England 1969. My Father had recently bought a 1966 Triumph 1300. Nice little car. He took it in to the local Triumph dealer, Lambs in Romford Essex, just outside London, to have them check it out as we were about to take our annual summer holiday in Spain. Car checked out fine so, that weekend, off we went. Drove down to Southampton and got on the car ferry to Bilbao, N. Spain, a two day trip. Arrived in Bilbao just fine and started to head west along the coast towards Santander. 30 miles down the road, half way up one of the many large hills, the car got stuck in 2nd gear. Managed to limp it back to Bilbao, in 2nd all the way and took it late that night to the local shop that dealt with Triumphs. This was at the time you were allowed to take out of the UK only UKP 50 per person. The following morning, the shop had the engine half out of the car and we were told it was going to be at least UKP 100. Two thirds of the money we had for 2 weeks holiday. Had them drop the engine back in and headed, still in 2nd, for the next ferry home to England. Five days after departing, arrived back in Upminster, Essex, 120 miles from Southampton, the whole way, stuck in 2nd. Turned out to be a chewed up syncro.
1988 was a great year for me. I was 38 years old and 2 of my lifetime dreams were being fulfilled. The University of Kansas basketball team had just won the national championship and I was a partner in a law firm, doing what I had always wanted to do ? try lawsuits. But it was also in that year that I was in the process of setting the Guinness Book of World Records for the ?most number of times trying to quit smoking.? Although I had never looked at the Guinness Book of World Records, I am certain I am listed in first or second place for the most attempts to quit smoking.
In late spring, 1988, I fulfilled another lifetime dream and bought a brand new red Porsche. A friend of me reminded me that I did not buy a new Porsche, I just bought a ?944 Porsche? and that I should save my money and buy a real Porsche some time. But it was a new Porsche nevertheless. When I drove into the driveway at home, I remember my wife looking at me matter-of-factly and saying, ?I hope this is the only thing you bring home in your mid-life crisis.?
I took the opportunity with the new car to again attempt to stop smoking. I put my left hand on the dashboard, raised my right hand and swore I would never smoke in that car.
Fast forward to the winter of 1988. I had kept my vow to never smoke in the car. I had ?virtually? quit smoking and I loved, loved to drive that Porsche. One cold winter in December, 1988, I was traveling to Kansas City, Kansas to attend a ?pretrial conference.? From Wichita, Kansas to Kansas City, Kansas is a 2 ? hour drive in my Porsche. As I entered the Kansas Turnpike in Wichita, I realized the pretrial conference started in 2 hours and 15 minutes. Being late always adds stress. In addition, I remember it being a fairly difficult case involving a long-time large corporate client. And I also remember the judge was, well, a federal judge. You don?t pick up the phone and call a federal judge and say, ?hey, buddy, I?m running a few minutes late. Go ahead and start without me.? Stress.
As I approached the Matfield Green rest/concession/restaurant area on the Turnpike, I devised a plan to eliminate my stress. I stopped for three minutes, bought a pack of cigarettes and a large Coke. If I cranked up the Porsche to faster than 90 miles an hour, I had it made.
It was very cold outside, but I bended my vow somewhat and decided the vow should not be I would not smoke, but rather that my car would not smell like smoke. So I opened the sunroof and rolled down the windows. I accelerated to 95 mph and cranked the stereo as high as it would go. I drank half the Coke and set it between my legs and for the first time since April, I lit a cigarette with the lighter. My plan was to use the half-filled Coke glass as an ashtray, keep the windows wide open, travel as fast as I could, not use the ashtray, and keep the Porsche as fresh smelling as the day I bought it.
As I puffed on that glorious cigarette and flicked the ashes into the cup between my legs, flying along the turnpike at 95 mph as the caffeine and nicotine kicked in, I decided there was probably nothing better than this.
It was really cold outside. Something was wrong with the car?s heater: it must have been 100 degrees in the car. I was fussing with the heater when I noticed that my favorite polyester necktie was engulfed in flames. The tip of my tie had rested in the Coke cup with a smoldering cigarette. The wind through the sunroof and windows whipped up the flames. Fire climbed up my necktie toward my throat. As a reaction, I did what any cool, calm, collected trial lawyer would do: I blew between my legs with all my might. And then I started slapping the necktie to beat out the flames. How the car maintained its speed and direction I will never know. I put the fire out and arrived at the judge?s courtroom in Kansas City three minutes before the judge walked in and sat down.
Knowing that Pee Wee Herman never appeared in the U.S. District Court for the District of Kansas, I can safely say that I am the only person ever to appear in that courthouse in a 3-button suit with every button buttoned, wearing ? of a polyester necktie.
A few years back ,I was on my way to do a guest set with a friend, out at the Woody Guthrie festival in Oklahoma . As it was more âjust for funâ and not a real gig , I thought it would be cool to take a Greyhound bus, just like I did when I was 17 , where I had an amazing adventure . Besides, with sky high gas prices it seemed like the right thing to do. I thought, âhey , let?s see if I can leave the driving to Greyhound and just watch the scenery roll by.â I should have known when I was thinking ?adventure ?, that you have to be careful what you wish for.
The trip started off well, I boarded my bus in Burlington Vermont and in a short time was on my way . My route seemed a bit odd as the bus I was on was bound for New York, but my ticket said I have to get off and change at the next station For Boston and then head for New York. Well, I tried to stay on the bus, but the driver said , ?No ,your ticket says You have to go to Boston first and then go to New York!? . Ok, so while on the way to Boston , while going through a toll in New Hampshire I noticed that two highway trucks were pulling us off the road. When the surprised Bus driver pulled over and opened the door , we heard that the bus was on fire!
The driver ordered everyone to stay where you are , and ran out side locking us all inside the bus. Everyone was frightened as we saw the fire trucks and the police cars swarming around us. A police man shouted what are you doing in this bus! Everyone has to get out! So we all grabbed our luggage and quickly exited the bus. When we got outside ,The bus driver was frantically getting our luggage out of the bottom of the bus, while the fireman were still fighting the flames. So, we waited on the side of the road , till another bus from another bus line stopped and picked us up.
By the time we got to Boston I had missed the bus for New York and had to wait another few hours for the next bus to Philadelphia which I missed too. Now at the bus station in ?Philly? the place was so packed that there was no where to sit but on the floor. People were lined around the room in the middle of the night sitting on well worn suitcases.
I could tell by the looks of the folks at the station , that the Hobos that can?t ride freight trains , are now all riding Greyhound.
So the next bus was over crowded with not a seat left empty . The bus driver was a smart dressed fellow who called himself ?Action Jackson? wearing a golden necklace sporting his moniker. Now ?Action? had warned everyone about the rules which stated that there was? No smoking on his bus,? Action repeated ?If you smoke ,you walk!? It was not long before some idiot tested the rules and found himself thrown off the bus on the middle of the inter-state, needless to say no one spoke much on that ride , but to his credit he brought the bus in on time.
At the next stop the driver changed and the new bus driver brought the bus into Indianapolis. The bus driver stepped off the bus and told everyone to get some lunch and left our bus running as he walked over to the office. After a half hour, everyone was seated and ready to go but we had no driver! Another half hour went by and finally a man from the office came to tell us that ? Your Bus driver just quit and we don?t have another driver but we are looking for some one, I will be back when we find one.?
Another half hour went by and still no driver. After another 20 minutes the office man came back with a woman dressed in a Greyhound uniform. Then he said ?this is your new driver who will take you to your next stop in St Louis, but there is a problem , she has never been that route , before , so perhaps some of you who have been there before can help her.?
In a time of things such as Map quest, GPS and other navigational devices it boggles the mind to imagine that Greyhound did not even believe of giving their drivers a road map! But such was the case and true to the officialâs word this woman had no clue where we were going ! Of course there were plenty of ?expert travelers ? on our bus who gave her all kinds of interesting travel options , which to my disbelieve she followed, taking us off the inter-state down through small towns over tiny bridges that we just inched by and even a dirt cow-path which we almost got stuck in.
By the time we reached St Louis it was way after midnight and we soon found out that the driver had no idea where the bus station was. So, she decided to stop the bus and started asking people on the street. It was hard to believe but we were now following the directions from the winos and hookers (the only people walking the streets at that time ) As we went down a maze of city streets asking for better directions, I thought it was time to take action.
I picked up my cell phone ( I was the only one on the bus who had one ) and called my wife. So I woke her up and asked her to turn on the computer. She said ?why are you waking me up to turn on the computer? ? Well I told her I needed to know where the bus station was. She said ? I thought you were on the bus!? ?Yes ? I said but the Bus driver could not find the station and needs help. And so, my wife Marianna in Vermont managed to guide the bus to the station, over the cell phone. Now by this time we had missed the next bus and had to wait hours for the next one. When it finally came it was again packed and I now found myself squeezed next to a big fellow dressed in in a complete western outfit, with a hat, boots, chaps and even spurs. I thought that now I was really in for some interesting stories of rodeos and wild horses, so I asked him, ? Looks to me like you ride!? he said ?yes I do, I am a truck driver from New York City .? Then a few moments later he said he did not want to catch a cold and then pulled his red bandanna up over his face. As I sat next to him I felt like I was in some strange movie and at the next stop in Tulsa, I begged my friends to get me off of this bus!
After the festival I once again, had to âGo Greyhoundâ back to Vermont. This ride was far less stressful , with only one guy getting shot at a lunch stop, bleeding all over the bus seats ,till the Police came and arrested him, and a few arguments between rival Native Americans tribes . Boy was I glad to be back home !
Rik Palieri
Singer/ World traveler
www.banjo.net
I was a senior in high school and the family were all up at our cabin in the San Juan Islands for the weekend. We had brought our cats, because one of them had just had kittens and we didnât want to leave her back at the house. On Sunday afternoon we discovered that the other cat, a white longhair named Mushroom, was missing. Family conference. Decision that everyone but me would go back to Seattle and I would stay until Mushroom showed up.
So Iâm sitting around enjoying the late afternoon and hear meows coming from somewhere. Turns out Mushroom had gotten stuck under the house behind the plywood cladding. I managed to pry open a board and got him out, looked at my watch, and saw that I had about 20 minutes before the last ferry to Anacortes. I grabbed my stuff, grabbed Mushroom (protesting loudly), ran up to the car, threw everything in, and started down the bumpy gravel road out of the property.
First, you must know that Mushroom hated traveling in cars, so he immediately began prowling around the car, including under my feet, all the while wailing like a banshee. Second, you must know that two weeks earlier, the little triangular window on the front passenger side of the car (a 1950 robinâs-egg blue Plymouth station wagon) had been popped out and stolen by someone who apparently needed a replacement part. So Mushroom is now trying to crawl out the triangular hole on the other side of the car, while Iâm careening down a potholed road at 50mph trying to make the ferry, while leaning across the car making grabs at him and trying to throw him into the back seat.
Well, I make it to the ferry as they were dragging the chains across the on-ramp, and they let me on at the last minute. I spent the ferry ride trying to figure out how to plug the window up, and the best I could do was to stuff my parka into it. Now late summer north of Seattle it gets cold at the end of the day, so Iâm already shivering. After a two hour ride (punctuated by having to stop to tie the parka to the door handle with a stray bit of string so it didnât get sucked out the window) in a car with a weak heater and a frightened and angry cat that never stopped yowling, I was both freezing and about to commit violence.
Once back in Seattle it was about 10PM and I hadnât eaten anything since noon. I stopped on 45th Street at the hamburger joint and got out to get dinner. Mushroom immediately bolts out the door, and dashes across 4 lanes of traffic into the empty lot across the street. I run after him, cursing, spend 10 minutes trying to coax him close enough, and finally grab him, go back, throw him (not gently!) into the car, slam the door, and go in to get my meal. At least the exertion had warmed me up.
I come out with my burger, fries, and chocolate shake, open the door, and â sure enough â Mushroom makes another dash for freedom. I grab him by the tail as he goes past me, manage to hang onto him, and then watch helplessly as my chocolate shake spills all over the driverâs side seat.
I had 3 small napkins to clean up two cups of sticky cold mush. (Iâm not about to leave the car again to look for more!) I finally gave up and just sat in it for the 30 minute drive home.
It was weeks before Mushroom and I could be friends again. He was actually a sweet cat. Really. Most of the time. But not in cars.
Yeah, I had a road trip from hell. Or rather my buddies and I had one back in the 70âs. One steamy summer nightâactually around three in the morning, when all of our synapses were firing on cheap beer and fevered aspirations of sudden wealthâwe hit on the idea of taking my friendâs parentsâ 1970 Chevy Impala station wagon, drive to Colorado (we live in northern Minnesota) and load it up with cases of Coors beer to haul back home. Back then you couldnât get Coors in Minnesota, so naturally everybody had to have it as it was considered the drink of the gods (John Denver and his ilk) and a surefire way to get women. (âOh my GawdâŠis that really a COORS!?!â) We left immediately before our parents could tackle us in the driveway and pound our heads against the tar.
The trip out there was a hootâŠno problems. We barreled down the highways nonstop to Colorado, giddy with the thought of the roughly $100 apiece weâd net once the beer was sold back home to our other friends (suckers) at inflated prices. Naturally.
Well, we redneck Rockefellers bought forty cases of Coorsâno kidding, forty casesâand packed the wagon. And I mean PACKED, with about ten cases strapped on the roof and some stacked on our laps. (Naked greed, not denying it.) Somehow no one stopped to think about how much weight we were now lugging along.
Well, on the trip home the first tire exploded just north of Ogallala, Nebraska. The second shredded ouside Pierre, SD. The third blew on the outskirts of Bismarck, ND. The last one leaked into submission just inside the Minnesota border and there we sat, slumped on the dirt shoulder at 3:00 in the morning. Ah the irony.
We sold the Coors the following week and the princely profits ALMOST covered the tripâs tire repairs and tow charges. (We all had to throw twenty bucks into a hat to pacify my buddyâs dad, the owner of the Impala. A big man, he looked even bigger that dark morning slapping a tire iron in his meaty hand, squinting at us, cowered in the Impala, over an unfiltered Camel.)
To this day no one fesses up to being the one who first came up with the idea. And I refuse to drink Coors out of principle.
Hi mi name is Santiago Garcia I?m from Tallahassee FL.
This is one of my favorite adventures and I decided to call it:
Dance on Fire.
The year was 1983. The family & I were moving from Wisconsin to California. They flew, and I drove all of our belongings in a 24â rented truck. I drove them to the airport, and returned to the house to get the truck and the dogs. I hooked up the car to the truck, and off we went. It was March in Wisconsin, so it was still cold with snow on the ground. The sun went down early. As the sun was setting in the west, I was flying south in Illinois, when the engine sputtered, and stopped. Out of gas, with the gauge on 1/4. I pulled off to the side of the road, conveniently near an exit and a farmhouse, took my empty gas can out of the back, left a note for the state patrol, and walked to the farmhouse. I knocked on the door, and asked if I could buy a gallon of gas. They said they didnât have any. Given the number of tractors they had, I somehow doubted it. At that point, a state trooper drove up, and took me to the closest gas station. I got gas, we returned to the truck, and I headed to the gas station. Filled it up, and headed back to the freeway. It was getting dark, so on went the lights. About half way to the freeway, I thought I saw them flicker, but thought it was nothing. As I was flying south at 65 mph, the lights flickered off, and then back on. Five miles later, in the pitch black, they went off, and stayed off. I got the flashers on for light, while wildly flipping the lights on and off. Nothing. I drifted on to the shoulder, and stopped. I kept flipping the switch. Nothing. Five minutes later, the lights came on, and I took off. Five minutes of driving. Lights off again! I was 20 miles north of the nearest town, so it took me about an hour to get there. I pulled into a 7-11, and called the 800 number. I had to stay there for the night, and go to Somebodyâs Truck and Tractor repair in the morning. Luckily, I found a hotel that would take me and the dogs. At 7:30 in the morning, I was at Somebodyâs. The wheels on the tractor next to me were taller than the cab on the truck! About noon they announced I was fixed. The light switch was melted, and, oh, by the way, the oil was down about a quart so keep an eye on it. From then on I faithfully added a quart of oil every 200 miles, to keep it above the add line. So now Iâm in Utah, driving through the mountains. Itâs snowing. And my truck is loosing power. Itâs going slower, and slower, and slower. I pull off at an exit, and into the parking lot of the âSpring Chicken Innâ. I call the 800 number, and they are sending a guy. I go get some chicken, and wait. 45 minutes later, a guy in a tow truck shows up. His plan: re-gap the points using a match book. The truck starts right up, and off I go. 10 miles down the road, I am going down hill, and I canât keep up with the trucks. No power! I hear on the radio that the road is now closed. I pull off, and start disconnecting my car. As I am getting ready to pull out, a car pulls up. Itâs an off duty sherrif, and he says heâll lead me to a hotel. I follow. A few miles down the road, he drives on to an overpass, spins out, and wipes out the front of his car. No problem, itâs still driveable, and they get me to a hotel. I call the 800 number. They will send someone out to get the truck when the road is back opened. At noon, I get a phone call. The truck is fixed. Someone had put the air cleaner on wrong, and it was sucking snow into the carb. They also gave me a new electronic ignition, and reminded me to keep an eye on the oil. Off I go! Iâm on my way out of Salt Lake, in a construction zone and I go over a bump. Everything stops. No electrical. Nothing. I coast off the road and pop the hood. The battery cable has fallen off, which I actually have a wrench to fix. After I tighten it up, off we go, again! Itâs 1 in the morning, and Iâm driving east of Fernly, NV. There is a pop, and my windshield is covered with oil. One mile to an exit, and I make it there. There is a combination motel, gas station, liquor store. The place is full of drunks! I call the 800 number. They tell me to stay there for the night, and someone will be out in the morning. Drop dead! I tell them. Iâm leaving, and they can get the car to me. After reviewing my call history, they agree. I unhook my car, and off to CA I go with the dogs. I pull into my driveway in CA and out comes my wife: Uh, whereâs our stuff? Itâs a long story, and Iâm tired! At 10:00 they call me, and say the truck will be there at 1:00 pm. There is nothing wrong with it, and they are having someone drive it. Promptly at 1:00, the worlds largest tow truck arrives, towing our truck. What happened, I asked. They couldnât find anything wrong, except the oil was low (I guess they missed the oil all over the engine compartment, windshield, etc.) so they added oil, and decided to drive it. They got about 200 miles, by which time they were adding a quart of oil ever 10 miles. He had towed it the last 130 miles.
The good news: I got half my money back,and they paid for all the hotels, and all of the oil!
When I was a young man about 20, there used to be a good cheap way to travel which was auto auction deliveries. A local auto auction would periodically advertise in the newspaper (another bygone practice from the olden days.) They would offer the use of a relatively new or gently used car that was sold here but needed to be delivered in some other city. All one needed was a valid drivers license and an $80 deposit that was refundable upon delivery, along with a 50% rebate on the trip expesnses such as fuel. So through SW auto auctions, I was able to aquire a nearly new late sixties Oldsmobile 98 to drive to (a major city in America) where a girlfriend SAID she needed me to rescue her.(another story) I had recruited my close friend whom shall be known as LB to accompany me on the trip and share the driving. I drove the first leg of the trip to the next state. (obfuscating details is necessary if the statute of limitations hasnât yet expired) I woke up LB and pulled into a truck stop to load him up on strong coffee, and he took over driving. As we headed down an access road approaching freeway (or turnpike if this happened in the east) speed, I noticed a huge green sign that clearly stated âPavement ends in 200 feet.â Being absolutely assurred that LB being awake, alert, and an excellent driver, (so was Rainman) I felt it needless to mention the sign, when we left the end of the road at an incline, which caused the Olds to dive headfirst into a sand dune. (they have them everywhere, no clue here) LB turned off the engine which at least was still running and we went out to have a look. The car was up to the bumper in sand, which is at least soft. We popped the hood to inspect the engine and the only damage found was a broken fanbelt. We extracated the car from the sand dune, and upon further inspection found everything to be nearly normal. The only modification was to the bumper which now had a sort of curly cue accent fortunately on both sides of the center, so it looked almost stylish. If you didnât know the bumper should be straight you may not notice. We made it to a gas station and had the fan belt replaced which cost $12, a lot of money when the budget was about $50 for the whole trip. We then continued on the other two thirds of the nearly 1200 mile journey, being careful not to clean the bugs and road debris off the chrome bumper. When we delivered the car to the destination city, we parked at the curb and went in to present the keys. We were reimbursed the full $80 deposit and reimbursed for 1/2 the gas and the fan belt. We left hurriedly and dissappeared into the fog.
My family of 8 rented a 10 passenger van from a national chain and headed from Minnesota to Michigan for a family vacation. We were 8 adults and all of our luggage crammed in this van. Everything was going along as fine as could be expected until we hit rush hour traffic going through Chicago. Traffic was jammed bumper to bumper, moving at a crawl, and it was almost 100 degrees outside. Our van was on the verge of overheating so we turned off the ac and opened the windows and crept along in the intense heat. As we were driving we gradually notice the van starting to make a humping motion. It wasnât making any sounds but we could feel it kawump, kawump, kawump, and it was getting worse. My Dad immediately said we had a tire going down. My husband and two brother-in-laws disagreed and were adamant that it was not the tire but the road and the heat. We kawumped another few miles down the freeway with my dad swearing up a storm that it was the tire and the rest of us disagreeing. Right about that time a little car pulls up beside us and a lady tells us our tire is really bad and we really need to pull over. This brought about LOTS more swearing and a few other choice words from our dad. Good old Dad, we should have known better than to have doubted him.
We made our way to the shoulder of the freeway and checked the tire. Of course, it was bad. I was in charge of renting the van so I called the car rental company and explained our predicament and that we were in Chicago rush hour traffic. They told me they would send someone out to put on the spare that was in the van. However it was not a full size replacement tire and they would not bring us a replacement tire. We were responsible for finding, purchasing, and mounting the new tire. And, if we wanted to be reimbursed for the new tire, we?d have to return the bad tire when we returned the van. We passed on their offer to come out and change the tire since we were plenty capable of changing a tire. So, on the side of the freeway in Chicago rush our traffic we unloaded all our luggage got out the spare they has sent us off with and replaced the tire.
We proceeded down the freeway taking the first exit, meandered through Chicago and hit the first tire store we spotted. I don?t recall what we ended up paying for the new tire but I know it was too much. After wasting the better part of a day on this tire we were back on the road. We finished our road trip with the bad tire taking up valuable space in the van fighting about who was gonna sit by the dirty tire.
After that trip, we decided we probably would take another family vacation together but we would never, ever, ever, all ride together in the same vehicle.
(If this seems familiar, itâs because I sent it to you a couple of years ago. I think it should qualify as a âRoad Trip from Hellâ.)
It was December, 1955. I was in the Navy, serving aboard a destroyer based in San Diego, and scheduled for deployment to the western Pacific in January. I was looking forward to the three week leave that I had just been granted. My plans were to drive my car home to Minnesota for storage, with a side trip to the Chicago area tovisit my sweetheart. We planned to announce our engagement.
It turned out that a casual aquaintance on the ship was looking for a ride to Denver, so we agreed that I would give him a ride in return for his sharing the driving and gasoline costs. Time has erased the name of this character, but (for reasons which will become evident), I?ll call him ?Jonah?.
Our leave started Friday night at midnight, and we were soon happilyspeeding eastward in my 1952 Plymouth. I had no worries about car trouble as I was the original owner. The Plymouth had been my first new car and I had always maintained it properly.
The trouble started when Jonah took over the driving somewhere east of Yuma. He had driven only a few miles when there was a loud bang and a shower of sparks from under the car. When we got stopped there was a small grease fire under the car. Jonah had failed to completely release the parking brake. Parking brakes on Chrysler vehicles of that vintage consisted of an external band contracting on a drum mounted at the back of the transmission. The pressure from the brake had created so much heat that the brake exploded.
There we were, in the middle of the desert at around 5 a.m. with a car on fire. I attempted to throw sand on the fire, then, in desparation, tried driving a short distance in hopes that the wind would blow it out. Apparently the supply of grease was exhausted, and the fire did go out.
We decided that we could get along without a parking brake, and since we didn?t have much choice, we drove on, in spite of a noticable vibration at 60 miles per hour.
Disturbing facits of Jonah?s character began to be revealed when he gave the finger to some hithchhikers that we passed. Then, as we limped along that day he told me stories of his youthful clashes with Colorado law enforcement agencies, and of his experiences in that state?s correctional institutions. He apparently was in the Navy because he had been given the opportunity of enlisting to avoid additional time in the reformatory.
At this point I started to become anxious to arrive in Denver where I would drop him off.
By midmorning the shift lever had to be held to keep the transmission from popping into neutral. At a station somewhere in Arizona we had the transmission refilled with oil. Apparently the heat from the brake had temporarily opened the seal at the rear of the transmission. While the car was on the lift, I noticed that something had made a clean slice through the tail pipe only an inch or two beneath the gas tank.
The muffler and tail pipe finally fell off late that afternoon, and we were fortunate to find a garage open in Belen, New Mexico to install replacements. By the time we left there it was Saturday night.
Suddenly the vibration was much worse, and soon we were unable to go much over 30 miles per hour.
Finally, at around 3 a.m. Sunday morning, we pulled into an all night station in Colorado Springs. We put the car on a hoist and discovered that three of the four bolts holding the transmission to the bell housing had broken.
I thought we were finished at that point, but the station attendant advised us that there was a nearby garage which was open on Sundays, and that they should be able to drill the broken bolts out and replace them. We were there when they opened at 8 a.m., and by 10 the bolts had been drilled out and replaced.
I hoped that my troubles were over, but as I backed off the hoist I heard a horrible crunching sound. The hoist had failed to go completely down, had caught on the oil pane drain plug, and had ripped the pan open. Repair was beyond the capability of the Sunday garage crew.
At this point Jonah went into a tantrum over his troubles getting home. I told him to go on and catch a bus or hitchhike to Denver. I was really, really glad to see him go. I walked about a mile into downtown Colorado Springs, wired home for money, and checked into a cheap hotel.
Monday the garage expedited the repairs they were unable to accomplish on Sunday, and (after payiing $15 ransom for repair of the damage their faulty hoist caused) I was back on the road by mid-morning. Unfortunately the 60 mile per hour vibration was still with me. By mid-afternoon I couldn?t stand it any longer and stopped at a Plymouth dealership in Arapahoe, Nebraska. The mechanic there thought it was a bad universal joint. When he started to replace the u-joint he found that about a third of my parking brake drum was missing. The unbalanced drum caused the vibration that was the cause of all my problems. In short order he replaced the drum with an old one from his parts bin, and I was on my way.
On the road the Plymouth ran as smoothlyas it had at the beginning of the trip. Then the weather changed and I was confronted with a road covered with black ice.
I finally reached my parents? home around noon on Tuesday. A few days later I had an uneventful drive to Chicago and back, except for the fact that my girl friend had second thoughts, and instead of getting engaged, we broke up.
After all that, it was an anticlimax when my flight to Los Angeles was late. I missed the connecting flight to San Diego, and was four hours A.O.L. (Absent Over Leave) when I finally reported back on board my ship.
There was a happy postscript to this story. Three years later she came back into my life, and in April of this year we celebrated our golden wedding anniversary.
Dale Kenyon
Bloomington, MN
December 28, 2007
This is a bit long but well worth your time to read. LOL
Re: our travel in the autumn: (this was written for his brother and cousins, hence Dad/Pop is referred to as âJerryâ throughout.)
All went well for travel for nearly 2 weeks, to East TennesseeâMilligan and Emmanuel School of Religion, homecoming etc, and on to the farm in Kentucky where Benjamin and Melanie are living with their 3 little munchkins. We started back and were cruising along in our old ?96 Mercury Sable station wagon which was approaching the 200,000 mile mark on the odometer?in fact we expected to reach that before the day ended. However, it was not to be. As were rode along I-65 near Mammoth Cave I heard Jerry exclaim, ?Uh-oh.?
?What? What? I exclaimed rather anxiously.
?The check engine light just came on.?
?Take the first exit, take the first exit!? I insisted.
Shortly thereafter the green signs appeared directing us to Glasgow, KY. We swerved to the right and headed to Glasgow. Our first stop at a gas station/mini mart gave us directions to a Chevrolet dealer on down the road. We pulled into the service area of that place and it was barren of ANY automobiles?and were then directed on to a Ford dealer ?in town.? By this time the car was limping and smelling, and steam was coming from under the hood. More red lights were on the dash and the temperature gauge was off the chart. We tried the old trick of turning on the heater too and urging the car forward with our bodies.
As we coasted into the Ford dealership I quipped, ?While we are here we could just choose us a new car.?
That was to become a prophetic statement when the car was diagnosed with a cracked block. The necessary repair would require at least 24 hours, $1600, AND locating said replacements in a junkyard about. There were not many choices here, so the next move was to locate a car salesman. After giving him the preferred requirements for another car: ?something that has a trunk big enough to transport our existing load to Texas,? he drove us a couple of blocks to the used car lot.
By this time the wind was kicking up - my hair was a messâand it was beginning to rain lightly. There were 2 or 3 small vans only one of which appeared to have enough room on its deck . First question - does it run? There was no time for a trial drive. Jerry drove it the two blocks back to the dealership with me squawking, ?Where are the windshield wipers on this thing??
It was agreed we would have to take this, a measly offering was made for the Mercuryâwhich had no plus to bargain with - and the paper work was begun. About this time the lighting cracked and flashed and ?.the lights in the whole place went out. There was no TV in the showroom- or apparently in the whole place to have flashed storm warnings?.and the radio which was blaring Nashville music (UGH) had said not a word about an impending storm. A search about turned up 2 flashlights- one being ours- and two or three candles. There were probably 15+ people there, some waiting for their repaired cars to roll out of the service area and several of those men who stand around in show rooms waiting for a likely
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customer to show up. They were caught totally unawares with no warm coffee now and computers all dead, and near darkness in the entire place. This meant that our ?purchasing paperwork, credit check, contracts, etc? came to a screeching halt.
We had determined that we could charge this little purchase on one or two of our credit cards until we got home, thus avoiding any other payment option. However, that is difficult to do without Internet. Other problems without lights was that in order to use the bathrooms you had to wait your turn for the flashlightâand find someplace to prop it up in the bathroom in order to find the tissue as needed. The locals were using cell phones to report their personal dilemmas and get weather reports from other parts of town. The most startling of these was that a major power station had been struck by lighting and not likely to be repaired for hours. However, we could see that just a block down the way the other side of the street was lit.
It was not very late in the afternoon and I had exhausted any snacks I had in my purse and was feeling the low sugar condition kick in, so I asked naively, ?Do you serve supper around here?? The suave salesmen were silent?in fact, everyone else was too, so I added, ?It would be a nice time for a candlelight dinner. Are there any carry-out services in Glasgow?? Finally, a mild speaking man peered out the window and said, ?It looks like the pizza place is open.? No one moved.
By this time everyone in the place knew about our dead car, impending purchase, and destination - Tuscaloosa, AL, and various men were discussing how long it would take us to get there in a tornadic rainstorm! Not wanting to find ourselves without a bed for the night somewhere, I suggested we maintain our reservation for Tuscaloosa - on the slim chance we might get there sometime during the night and catch a few winks. We were needing to be back in Dickinson by the following night.
As the storm continued we discussed the options and finding none were just waiting it out. The salesman had taken our ?new? car- a 2002 Saturn SUV down the street and filled it with gas. Good thinking. Upon returning he pulled it up along side the showroom where those of us remaining sat around - or paced around. Finally, some level of management approached and offered that they ?hand write? our financial numbers and let us get on the way. A secretary dug out 3 well-used candles and some kind of papers which we could sign as sales contract. The deed was done. The management practically cheered as they were all anxious to close down the place and go see what damage was being done on their homes. Once we had transferred all our belongings from our old car in the service area to the van (by headlights) the salesman drove it back around front, shut off the engine but left the lights on. Now, papers signed, reloaded and hearing blessings for safe travel from the Ford ?pit crew? Jerry turned on the key, the starter made a few sounds?but nothing. After several tries he got out and another salesman type gets into the driver?s seat. I?m in the passenger seat, muttering, ?I am not going to start on to Texas in this car!?
This guy tried cranking the starter a few times?.nada. Then he reaches into the glove compartment and starts thumbing through the owner?s manual! Meanwhile the 2 guys on the outside are telling Jerry that he must have flooded the engine. Can you believe??? By some grace of God the car finally caught. They are all thinking, ?Quick, leave before it dies.? I am thinking, ?Uh-oh.? Jerry concurs that it is running so maybe we should press on. It is still raining and no electricity on. We pulled out of the parking lot.
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We found our way back to I-65, it is dark and the rain is getting worse. We head into Tenn. We decided we should just keep traveling for if we kill the engine it might not restart. We are truly hungry now so we come upon an exit, find a Wendy?s and pull through the drive through. There are several cars and the line moves very slowly. I?m thinking I should go to the bathroom too so while Jerry waits for the food he keeps the engine running and gets the food. We eat as we roll on. We drove through the absolutely worse rain storm I think we have ever been in! I was in a panic but managed to not get only mildly hysterical.
Eventually as we got into Alabama the gas gauge moved toward the big E and we knew it was inevitable. Again we found an exit and a gas station with a small market?and bathrooms. Filled up the tank, started the car, pulled to the front of the market, turned it off and Jerry went to the bathroom while I kept my eye on the van- filled with our many possessions including the small table that had to fit in the back space. Wonder of wonders, the car started on, and we sang, ?Tuscaloosa, here we come. ? We rolled into the motel about midnight and check-in. A climb to the second story to our doorâand the key would not work! Not wanting to stand out there in the semi-darkness alone, we both went back to the front desk and got help. As soon as we were in we literally FELL into bed.
Next morning, ate breakfast in the motel buffet and checked out. Engine started. Super. As we pressed on throughout the day through south Alabama, across southern Mississippi, Louisiana and into Texas we more than once had to cope with the cranky starter. The auto came with one of those gadgets that locks the door, blows the horn, etc and we thought perhaps it?s inner workings had to be a certain sequence - so when confronted with the non-start Jerry would get out of the vehicle, I would read lines from the manual and we would try the various sequences. Eventually, lo, it would start and then we would ask, ?What DID we do???
By dark we were nearly home?in Seabrook?when suddenly in 6- lane traffic the engine unexpectedly stopped! Jerry let fly an expression of alarm which I knew meant trouble, as he coasted from the center lane to the right shoulder and a small business parking lot. Of course, the car would not restart. A gentleman appeared from the business offering help, but he said, ?I have a Saturn. It?s never done this!? After several attempts the engine caught, we pulled back onto the road and started over the Kemah Bridge, a rather large and high, 6-lane span. Descending the down side, the car died again. This time, there was no shoulder, I?m telling Jerry ?Don?t brake, don?t brake, coast as far as you can., and I?ll get out and push.? Cars are whizzing by, I?m walking in wet, muddy shoulder grass. And trying to keep the van moving. Jerry gets out and is trying to push and steer âŠI scream, ?Get back in the car! You?ll get killed.? The car is stopping. At just that moment a Good Samaritan stops- young man with wife and children in his car?and offers to push us. We readily accept. He pushes us 50-60 feet to a side street. We thank him profusely, grab the cell phone and call for AAA. About 45 minutes later we?re being hauled home on a flat bed tow truck, we in the cab explaining our day to a sympathetic driver. He deposits us and the van on our driveway, having carried us just about 10 miles. We go into the house with a few things and Jerry decides to try the ignition again so as to move the van closer to the house to unload. It starts right up!
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The story does not end here. The next morning we plan to make an immediate trip to the Saturn dealer in Houston, which we locate via phone book at about 20 miles north of Dickinson, straight up I-45. Jerry tries out the van, it runs to the P.O., bank, etc. so we chance it to the dealership, with me following close behind in my car. (?96 Thunderbird). We do well for about 10 miles, then suddenly on an incline overpass the van dies. Jerry manages to get it to the shoulder which is rather narrow at this point. I pull in close behind. He calls AAA for a tow, and the dispatcher promises 45-60 minutes. After about 20 minutes a Harris Country Road Assistance truck shows up, informs us that AAA cannot tow cars from the freeway - that he must do it and take us to a point where the AAA can take over. More calls to AAA. Meanwhile the Harris Co. guy attaches the chains, etc to his conventional tow truck, BUT when he tries to move the van he discovers that it will not roll because something about its 4-wheel drive. His towing would tear up the transmission. STOP. Another call to AAA who is told to bring a flat bed tow truck to our location. Another Harris Co. Road Assistance arrives and agrees. Another 40-50 minute wait, 6 lanes of traffic stream by as well as exit traffic whizzing by on our right side to the frontage road. My head is hurting. I need to go to the bathroom. My blood sugar is getting very low.
One more tow job for the last 10 miles to the dealership. We leave the van for their examination. Next morning, the diagnosis, which I think Jerry described earlier - something like a ?computer problem and $700 needed,? and hazard light repair - which had not worked on any of our stops?.etc. Jerry discusses all of this and gives the instruction for how to proceed. Before the van is returned to us the Kentucky dealership calls - a young woman - who says, ?We just called to see how you were satisfied with the car.? Jerry hesitates, mutters a bit and then replies, on a scale of 1 to 5, I?d say a minus 5. I scream ?Minus 15 or 20!? Shortly she says, ?I think you need to talk to our manager,? and passes off the phone. Jerry is reasonable and polite, hoping to lay on enough guilt to these people to get them to pay something toward the repairs. And it worked.
To conclude this story, after conversations between the Kentucky people, Saturn Houston, etc. it is agreed that the KY. Dealership would pay for some the repairs. And well they should.
Actually, Jerry is now reasonably pleased with the van and has gone through the manual to find most of the buttons, to the ?Car Toys? store to learn how to set the radio - a Pioneer brand?Hmmmm. This is NOT the car we would have bought had we had a choice?.I certainly would have chosen a better color! It?s dark blue gray, when the sky is blue, dark gray when it?s cloudy. What can I say, I do not like gray!
We will always remember well the trip home from Kentucky in October 2007.
Anne H.
Part 2: July 2009
To update this car?s history??a few months later we?re coming home one evening, heavy traffic on Interstate #45, and a truck in front of us loses a wheel. It strikes a van just in front of us causing him to stop immediately in the left lane. The wheel then becomes airborne and hit?s the left font fender of our car. Jerry manages to sop the car just inches from the van in front us which has a load of adults and children in it. I grabbed my cell phone and dial #911 while the two drivers get out to see what has happened. Traffic is streaming by at 70 MPH and we are blocking the inside lane. In a very few minutes a police car arrives and stops his car several yards behind us to divert the traffic. After surveying the damage it is concluded that we can leave the scene with our car. The policeman uses his flashlight to get us into the stream of traffic but soon we know the tire is being destroyed by the damaged fender or other parts. It is very difficult to steer by now but Jerry manages to get the car to the outside shoulder before it goes completely flat. We then creep to an exit into a parking lot at a strip mall. The rest of that story is that it took a tow, and much $$$$ to replace the front end, fender and tire.
Once again trouble struck as Jerry was driving this Saturn SUV- the same vehicle- into Houston for a testing job. Something came out of somewhere and struck the left front wheel - either an unseen object which he struck or a flying object from another vehicle. It sliced a big gash in the tire. AND in the rim, causing an immediate flat. Jerry unwisely changed this tire himself on the right shoulder of the freeway. This repair included a new rim (special order, of course) and new tire?and $$$$$.
In June we began a vacation trip to Kentucky. First day - no problems. Second day - had a blowout on the RIGHT front tire. Jerry was barely able to get the car off a bridge- where there was no shoulder - onto a shoulder following. This happened on Interstate #30 in Arkansas. I insisted we call AAA since we were in a very dangerous spot with continual flow of semis and car traffic going probably 75-80! Further it was 97 degrees, full sunlight and climbing. It took a few moments to get the correct AAA dispatcher as J. had called the TX number first and they were search for Hope, TX - no such place. I had been dozing so didn?t know exactly where we were but had noted a bit earlier that we had passed through Hope, Ark., birthplace of Bill Clinton! Jerry remembered having seen a mile marker about 54-55. After an emergency repair service was located it was determined that he would find us SOMEWHERE between Hope and Arkadelphia! The entire wait was a hour and 45 minutes.
In the meantime, we had water and soft drinks and a few crackers to sustain us as us sat in the shade of some bushes alongside the road. I sat down on the grass and worried about dehydration. The next day I discovered I had been bitten 35-45 times by either fleas or weak chiggers. Usually chiggers leave very big bites on me, so it must have been fleas or unknown critters.
The repair service was swift?after we unloaded most of our cargo to get to the little spare, which fortunately was usable. On to Arkadelphia to buy a new tire.
This car seems to have a ?life of it?s own?!
The first thing I should ask is, "Which one do you want to hear about."
Second: âIf drugs and/or alcohol were involved, do I really feel safe posting that here?â
So which to do want to hear?
#1 The night my brother and I needed to be in Queens for my Grandfatherâs Funeral and my brother was in Roxbury, CT and I Troy, NY (RPI - Sophomore) and he came to get me in the Lean Green Party Machine ('77 Ford Bronco in mettallic green) and drive us both back to CT and then on to Long Island the next morning. But he brought one of our best party buddies and I had a big bag of mushrooms and they many Oil Cans (Fosterâs Lager) and not long down the Taconic Parkway a blizzard breaks out and we canât see a thing and stuggle even with real 4WD and wouldnât you know it, we also have like next to no gas and none to be found and we end up in Porkeepsie, way out of our way, desperately seeking some and at one point we find ourselves going the wrong way on the wrong side of the divided highway (that we did a u-turn on not knowing it was divided due to there being that muich snow) but trusty Bronco allows us to cross the guard railless median no problem before the two semiâs coming out way run us over and then later on we find ourselves with another car (a red camaro) coming at us in our lane on a real two lane two way road and we only live becasue my brother at the last minute mkes the excellent deciion to just go around him on the left and though we finally make it back to home in CT all in one piece we are on mere fumes and when I canât get him up a few hours later to go to Long Island I try to make it alone but run out of gas not but 3-4 miles from home and so Iâm stuck on the roadside and have to wait for them to come help if I can roust them (and this was long before cell phones) we both never make it to Queens and our mother (whose father it was that died) never forgives us. That kind of story?
Or how about the one where me and one of my buddies when we were in HS in the early 80âs decide to drive to NYC (my very first time driving there from CT - 2 hours away) and it is all a huge nightmare.
And there are so many more. But I think the blizzard one was the absolute worst.
Oh and the worst road trips from hell, for me at least, were really road trips at sea when I had to spend weeks at a time with my brother and y parents on a very small sloop on Long Island Sound. Yes, not technically road trips but we went tow if by sea instead of 1 if by land. And think of it this way. A road trip with the family where your vehicle is also your motel room and your diner and everything else and you still have just as many if not more chores to do than if you were home. Now this may sound fun, if you have a family that is cool. But if you all don;t get along very well, well, I;m sure you can imagine what a nightmare it would have been.
Going to Pocono Mountains on long deserted mountain road except for the occasional truckerâŠmy sister had to potty and there was NO PLACEâŠso I told her I would pull to the side, she could go right outside with the car shielding her as she went. The DEVIL MADE ME DO THISâŠshe got her pants down, squatted and as she was most vulnerable I slowly rolled the car forward leaving her squatting alongside Rt. 80 or 83 not sure which, pants down, and now duckwalking to catch up to the car and cursing me for all she was worthâŠ20 years later we both laugh so hard it brings tears to our eyes remembering that duck walkâŠand the one trucker who went by and tooted for all he was worth!!!
Peggy Williams Johnson
What could be more ideal than a family road trip to our nation?s beautiful capitol city? So, in the summer of 1967, Mom rented a ?65 Dodge Motor Home and panned a thoughtful itinerary balancing educational activities with recreational events. However, the Motor Home Mom had reservedâthe one that had one double bed and 3 sets of bunk beds-- had a broken drive shaft that couldn?t be fixed in time for our trip because of a strike in Detroit. Should this have been taken as a cosmic hint? The replacement sleeps 6?in three double beds. We are a family of 7: Mom, Dad and 5 kids; Peggy, 14, Alice, 11, Ginny, 10, Dicky, 6, and Hilda, 3. The kids have to share beds?which creates a bit of whining-- and one sleeps on the floor. We set out from our suburban home outside of Springfield, MA and a major tragedy is discovered. Hilda forgot to bring her beloved blankey. Strike two. She is devastated. And crankey. Peggy is car sick and really doesn?t want to listen to her baby sister whine. On our way to beautiful Washington D.C., somehow Dad gets onto the Baltimore-Washington Parkwayâno trucks allowed, for a reason. The overpass is too low. Dad had to let air out of the tires to get the RV underâstrike three.
In the middle of the night, Alice is awakened from her slumber on the canvas air mattress by water dripping on her head. The refrigerator has stopped working and defrosted, leaking water all over the carpet and the mattress and Alice. Uncomfortable and wet. Can we have four strikes? The propane tank is empty and it?s Sunday in D.C. It?s the sixties, and stores aren?t open. And the little sister is crying.
Next it?s to the National Mall. After waiting hours in line (with whining) to climb the Washington Monument, Hilda isn?t tall enough to see out the windows. More whining. Big sister can?t take it anymore, so Mom and Dad put her on a plane and fly her home to stay with Grandma. Enough of the educational part of our adventure. It?s off to the beach at Lewes, DE, where it rains for three days straight. Cooped up in the RV, the ?Destroylet? is filled. Ok, strike five. Now, Mom and Dad are highly educated-- she majored in Physics and Dad is a surgeonâbut NOT a mechanic. Apparently the knowledge of how to connect the waste water line has escaped their training. Seven days in to our ten day vacation, we take the cosmic hints and give up. Ready to go home. But the RV won?t start. The windshield wipers have shorted out and drained the battery. Remember that Dad is not mechanically inclined? Luckily, the campground neighbors know something. They diagnose the problem and give us a jump start. Driving North on the Garden State Parkway in the pouring rain, Dad turns off the windshield wiper at every toll booth so that they won?t notice that the driver?s side one isn?t working. Mom is navigating from the passenger seat, since Dad can?t see. It?s a nightmare, but we?re all awake and the baby is crying. Going through the Oranges, the underpasses are flooded. A traffic jam is the last thing this tired family needs. And the baby is still crying.
Somehow, we made it home and NEVER took another family road trip. Peggy changed her name and moved to the West Coast. Alice lives on an island off the East coast. Dicky also changed his name and now would rather jump out of airplanes. Every child lives in a different state and the baby still misses her blankey.
I am sure other folks have had worse, but I had a pretty tough day on the road when I was 18. It was the summer of 2000, I had just finished my first year of college, and I was about to embark on the family tradition of working an entire summer in the fabulous New England island-town of Block Island, Rhode Island. Now getting there is no simple feat, especially when you live in Athens, Georgia. Typically, a sane person would fly to Providence, taxi to Point Judith, and ferry to the island. Well, there isnât really any public transport on the island, so I was going to need my car - my 1991 Ford Explorer with well over 100,000 miles on it.
My father loves a good road trip, especially when the destination is his beloved, âBIâ, so one damp May morning we push out of the driveway long before dawn, listening to NPR, no doubt, and work our way north.
I had really only been driving for about two years at this point, so my father was not too comfortable letting me drive on the open highway. Eventually his need to nap overpowered his need to hang on to the âOh SH*Tâ handle, and he let me drive while he dozed somewhere in the rolling hills of Virginia.
And then it happened - I was cruising over a hill when I saw I had peeked the interest of one of Virginiaâs finest. I am sure an expletive came out of my sweet, Southern mouth, awaking my father and alerting him to the situation. It was my first speeding ticket.
I had always heard it was just better to be nice to the officer issuing the ticket, which proved to be correct. "Yes officer, I was speeding. I just wasnât paying attention. You are right, I need to be more careful."
Clearly a speeding ticket does not a hellacious road-trip makeâŠthis was merely the foreshadowing of what would happen another few miles down the road.
Did I mention the gas gauge was broken in the Explorer? Well it was. So we had to fill up every 250 miles, using the trip-o-meter as our guide.
I pull into a gas station, the ticket burning a hole in my handbag, put gas in the car, use the facilities, and crawl back in.
Turn the key and - click.
Turn the key again and - click.
Dad tries to turn the key (because clearly I was doing it wrong) - click.
We get the handy men at the service station to turn the key - click. Yep, the starter just died in the middle of east-bumble Virginia. And the nice folks at this service station donât have the part. But an auto repair store in West-bumble has it.
We are several hours away from our hotel (we break up the trip so that we can make a ferry reservation the following day to get on the island) and things are starting to shut down for the night.
We call a tow truck, and up pulls a huge man with an even bigger truck. My father, stalwart macho man he is, makes me sit next to the big sweaty guy. We drive a few exits down the interstate, me making small talk about how big his truck is, does it use diesel? How many runs does he make a day? Some ungodly amount of cash later and we are back on the road, delayed really only an hour or two.
Luckily the next day was far less eventful - we made our reservation for the Ferry and I had a great summer. The Explorer would not make a trip that significant ever again. It was eventually sold, sorority letters still on it, to some folks around Athens. About a year ago I actually pulled up next to it and squealed with glee.
Speeding Ticket + new starter = more than we wanted to spend on the road trip. I now fly there.
You can find my road trip from hell here: https://www.lorenabowser-proseandcons.com/What_a_way_to__go__.html (itâs an SSL secure site) Itâs a page long, so maybe thatâs too long to post (?) But Iâve just GOT to share it! Just too cool! Thanks for looking.
Having a leisurely drive down a two lane road just outside my college town of Indiana, Pennsylvania - I came upon a medium sized stake-body cattle hauler coming from the opposite direction. One of the cows had relived itself of a large brown âcow pattieâ and deposited it directly on the double yellow line. The next vehicle behind the cattle hauler was a dump truck whose double rear wheels tracked across that double yellow line throwing the large brown âcow pattieâ airborne.
That airborne stuff hit my Rambler Ambassador Station Wagon square in the windshield and grill also striking my left side mirror to throw a bit toward the interior through my open driverâs window.
No windshield wiper/washer combination could have possibly helped me. I had to pull over. My Headlights were packed full. And the embedded straw always remained a part of my radiator which emanated the "memory of the âincidentâ " every time the engine reached operating temperature as long as I owned that wagon.
(I LOVE YOU GUYS - AND IâM ADDICTED TO YOUR RADIO SHOW !)
Ken March
Flagler Beach, Florida
561-389-4713
It was our honeymoon!
We were living in Lancaster, PA at the time and planning a trip to Cape Cod for our honeymoon. I had a 1988 Chevy Astro van that we packed and headed for the Cape. I had noticed a slight hesitation from the van that morning pulling away from a stop light but didnât think anything of it. We arrived that afternoon in Sandwich MA, checked in at our B&B and then set out for Plymouth to see the Rock and do some sight-seeing. It was on the way back from Plymouth where things began to unravel. At times, the van would lurch and shudder. As the miles passed, power seemed to ebb. By the time we reached the Sagamore Rotary, it was questionable whether we would be able to scale the Sagamore Bridge. We were only several miles from our B&B but it seemed and felt like we were on another planet! We crawled up and over the bridge and ran every stop light and stopsign in Sandwich until we reached the B&B. Our hosts recommended âRoyâs Automotiveâ in Sandwich to help us out. In the meantime, I spoke to my hometown mechanic by phone to see what he thought (an O2 sensor must be bad)and Roy confirmed that the sensor was bad. The wait wasnât intolerableâŠthere was a âChristmas Tree Shopâ right across the street from Royâs and this made my new bride extremely happy! Sensor repaired and bill payed, we enjoyed the rest of our vacation on the Cape and then we were on our way homeâŠ
âŠor were we?
Just east of East Providence RI on I195, the van suddenly lost power again in the middle lane of traffic. We coaxed our way off the highway and onto a side street and finally into a Pep Boys. After diagnosing the problem, we were told the fuel pump was bad and needed replaced. The fuel pump was replaced, the bill was payed and we were finally on our wayâŠat 8pm on Friday evening. We waded through traffic and arrived home soon after 3am.
It was a trip weâll never forgetâŠcan I show a girl a good time or what?!
My family has a tendency to dream up date ideas that are quite outlandish and ? difficult. My 17 year old brother wanted to go to Lander, Wyoming for a date with a girl he hardly knew. It HAD to be a very specific weekend, because of a concert she was performing in.
Well, I like to drive, and I?m the only one in the family crazy enough to make a 13 hour round-trip drive to anywhere in Wyoming from south of Denver, Colorado, and my 17 year old brother only had a permit. So I drove him there on a Thursday night after some meetings I had that evening.
We left Denver around midnight. My brother wanted to drive, but being a Thursday, in Denver, I decided I would let him drive after getting out of crazy-town. He fell asleep and didn?t drive. About the time he woke up, it started snowing. I wasn?t going to let a 17 year old inexperienced driver drive in the snow, not when I drive a snow plow on the side in the winter ? so I drove on.
About the Wyoming border, it was so slick I was starting to have trouble, so I pulled off ? no, SLID off to the side of the road and mounted my brand new tire cables on my used ?98 Nissan Maxima GLE. We hit Cheyenne and headed West on I-80, only to find out that the interstate was closed a mile later.
I never quit, so I took ?Happy Jack Road? around to the Lincoln Monument. We were the only ones on the road, which made it a lot easier to travel at 60 mph (well above the recommended 30 mph maximum for the tire cables). We re-joined I-80 at the pass before Laramie, only to get stuck behind some tangled semi trucks a mile later. We waited for about 45 minutes for a hole to open on one side, then squeezed through and carried on.
Then we hit Laramie, only to find out the interstate was closed AGAIN! I wasn?t about to give up now, my poor 17 year old brother?s hormones couldn?t handle that. So I took HWY 287 North and around to where it re-joins I-80 just before Sinclair, Wyoming. We weren?t the only ones on this road, but it?s not hard to pass when you?re going 70 mph and everyone else is going 30. Just before we reached the interstate, I heard a horrible pop and whack-whack-whack sound ? you guessed it, I threw a chain. Suspecting the worst I got out, pulled the passenger side chain off the tire, threw it in the trunk and drove off. Not two miles later, the other chain popped off! Repeat.
We made it back to the interstate, and since no one was on the road anyway (because it was still closed at Laramie), I drove about highway speeds on the laminated ice to Rawlins. I bought new chains, and continued North on HWY-287. I made up for lost time on the cold but clear, dry road; for a few stretches, traveling a little over 100 mph. I slowed for a blind curve, only to find myself facing a Wyoming State Trooper. Yup, you guessed it, I got pulled over; at about 15 over the limit. He let me off with a warning, and we arrived at our destination about 30 minutes later, about 7 hours after leaving Denver. I neglected to tell him that we had just slowed down for the curve?
I dropped my brother off, slept for an hour, and barreled back towards home. The drive was smooth and unexciting, except for the rumble strips on the side of the road, until I hit about Laramie. I?ve never been in a position to pass a fire truck with sirens blaring before, but driving up the pass from Laramie I could have. I wasn?t sure what to do so I stayed behind him and slowly drove up the pass at about 20 mph. I got off at the rest stop, and saw the fire truck continue on down the road. This should have tipped me off, and given me the idea to go around, but I must have been a little too tired to think that way. I got back on the interstate, and learned there was an accident several miles later. I passed the time walking up and down in the blistering cold, talking to truckers to pass the time. An hour later, I got through, and barreled on.
By the time I got back into Colorado, I couldn?t keep my eyes open anymore, so I pulled off to sleep. I slept for 8 hours in the passenger seat! I regained consciousness about 5 AM Saturday, just in time to make it back to administer a test. What a silly road trip, just so my brother could go on a date?
Actually, it was 6 road trips from hell. We had a 10 year old, 120k miles plus station wagon, a 2 year old child, and two stepsons in NYC that we would visit every 2 weeks. Every other trip, the car would break down halfway to NYC. We would have AAA haul it home (Thank heavens for AAAPlus!). We would get it repaired. Next trip was fine. Next trip something else would break down. The tow truck driver for the station near New Haven knew us by name. We didnât have to give him directions to our garage, or from there to our home.
The last breakdown was over 100 miles into the trip. A different driver came and pulled the car off the highway, but told us it would be 3 or 4 hours before they could get a truck to tow it home. He offered to take me and the 2 year old to the Stamford train station, where we managed to get a train home within the hour. As the gentleman came by to punch our tickets, my daughterâs eyes opened wide, as did her mouth. As he passed, she breathed in utter amazement, âItâs the Conductor!â That was when I realized the babysitter was letting her watch too much Thomas the Tank Engine.
We donated that car the next month, and got something with only 60,000 miles on it that took us through the next dozen years or so.
This meant, tho, that we didnât get to see the boys as often as intended. Not a good thing.