
This became the ritual for the next week of travel. Before getting back into the bus, if no hill was available, they would wait to see if the starter would spin and then line up behind and push. Needless to say this created quite a scene on occasion.
The problem occurred when we got to cooler climes on the west coast. At one stop, with out thinking, I reached behind the drivers seat and got the short section of pipe and casually slid under the bus to give the starter a little tap. Hoped back in my seat and started the bus. When the rest of the family erupted into howls of dismay and disapproval I realized I had messed up.
I tried to explain that, while yes I had known of this little trick all along, it had been too hot to lie on the pavement.
They were not appeased and the story still comes up occasionally of when they had to push the bus across the western United States while I had a pipe behind the seat.
Thanks Scott Land

223

Bill and Carol?s Not So Excellent Adventure

(The names have been changed to provide anonymity)
First of all I want to say that my husband (I?ll call him ?Bill?) has had a hobby/obsession with VW?s. It started when his parents gave him an ugly 1959 bug for his 16th birthday back in 1966. At first he was not impressed, but when he realized that this little car was very cheap to maintain and $1.00 would fill it up, he decided that was the car for him. Through the last 25 years that I have known him and before, he has owned over 50 VW?s of all years and makes. (don?t ask me how many ran) Anyway, he has restored most all of the major models and types but one: the type 34 Ghia. Now they only made around 42,000 of these babies from 1961 t0 1969. He got a ?bee? in his bonnet last winter to restore one. He perused the internet and finally found one near Ft. Hood Texas. It seems that a soldier was going overseas and was needing to sell it. He didn?t have time to work on it and was letting it go for a little under exorbitant price. As I can?t get my husband to take any trips unless they are VW related, I was excited when he told me he had arranged to drive to Texas (a 800 mile trip from our home in let?s say ?Alabama? )
We set out on a Thursday morning very early, drove all the way to our destination and checked into the motel. So far so good. We had arranged to meet the wife of the soldier since he had already been deployed, at a repair shop which had no address and our GPS couldn?t find it. After riding around the block on the street it was supposed to be on, we finally found it. Way back when Bill corresponded with the owner, he asked if the tires were good enough to tow back to Alabama. He said sure they are. As a precaution he loaded up 3 old tires which were not the best, but thought we would only use them in an emergency. Thank goodness my husband is anal and always brings more than he needs. We rented a tow dolly there in Killeen, paid the wife and headed back home. From the beginning the car was bumping and moving back and forth on the tow dolly. We decided that we were making such good time that we were going to drive straight through and get home that night. Things went ok for the first 400 miles. Then, as it was getting dark, as people were passing us, (we were going a respectable 55-60mph tops) we noticed a lot of honking, flashing lights and all kinds of things trying to get our attention. We pulled off at a truck stop somewhere in East Texas and looked at the left rear tire which was GONE and only the wires of the steel belted radials were left. This was one of the ?good? tires. We had some help and sympathy from this nice couple who somehow proceeded to back their SUV into the front of our van. Not sure how that happened, ( I think they were talking on the phone) but they backed up and didn?t even see our Honda Odyssey van parked behind them. Our van wasn?t hurt, the tire was changed on the car and we were on our way. I was getting a little nervous when I realized that we had to go through Louisiana and cross the Mississippi. I had visions of us changing tires on the side of the road with alligators checking us out for a midnight snack. We did make it through to Mississippi and almost into Alabama, when the next tire blew. This time, we saw the sparks from the rim of the right rear tire and by now we knew what the honking and flashing lights meant, so we stopped in a Wal-Mart parking lot, changed the tire and took a tiny nap as it was around 1am. After waking up, we decided to go on as far as we could. After Mississippi, we were in Alabama, and just knew we could make it home. (we were getting delirious from lack of sleep) However, once we got off the interstate onto back roads of Alabama, the fog came in. By this time, we were doing around 20 miles an hour and still couldn?t see. Around 3am, we heard strange noises, stopped and checked the tires. One was down to the steel belts and the wires were breaking, the others were hot to the touch. We knew it wouldn?t be long before it was gone and we had no more spares. We were only 100 miles from home at this point so we decided that if we could get it to a town where we could leave it, we?d be close enough to home to get the better tires (which we should have brought in the first place) and finally get it home. We got 50 miles from home and left it in a church parking lot. We pulled up at our house around 5am, took a 2 hour nap, loaded up the good tires and went back to see if our car was still there. (Didn?t think it would be gone, it already looked like it had been stripped) When we went through the town the second time, we almost delayed by a parade and street festival, so most of the streets had been closed down. We found another way through town, and finally got home around 9 30am.
The kicker was when we looked the car over, the body was not even bolted to the floor pan by a single bolt and the rear suspension which normally has three big bolts holding it on, had only one. I guess that?s why it was eating tires. It was a miracle that we made it all those miles. I?m not sure it I will be taking a trip like that for a long, long time. We are both too old to pull these all nighters. We can laugh about it now, but I wasn?t really happy about risking my life for this:

224

You want to know if I have ever A road trip from hell. That is a laugh- just one! I have experienced several.

Because my father was in the Air Force, I was raised in Texas while my parents were from Minnesota. We took many a road trip between Texas and Minnesota and it would never fail that usually something would happen to the vehicle.

There was the time when I was younger when all five of us (both parent and three boys) packed into a Datsun (now called Nissan) 810 station wagon. Since I am the youngest, I got to sit in the hatch back area with the cooler and food. I immediately bacame the in car attendent responsible for retreiving drinks and snacks. Needless to say, there was not a lot of room in the area and the exposure to the sun was not fun. That was also the trip where my father had to replace the shock absorbers after we arrived in Minnesota.

Then there was the other time when we were returning from Minnesota in the same station wagon. This time I was older and my brothers were grown so it was just my parents and me. While somewhere in Kansas, the belt that actuated the alternator started to slip. We stopped in a shop to have it fixed. They could not fix it and we had to drive to the next town. At this time it was starting to get dark and rain. Needless to say, I can tell you how scared we were that the belt would break before we made it to the next town. I never said so many Hail Marys in my life. we did make it and checked into the last room available in the town’s motel. The car did get fixed and we were off the next morning.

We then upgraded to van and a camper. The first major trip we tried with the van to Minnesota we had a blow out of the back tire about 5 minutes from the Oklahoms border. Our town was only 15 minutes from the border so back to home we went and to the repair shop for 4 new tires. We finally made it to a Kansas camp ground that night around midnight to crash and burn before our venture the next morning.

Finally, there was the trip where we went to Minnesota for my Grandfather’s funeral. We were in the same van and one of my brothers was with us. One of the rear captains chairs had already broken before the trip and so one of us had to sit in the back bench seat (not the most comfortable place to sit). During the trip to Minnesota, the other captains chair broke. So while in Minneapolis for the funeral events, my father and uncles installed four new captains chairs in the van before our return home. Oh, and did I mention this trip was in the middle of Winter. I had never been to Minnesota in Winter. I now know why my parents did not move back. I was unprepared as I was a poor freshman in college and did not have a trench coat. I got sick after the grave side portion of the service.

My Grandmother decided to die during the Winter too. We were much better off during that trip as we flew up for the funeral. But, do you remember that huge blizzard that came in and shut down the airports in Minneapolis, Chicago and Detroit and it was known as Runway Sunday because of all the planes that were left on the runways? That was the day that we were to fly out. We were too lucky as my father had us booked for a flight at 6 a.m. that morning. We were able to take off and were one of the last flights allowed to leave the Minneapolis airport. That time I also had a trench coat and did not get sick.

Randy Hering
Dallas, Texas

225

Way back in 1974 I bought a 1972 MGB for something like $2,400. Anyone who has ever owned an MGB knows that they are a blast to drive but you also have to become a mechanic. Which is another story all together. A year or so later I was a newlywed and she hated it.

Oh yes the road trip story?. It isn?t a road story like the long distance Chevy Chase types but it was on the road and it was horrible. In 1977 I lived in Northwest Ohio where the weather changes every few minutes especially in December, when this trip took place. For those of you not familiar with Northwest Ohio, it is for the most part flat, however there were a few spots of rolling hills on the 10 mile trip home from work. By the way the road I was travelling on was a township road that gets only a few cars per hour. It had snowed sometime that week but the temperature had risen to about 40 degree. This caused some dense fog to accumulate in the lower lying areas. As I went over the crest of a hill, I noticed there was fog in the lower area 200 yards in front of me. So I began to slow down and shifted into 3rd gear. I also noticed that there was another car that appeared to be pointed the same direction that I was but as a got nearer I noticed that while he was pointed in the right direction that he was actually travelling in reverse. I downshifted to 2nd and began applying the brakes at the same time starting evasive maneuvers. But when I steered left he also steered left and when I swerved right he steered right. By this time I was honking on the horn and pooping my pants. (I think that they call this multi-tasking today) The other car was a Firebird that had its rear end jacked up (now you know this story really took place during the 1970s). The hood of my car was probably 30 inches higher than the road and the rear bumper of the Firebird was about 48? higher than the road. By the time I did my last evasive move, my car was under the other car and the rear tire was on the windshield and I had a pretty good view of the other car?s fuel tank above my head.

I gingerly crawled out of my car and the other driver met me and asked ?what?s going on??. Why I didn?t jack slap him is still a mystery today. After pointing out to him that he had driven over my car, he explained that he had just changed his automatic transmission over to a manual transmission and the only gear he had was reverse. He then wanted me to help him get his car off of mine and I convinced him not to.

I was probably ? mile from the next farmhouse and of course there were no cell phones back then. Leaving this idiot by himself so I could go to a phone and call my new bride and of course the police was really out of the question.

A few minutes later a traveler came buy and said that he would call the Highway Patrol. Of course their first question was not if we were ok but how the heck did this happen. Knowing that if this idiot would just claim that he was driving slow for the conditions that I would be cited for un-assured clear distance. So I let him explain about the transmission problem.

In the mean time several more people stopped and offered assistance and of course asked what happened and each one of them heard the same story from the other driver about his transmission problem.

The patrolman was dispatched some 20 miles away and did not arrive for about an hour. When he arrived, he looked at me and asked ?what the heck happened?? This time I told him about the other guy?s transmission. The patrolman looked at me with one of those ?is that all the better of a story you can come up? with looks.

Both the other driver and I crawled into the police car with the patrolman. The officer asked me all of the accident scene questions and then asked the other driver his version. all this time I?m expecting the idiot to lie and tell him that he was driving slow because of the weather and I simply drove under his vehicle. But he didn?t. The officer even gave him the opportunity for an out and asked him if he was just trying to pull the car off of the road so that a wrecker could pull it home. But he told the officer that he was going to just drive it home in reverse. The officer gave him another chance and asked him he lived near by and he told him that he lived about seven miles away (the route there would have required him to turn onto and drive on a State Route. The next words from the officer were the best words I could hear. These were ?Mr. xx you were going to drive your car on State Route xx in the fog and in the dark, in reverse?? Which the other driver acknowledge that he was. This was followed by the officer?s question to the other driver ?Mr. XX have you ever been arrested before.

Remember at the beginning of the story, I told you that I bought the car for about $2,400. After buying it about a year before and putting 50k miles not to mention becoming a master mechanic on MGBs, it was like hitting the lottery. the insurance settlement was for $2,300.

I now have daughter who is 30 years old. Her husband loves cars and is always calling me about a MG that he saw for sale. NO WAY NO HOW.

226

My most favorite and most horrible trip happened roughly 12 years ago. I am now 28 years old but when this happened I was a junior in high school. It was Friday night and anyone who has been a teenager knows that Friday is one of the most important nights of the week. Well a friend of mine and I were on our way to a concert to meet up with some friends. The venue was about an hour away. My friend picked me up (I had my license revoked at the time - but that story is for another posting) and we were on our way to the concert. After about 10 minutes, on the way to the highway entrance, we started hearing a thumping sound coming from the driver’s side of the car. It sounded like it was coming from the left front wheel. This thumping appeared to be occuring each time the tire made a full rotation. We ignored it for another 10 minutes and we decided to get on the highway. Our social life was much more important than any minor car issue. However the thumping began to get louder and louder. We decided to get off the highway and check it out. We pulled into a gas station to take a look. Nothing appeared to be faulty but we decided to fill up all the tired with air just in case (I have no clue why we decided to do this). So we got back on the highway and kept going. The thumping continued and got even louder. Finally, a very loud thud and the front left tire came completely off the car, hit the car to our immediate left and went off into the woods. Now on the axle going 70 miles per hour I looked over at my friend driving and just saw fire outside the window from the metal on concrete. Thankfully we came to a somewhat easy stop in the break-down lane and we were able to call for a tow. In the meantime the local police arrived on the scene. The police officer got out like he was making a traffic stop, didn’t say anything to us and started surveying the scene and the missing tire. He turns to us and says “you boys been drinkin?”. I thought for a second (knowing that we had not been drinking) and wanted to say “Yes, officer, we had a few beers, then decided to see what would happen if we drove around on loose lug-nuts”. However I thought better of that and said “No Sir”. It was another 30 minutes until the tow truck arrived, in the meantime a friend of ours saw us on the side of the road and waved. I never did find out why he didnt’ stop to see if we were alright. Needless to say we never made it to the concert and we probably missed out on the best night of our teenage years. However I do have a good story to tell at parties.

227

In 1986, my husband, youngest son (16) and I started for Carlsbad Caverns, from our home in MI. We had purchased a used (misused?) conversion van for the trip. We noticed the AC did not work well so we had it charged. Packed, filled water tank, propane tank and set off. It was HOT, the AC did not do well but we were coping. Going through Kansas City, temp. is 96 deg., the AC quit, about the time that smoke started entering the passenger area. Since we were in heavy, fast traffic, and it seemed to electrical, by the smell, and the engine was running, we continued until we could safely pull off. Seemed to be only the AC affected. Oh, well.

Stopped to fix some food, discovered the little fridge was not working. Lit the front burner on the cooktop and the entire top of the stove lit up. Quickly turned off the burner, flames went out. Could not find the problem. Decided, since we were carrying a small Coleman stove so we could do some outdoor cooking, we would just use that for the trip. The fridge turned into an ice box. Sometime during this time we also discovered that the little hand pump on the sink did not work. We are now in the situation of tent living, but on wheels. Oh, well.

Stopped at a truck stop for food and fuel and heard a hissing and smelled propane as we walked past the side of the van. Yup, the propane tank was now leaking. We talked a mechanic into releasing the rest of the propane so we did not have to worry about someone going past with a cigarette, etc. and getting all of us blown up. Oh, well.

On to Carlsbad to see the bats fly. This every evening happening is what had set us off on this road trip. We had the video camera set ready to capture the exodus. We learned that occasionally the bats do not fly if weather conditions are just so. The weather was just so. The ranger said they should fly the next night so we puttered away a day so we could again go to the cave, set up and enjoy the spectacle. As the ranger later told us, he had never known the bats to not fly two nights in a row. It does happen. Oh, well.

Since we no longer had any faith in bats and time was wasting, we continued our trip. The tour of the cavern was spectacular, tho’. Good thing!

Enjoyed some fine Mexican food for lunch another day. Son and I spent the night in the restroom suffering from Montezuma’s Revenge. Husband escaped as he passed on some of the food. Oh, well.

Drove into a “frog strangler” of a rainstorm somewhere in Texas, just as we were looking for a campground we planned to stay in. Turned on the wipers and the wiper on the passenger’s side immediately took flight into the dark and rain. Managed to find the campgroung with one wiper and gaining a great scratch on the windshield on the passenger’s side. We passed a motorhome stalled in the water, and made camp. Just had one major leak. Oh, well.

Went to El Paso, TX with the intention of going to Juarez (it was safer then). Since my husband and I had just walked across a bridge into Mexico from Brownsville, TX a couple of years earlier, he was sure we could do the same here. Even against the advice of border workers, away we went. As told we would find, we were in residential areas. The bridge we crossed on was an “enter only” bridge. We had to find the “back to the USA” bridge, which we finally did. The only lucky break we had the entire trip!

Next day we did the sensible thing and took a bus tour into Juarez. Stopped at several interesting places and a large, enclosed shopping area. Son went into a couple of shops on his own, searching for a souvenir for himself and his best bud back home. On the bus on the way back to the border I asked what he had purchased. Excitedly he showed me two switch-blade knives. Gulp. Later we discovered that, although the blades did “flip out”, they did not lock in place, sliding back into the handle if pressure was applied to them. Thank you Lord!

In Colorado, and heading toward home (home never sounded so good!!!) we were looking for a campground we had seen advertised, started up a mountain road, dusk is coming on, and are greeted by a sign “DO NOT OVERESTIMATE WIDTH OF ROAD”. We drove, no campground, drove, no campground. Finally found a turn out, CAREFULLY turned around and returned, never overestimating the width of the road. Now I have no memory of where we stayed that night. Oh, well.

By now my lips are completely covered with cold sores, one of my stress responses, and they were creeping down my chin. Oh, well.

HEADED HOME. Did not make many stops.

I believe this is the trip that encouraged me to keep a journal on upcoming trips. Sure wish I had on this one as, since it was some years ago, I know many “treats” have slipped from my memory.

228 
 The road curved down and to the right.  The car was a sporty little Fiat, a lovely piece of Italian design rented for a week in northern Italy.  The town was Padua, home of a church famous for Giotto?s frescoes, nestled in a spider?s web of streets both wide and narrow.  The adventure began with a wrong turn.

  In a couple of days of driving we had come to enjoy our Fiat, despite the quirkiness of its manual transmission.  Once the car was moving the transmission was smooth, precise and responsive.  But getting it into first gear suggested a ride on a bucking bronco ? no matter how slowly or quickly I let out the clutch and depressed the gas pedal, the car shuddered and occasionally quit.  The Italian drivers behind us when this happened were remarkably good-humored, perhaps clued in by the license plate that this was a rental car probably being driven by a visitor, and it generally took only one more attempt to get rolling, after which everything went smoothly.

 We had come to Padua on an art pilgrimage to Giotto?s extraordinary frescoes in the Scrovegni Chapel.  The excellent highway system had brought us within sight of the church when we realized that we were in a lane that only allowed us to turn right.  No problem ? we would just go around the block and get back on the main street.  A modern apartment building was on our right, behind a well-tended garden, and just at its end was what appeared to be a narrow lane that connected to a street that would take us back to the main road.

  I made a quick right, and even more quickly realized my error.  The lane turned out to be the entrance to the parking garage for the apartment building, divided into two lanes and instantly curving to the right and sharply downhill.  I braked the car to a halt, threw in the clutch, moved the shift lever down, back and to the right, and gently eased the clutch out while depressing the gas pedal. The car shuddered, died ?  and rolled a few feet forward and down before I hit the brake again.

 I looked through the windshield to see a drive that dropped and curved with the increasing velocity of a Frisbee heading to earth.  At the end was a steel gate, and next to it a little machine into which a card or key could be inserted to raise the door.  

 Again I fired up the engine, let in the clutch, put the gears into reverse and quickly moved my foot to the gas pedal, pressing harder this time as I engaged the gears.   Another shudder as the motor died. And while I hit the brake even faster this time, the increasingly steep downward slope pitched us closer to the door.  

 At this point the exit gate rolled up and a beautiful Mercedes Benz purred out, driven by an immaculately groomed and prosperous looking gentleman who gave us a puzzled look as he cruised up and out.

  Condemned to try again, I used the hand brake this time to restrain the car while trying to get power to the gears, releasing the brake when the gears seemed to engage, just before the engine quit and we lurched downward a few more feet.  The car was overheating, and so was my language, but my frustration only spurred me on ? and down.

  The driveway was next to a pedestrian street, and as we sank lower and lower, my wife suggested, with growing urgency, that among the Italians walking by there might be a Good Samaritan.  I, of course, wouldn?t hear of admitting defeat ? until two or three more lurches brought us ever downward.  My wife then jumped out of the car and walked up the curving drive to the sidewalk.   There she threw herself into the task of explaining our plight to various passing Italian couples, armed only with winsome charm, an Italian vocabulary limited to the word ?Prego,? and an amazing ability at pantomime.

   It seemed a long time, but eventually a middle-aged gentleman took pity on us, shrugged lightly as he said something incomprehensible to his wife, and strode to the car.  I gave him the keys and he slid behind the wheel.  The car came to life, bucked, died and dropped a few meters closer to the steel door.  Our benefactor got out, shrugged, handed the keys back to me and rejoined his wife.

  My own wife went back to accosting passing couples with ?Prego!? and gestures.  I stayed with the car, wondering when some tenant in the building would come down the driveway wanting to park his car.  Finally another Good Samaritan, this one a bit older, descended the ramp, watched hopefully by my wife and perplexedly by his wife.  Again, the car lurched forward and died.  The driver looked thoughtfully at me, said something that was a clearly a comment on the quirkiness of transmission, then turned the key again.  And backed the car up the ramp, and into the street, turning it in the right direction. 

  He then smilingly gave the key to me, opened the door for my wife, then took his wife?s arm and bowed to our chorus of ?Grazie! Mille Grazie!?

  The frescoes were memorable.  But perhaps not the most memorable part of the day.
229

The VW, Jack, and the Oxcart

The end of the fall 1965 semester was quickly approaching and we were looking forward to driving from Germany to Greece for the holidays. Of the four of us, only two could drive and only one had a car, so we all crammed into the ?50s vintage VW bug.

The two drivers figured we could travel non-stop, with one resting while the other drove. But by the time we entered (what was then) Yugoslavia, the two drivers were completely exhausted.

One of the backseat passengers volunteered to drive, commenting that he knew how to drive, it just made him sleepy. The original two were so tired they handed over the keys and fell into a deep sleep in the back seat.

The new driver started out ok, and I chatted away in the front passenger seat, keeping him awake. Around 10:00 at night, however, I too was tired and fell asleep.

About a half an hour later, we were all jolted when the VW ended up in a deep ditch by the side of the road. It had been snowing, and the driver had nodded off. We got out and surveyed the situation. The car appeared to be OK but the ditch was too deep and the sides too slippery for us to push the Bug back onto the road. We didn?t have any money and there weren?t any towns nearby. What to do?

We were about to break out the bottle of Jack Daniels we were intending to give as a gift to the parents of a Greek friend where we would be (or at least hoped to be) staying over the break, when we saw a shadowy figure emerge from the ground level mist. We weren?t in Transylvania (at least we didn?t think we were) so we were pretty sure it wasn?t a vampire, but we huddled together anyway.

It turned out to be a farmer with?of all things?an oxcart! After some arm waving and grunting (from the oxen, not the farmer), he hitched the oxen to the Bug and pulled it from the ditch. The motor started up and we would soon be on our way. I was happy to be out of the ditch, but my friends were crying. Because the only thing we had to repay the oxcart driver was the bottle of Jack Daniels.

230

I was thirteen years old when my mother and step-father decided we should drive across the country to visit family in Greenville, South Carolina. The trip from our home near Los Angeles was estimated to take eight days each way, stopping for sight-seeing at places like the Grand Canyon. The car was my mother’s Pontiac Phoenix … I don’t remember what year car it was, but they only made them for seven (1977 - 1984). We were not rolling in dough, so it was decided that the most economical way to make the trip was to camp in KOAs along the way. Although I was not excited about the dirt and the insects, I was thrilled that there was usually a swimming pool available. My sister (then 11) was excited that we were allowed to eat less healthy food than normal.

The trip out was fine. We visited the family, staying for almost a week, and then began the trip back. About then, our change in habits began to have their effects. My sister’s sudden avoidance of fruits and vegetables wrecked havoc on her digestive system. The hours I spent each evening in the pool, once we had set up camp, led to “swimmer’s ear” – a painful ear infection. I was eventually taken to an E.R., somewhere in Tennessee I think, when my fever got out of hand. I don’t remember exactly what was wrong with my mother, but I believe it was some kind of summer cold.

Pre-adolescent girls are not 100% enjoyable on a family vacation in the best circumstances, but when they are miserable and in pain, no one is having a lot of fun. Therefore it wasn’t surprising when my step-father decided to forego planned stops on the return itinerary, opting for the most direct route back home. What was surprising was that, about a half hour west of Albuquerque, he stopped to pick up a hitchhiker…something we had NEVER seen him do before.

The hitchhiker (named Opel, I believe) turned out to be a tourist from South Africa. What my step-father had seen was that the man’s (rental) car was a smoldering blackened hull by the side of the road. It was also summer in New Mexico and hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Heading west on I-40, there was not much between Albuquerque and the Opel’s destination: Flagstaff, Arizona. In other words, particularly in the pre-cell phone age, not some place you would want to be stranded in high summer heat.

Now, since my sister and I were both in the back seat feeling rather unwell and generally sleeping leaned up against the doors, Opel was placed on the bench seat between us. His knees were in his face, as his feet were on the bump in the floor. We hadn’t driven 10 minutes when my sister threw up all over his feet. My mother found a bag for her to finish throwing up in. I can’t remember what we did with that bag, but the whole car reeked!

Although he was grateful for the ride, Opel was really glad to get out of the car when we finally got to Flagstaff. I started typing this thinking this was our road trip from hell, but actually, it was his.

231

In the early 70s a friend decided to move back to Georgia from Califonia. She didn’t want to drive across country alone, so I agreed to fly out and drive back with her. I should have asked a lot of questions before agreeing. It was the dead of summer… I got to her place in LA. The first thing I noticed was her car was not air conditioned!!! I think, well we can just leave early each morning and drive while it is cool and stop in the heat of the day and relax in the motel pool. Her idea of getting up early was 8ish, mine was 5ish. She won. The next issue was that she smoked, I don’t. As if the smoking in the car wasn’t bad enoungh, she required a particular cigarette in a particular package, it was difficult to find. For some reason I never could grasp, she would only buy one pack at a time. Each day we spent a considerable amount of time looking for the illusive brand in the uncomon package. Fortunately for me, there were not yet many “open container” laws and bags of herbs were cheap and readily available. I have never agreed to drive across country with anyone again.

232

My wife, my buddy and I decided to take a road trip down to Death Valley, CA during the month of December 2002. On the second day, we decided to visit the tallest point, Telescope peak to watch the sunset. Since our hunger got the better of us, we ate, dozed off for a while and by the time we were anywhere near the peak, it was dark. Being adventurous and believing everything on the guide book, like there is a nice trail that goes to the top, we charged forward. We had enough water and flash light with us, and so, we were not too worried. As we approached to 8000 feet, we started seeing some white patches on the side of the road. Being from California, it was not until the entire surrounding turned white in the moonlight, we realized it was snow. As we kept climbing the snow kept getting dense. This is when my wife changed to her cautionary tone, which in most cases I don’t listen to and I can’t think of a time I don’t repent. My buddy and I being too confident about what an all-wheel drive can do, especially given that neither of us had one, kept our course. Shortly after, my buddy caved in and suggested we head back. At this point, I just did not want to admit defeat but slowed down my speed considerably. I came to a particularly banked left turn and it was sloping towards a drop off without guard rails. I realized I’d be putting everyone’s life at risk beyond this point. I turned the car into the bank with the hope of doing a 3-point turn to head back. When the vehicle came to a complete forward stop, I realized it started slipping sideways on the ice towards the deep dark drop-off. I cannot tell you how sure I was that it was our end. I was totally thrilled to realize the vehicle stopped by a boulder that was covered under the snow. I quickly reversed the vehicle and started our descent. After initial excitement of cheating death, I realized the vehicle was going a little too swift for my comfort and I began to put down on the brakes. It is a queer feeling when you press the break and the vehicle moves faster. I for a second was suspecting that I might have depressed the accelerator. I pushed the brake as hard as I could. My friend-the wise, from the back realizing that we might be going too fast shouts, “Hey! Press the brakes!”. I’m thinking, now we are going to fall face first instead of sideways. In a moment of anger at my luck, I let go of the brakes and punched it hard again. It was wonderful to hear the sound of ABS kick-in and our vehicle starting to show the signs of deceleration. After some distance, the snow started to ease off and we came down in one piece.

It is a good laugh and the clarity of the incident is fading away from our memories as the time goes by. But, thinking about it brings me back the same joy, I felt to see my wife and friend safe, when we got out of the car that night back at the hotel.

233

Dear Tom & Ray,
My most memorable road trip occurred when I was about 9 years old and we were traveling from Virgina to New Hampshire for vacation in our 1970 Ford Galaxy 500 (creamy yellow) and pulling our pop up camper. My parents’ impeccable timing put us on the George Washington Bridge outside of New York City at rush hour. We were about two-thirds of the way across when the camper sustained a flat tire and my father refused to drive the rest of the way off the bridge. Because of the configuration of the camper frame, the car jack could not lift it with out causing damage to the camper. My mom was freaked out that someone would hit us and made my youngest sister take off her bright yellow shirt so that she could flag folks around us. Finally the police showed up and called for a truck to help us. What arrived 2 hours later was the heavy-duty-pop-up-camper version of a forklift! The camper was lifted, the tire replaced and we shared our gum drops with the police man who told my mom to get out of the road and give my sister back her shirt! I still laugh about this! Thanks for asking!
Elizabeth (Salem, Oregon)

234

You’ll love this one because it has an historical component to it. I was 12 years old and our family had been planning our first ever trip to sunny Florida for months. The date was April 5th 1968 (MLK Jr. was assassinated on April 4th). The pop-up camper my parents had rented had a propane bottle, which was considered too hazardous to go through the Baltimore Harbor Tunnel, so we left early so we could go through the city. Due to the events of the previous day there had already been some rioting in Baltimore city, but we were hoping that our early start would help us avoid some of the rioting troubles the city was experiencing. However, we realized not long after we got into the city that we should have found another way. Of course we could have driven around the city on the new Baltimore beltway, but that was too far out of the way for my thrifty Dad. We got through the city without incident, and as we were driving between Baltimore and Washington, DC my parents got into a discussion about the vacation money. Mom thought Dad had gotten it out her jewelry chest, and of course Dad had thought she had gotten it. As it turned out, no one had remembered to get our vacation money, a whopping $350, which was more than enough for our trip. They decided to leave my mother and older brother on the side of the Baltimore Washington expressway with the trailer, and my dad and the three younger kids would go back through the tunnel to get the money. We could not go back through the city since we felt very fortunate to have made it the first time. Our car had not even gotten out of sight before they heard a faint mewing from inside the trailer. Did I forget to mention that we could not find the family cat before we left that morning? We looked everywhere, and we crawled as far into the folded up trailer as we could, but the cat was nowhere to be found. Mom opened the door on the trailer and a slightly dizzy Lucky (the cat’s name) crawled out. Mom tried to flag us down as we passed by on the other side of the divided highway, and we did see her frantically waving at us, but we just thought she was saying goodbye, with great alacrity. My brother and mother made the momentus decision to let Lucky go into the wilds of central Maryland rather than make another trip back to return the stupid cat. My brother was sworn to secrecy, and managed to keep the cover story a secret for many, many years. Going through the tunnel saved a lot of time, and we got back to them in about an hour. We rehooked the trailer and we were on our happy way, flush with our fortune and expecting a great time in sunny Florida. Our '63 Chevy Biscayne station wagon had never towed anything before, and in Alexandria, VA, the transmission decided it had had all that it was going to take, and we got no further. I still recall waiting in the AAMCO transmission shop for the new transmission to be installed, and when the job was done it was time to pay the bill of course. I don’t remember how much the repair cost, but I do remember what it took. My Mom collected all of the money all four kids had saved for our trip, and pooled it with the $350 travel money, and it was barely enough. I remember after Mom had given the money to the guy he counted it and gave her $1 back, and that was all we had. We had no choice but to return home, and when we did we went around the beltway. It was a very sad return trip. That night my grandfather, who always seemed to have lots of money, either gave, or loaned my parents enough money for the trip, to include the money that had been collected from the kids. So the next morning we were on our way, and this time we went around the beltway, because a good portion of Baltimore was on fire due to the massive rioting. There we were back on the Baltimore/Washington expressway and I remember my Mom cyring when she saw troops in the back of Army trucks going toward Washington. They were National Guard troops going to try to stop the rioting. The B/W expressway is a bit elevated when it passes by DC on the East side of tone, and you can look down on the entire capital city. We could see plumes of smoke coming from every part of the city. It looked like some sort of war zone. Later on in the trip we stopped along route 301 to have some lunch, but when my Dad went to get something out of his home made car top carrier (a 6X6X2 plywood box) he found that the massive lid was gone, lost somewhere along the route. I don’t remember much else about that trip, but the first day, done twice, is something I will never forget.

235

This was written by my 17 yr. old daughter as a short entry for her senior project

This article was written by my 17 yr. old daughter as an entry in her senior project:

                           Death Valley Daze

Visiting Death Valley wasn?t the worst part. Visiting Death Valley for a whole day wasn?t the worst part. Visiting Death Valley for a whole day during the summer wasn?t the worst part. Visiting Death Valley and driving through it for the whole day during the summer wasn?t the worst part. Visiting Death Valley and driving through it for the whole day without air conditioning was the worst part. And get this, my parents willingly chose to drive through Death Valley without air conditioning. I?m going to repeat that. They CHOSE to drive through Death Valley, the hottest place on the planet (true fact), during the summer in a car with an air conditioner that worked perfectly well. If that doesn?t constitute child abuse, then I don?t know what does. It was the most horrible, yet most fun experience of my entire life. Noah, Juliet (my siblings), and I watched as every drop of liquid was sweated out of our bodies and steam rose out of our ears. We even had a water fight in the back seat. The temporary relief the drops of water brought evaporated as fast as the water touching our skin. It honestly felt like a giant hair dryer was blowing on our whole body. And just at the moment when my parents succumbed to the ever powerful heat and decided to turn on the air conditioner, we saw a sign that said, ?Danger: Overheating Area. Turn off air conditioner for next 7 miles.? Oh joy! The only thing I got out of the experience (besides permanent damage to my vital organs) was the ?privilege? to say, ?My family is probably the only family in the 21st century to have driven through Death Valley without turning on the air conditioner.? But, I still love them. I know, right? Who would have thought?

236

Oh, I had the ultimate vacation from hell. It started as a well planned, much needed three week vacation. You know it had to go down hill from there.

Let me set the stage, we planned a three week road trip from Corning, NY to Banff and Jasper in the Canadian Rockies and back. We were off to a good start when we approached Border control at the Lewistown Bridge in Western New York / Ontario. To give you a visual picture, I was driving a Chevy Blazer and pulling the largest popup trailer that Coleman sells. On top of the Blazer was a 15’ red canoe. On top of the popup was three bikes. My wife was in the front passenger seat and my 17 year old daughter was in the back.

I eased up to the border agent, “Citizenship?” “United States.” “Where are you going?” “Canadian Rockies.” "Driving or Flying? “…” Let me repeat the visual, Blazer, popup, canoe, bikes. Does this look like carry on? By nature, I tend to be sarcastic. I know better than to mouth off to officials who can make your life miserable. But “driving or flying?” This was a perfect Bill Engvall “Here’s Your Sign” moment. Somehow I managed a “driving?” response. “Do you know how far it is?” This has gone beyond ludicrous. A response of “its only this far |___| on the map” is dying to come out, but I suppress it in favor of a “Yes.” “Okay, go on.” And we were on our way, … to hell.

We spend Saturday night at a campground north of the border and then continued west on Sunday morning. Late Sunday afternoon the fun and games began. Approaching Thunder Bay, Ontario the transmission began to act up. By the time we reached Thunder Bay, there was no longer any transmission to act up. I called CAA and they towed me to a transmission shop; closed, of course. We gathered some luggage and caught a cab to a local hotel. The next morning, I made arrangements for a transmission rebuild. A friendly employee towed our trailer to a local campground and we set up and waited. By late Tuesday, the transmission was rebuild and installed and we decided to make up as much distance as possible. Late Tuesday, we pulled into a hotel for some rest.

The next morning, I checked under the SUV only to find puddles of transmission fluid. I made a call to the shop in Thunder Bay and was advised to keep the transmission fluid topped off and call back as we approached Winnipeg for the name of an affiliate shop who could check it out. Outside of Winnipeg, I called back and was directed to transmission shop #2. Again, we gather luggage and headed to a hotel.

Thursday morning, my wife took my daughter to a medical clinic as she had come down sick and I staked out a spot at the transmission shop and spurred them on to a quick repair. By late Wednesday with my daughter on antibiotics and several leaks repaired, we were on the road again.

One hour outside of Winnipeg, the electrical system started to fail. About one hour and five minutes out of Winnipeg, I was making another call to CAA. Our friendly tow truck driver towed us to a near by campground and took the Blazer away for more repairs. The next morning, he returned and drove me to the shop to pick up the Blazer with a rebuilt alternator.

Amazingly, we made it from breakdown three to Banff and Jasper without incident. The only thing that made the vacation redeemable was the abundance of wildlife in Jasper. It was incredible, . . . but the trip was not done yet.

Leaving the Canadian Rockies, we decided to drop down into the States and drive across the northern states. We visited Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump in Alberta and then dropped down into Montana. Late in the day as we approached Great Fall, Montana the electrical system started to fail. I pulled off the interstate and into a hotel parking lot for another night at a hotel. The next morning, I found a near by repair shop. He took the NAPA alternator back to a local dealer and installed the replacement into the Blazer. He also discovered a wire from the electric brakes that was rubbing against a bracket and had rubbed off all the insulation causing a short. Convinced that the problem was solved, we were back on the road.

Late in the afternoon we were approaching Bozeman and, who would have guessed it, the electrical system started to fail. I pulled off the highway and into another hotel parking lot. By this time, my daughter was at risk of missing a college interview at the college she eventually attended, so she and her mother rented a car and left me with the Blazer, et. al. in Bozeman. The next morning, I proceeded to a GM dealer who installed a genuine GM alternator.

Off I went with the five times repaired Blazer and headed for home. The winds can be wicked across the northern states and the pushing and tugging on the canoe eventual worked one of the roof racks free and a loss of a bracket was the result. I had no choice but to strap things down as best as I could. Of course, it resulted in repairs to both the canoe and the top of the Blazer.

Finally entering New York State, I was running low on fuel. I pulled off the highway and into a gas station. Did I mention that this was August 2003 and I was heading home on Thursday the 14th? I swiped my credit card and just started to pump gas when the blackout that was spreading across the Northeast and Canada hit Erie. I was unable to pump more than a drop.

I continued East conserving as much fuel as possible (e.g. AC off) until I found a pocket of power in Hornell and a gas station in the pocket. Fueled up, I proceeded home without incident.

What can I say? The vacation was memorable and has provided numerous good stories.

PS. A month after we traded the Blazer in, I received a call from the dealer asking if we had any additional key fobs. I told him we had given him the only ones we had. It seems that the new owner had taken the Blazer to Canada and having turned it off, we unable to start it again. Maybe this Blazer had a grudge against Canada.

237

My husband and I got married in May 1977 and decided for our honeymoon in August 1977 to visit all of our relatives from Arizona to South Dakota, Indiana, West Virginia and Kentucky and drive home to Arizona. We went in our new VW Rabbit which was a brand new car in those days. Somewhere in the south, the Rabbit started to jerk and stutter - we stalled in Memphis, Tennessee the day after Elvis Presley died. There was NO PLACE to stay so I slept in the car on the side of the road while my 6’3" husband spent the night sitting in a coffee shop. I had cracked the window of the car and was chewed alive by mosquitoes during the night with 30 bites on each foot. The next day we called a tow truck and the man said that he had towed a family to the VW dealer in Rock Springs, Arkansas - and two weeks later the people were still there waiting for their car to be fixed. He said that he would tow us to a little town out of Memphis to Mr. Benefield and he could fix the car so we agreed to that offer. Mr. Benefield said that the car had water in the gas tank and he could fix it temporarily so we could get back to Arizona and then we should take it to the dealer there. The hilarious part of the trip was when we were in Arkansas and the garage men looked under the hood and the electric fan turned on - they said “look at that - that little bitty fan turned on all by itself”. We agreed to allowing them to fix the car for little expense because we had little money. The nightmare continued when we began driving across Texas and Arizona and had to stop every 100 miles to top off the tank because the car would jerk and stall - so we had to stop and get gas for $2.50 a pop. When we got back to Tucson - I took the car to the VW dealer and they said that because we had a “unauthorized” person touch the car so the warranty was voided. We took the car to another VW dealer in Tucson who drove the car around the block and said “take it back to the dealer and demand it be fixed”. We did that and they fixed it (sort of) but that car was never the same. VW Rabbit’s were so new - no one really knew how to fix them and the catalytic converter was a new fangled thing. It was a nightmare honeymoon and an experience that I will never forget.

238

In the summer of '87, we bought a used motorhome from a divorcing couple. We knew them, and we knew it had sat unused for a couple of years. We invested some money and sweat in new upholstery and curtains, as well as new A/C compressor and other mechanical maintenance, and a new inner ceiling to replace one stained from roof leaks. I also repaired several pinholes in the metal roof from years of bicycles and lawnchairs being carried there; to prevent recurrence, I glued 1/8 masonite in the roof luggage area.

We finally set out–myself, wife, son (age 7), and daughter (age 4)–for a month of motorhoming. About 10 minutes away from home, the wind lifted the masonite, along with the lawnchairs and bikes and luggage rack, and deposited them in the middle of the road, where they were promptly flattened by passing gravel trucks. I pulled into the bar ditch (it was a no-shoulder, two-lane country road) and collected the trashed equipment. Unfortunately, the starter would not engage, so I had to crawl under the home with the fire ants, hammer in hand, and whack on the starter to get the solenoid to release. After replacing the brokend starter heat shield and repairing the luggage rack and roof, we headed out again the next day (sans bikes or chairs.)

About an hour from home, the A/C compressor began screaming. I got out my gauges and flared some refrigerant from the overcharged compressor. About lunchtime, on I-10 in middle of the Sonoran desert, the A/C fan belt broke, taking the other belt with it. I hitched into Sonora, leaving the family on the shoulder with the generator running the rooftop A/C, and was brought back by a local mechanic who put on the new belts.

It was late in the day, so we stayed that night a nearby RV park. I thought couldn’t get electricity from any of the poles, but discovered with my multimeter that each pole had electricity. The pole into which the motorhome was plugged was not the problem. It had been a long day. As I was quite literally banging my head into the side of the motorhome, my wife opened the door and announced, “I don’t know what you’re doing, but the juice just came on!” Hallelujah.

The next day, around Van Horn, Texas, the motorhome began sputtering. It would not climb hills at all. I removed the carburetor’s gas filter to find it completely clogged with rust. (Remember, the motorhome had long sat unused, which undoubtedly permitted rust to develop in the gas tank.) I added a second in-line, easy to replace, see-through bowl filter, bought a supply of them, and headed towards Amarillo where we were to pick up my parents.

In Amarillo, I removed the gas tank, had a radiator shop boil it out and solder uup the pinholes that developed as a result, and we all headed to New Mexico. Our first night in the national forest was disturbed by the smell of the gas constantly dripping from the multiple new pinholes that had developed on the road. A kind, neighboring camper took me to the nearest town, where I bought some gas tank repair gum. By the time the trip was over, the gas tank looked like the underside of a middle school cafeteria table.

Over the next three weeks on the road, motorhoming was a daily challenge. The household water pump went out, we blew a tire, we cracked a windshield, and we discovered on a dusty mountain road that large hole in the inner fender well of the rear dual axle permitted large clouds of dust to enter the cabin through a closet floor.

Fortunately, and our to our surprise and relief, we made it home Labor Day weekend. Having decided that God did not really intend for houses to travel at 70 mph, we sold the motorhome to the first person who made us an offer. I was never so glad to see a vehicle leave my ownership. The fellow who bought it lived nearby, which worried me some, but he drove it thousands of miles for the next three years without incident. Clearly, we were not intended to be motorhomers.

239

My spouse, two kids, our beagle and I piled into our Ford Falcon for a trip from Delaware to New Mexico. It was July, 1961 and air conditioning was a distant dream. The trip began well enough, that is, we got out of the driveway without hitting anything or each other, but by the end of the first day the engine was getting noisy and losing power. This had happened before and I had determined that the rocker arms were out of adjustment, which I had corrected by adjusting the clearance with a feeler gauge. So, at the end of the day, while the family hunkered down in a motel room, I did it again. Ditto the next afternoon and again the next evening, only by then I was running out of adjustment. Happily, the next morning we were passing through Pratt, Kansas, so I stopped at the local Ford dealer, Trout Motors. I walked into the open garage and asked a mechanic about getting some new rocker arms. He said, ?Oh, you don?t need new rockers- there?s a bulletin on that problem. The rockers aren?t getting enough lubrication so the bearings are wearing out. It?s a simple fix. I?ll take care of it.? With that, he removed one of the bolts which holds the assembly to the block and ground down one side. It turns out the oil is supposed to flow around the bolt to lubricate the arms but the annulus was too small. I started the engine and the oil flowed beautifully throughout the assembly. He wouldn?t take any money for his work and only reluctantly charged me for a couple spare rockers to replace those which had completely bottomed out.
With the car problem fixed we had only to endure four people and a dog in an un-air conditioned compact car traveling four thousand miles through the Midwest in July. Incidentally, we?re still married after fifty four years, which I attribute in no small measure to air conditioning and hydraulic valve lifters.

Lee Schaller, Chapel Hill, NC

240

True Story! I have several of them since I suffer from what me and my wive call the Risk Curse but this is one of my favorites. Driving home one morning from work (I work midnights) I had went out of my way to stop at a fellow co-workers place to pick up some horse manure to put on my compost piles. After leaving his place with my load of manure I entered the outskirts of Waskom TX (A little dusty road town in East Texas). A man decides to run a stop sign right in front of me. And not only did I hit him but I also got a pile of horse manure in the cab of my truck since I had the sliding rear window open.

The guy gets out and starts yapping, telling how he can fix my truck in a couple of hours and how he knows the police chief there in Waskom since he was just there appling for a job openning and on and on he yaps. The Waskom police chief shows up and they do know each other. This is never a good sign in a small Texas town. The chief takes our liciences and insuance cards and after taking a few pictures he wants to head back to the office to finish the paperwork since a big strom is brewing on the horizon.

While at the police station and while the chief is doing the paperwork I have my truck chained to a telephone pole trying to pull my bumper back out so I can drive it home. The whole time all this is going on the guy has not stopped yapping and by this point I thinking an assault charge would be worth getting him to shutup. Then the chief comes out and gets in the guys car and is looking it over and I see him take the keys out of the ignition. First sign of something going real sour here.

Then the chief gets right up in his face getting his attention (bad sign #2) all the while this guy has still not shut up. Then two other officers come from around the back of the building and come up behind this guy. (bad sign #3) Then the chief tells him that the car that he is driving comes back as stolen from San Antonio. The guy of course denies this and tells a long story how he buying this car of his buddie who lives down the street and tells him how he even helped this guy fix up the car after it had been wrecked. Yeap (bad sign #4) the handcuffs.

While in the office the chief questions this still yapping guy about the owner who’s name he is not quite sure of and when he gives the chief an address for him that is just a couple numbers off on a street that is just spelled a few letters different in a town that is almost like the one on the title. All this time the girl that is with him is making all sorts of strange sounds from the back of the room and the chief keeps asking her if she is all right. She was not in real good shape.

The stories comes out that the guy had been appling for a job while driving a stolen car with dope in it a stoned chick riding shotgun. As if this was not enough here I am driving home with a wrecked truck, with a pile of fresh horse manure all over the cab and my lucky day only gets better when I run into the storm that had been brewing on the horizon. Ever had the priviledge of having to unload a truck load of soggy wet horse manure?

The final spin on the story. The stolen car was insured by Progreeive and of course they wouldn’t pay to fix my truck since the car was stolen. The guy of course didn’t have insurance so the repair bill is on me. The last time I talked with Progessive they couldn’t locate the driver, they couldn’t locate the car and they had never from the beginning been able to locate the insured on the car.

What a load of manure.