Ever Had a Road Trip from Hell?

[bamram]

Back near the beginning of June I took a weekend kayaking road trip with four friends, 8 kayaks and excessive camping gear for 3 nights. We left Washington DC and headed west on I 68.On the big grade called Sideling Hill in MD, My 2000 GMC Savana window van (with seats for 5 ) downshifted, the engine revved high, and I pulled out at the observation site for a pit stop. A clicking noise started up then, but I couldn’t identify it. On we went eventually leaving the interstate and finding our way toward the headwaters of the Potomac river in WV motoring through the increasingly steep hills of the Appalachians.
The clicking was getting progressively worse, and power from the 350 V-8 with 144,000 miles was steadily diminishing as we approached our destination near Mt Storm WV. As we arrived at Mt Storm there was barely enough power left for us to coast into Ken’s Mountain Top repair center, where Ken and his entourage were hovering around an old Camaro or something similar in the big garage barn out back.

The van was making so much racket by then, that everyone came out to see. I got out and asked what turned out to be Ken what might be the matter.

In chorus the entourage pronounced my engine dead, a shot piston or rod by the sound of it, and were pretty convinced that the only cure was a new engine.

Because we were now luckily about half a mile from the put in destination, I decided to look for a rental vehicle, while the rest of the group went ahead with the day’s paddling plans. The only vehicle I could find on a Saturday with a one way rental, was a 26 ft uhaul truck ( the biggest they offer) from a small franchise abut 40 miles away. Graciously one of the fellows in the entourage drove me there in his Ford focus, and I picked up the giant truck and headed back to Mount Storm to empty out my van, and relieve it of its giant safari rack, which was good for loading as many as a dozen kayaks.

My decision was to abandon the van at Ken’s. I spent about 8 grand in 07 fixing the thing, new transmission, new fuel pump, new gasket to keep the antifreeze from mixing with the engine oil, and a third starter in two years. I bought a Honda fit in November of 07, and parked the van, only to use it once or twice a month for the occasional delivery, or for a kayaking road trip. ( It was a great whitewater assault vehicle, perfect for hauling boats, paddlers and more gear than anyone should ever take camping in the wild).

After saying good bye to the junker that I bought new in October of 99, I drove the giant Uhaul about 10 miles around mountain roads to Kitsmiller MD , on the Potomac, to wait for my buddies to appear on the river.

I had to park it, because sightseeing in a 26 ft Uhaul is just not convenient.

Eventually, three of the 4 paddlers I left at mt Storm showed up. One of them had a tangle with a tree in the river and lost his paddle, nearly drowned, and had to walk out from the river and out to a road with his boat and remaining gear.

We loaded up the kayaks and stuff, there was lots of room for everything, and drove back up to Mt Storm to pick up the the other half of the shuttle, an early 80 Mercedes diesel. ( you need two cars for a good river run by kayak, one at each end of the run). We found the lost paddler and his boat, and made our way further west accross the eastern continental divide to Albright WV and a campsite on the Cheat river at the head of the Cheat river canyon.

Next morning we headed out to the put in for the Upper Big Sandy, a tributary of the Cheat. We dropped out gear and took the u Haul and the mercedes over about 12 miles of back road, were we parked the Uhaul about half a mile from the take out for the first section of the days run, drove back to the put in, and the 5 of us started out paddle down the river. We finished the first half of the run, and I and the lost paddle paddler ( he was using a spare) took out, and walked the half mile uphill to the Uhaul. The others continued down the Sandy ( too challenging for the 2 of us) to where it joined the Cheat and where there was a suitable take out.

I took the map, and drove about 15 miles up and down more or less one lane country dirt roads, and eventually got to the old logging road that descends about six miles down the canyon face to the take out. That road was barely a road, barely one lane wide, and barely suitable to atv’s much less a giant orange moving truck. The descent was surreal to say the least, straight up one side, and straight down the other but it was not until I got to the hairpin switchback near the bottom that I suddenly recognized where I was, and what weekend it was. I had been here a year earlier, after rafting down the Cheat river, a class 4 and five whitewater adventure at high water, on the weekend when the WVU students from nearby Morgantown pilgrimate to that very spot for their annual end of year celebration, crowding the small parking area at the bottom of the hill with cars jeeps 4x4’s and ATV’s as well as the giant school bus the river outfitter uses to get their rafts and guest back up the mountain to Albright.

After making the 7 point maneuvre around the hairpin, I got to the bottom and then had to turn the uhaul around. Just as I finished, the river guides from the outfitter came up either side of the cab and started berating me about what the heck I thought I was doing down there in that big a** truck and that they needed to get by with their bus. Please recall that the small space was litteerd with badly parked cars and trucks and overun with half baked college kids on a summer beer bender. Luckily, one of the guides recognized me from the year before , and his attitude instantly mellowed. We maneuvered and got the school bus past us, and I backed up the truck into one of the drive lanes, where we then waited for the buddies to show up.
They did , we packed the gear, and had to put two of the guys in the back while three of us sat up front and headed back up the hill to collect the shuttle vehicle and organize the trip home. Luckily on the road up the hill we only ran into one car coming down, and he was the one who had to back up uphill about 200 yards to where he could pull over enough to let us by.

I drove back to Washington with two of the 5 paddlers. and return the uhaul the next day. I neglected to mention where I had driven the truck.

The end

[Tigress]

We were traveling cross country, from L.A. to NorthEastern Ohio, on the Pennsylvania border. I knew I was in trouble when my Down’s Syndrome brother, Marty/Mart-Face, said, “Oh, thank God!” “What?” I asked. “We’re halfway home!” Marty said this after lunch in California, 4 hours into our trip. We hadn’t even made it to San Francisco - merely the Madonna Inn. Dear God! What now? I gave Marty the AAA Trip Tick, & made him my co-pilot. It worked. He saved us from driving straight into a tornado, & gained a whole new respect for the time I waited/wasted for him in rest rooms. When it seemed like we were going in reverse, we were making so little progress in distance, I told him we’d only have coffe & hot chocolate in the morning; drive all day; have dinner in the hotel/motel at nite. That way, I knew we’d at least do the trip in weeks, rather than months. Prior to that, we were Meals on Wheels. Marty had to have breakfast, lunch, & dinner. Of course, I met a lot of nice folks at the roadside stops where he inevitably had to go to - & plug - every, possible bathroom he used. But I would rather just have gotten there. We had every crevice of my ‘72 914 packed, except our noses. Every time Marty reached down to get something from one of the storage bins - the car was full of them, including two trunks: Front & back - the retractable seat belt would nearly do a John The Baptist on him, which would cause him to scream, "God damn it to Hell! This is fo’ the bullshit biwds!" Marty had a Chinese/Bostonian accent. I could go on & on; but my funniest memory is of Marty, weighed down with every bag in the car, falling into the garbage dump, in the California mountains, where we saw signs, “Only cars with chains;” & there we were, in my convertible, in a blizzard, on Memorial Weekend. Finally, we stop. And I hear nothing, then a loud crash, then Marty, “Son of a bitch!” I took 9 trips with Marty in his life, which I didn’t know, til I was doing his collage at his Sunday Sunset Service. But, he was so funny, & the travel so memorable, Marty inspired a song/book/film/website/sound track/muse-ique video/theatrical feature film. I have pictures from this trip I cherish. Marty took so long to find the camera in the car, what with the seat belt yanking him back every time he moved, his pictures of mountains were, instead, pictures of gravel, near the road, & me. Mountains were passed. See www.Mart-Face.com. Love your show. Love cars, too. My Dream is to win 1 that actually works. Ya know, like, new & funcrional? I can Dream, can’t I?

[dicksnell1]

Road Trip to Hell
One score and three years ago (1986) my wife and I, our three children, and our pet dachshund, set forth from the eastern part of this continent (Syracuse, New York) to a new location (Denver Colorado) to participate in the celebration of my mother’s 85th birthday .
Little did we know that we were embarking on our very own Road trip to Hell.
Being a stickler for preventive maintenance I had my three-year-old 1963 Ford Country Sedan station wagon?s engine tuned up, and the fan belts and all four shock absorbers replaced.
After hooking up our 16 foot Shasta travel trailer. it was bon voyage for the boondocks.
Traveling westward on Interstate 80 from Syracuse was an uneventful breeze, but shortly after turning south at Erie Pennsylvania we heard loud clanking sounds emanating from the engine compartment. Investigation revealed that the nuts holding the two front shock absorbers were missing thus rendering them to the status of errant pogo sticks. The missing nuts were replaced at a nearby gas station.
Forging ahead, ever westward and on to Springfield, Illinois we traveled. The engine, however, seemed to sound less harmonious, less congenial; it coughed, if stuttered, it hesitated and it shuddered.
The next morning in Springfield we visited Lincoln’s home and his grave. Our nine year old son, peering out at the station wagon?s transom asked: ?What’s that stuff dripping out of the car?? It was radiator coolant. The radiator was replaced.
On to Missouri and more misery. My wife’s mother lived in the Missouri Ozarks. By the time we arrived at her home the engine sounded as if it were on its last legs. A local auto mechanic said that it needed a valve job. We decided to hobble on to Denver and it was only a couple of days before my mother’s birthday. And hobble on we did.
We made it to in time for the birthday celebration.
Fast forward.
Shortly after leaving Denver, the muffler and tail pipe fell off.
Just east of Des Moines, Iowa I on Interstate 80 I heard a high-pitched siren like sound. I pulled off the freeway to the nearest gas station. I unhooked the trailer and car was raised on the lift. The plug of the differential was removed and inspections of the grease and chunks of metal were detected. The differential was kaput. The nearest Ford garage was ten miles away and was already closed for the day. The gas station operator kindly allowed us to stay there overnight n our trailer gave us a key to the restroom. The next morning we creeped slowly to the Ford garage where the rest of the day was spent awaiting the replacement of the differential.
Nothing untoward happed on the remainder of My Road to Hell.

[MorgDowney]

This may not be the road trip from hell but it is the wierdest thing that ever happened to me.
About three years ago I was driving out of Washington DC toward Potomac, MD and a crossing over to Virginia. With me were my wife, Dotty, my son Rober and my best friend Brian. At a point on the road, I told them of an event that occured there about four years before: I was driving along the same stretch when a beautiful, crazy horse broke out of the side of the road onto the road. She was obviously crazed and stormed all around. The horse was big and clearly was a well taken care of horse who was very upset. Having been a rider, I figured the horse had broken away form its owner or barn. So I did a 180 and drove back from where I thought the horse may have come from. Sure enough, I soon came upon a stable hand, bridle in hand running down the road.“Get in,” I shouted. He did. I did another 180 and in a little while he had the horse back under control. AT THE SAME MOMENT I FINISHED THE
STORY…a beautiful, crazed horse broke out of the side of the road, brought traffic to a halt. I turned around, found the stable hand and eventually retrieved the horse. We repeated exactly the same bizarre story! You may remember the Twilight Zone and if there was every a moment like that for me this was it.
Morgan Downey

[jmurphy]

How long can you go with the oil light on? How many people can you fit in the cab of a tow truck?

If you do not know the answer to the first question, you may find out the answer to the second quesiton.

When I was a young lad (more than 30 years ago), I believed that sometimes an oil indicator light just meant that the light had a problem. It was thus that the day after Thanksgiving, that I and several friends loaded into my parents’ Oldsmobile station wagon and began our journey to central Illinois to watch our high school football team play in the state final.

About 50 miles away from home and 80 miles from our destination, I learned that the oil light was truley indicating a problem with the oil. The engine seixed, and the car stopped.

One of us, it might have even been me, had to walk to the nearest farm house to call a tow truck. (This being 30 years ago, there were no cell phones). After about 45 minutes in the cold, the tow truck finally came.

It being cold and dark and we being informed that we could not ride in the care being towed, we all piled into the cab of the tow truck. We thus learned that the answer to the second question was – at least seven. There were in the tow truck, one driver and six students. I do not have a clear memory of the configuration, but I know that it was tangled.

[lenorebr]

My best friends, husband, and I went camping with our “Young Married” churchgroup. All the food to be purchased was divided between the members of the group and our assignment wa to bring the ice. We got a really late start Friday evening, because my husband had to work late. We borrowed my father-in-laws truck, but didn’t learn until it was time to go that if we stopped the truck after it had been driven a while, we couldn’t start again, until the engine had cooled off.
We rolled into Salinas about 8 or 9PM and were hungry. My husband had to circle the block while we went in to order hamburgers, because we didn’t want to sit for 3-4 hours waiting for the engine to cool and restart.
Anyway, we got to Yosemite around midnight and could not find our group and because it was so late, there were no rangers on duty to ask. We finally bedded down in the bushes between the parking lot and the campground and decided to look for our group in the morning.
The next morning, we asked at the sign-in desk and after about an hour, someone finally remembered our group. It turns out they didn’t make a reservation, and all the campgrounds were full. They were sent to another part of the park, about a 2 hour drive away. We were hungry, but didn’t have any food (remember, we were assigned ice). We bought breakfast at the park’s cafeteria and picked up some lunch items at the camp store. We decided we would spend the day in Yosemite, see the sights while we were there and catch up with our group at the end of the day.
We had a great time sightseeing, and caught up to our group around dinnertime. The group had spent the day at a waterfall up the trail and were going into Yosemite the next day. We decided we didn’t want to ride back to Yosemite, so we would enjoy the waterfall the next day.
It took us about an hour to hike to the falls and when we got there I slipped, slammed my foot into the rocks, and heard a crunch and felt immediate pain!! I sat with my foot in the cold water for awhile, then we hiked out. Three or four hours later, we were back at the campsite. I watched my husband and friends take down the tent and load the truck. We headed for the emergency room in Yosemite, had an x-ray, which confirmed my foot was broken in 3 places. The doctors were unable to put a cast on my foot because it was as large as a football after the hike.
We were headed down the mountain towards home by 6:00PM and were starved. We stopped at a steak house for dinner. Turns out, the waiter was gay and only our friend Rick got service. The rest of us didn’t get salad, silverware, refills on coffee or water, etc.
We pulled into a motel in Fresno around midnight that night. (It was still 100+ degrees outside.) They had no first floor rooms, so I had to scoot up the stairs on my butt, because I didn’t have crutches.
We got back to LA Sunday morning. This was definitely not a trip we ever want to relive. Lenore

[BGilkerson]

It was Christmas Eve of '68 and was our custom, I was driving the family to Mazatlan, Mexico for the holidays in our '64 VW bus, when we broke down about 5 miles from the town of El Espinal. The town is so small that they do not even have a telephone. A friendly hippy from the state of Washington gave us a lift to town where the wife and 3 kids stood by the road with a cardboard sign stating “Need ride to Mazatlan”. A couple in an RV nicely took them away.
I was left with $5.10 and the broken down bus. When I went to the Cantina, they refused to accept my money, so I tried in vain to start our camp stove. Finally, I went to bed.
The next morning I awoke (Christmas morning) and could hear singing from the cantina. A worker went by who spoke English and explained that the peso had just been devalued and that was why they were reluctant to take my money. He offered to take me to the cantina where they would accept my money. I had many offers of your senoritas while I was there and about noon, my wife appeared at the door with a tow truck driver and truck to get us to Mazatlan.
The story goes on from there as I ended up after 2 weeks of no progress on the bus, shoving it on a train. The rest is another whole story about how I got it into the states, but you get the idea. It surely was a trip from Hell!
Ralph Gilkerson rgilk106@aol.com

[Pollyvousfrancais]

Sometime in the early 1960s, when I was around 6 or 7, my grandmother was driving a gaggle of us young cousins home from a day spent at great-Aunt Lizzie’s house in Middle Tennessee.

Heading home under the velvet sky of a late Tennessee evening, Grandma steered her beloved 1949 Plymouth cautiously as always, peering intently over the dashboard. The 20-mile drive home was a familiar one, along a solitary two-lane highway. Somewhere after leaving the driveway, my grandmother made a startled gasp. She had suddenly noticed the odometer reading was 99,995 miles. She worried aloud to us what would happen when there were no more numbers left for the odometer.

99,996. Often quite a girlish prankster, Grandma was known to be theatrical; but this time she wasn’t joking. She was really, really nervous. The sleepy cousins were all wide awake now and in a state of alarm. Grandma’s fingers were anxiously gripping the wide steering wheel and her normally cheerful voice had an uncharacteristically frantic edge. We were doomed.

99,997. She always drove with her face over the dashboard, but now she was really intent, hunched forward.

99,998. We were heading towards Peak’s Hill, at about 30 or 40 miles per hour. She slowed down to a crawl. When the odometer reached its limit, would the car stop, fall apart, all the screws and fan belts and complicated gizmos simply fly through the air? Was that the end of the life of the car? I imagined the group of us, sitting in bare car seats in the middle of the dark road, with an undone automobile collapsed in pieces around us, Grandma still holding the disconnected steering wheel.

99,999. The car crept to the top of Peak’s Hill. I couldn’t bear to look at the odometer and witness the certain, untimely death of the precious Plymouth. And where would we spend the night? So I glued my eyes to the dotted line in the road, watching each stripe arrive as if it were ticking away at our lives. One more line, one more line – then what would happen to us? I thought that if I just fixed my eyes on the macadam, on the road that lay ahead, maybe we’d make it home before the dreaded End.

As we reached the peak of Peak’s Hill, cousins in the back seat were standing up, peering over the driver’s seat. All eyes were now riveted on the dashboard. We clutched each other and held our breath and watched as all five digits of the odometer flipped to zero. Nothing happened. Nothing. No boings, no popping springs, no tires fell off, not a hiccup in the motor. We cheered exuberantly, and Grandma shifted into third gear and headed for home.

[SEACAMPER]

I checked out the big diesel truck with brand new flatbed and houseboat trailer the weekend before for connections.   Brakes, lights, everything was perfect.  Truck and trailer were just past warranty.  After work we left for the first thousand mile leg of the trip.  Around midnight we were pulled over by highway patrol.  No taillights.  He says ?You will turn around and head back the way you came 60 miles to a lighted Wallmart parking lot.?  ?What, there isn?t a lot in the direction I am heading??  Wrong question, he writes a ticket for equipment violation on the spot and we still have to go back.  Turns out the coupling has shorted, and there is no way I am going to fix it on the road.  I hotwire the taillights and head out figuring I really don?t need brake lights, brakes or turn signals on the interstate.  Upon arrival at the first stop, my parents house, I turn the truck and trailer over to the local dealer.  He calls back a few hours later and says the wiring harness in the truck is fried.  No problem, $2,000 plus a new trailer connector.  OK, so much for the vacation budget.  Two days later we head for Wisconsin to see the inlaws.   Ice storm in September?  Eight hours of white knuckle driving later we arrive, having traveled 160 miles.  At last things are going well, except for the small detail that my wife?s godfather is dying.  Not what you would call a relaxed visit.  OK, so on to Minnesota to see our son and his wife.  Now we?re going to have some fun.  Launch the boat with the extended family into the Mississippi river and,  oops, the clutch just failed in the water in the launch ramp.  The boat is sitting in the water with the prop stuck in the mud and the truck is blocking the ramp with a line of cars waiting to launch.  I finally talk the next guy in line into towing me up to the parking lot.  I also talk someone into towing the boat into deeper water.  It only cost a small fortune.  At the first town downriver we stop and make calls and set up a repair for the truck.  The tow truck driver picks me up on the way to towing the truck to the shop.  Then I take a cab back to the boat.  That only cost a day.  Next morning we set out downriver, and get a whole ten miles before the engine overheats and starts blowing water into the bilge.  We limp into a repair facility on the outboard kicker.  Another day later, the boat is sort of working.  Battery power is supplied by the portable emergency generator and the bilge pump is keeping us afloat.  The trip is shorter than expected to say the least.  Since the public launch was too shallow, we opt for a private club to take out the boat.  Another cab ride to get the truck and another $1500 later we get the boat out of the water.  In the process, our very large dog gets loose and attacks a car with two boxers in it.  The car is badly scratched and of course we are responsible.  Another $1200 for paint repair.

The next morning we need to head back to Colorado. No problem, great weather, sunny and warm, perfect drive for 80 easy miles, until someone pulls a u-turn on the interstate in a construction zone right in front of us. Construction has put us in one lane each way and a dropoff of 15 feet instead of a shoulder. The accident totaled the truck, the boat, the idiot who caused the accident and three other cars that had been going the other way. The one good thing is no one was killed. I lost another week of work while the insurance and remains were worked out. Also lost were my father?s motorcycle collection that was loaded on the back of the truck. The best part? Minnesota is a no fault state. My own insurance must cover my loss. I am now virtually uninsurable. Oh yes, Since I was a primary in the accident, all others were paid first. At the end of the $50,000 uninsured limit, there was nothing left to pay for my loss. No truck, no boat, no motorcycles. Hey, my wife didn’t leave me.
Live, love, be happy.

[jopott]

My most memorable road trip happened in my senior year in college. My friend and I decided we wanted to drive from Providence RI to Montreal on Winter break (January). It was 1976 and he had a brand new Vega. I had a 72 VW Bug that I purchased from a mechanic named Luigi (honest) the year before. The odometer read 25,000 miles but considering the shape it was in I figured it must have had 125,000 miles. I didn?t care; I was only using it to make a few trips between NY and Providence.

My thought processes were not fully developed at the time so for some reason I agreed to drive my car to Montreal since I had snow tires and my friend didn?t. With bags packed and a hundred dollars in my pocket we were off to Montreal.

About an hour from Providence, I began to notice that whenever we stopped the idle would get lower and lower and the engine would cut off unless I gave it some gas to keep the idle up. I thought?what the heck- we are on the interstate most of the way. What?s the problem?

The further we traveled the more the problem worsened. By the time we got to downtown Montreal, it was all she wrote. The car died on the street, in French Montreal. Luckily my buddy spoke French so we were able to find a VW Dealer. Undaunted, we decided to enjoy our 3 day stay in the cold wet city. We somehow got the car to the dealer and told him to see what he could do.

On the 2nd day we went by the dealer and spoke to the service manager. He looked at us and said, ?I don?t know how you made it here. The carburetor is shot and you need a new one. But I know you?re college students so for $100 we?ll repair the carb and get you on your way.? We said fine—did we have a choice? On the third day we left after a wonderful stay and hit the road at about 5pm.

Why we never checked the weather forecast is beyond me. In any case we got into a blizzard of a snowstorm in New Hampshire. At the same time we began to hear this horrendous thumping sound from the drive shaft. Fortunately for us, the snowstorm kept getting worse and worse. Down to 10 mph and sliding all over the interstate, we decided to make one of the few intelligent decisions of the trip; we pulled off and found a hotel in a small town. The next day we woke up and I took the car to the only repair shop in the city (a small Goodyear tire shop). They pulled off the wheels looked up and down and couldn?t find a problem. They buttoned everything up and sent us on our way. They were nice enough not to charge us; which was good for us since by now we were out of money. We thumped on down the road to the sound of a rhythmic ?rubber mallet? hitting the drive shaft.

Back in Providence, I was never so glad to see the gates of my soon to be Alma mater. When I got the car to a mechanic to assess the damage, I discovered that I now needed a new CV joint—no body ever told me that you need to grease the darn things every 30,000 miles. In retrospect, I should have bought snow tires for my friend?s Vega; I would have come out a lot cheaper.

Motto of the story—just because you go to college, it doesn?t mean you learn any common sense!

[m103619]

Several years ago, I started out for Boston, Ma from the Hartford Ct area with my completely rebuilt 1994 Ford F150 4WD XLT pickup. I had repaired some body damage, replaced the engine with a factory rebuild, installed new locking hubs, new Flowmaster exhaust, the truck looked great and sounded better. My mission was to move my daughter and her husband from a apartment iin Quincy to Castleton, Vermont. Did I mention the month was January? As I motored down the Mass Pike, I decided to stop prior to arriving in Boston to re-fuel, (did I mention the V-8 got about 12 miles per gallon, I was pulling a trailer, and as it was a shortbed it had a small tank aft, no saddle tank in the front?). Anyway, as I letr off the gas I heard a ticking sound from the engine that I passed off as a noisy lifter. I could not hear it on the highway as the Flowmaster was too loud. Anyway, I filled up the tank and headed East. I turned the radio off so I could hear the engine better over the roar of the Flowmaster equipped engine. This was the key that alerted my wife that something was wrong, as I never turn the radio off. I assured her all was fine, just a noisy lifter I could fix when we got home. As we approached Boston, the ticking turned into a soft rapping. Just a bad lifter I assured my wife. Nothing to worry about. We arrived in Quincy, Loaded the truck and trailer and headed out on route 89 for Vermont. We stayed over night somewhere in New Hampshire, by now the rapping was loud enough that my daugter could hear it in her car as she followed behind my truck and trailer. I could no longer convince anyone it was a minor problem, however we were over half way on our trip, so we decided to press on. Next morning we continued up 89, then route 4 to Castleton. All the traffic seemed to stay away from us, they all knew something was going to happen. We rolled on through Woodstock, then climbed the lonnng hill to Killington and down the other side. Somehow we made it to our destination, the driveway we had to back down (did I mention it was January in Vermont?) was L shaped and snow covered (did I mention I had a trailer on the back?). I managed to get the truck stuck off the side of the driveway trying to back the trailer down, we had to unload the trailer and carry everything down the steep snow covered drive. We managed to unhook the trailer, then extract the truck and back it down the drive, where we unloaded it. Now the fun poart, we start on down the road to return to the Hartford area with thids truck rapping so loud even the Flowmaster could not drown it out. I left the trailer behind (it is still there)as I was somewhat confident we were not going to make it another 200 miles home, (no way was I letting my wife in on that revelation). We drove down 103 out of Rutland and got on 91 in Rockingham Vt. All the while the rapping is getting louder (I have no idea what was holding this thing together). By now it is dark (did I mention it was January), and cold. Good thing the Ford has a good heater. We proceeded down 91, and right around Northampton Mass it happened, a loud bang, smoke everywhere, and no more power. I was doing about 65 mph at the time. I pulled over to the side, a good samaritan stopped who had a cell phone. He called AAA for me (that was when I finally decided I should get a cell phone). About an hour later the flatbed showed up (did I mention it was January, and dark out?). We were freezing. The tow truck driver hooked the F150 up and loaded on the flatbed (while we sat in the nice warm cab), then got in and asked where we wanted it taken. My first response was the boneyard, but then I realized we had no way to get home (did I mention it was cold and dark and January?), so I asked him if he knew where Hartford was? Well the truck made it to Hartford, unfortunately not under it’s own power, the engine had thrown a rod out through the side of the block, and my wife refused to get in it again, even after another rebuilt engine.

[driverofoldcars]

San Diego to Montana and back in 5 maybe 6 days.
My father-in-law decided on a Wednesday that he wanted to move from his apartment in San Diego to live with his other son and his family in North Dakota on Friday.
We had to drive. I am the only driver. My car at the time was an 88 Acura Integra (this was in 2003/4) I have over 200K miles on the car - at least it was 4-door. My mechanic said I would get as far as Salt Lake City (omen #1). My next door neighbor gave me his cell phone for the trip - no questions asked and witout asking (blessing #1)

My father-in-law was disabled. Wheelchair went in back of car. I contacted my in-laws, and sister-in-law would meet my husband and I outside Billings, MT. We got on the road Friday AM,about 11:00. Got north of Riverside (about 2 hours out) and the traffic was really bad, and my car died half way up the pass. (First breakdown)
I called a tow-truck. We got towed up the hill and 4-to 6 hours later, and 120bucks, with a flush of the car radiator, and some other odd stuff we were on the road again. We reached Vegas at about 11 or midnight. I was going to put us in a nice hotel (they are cheap in Vegas) but father-in-law didn’t want that. Ended up in a roach motel casino - but (blessing #2) it actually had 2 bedrooms, and my husband could take care of my father-in-laws physical issues without me watching.

When we got up, (maybe 6 hours later)I was going to rent a car in Vegas (father-in-law said no)(Omen #2). We started on the 15 again - going north to Utah. Somewhere in Utah I had to stop and get 2 new tires. By the time we got to Salt Lake City, the car had died, it chugged into the airport parking lot. Going to get rental at airport. Not a lot of money on this trip. First couple of places wouldn’t give us a car, because of lack of the right credit card, and I was going to drive to Montana.

Finally got a big car (blessing #3). Father in Law could streach out in back seat. We were on the road again. Could have fit an elephant in the trunk. Plenty of room for Wheelchair and luggage (not that we had much). Crusing up the 15, no sleep since Las Vegas - still driving - I think it’s late Saturday night, and we’re going over the great divide in Idaho. Deer everywhere - some of it road kill. Eventually get to Billings, MT - it’s Labor Day weekend - not a room to be had within miles - local colleges starting, etc. Attempt to sleep in car. lasted about 3 hours.It’s now Sunday - I think.

We drive East to where we’re going to where we are going to meet Sister-in-law. Find a wonderful lady in a big hotel who says after looking at me, and my death warmed over father in law, what kind of discount can I get you. Senior worked fine for her.(blessings again).

Sister in law and Nephew showed up a few hours later. Maybe 6 hours of sleep. Maybe. Don’t know. I handed over the Father-in-law, and hubby and I took the big car back to Salt Lake City via Wyoming, and Idaho and thought we would have enough money and time to spend a night in Vegas - and rest (wait for it…) Get to Salt Lake City - return car - going to charge double what I was expecting (explained that the person who gave us the car knew we were going out of state) rate returned to original amount. No milage charge.

Get old Acura. Drive 30 miles south of Salt Lake and the car died. Unlike California there are no phones on the highway. I called, and eventually we got a tow back to town. Car was in the shop overnight (now I have no idea what day it is) Replace the os intake valvue. The O2 filter was the problem (but wait for it)…One overnight stay in Ogden, UT, I drive 32 more miles, and the car dies again, this time we get towed to a little tiny shop in the middle of the mountains, and after a couple of hours of looking at the car, and my calling my daddy, and not leaving a message of who I was, but I was crying so he wasn’t sure, and calling a good friend who paid for the repairs and the tow - it was the O2 intake again - we had to drive home. I think it’s Monday, maybe Tuesday by now. I am heading south on the 15, I am cringing because I am afraid it will happen again. We stop in St. George and we sleep, a little, we drive through Vegas - and stop at the truck stop at the top of the Mountain just this side of Vegas and sleep a couple of more hours.
And then I drive home to San Diego. Still nervous about the o2 intake and just exausted - and I know somewhere I was suppose to be at work, and I know I called and had to tell them I was stuck in Salt Lake. So maybe it’s Wednesday by now. Needless to say, I’ve not returned to Utah, or Vegas. I have a different car now, but it’s still old.

The upside to this adventure from hell - my hubby and I saw some parts of the country we never thought we would, my father-in-law, who died the following February, spent the last six months of his life being adored by in teen grand-children, and they got to know him before he died. Down-side, I am terrified of road trips and my husband still doesn’t drive.

[janef123]

In 1976, my parents rented a full-sized Winnebago and drove from New Jersey to Colorado and back with four kids. I was 15 at the time, and I have vivid memories of my dad picking pieces of our sailboat off the highway in Oklahoma, after it blew off the roof and shattered. One night, after two weeks of too much family togetherness, my parents left us in a campground for the evening and went out to dinner in Aspen, Colorado. The problem, was, they took the house with them. I am sure they enjoyed their much-needed evening away, but they returned home to four cold children huddled around a dead campfire at 11:30 pm.
The rented motorhome had some mechanical problems, undoubtedly exacerbated by my dad’s insistence on driving up narrow, winding mountain passes that were in no way intended for such vehicles. One day, the engine died just as we pulled down a hill into a small town, and my father managed to coast the motorhome into the one repair shop in town. Another time, we pulled into a gas station and could not open the door. We had to wave out the window until one of young guys in the station stopped laughing and walked over to open the door from the outside. But the most memorable moment of the trip was on the way home in Illinois, late at night, when the steering column burst into flames as we were driving down the highway! Dad pulled over, we all piled out and waited while my folks used the fire extinguisher. Once it seemed safe, Dad restarted the vehicle, and that’s when he noticed that all of the steering column controls had melted together. No headlights, no turn signals or wipers. Mom stood up front and shone a flashlight out the window as Dad motored along, praying that a highway exit would appear soon. We spent that night camped at a gas station. For the last several days back to NJ, Dad awoke with the sun and started driving, so we could be off the road by dark. I do not know if he ever got a refund on the RV rental, but he was sure going to try!

[patterrj]

Vacation to Disney World.

My father in his infinite wisdom and careful retirement planning had purchased a 23 ft motor home, which he lent my family for a trip to Disney World from our home in Sylvania, Ohio.

As we left our driveway heading south, I ran over the garbage bags I had left for that morning?s trash pick up. It should have been a hint of things to come.

It is a 23-hour drive, so we planned to split the trip into 3 segments. The second one was to stop at my wife?s aunt?s house in south central Georgia. As we left Macon, Ga. on 75 south my wife took over driving the motor home for the first time.

Our son, 11 at the time, and being the good older brother tripped his sister, then 7 with her 8th birthday the next week, as she was walking to the fridge to get herself a drink. We heard this clank as she hit her arm on the metal post of the table in the main cabin of the motor home.

She whimpered and we didn?t think to much of it until the next morning, now safely at Aunt Nancy?s, where she continued to complain about how much it still hurt. We took her to the community hospital ? about the size of a large ranch house - where a male nurse with bright red hair is staffing the emergency desk. After a time we find that she has a greenstick fracture of her right wrist, and they apply an elbow cast from her fingers up to her bicep.

The second day at Aunt Nancy?s, our daughter is chasing the dog in the from yard, trips and falls against the brick front steps of Aunt Nancy?s home, lets out another cry and comes up holding her other wrist.

We take her back to the community hospital where the same male nurse is still staffing the emergency desk. They take her back, not allowing any of us to come back with her, and are gone for a very long time, wondering if this family is abusing this poor child.

She eventually comes out with another greenstick fracture of her other wrist, another elbow cast from her fingers to her bicep. So we now have a 7 year old who cannot do anything for herself as she has 2 casts. It is like having a 7-year-old baby!!

The next day, we leave Aunt Nancy?s at about 8am for the 6-hour final leg of the tour to Disney.

We have gone about 10 miles down the country road towards Interstate 75 and steam begins to fill the cab of the motor home. I pull into an old filling station ? it looks like Gomer Pyle?s? filling station in Mayberry. An attendant comes out to see what we want, sees the steam says we have an issue with our radiator, but he doesn?t have any way to help us, however there is a repair shop just down the road.

We pull into the repair shop where the proprietor looks into the cab, opens the hood in front, chips away the insulation from the radiator cap, removes the cap and determines that we have a bad radiator cap. He replaces that, fills the radiator with more water and sends us on our way.

We drive about 10 more miles, turn onto 75 and the cab is filling with steam again. I pull off into a truck weight station, where one of the troopers comes out, takes a look at everything and announces that we have a hole in our heater hose.

Since it is now 9am in South Georgia in August, and it is already 90 degrees, we figure we may not need the heater, so he pulls the heater hose, and reattaches the other hoses so that the air conditioning will work. We wait about a half hour for the engine to cool down, add more water to the radiator and are on our way again.

And the cab starts filling with steam again. I pull off at the next exit into a gas station and tell the attendant that I am having problems with my radiator. He looks at the reservoir tank for the radiator, pulls the cap announces that we have a ?mushy? hose in the tank and need a new one. The tank on this vehicle is much larger than a car, however, he doesn?t have one that size, so he sends us to the Napa Parts store down the road where they replace the mushy hose and we are on back on 75 on our way again.

And the cab starts filling with steam again. I pull off at the next exit and into the closest gas station. They tell me that they can?t help but I should go to the garage, just down the highway. We pull in there and there is a teenage working on a tractor tire on the ground in front of the garage.

I tell him we are having trouble with our radiator. He looks over his shoulder and shouts to a guy I can see in the back of the shop working on a lawnmower engine. This man, comes out, I tell him our problem and he says ?Well its my day off and I am not even supposed to be here.? He tells me to pull under the tree over there and let the engine cool down and he will take a look.

Since it is now about noon, we eat lunch. The man comes over tinkers around for a while and announces that we have a bad thermostat, which he replaces. We add more water and he climbs in the cab and we drive about 10 miles down the road to make sure there are no additional problems.

There are none so he sends us on our way, telling me that if we have any additional problems I should take the motor home to a Chevy dealer because the unit has a Chevy engine.

We get back on 75, and the cab starts filling with steam again. I pull off into the nearest gas station and tell them I am looking for the nearest Chevy dealer. At this point have just crossed the Florida border into Jasper Florida. We have gone 60 miles since 8AM and it is now about 2:30.

The gas station attendant tells me that the Chevy dealer is on the highway about 3 miles from there. I can?t miss it. We have gone maybe a mile down the highway and we hear this load BANG and the motor home coasts to the side of the highway with no power. My wife and I are standing outside of the cab looking around and I see a pharmacy just around the corner, so I go there to call the Chevy dealer.

After I get the phone number I call the dealer, tell him we are having radiator trouble and he says ?Well I wouldn?t get to you today and probably not tomorrow.? I said we are traveling thru your town on our way to Disney World, what can I do? He said again, Well I wouldn?t get to you today and probably not tomorrow, besides I don?t do radiator work. He told me to try Sam?s Sunoco, as it should be right in the neighborhood where we are.

I walk back to the motor home, and by now my wife is talking with a Jasper City police officer who has come to see why we are stopped on his road. I told him our story and we look and Sam?s is about 100 yards behind us. He tells me to hop into his car and we go to Sam?s.

It is closed. The officer says he knows another guy that may be able to help, so we get back on the highway, I wave at my wife as we speed by, and we go to another gas station.

It is right next door to the Chevy dealer. We pull up and the mechanic is sitting on the porch outside of the station in a wood dining room chair tilted back on its hind 2 legs with his baseball hat pulled down over his eyes and his hands behind his head like he is getting in his afternoon nap.

The officer rolls down his window, tells the mechanic our problem and asks if he can help. Without moving a muscle, the mechanic says ?Noope? and goes back to his nap. The officer looks grief stricken, has another thought, gets on his radio and talks to his dispatcher.

He tells me that the man who maintains their fleet of cars owns a motor home, so he asked the dispatcher to send him to us.

We drove back to the motor home where my wife is now talking with another officer. A few minutes later the maintenance man shows up and we now have the original officer, the second officer, who is the police chief and the ace mechanic who is also the fire chief!

It turns out that this mechanic actually knows what he is doing. He tinkers for a little bit and comes out and ?says here?s the deal?. The way the heating and air conditioning system works on these vehicles is that the system sends the water back words thru the system for the air conditioning. Since we removed the heater hose ? remember the truck weight station on stop #2 - the water has just been pouring out over the engine and when it got hot enough, the steam. So all we need is a new heater hose. We hop in his car and go to the Napa store, buy the heater hose and all the fixins, return to the motor home where he reconnects everything and sends us on our way one more time.
We get back on 75 south ? remember we have traveled a total of 60 miles on a 6 hour trip ? and since it is now 5pm I am wondering what is next since there won?t be any more gas stations or garages open.

We finally made it all the way to Disney. We pull into their beautiful campsite and head to the shelter house since it is now about 11pm and we haven?t had dinner yet. We find a cafeteria still open and they have a pizza stand open. It is one of the places where they give you a tin with the pizza crust and you walk along the cafeteria line and add the toppings that you want. They then take this bake it and you have your own pizza. I have been walking along with my son putting all the fixins on the pizza while my wife and - daughter ? with the 2 elbow casts - look for a table. As I am paying for this I think to myself, you know I have been messing around all day with this motor home and haven?t washed my hands since lunch. Oh well, my wife doesn?t know and by now I really don?t care any more!!

We had a wonderful time in Disney World, despite the fact that it rained every day as it does in Florida in the summer. About 45 minutes worth of rain at 5:00 every day!! Our daughter ? with both arms in elbow casts - was a big hit with all of the Disney characters, much to our son?s dismay.

We had no incidents on the way home, except that I broke the cruise control lever. When we returned my father took his ?baby? to the motor home dealer and found that we had a cracked block ? probably from the first repair garage where we did not wait for the engine to cool down, and it cost another $500.00 to fix it and put it back in acceptable running order.

All of this took place almost 25 years ago, but we will always be grateful to the Jasper Fl Police and Fire Departments who actually cared about a family of tourists with motor home problems.

[itsafa]

HI GUYS MY NAME IS DEAN FROM EL PASO TEXAS. WE USED TO LIVE IN ANAHEIM CALIFORNIA. NOVEMBER 2000 ME, MY WIFE AND 2 KIDS DECIDED TO GO TO MEXICO. WE CAME TO EL PASO AND RENTED A CAR FROM AIRPORT 2001 MERCURY GRAND MARQUIS. DROVE SOUTH OF THE BORDER ABOUT 6 HOURS AND MADE IT TO MY IN-LAWS. DROPED OFF THE KIDS PICKED UP MY SISTER IN LAW AND A COUSIN AND HIS WIFE AND DECIDED TO GO TO COPPER CANYON IN STATE OF CHIHUAHUA IN MEXICO. THE PLACE WHERE WE WERE GOING WAS ABOUT 4 HOUR DRIVE. ABOUT 2 1/2 HOUR INTO THE DRIVE WE ARE IN A DOUBLE LANE HIGHWAY WITH CLIFF ON BOTH SIDE OF THE ROAD AND A SEMI TRUCK IN FRONT OF ME A PIECE OF 2x4 WOOD FALLS OFF THE TRUCK AND I HAVE NO WAY TO ESCAPE SO I DRIVE RIGHT OVER IT LIKE A BUMP EVERY THING LOOKS NORMAL TIL ABOUT 5 MIN A CAR FROM THE BACK GIVES ME THE HIGH BEAM I PULL OVER AND FOUND OUT WE HAVE A 1/4 INCH HOLE IN THE GAS TANK AND LOSING GAS WE DECIDED JUST TO DRIVE TILL WE RAN OUT OF GAS WE PULL INTO THIS LITTLE VILLAGE WITH ONE MECHANIC SHOP AND THE GUY TELLS US THAT HE CAN FIX IT, MEAN WHILE HE IS FIXING HE ASKS ME IF I WANT TO HIDE ANYTHING IN THE GAS TANK BEFORE HE SEALS IT UP!!! ANY WAY WE LEAVE THE VILLAGE AND STARTED CLIMBING THE HILLS TO THE COPPER CANYON ABOUT 20 MIN BEFORE GETTING TO OUR DESTINATION WE ARE GOING UPHILL WHEN WE SEE AN OVERTURNED COCA COLA TRUCK THERE IS DEBRIS ALL OVER THE ROAD TRYING TO AVOID THE ACCIDENT I HIT A ROCK ON THE ROAD ABOUT ANOTHER 5 MIN I SEE SMOKE COMING OUT OF THE BACK OF THE CAR AND I CAN FEEL THE CAR PULLING REALLY HARD I PULL OVER AND NOTICE WE HAVE A HOLE IN OUR TRANSMISSION OIL PAN AND WE LOST ALL THE OIL. IT S ABOUT 4:30 IN THE AFTERNOON AND VERY COLD AND STARTING TO GET DARK A TRUCK COMES BY AND TELLS US THERE IS NO TOW TRUCK IN COPPER CANYON BUT HE IS GOING DOWN THE HILL AND HE WOULD SEND A TOW TRUCK. WE WAITED ABOUT AN HOUR AND NO SIGN OF THE TOW SO WE LOCKED THE CAR AND DECIDED TO HICKHIKE TO THE VILLAGE DOWN THE HILL. ON THE WAY DOWN WE SEE THE TOW TRUCK SO ME AND MY WIFES COUSIN GET OUT OF THE CAR AND SEND THE WIFES AND MY SISTER IN LAW TO THE VILLAGE. WE GET TO THE CAR AND TOW TRUCK COMES TO PICK UP THE CAR FROM THE FRONT AND BREAKS THE BUMPER COVER AND SAYS THAT IT IS BETTER TO LIFTED FROM THE BACK. HE PICKS IT UP BUT DOES NOT HAVE A ROPE TO TIE DOWN THE STEERING WHEEL AND WE DID NOT THINK OF THE SEAT BELTS SO I VOLUNTEERED TO SIT IN THE CAR AND HOLD THE STEERING WHEEL. WE COME DOWN THE HILL WHERE THE COCA COLA ACCIDENT WAS AND THE FEDERAL POLICE TELLS THE TOW TRUCK THAT YOU HAVE TO HELP UPRIGHT THE TRUCK SO HE PUTS MY CAR DOWN, UPRIGHTS THE TRUCK AND HOOKS ME BACK UP. WE GET TO THE VILLAGE FIND THE MECHANIC AND THE GUY SAYS I WILL HAVE IT READY BY NOON TOMOROW. NOON TOMOROW WE GO TO PICK UP THE CAR THE MECHANIC GOES IT IS READY BUT THE HAD TO MAKE THE GASKET HIMSELF CAUSE IT IS A NEW CAR AND THEY DONT HAVE THE PART AND IT MIGHT LEAK A LITTLE BIT. FROM THERE TO MY IN LAWS AND FROM MY IN LAWS TO EL PASO, TEXAS IS ABOUT 600 MILES AND I PUT ABOUT 5 QUARTS OF TRANSMISSION OIL AND WE NEVER MADE IT TO OUR DESTINATION. GOT BACK TO EL PASO RETURNED THE CAR AND TOLD THEM WHAT HAPPENED PAID THE DEDUCTIBLE AND WENT BACK TO CALIFORNIA. I HOPE YOU WOULD ENJOY ONE OF OUR WORST ROAD TRIPS. THANK YOU GUYS AND LOVE YOUR PROGRAM,
BEST REGARDS, DEAN SAFA EL PASO TEXAS

[zuma06]

Back in the spring of 1983 I went on a road trip with a couple of college friends from upstate new york to West Virginial to golf at Greenbrier! My friends friend had worked there during the summer break and we were going to stay with him, drink beer, and golf. We were in a Camaro, which had a very uncomfortable back seat (my area) and two bucket seats. My friend rode shotgun. His friend drove, and refused to let anyone else drive. So I sat in back and drank while they sat in front.

I’ll skip over the near fights at rest stops (by other customers), as the two long haired ones (me and my friend) and the preppy looking one (the driver) made our way south.

Anyway, we arrived mid morning and drove around the Greenbrier parking lot looking for our friends car. Then to his house. Still no car. Then the tragic news. He had been involved in a fatal car accident the week before. So here we are in West Virginia with nowhere to stay, one friend less, and worst of all, no access to Greenbrier. There is not much to do around there if you don’t golf. So we napped for a while and then hit the road back home to upstate new york. I slept for a while and woke up to see both doors open! The fog had become so severe that the driver and the passenger were looking out the open door to follow the lines in the road. Glancing out the front window I saw a solid white fog! Nothing to do but drink more and hope that the end would be painless.

Somehow we made it through alive.

[Barneyod]

I was traveling from Chicago to Portland, OR. I was to meet my wife in Greeley, CO. Outside of Chicago I picked up a hitchhiker. He asked how far I was going. I answered Greeley. He said great!
He then proceeded to remove his shoes and place his feet on the dash. From the oder I would guess he had not changed his socks in many years. He then reached over and turned the radio some “thump-thump” station. I was just about to say something when he lit up a cigarette. By this time
we were at the next freeway exit where I kick him out. He was shocked that I would do such a thing.

PS Greeley, CO, in those days, has feed lots on all four side of the town but they couldn’t compete with the
hitchhiker’s socks.

Barney O’Donnell

[bethpressler]

It was 1967 (I was 12 and my brother was 7) - we had the new 1967 (Mercury?) Colony Park - mocha brown with brown woody sides station wagon. We were pulling the popup tent trailer - Tradewinds - for our big trip out West to Yellowstone Nat’l Park from a suburb in Cleveland - South Euclid, Ohio. We were traveling with our good friends, “Aunt” Muncie, “Uncle” Mike, Michael and Steven. (They were in a tent - no trailer).

The July trip started out great - through the flat country of Indiana, Iowa… The trouble started when we started going through hills. The Colony Park would “throw up” brown liquid as we were climbing the hills.

We hobbled into a little town in Wyoming just outside Yellowstone Park - Cody. They had a Ford dealership in town, diagnosed the problem as a cracked block.

Geesh! So while they shipped the engine block back to Detroit for a new block - we set camp at the local campgrounds. (Oh, it wasn’t that bad - the campground had a pool!) We whitewater rafted down the Shosoni River (I still have the Shosoni River Rat certificate somewhere!) We borrowed a car from the dealership and went into the park daily to feed the bears (you could do that back then!).

Things weren’t great when Aunt Muncie’s had to leave us in Cody to get back to Cleveland. It was traumatic! Plus our campsite was next to the railroad tracks!

After 2 weeks in Cody, Wyoming waiting for the new engine block - we headed back east to Cleveland.

Insult added to injury when we got the “post mortem” on the “cracked engine block”…the radiator capped didn’t fit correctly.

Whew! What an experience! But I remember it like it happened yesterday!

Beth Pressler, Grosse Pointe Park, Michigan

[LookoutRanch]

Here are the pics to the story above. On seeing the pics, I think the Travelall was a 1961 model.

The tune-up

The brake failure

Arriving in Alaska (we were joking around)

[Rick_B]

In 1977 I bought a 1972 Bronco that was modified for off road duty. It was something our guys in Afghanistan would appreciate. It had a 302 Cleveland motor, Hooker headers, BIG knobby tires and a 1-ton suspension installed by the previous owner. This was a kidney killer. You could get a high altitude nose bleed climbing into the driver?s seat. Anyway, the top was completely warn out and ripped clean off on a highway one day. I never saw the remains again. On a very hot Saturday, I decided to build a hard top from marine plywood. I was making the measurements when the wife of my best friend came out. I was living with them for a few months, he was at work, and she was bored. I should have sent her to the lumber yard. She told me there was a free battle of the bands at the local lake and wanted to go to it. Against my better judgment, I said ok.

We went to the concert and then headed for home at the end of the afternoon. We were coming to a scenic turnout along the river so I turned off to get a drink and find some shade. When I turned into the ascending drive and hit the brakes, at 40+ mph, the pedal went to the floor. I panicked because I didn?t know if there were cars parked just over rise. I pulled to the right, over the curb and headed straight for an oak tree. I?m a pretty good shot because I hit it right between the ?O? & ?R? on the grill. The tree ripped in two and was stuck on the front of the Bronco. I couldn?t see squat. Then suddenly, we STOPPED!! There was a large boulder weighing several tons that cut our travel short. When we hit, the large roll bar tore completely out of the steel plate re-enforced fenders and bent towards the windshield. The 1/2" stainless steel bolts snapped like twigs. My passenger flew straight up, hit the padding and came back down. If the roll bar had not broken, she would have flown out of the vehicle and I would have had to explain how I lost my buddy’s wife. Before, she had an abnormal curvature to her back. After that, she had zero curvature.

After I gathered my wits, which were strewn all over the place, we assessed the damage. The beers in the cooler flew out and were all over the front floorboards (we were lucky we weren’t hit in the head), my glasses were missing and then I found them (this is weird) neatly folded behind the throttle pedal on the rod, and the grill and radiator were on top of the motor. When we got out and saw the boulder, that we didn?t know was there, it was a God-send. It was cracked wide open. About 10-feet beyond the boulder was a decorative sandstone wall. Beyond the wall was a 300-foot drop to the river! Some hippy came by and we asked him to go to where her husband worked which, fortunately, was about a mile away. We talked about that he might not make the call because he was obviously loaded. Her husband came and got us and we went back to the house, assembled 2? conduit and a seal fitting (we were desperate), grabbed some aircraft cable and rigged a towing device. We had to get it out of there soon before a highway patrolmen showed up. My inspection sticker was made from the backside of a Budweiser label hand forged to look real at least five feet away. That, and I would have been charged for an oak tree and a broken rock.

Some guy came by a couple of days later and offered to buy the remains as spare parts. I didn?t hesitate. Guess what? It turned out that a 5-cent brake cylinder seal in the left rear failed that caused the whole thing. You know how you’ve heard that you get what you pay for? Well, no more free concerts for me.

I have an even better road trip/fishing story, but it’s way to long to post here.