We’ll Never Forget These 10 Automotive Adventures
There are a lot of ways to say “I love cars,” and we think the best way is by doing something with them. A road trip with your own vehicle is probably the activity that first crosses your mind, and for good reason. Road trips are a theater for mechanical mishaps and roadside ingenuity, for unexpected community, grand destinations, and the parallel mental journey.
That said, automotive adventures can be anything—for a car-obsessed writer, it might be getting the chance to write a story you’ve wanted to tell for years, or witnessing a history-making moment. For a racer, it could be a best lap or a particular season where you proved to yourself that yes, you can do this. For a mechanic or engineer, it could be solving a problem that no one else could—or, again, proving that yes, you can fix it.
From road trips to trackside moments, here are 10 experiences that will live forever in our memories.
Vee for … Very Nearly Avoiding Katrina?
In 2005 my dad bought a Formula Vee, and our plan was to drive our Suburban and trailer from Houston to Jacksonville, pick the car up, and drive back. Easy. Except in between wiring the money and leaving on the trip, Hurricane Katrina smacked into Louisiana.
We adjusted our route a bit north to avoid all the issues from the storm, but apparently not far enough. We wound up getting stuck in the middle of Mississippi with no gas, no hotels, no showers, nothing to do, and a needle sinking past “E.” Finally, after almost two days, one gas truck pulled into a Shell station. We rushed to get into the huge line of other cars running on fumes, including a clapped-out Tercel in front of us that we helped push every time the line moved, and eventually the guy directing everybody—I think he was a U.S. Marshal—let us fill up our tank (some were only allowed half a tank) and be on our way.
The seller of the car in Florida had some mysterious government job where it was hard to reach him, but we did make it to Jacksonville, loaded up the Vee, showered, and turned around. In the moment, the whole thing sucked, and what was supposed to be a long two-day trip wound up taking about five. But it was some of the best father/son bonding we ever had, and we got a race car out of it. — Andrew Newton
Kyle Recalls That Van
Waking up under my 1961 Chevrolet Greenbrier, with the gas tank precariously held in by three threads on a single one of the straps that hold it up above the front suspension. That beautiful moment that follows waking up put a golden haze over what was actually a pretty crummy situation. The van wouldn’t pull fuel to the carbs and I had 1000 miles to get home. I’d been up for days and was only marginally closer to ready to leave on the drive, and had fallen asleep while conducting the repair.
If I could have only known that buying that van, traveling to drive it home, and all the adventures that would stem from it would later be viewed as one of the exit ramps that put me on the path to live my life doing similar adventures. It wasn’t the craziest or riskiest thing I’ve done, but it was the first time I put my skills to the test and proved to myself I was more capable than I thought.
It was all downhill from there. — Kyle Smith
Eddy’s First SCCA Win
Nothing will ever beat spending a week at Indy with some of my closest friends, all of us competing at the SCCA Runoffs in 2021. But I’ve written about that (here), so instead, I’ll go with winning my first SCCA race back in 2014—I count it as an adventure because it took a lot longer than the time between the green flag and the checkers.
I’d never been so meticulously determined. The car got a fresh engine, a good tune, and I made sure everything else was in top form. Along with my buddy, Mark Bennett, who was one of the best Spec Miata drivers of the time (and ever, really), I spent hours poring over data comparing his laps in my car at Mid-Ohio with my own to get everything I could out of the car. This was as ready as I’d ever be for just about anything.
A second-place finish on Saturday only made me more eager. The following day, exiting the keyhole on the first lap of the race, the leader spun his RX-7 and I threaded the needle to get up to first. I’m better off having a rabbit in front of me than I am driving in my mirrors, but I managed to lead the whole race. Most of central Ohio could hear my joyful shouts when I crossed the line first. — Eddy Eckart
Berg Survives Bolivia’s Death Road
It was the world’s most dangerous road: A rutted track that linked Bolivia’s biggest city La Paz to Coroico deep in the rainforest of the Yungas. Overloaded trucks piloted by overworked coca-leaf-chewing drivers and microbuses packed with travelers far beyond their stated capacity battled for position among the daily rockslides and precipitous drops.
In amongst them was me, fighting altitude sickness on the narrow mountain path in a prototype Range Rover Sport for a magazine story.
Death was never far. Almost every bend was marked with a memorial for those who had gone over the side, while machete-wielding cocaleros clashing with riot police on the road provided a potentially murderous moment.
Was it really my favorite automotive adventure? Possibly not, but it’s certainly the one I will never forget. — Nik Berg
Transportation and Architecture, Sajeev’s Parallel Passions
For me, that adventure was formulating a concept of comparing post–industrial era transportation and architecture, looking at what was both revolutionary and readily available, and drawing connections. As much as I love Piston Slap-ping and Vellum Venom-ing a car for a specific reason, I wanted to reach farther. I wanted to look at human creations and draw parallels between them.
Those parallels would rarely (if ever?) be considered for an automotive website. (Probably never even for architecture websites, but I haven’t checked.) The modernist city of Columbus, Indiana was a natural fit. Hyundai made a delightfully complex vehicle (Ioniq 5) that embodied traditional car design, digital technology, and classic modernist building design. I dreamed to pair the two. I wanted it pretty badly, if I was being honest.
I still can’t believe this comparison came to fruition, and that it got published, of all things. — Sajeev Mehta
Brandan Witnesses History at Bonneville
A question I’ve heard from readers on more than one occasion is “What’s the coolest thing you’ve gotten to do while writing about cars?” The askers probably expect an answer about driving something expensive, rare, or handbuilt, but I’m not good enough on the dragstrip or on the track to really get the most out of cars and get an elapsed time or lap time worth bragging about.
Instead, the most memorable experience I had was during Speed Week 2017 when I got to see Danny Thompson attempt a 400-mph record in the same nitro-burning, twin-engine streamliner that his father, Mickey, had campaigned in the 1960s. Don Prudhomme was on the starting line talking with Danny, who was trying to get advice from Prudhomme, but Snake had to admit that he’d never driven 400 mph, and couldn’t offer much help.
As a fan of some of hot-rodding’s greatest engineers, drivers, and entrepreneurs, I had thought that I might not get to witness such an incredible achievement, that all of those moments had already been lived. It’s still amazing that I got to stand on the salt the day Danny Thompson drove over the horizon and set the 406.8 mph record that his father had been chasing all those years ago. — Brandan Gillogly
Perusing Alaska, Petroelje-Style
I’ve been fortunate enough to undertake some pretty wild automotive adventures, but hands-down the one that sticks in my brain most is the trip I was able to take with my wife in the summer of 2022 from Fairbanks, Alaska, to Seattle, Washington.
We were returning a Ford Bronco and an Airstream to their respective manufacturers, and the pair was about as Americana as you can get. If words can capture the beauty of that land, I’ve yet to learn them.
Along the way, I made all sorts of silly misjudgments trying to manicure the experience for Meg, since I’d already taken this trip in reverse years prior. Frustration and guilt loomed large in my brain for portions of the trip. But as I’ve experienced many times before and since, Meg’s calming presence and appreciation for what’s directly in front of us helped battle back the negativity. I ended up with a mental rolodex of moments that I’ll cherish forever—spidered windshields, delays, and all. (Read the full story here! —Ed.)
The trip also reminded me of why I adore cars: They’re the willing steeds of journeys we create for ourselves, and the freedom they offer is irreplaceable in this great land. — Nate Petroelje
Grace Gets Caught by the Dragon
As Nate pointed out, this line of work hands you some incredible and otherwise impossible opportunities. In my five years at Hagerty, this gearhead has got a lot to be grateful for, including driving a press-fleet Cayman GT4 from a track test at NCM, where we put it head-to-head with a GT500, to Porsche’s headquarters in Atlanta.
What didn’t make it into the story was the monumental pressure I put on myself to Have an Experience. I learned my lesson afterward, as I was writing the article—experiences happen to you. You don’t engineer them.
I took the Porsche down the Tail of the Dragon, that destination road in the Great Smoky Mountains, because, somewhere in my overly analytical brain, that seemed like the thing to do. The Porsche’s tires were exhausted, and it was capable of far more than I could ask, even on a public road, but the hug of those bucket seats, the taut feel of the chassis, the road that scooped you up and flung you around, the throng of car people in their own rides, as the light turned gold … those I remember fondly.
Another moment I’ll never forget from that trip: As I pinched and zoomed through Google Maps, in my quest for Good Driving Roads, I discovered that some of curviest roads between Kentucky and Georgia are not paved—or, in one particularly embarrassing case, entirely above water. Reversing a bright-red Porsche—that didn’t belong to me—up a single-lane gravel road, nose-to-nose with some local’s pickup truck, away from a kiddie-pool-sized puddle of uncertain depth … I’ve never felt so sheepish. — Grace Houghton
Steven Cole Smith Sees the Salt
Years ago, when I was at a different publication, I asked my friend Mark, who was in charge of Pontiac public relations, if the company had ever taken a Bonneville to Bonneville. He didn’t answer, but I could see the wheels working. I forgot about it until he called nearly a year later and said, “Are you ready to go to Bonneville?” Yes. Yes, I was. He had taken a supercharged Bonneville to an aftermarket engine tuner, who had tweaked the 240-horse V-6 and added some aero bits and pieces. We boarded the plane in Detroit, but by the time we landed, the tuner had blown up the engine, beyond repair.
Oh, well. Let’s make the best of our first trip to the Bonneville Salt Flats. And we did. It was magic: Tents filled with Midwestern farmers tending to homebuilt speed buggies, each one happy to talk to you. Carefully, professionally engineered ground rockets that were a marvel to behold. Race cars with duct tape sealing the body’s seams for maximum aero. Tiny 50cc motorcycles. And the friendliest bunch of officials, who were just glad to have some new media attention. The glistening white salt was amazing to see, and dawn, when you can fire the engines, was unforgettable. It would have never been on my bucket list of 10 race tracks you must visit, but it has been since. — Steven Cole Smith
10-Year-Old Stefan, The Burn, and a Jeep
When I was a kid, we used to drive out West to camp for a month or so most summers. In 1986, we were up in the San Juan mountains of southeast Colorado and my mom accidentally backed our ’83 Plymouth Voyager (the full-sizer) into a tree. It had a single giant rear door, and the window in it shattered.
We drove back to Nucla, the tiny town where my great-uncle Bud lived, and the local mechanic there said he could fix it, but it would be a few days, so he gave us a Jeep CJ-5 as a loaner, free of charge. It was dark metallic brown with black steel wheels and knobby tires. I couldn’t believe how lucky we were.
Outside of Nucla was a giant high-desert plateau of juniper and pinion pines and sage brush that locals called The Burn, because there had been a fire there years before. One morning we got up early, took the doors and the top off, and headed up to explore—my older sister excluded, because she hated the idea of not having doors. We found arrowheads and pottery shards (which we left in place, to my 10-year-old dismay, but I get it now…) and we saw a small herd of wild horses, the concept of which still amazes me—that they are out there.
Clouds moved in, as they do on summer afternoons in Colorado, and it began to rain hard. We got soaked in the Jeep, and we slipped and slid our way back down off the plateau, splashing through a small arroyo that had been dry on the way up. The Jeep was absolutely covered in mud, and I still remember the sound of it coming off the tires and slapping the wheel wells as we headed back to town. — Stefan Lombard
Another tale of youth and foolish. I bought my first new car, a left over 1966 AH Sprite, and took it up to Watkins Glen for the Can Am. Not our first trip to the Glen but first time in my own sports car. Back then it was normal to go down into town and check out what was going on in town and enjoy a day at the Falls ( I don’t think it was a State Park yet). On the way back up to the track and our camp site I got a little over zealous at one of the intersections and over drove the turn smashing right into a poor fellow’s trailer with his Can Am car loaded and on his way back from the track. Poor guy survived a day of on track practice and I pushed his race car about a foot at least off the trailer. He was not a happy guy. My buddies bailed me out and my car was towed to a local garage in town. I bummed a ride home in the back of a friends TR4 and made some arrangements to go back up to get my car. Another friend and I took off work a few days later and went back up to the garage. The mechanic had fixed it enough to drive but the front hubs were cracked so it would roll but obviously, no brakes and for some reason that escapes me now, I wanted to get it home to get it repaired.. I followed my friend all the way home from Watkins Glen to Hershey Pa area using the emergency brake lever to stop when necessary. We figured if I was going to rear end anyone it might as well be him. We still laugh about that trip today, back then probably wasn’t quite as funny. but it was an adventure!
Back in about 1978-79 with my dad and a family friend went to Morgantown, WV to chain tow a broken Fiat 128 (timing belt-bent valves) back to Johnstown, Pa. (Side bar / was college ride for future NY Giants Superbowl winning team quarterback) Anyway, it poured rain the whole way back towing the car with 8 ft chain on two lane winding mountain roads. I was the driver of the Fiat and my dad drove the tow vehicle (olds delta 88). For those that have towed with a chain you all know the dance that happens between the two vehicles and how the two drivers have think as one. My dad and I could do it as second nature. With the short chain that I could barely see most of the time in the rain and dark we made it back in about 4 hours what would normally be little over two hours. As about a twenty year old I experienced coming back down from four hours of super intense focus I am guessing like what drivers probably experience at night races in the rain. It was a good time to laugh shake your head about.
One trip I’ll never forget was the week of the 9/11 disaster. I was in Las Vegas doing some work. Of course, there were no flights at all and I needed to get back home in Seattle. So I rented a car that happened to be a big Lincoln. I drove from LV to Seattle and there was almost NO traffic! I was able to drive 100mph easily without worrying about the cops. I drove only on the interstate. I made it to my friends house in Ashland in that evening before dark. It was a great!
In 1973 we lived in the Maryland suburbs of Washington DC. My father was friends with a Mexican diplomat who was returning to Mexico City with two cars. He drove his new Ford Country Squire while 17 year old me drove his ’68 Chevelle SS396. Yellow with black stripes over the hood, 4 speed and power nothing. My younger sister rode shotgun, occasionally stretching over to put her foot on the gas pedal when my leg cramped from the strong throttle return spring. I loved that car.
My most memorable road trip was driving a 1971 Hemi Cuda convertible from Scottsdale Az. to Reno Nevada.
I was a foolish18 year old and there were no speed limits in Nevada. The engine started knocking 200 miles from Reno and no one was willing to provide a tow. My friend and I drove 35 mph to limp it there while giant semis were flying past at 100+…and of course it started to rain and continued raining for much of the remainder of the trip. I will skip the numerous scarry incidents but 21 hours later we arrived in Reno, We spent the next three weeks rebuilding the engine so we could get home. The whole story would make a good article for Hagerty.
I had the most incredible organic moment in 1983 driving back from North Carolina to New Jersey visiting family. I was driving my 1969 Firebird with the Straight 6 OHC. I suddenly fell in with a guy driving a Datsun 260Z and A guy driving BMW. For the next two hours we drove together on I-95. Each person at a time taking the lead of the pack. No pushing or shoving or trying to get over on each other, just pure driving cooperation and enjoyment. Each person seemed to know what it was all about. At some point an exit came up and we were done. Lights flashing, horns blowing our goodbyes. Three distinct cars, three different individuals, one shared moment. It never happened again. I will never forget it.
Mine happened when I wasn’t even in the car. A year before my wife had fallen in love with a friend’s DeTomaso Pantera. We’d accumulated a few bucks extra, and the look on her face when I paid for Her Car and she got in for a 25 mile drive home- solo- will stay with me forever. She entered the freeway and instantly there was a cop from 3 lanes over right behind her. But she was so enthralled she said later she hadn’t even noticed him. He gave up after 10 miles of 55 mph tailgating. Later that year she ran it up to 150 for a couple of minutes on a deserted desert highway (I was the passenger) and had the exact same look. Memories…
Does 2600 miles Florida to Corozal, Belize in a 24 year old Land Rover Discovery pulled from the trees have any interest? Ten hour days at 35mph (Google lied) due to the potholes, but couldn’t believe how comfortable the seats were. The alternator died and we were nursing it the four hours to our next accommodation, crested a hill and saw a row of taillights off into the distance and around a corner: a tanker had upset across both lanes. Turn off the engine and hope it will restart, or idle, wasting more charge and run out of fuel? Turned off the engine, the wife prayed it would restart and that we’d get to the hotel before dark. We made it with a sense of relief and a “Thank You” to the Man upstairs. Registered but the receptionist spoke no English. Next AM, the day receptionist said “The night staff said you have a car problem. I have a friend of a friend.” Long story short, his mechanic found a rebuilt alternator and delivered the Disco to the hotel at 6:30PM. The receptionist told me the cost in pesos and I thought “Ouch”. Then converted to under $250.00. He explained to the receptionist that he’d also got the tach working, installed new spark plugs he found in the glove box and replaced a broken vacuum line. The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful. My wife and I were in our mid- seventies and know that we’ll grow old sometime but promised we’d never grow up. Would we do it again? Probably, but we need to factor in the stress we create for our daughter.
My USAF move from Mtn Home ID to Okinawa… via South Carolina, Keeseler AFB (Gulfport MS) and Governor’s Island Coast Guard Station, NY. Short notice orders in the spring of 1987. Decided to go to my home town in SC for my wife and three year old to stay while I went to Keesler for six weeks then Voernor’s Islnad for two weeks of training. Sold our 84 diesel Chevette and loaded up my 63 Rambler American (2 door sedan, 195.6 OHV, auto) and utility trailer. Going up the Continental Divide in Colorado a late season snow storm rolled across the country! Truckers had already put up their chains, and there were two idiot truckers SIDE BY SIDE going up, almost jack knifed. One finally got clear of the other, but not before traffic stopped briefly. I had to get out and push the back of the Rambler to keep it on the road (from jack knifing) while wife drove. When it started moving good I ran up and jumped in the driver’s seat (nice to have a split bench!). Drove that night through the blizzard. Stayed overnight just west of Cheyenne, WY somewhere in the mountains. 9 degrees the nest morning! Had to have the car jump started. Made it to Denver and stopped at a truck stop to see how the roads ahead were. Kansas was closed! Three truckers were supposedly let through. One made it through, a heavily loaded brand new Kenworth. One of the others was blown off the road, the other stopped with him and they sat it out. So we dipped further south to Albequerque and took I-40 to SC. Got half way across Kansas and the head on the car cracked! I pulled into a small town garage and told the guy it was blowing water out, but I hadn’t run it hot or anything. He didn’t believe me, and didn’t have time to mess with it, but felt sorry for me. He said I sounded like I knew enough to pull the head then he’d look at it. So he lent me the tools and I pulled it in the shop parking lot. You could easily see the cracks at every exhaust valve! He said no way I could have run it that hot. We determined that it had small cracks all along, and the hard trip was just the straw that broke the camels back. Called my dad — my $500 limit credit card wasn’t going to pay for a U-haul and trailer! He convinced the guy to take his card number over the phone (not done much back then!). The little U-haul fanchisee called and made sure it went through the next day and we headed back out — just in time to catch up to the snow storm in the NC mountains! Had to spend the night stuck on the road until it could be cleared. For a bit there I thought I’d run out of gas before we found a station — had been starting it every hour or so for 10-15 minutes to keep from freezing! Finally made it to SC. That trip usually took three days (I’d made it a couple times while at Mtn Home) — took me 6.5 this time (2 nights in Kansas with cracked head). Luckily I had 10 days before I had to be at Keesler! That wasn’t the end. I had time to pull the oil pan and check the engine, and get a head before going to NY. Drove it about half-way and lost a lower trunnion cap (part of the front suspension). Couldn’t drive it far like that! Pulled off at a small garage in Maryland (forget where). they stored the car and took me to get a rental to get to NY. Ordered the part while there for two weeks, and was sweating! I finally went to the orderly room and asked if I had a package the day before I had to leave. Oh, this if for you! Came in 4-5 days ago… I was relieved (the idiots!!). rented car, drove back to MD, put on part, and got back to SC. Then flew from there to Okinawa with family! The clincher? The movie on the flight between Alaska and Japan was “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles”!! I really connected with it…
It was Christmas 1996, my wife at the time my 9 month old daughter drove from Pueblo, CO, wher we lived, back to Lakewood, CO to visit my folks for the holiday. We drove my ‘69 C-10 long bed 2WD, going over Monument pass north of CO Spgs, it started snowing hard and fast, soon it was totally snow packed. Fortunately the bed was full of snow from previous storms and good tires. I think what helped the most was the wore out 350, and a four speed lugging along about 20-25mph in fourth gear, plus all 3 fuel tanks full of fuel. At that low of an rpm in that gear the truck barely even slipped a wheel, plenty of cars and semi’s pulled over or stuck but we trudged through up and over the pass, pretty soon it was just wet highway. I’ll never forget that trip and I still have the truck.
Another trip few years earlier in college. My step dad had a friends dad selling a ‘78 Delta 88 Royale 2dr in Wisconsin. This was Christmas break of 1989, all he had was a good description of the car, no pics. We flew one way from Denver to Applewood, WI where the owner of the Olds picked us up. It was lightly snowing there, we pulled up to the house and there was the gorgeous Olds spotless and immaculate in its dark red metallic paint, white landau vinyl roof, white mud flaps and wire hub caps. The car had the 403 and posi rear end. We setoff shortly as we had a long drive back to Denver. What we really didn’t anticipate was the arctic storm we had to go through in Iowa. Temps were -35 had to put cardboard in front of the radiator just to stay reasonably warm. When we would stop we left the car running even for meals and a short hotel stay. The car ran flawless for the trip and for the many years he had the car. I won’t ever forget that trip with him.
I’ve got a few. Driving dads then new 1974 Vega Gt from the Chicago suburbs up to Road America for the June Sprints with my buddy. As much as that car was hated by many, it was a great handling little car, if only in the memories of zipping through the hilly curvy roads of Wisconsin.
Fast forward a few years, I’m older , at 20 and 2 of my friends and I decided we needed to take a road trip. From Chicago to LA and back . In a 1963 Rambler American with the flat head 6 cylinder, no air, or radio or power anything. We did install an 8-track player for entertainment…..Hunter Thompson would have been proud of our attempt to recreate a version of his memorable literary examples! Oh and we did this trip in August, you couldn’t run more than around 65 mph during the day, because it would start to overheat, but in the cool night air, she would easily run 70 mph. And the best seat in the house was in the hammock we strung over the back seat!. And we made it back to Chicago with the Rambler still running-barely. And no tickets or arrests either!
Fast forward many years. I’m a career firefighter, got to co-drive our new million dollar ladder truck from Osh Kosh Wisconsin, to our station in suburban Chicago. That’s when we realized it only got 4mpg, and fitting a giant ladder truck into the closest gas station we could find when the low fuel light came -priceless!
Later in my career, I got a part time job delivering railroad vehicles from the Chicago suburban factory where they were upfitted, to rail yards across the country. Nothing more exciting driving a rail truck with a crane through the Rockies, then driving the same truck up a winding 2 lane road back road to the rail yard -its final destination.
More recently, now retired in East Tennessee, out for a drive in the CX-9 , the 2 of us and our late dog Leddy in the back seat. And we accidentally found ourselves on the Tail of the Dragon, the old girl did remarkably well, sliding from one side of the car to the other-and none of us got carsick!
Sometimes it’s the destination that makes it memorable, but if you’re lucky, the drive is memorable as well.
This is my Citroen SM story that still burns in my mind 39+ years ago.
I was stationed in Sardinia. After a hard night of partying we were walking home through the narrow streets and came upon an SM , I was explaining to my non car friend why it was sitting on the ground and out came the owner. A well dressed Italian gentleman looking like he stepped out of a Fellini movie, his jacket draped over his shoulders and wearing a Fedora.
My Italian was rudimentary and he spoke no English, but he demonstrated the suspension for us and opened the hood. He motioned us to jump in and my 240lb buddy climbed in back, I got the passenger seat. I am sure the driver was a trashed as we were , but hey it was 2AM and it was a different time back then. He took us on a 45 minute hell ride through the ancient deserted streets of Cagliari that changed my life forever.
The guy was a master and the car was magnificent. the wail of the engine off the buildings drowned out my buddies screams that eventually turned into laughter. After every sharp turn he would take his hand off the wheel to demonstrate the self centering feature and double clutched every shift both up and down. It was quite a night and quite a car.
Lucky we didn’t kill anyone or ourselves, and I don’t condone this behavior but I was glad I was there.
My family of origin had 3 x-country trips by the time I was 8–all moves between Seattle and Boston. To me, they were the greatest of adventures.
I’m 17. We’re supposed to go to Paris for the year. My mother gets sick, my parents are afraid to go. We end up heading to Palo Alto instead. My parents are going to buy a new car before the trip, but they decide to wait until we get there, so we’re now going to fly. They would sell the ’65 Peugeot 404 wagon and the eight year old ’62 Falcon, the latter for $100. I’d flown across the country before, on “youth fare” for $100. Give me the Falcon instead of a plane ticket, I said. They told me I had to get someone to go with me, and they gave it to me. It had 90k on the clock. I drove that Falcon across the country, never going much over 50 in an effort to preserve the aging engine.
I was fascinated watching the country go by, especially beginning in western Nebraska, where the countryside began to look beautiful and western. In western Wyoming, it began raining hard. Driving on the up hills (Rt. 80), the vacuum driven windshield wipers would stop, and I had to let off the gas. I couldn’t get the Falcon over 30.
At Park City, Utah, still pouring. Down in the Salt Lake Valley, Salt Lake City nestled in a small corner, the Great Salt Lake dominating the view. It was pouring down there, but there were small circles of sunlight hitting the lake. One of the most gorgeous views I ever saw.
Two days later, I drove across the Bay Bridge to SF, let my riders off, and then down the peninsula to Palo Alto. I was in what for me was a new land.
In 1978 before child car seats, I took my family on an 8,500 mi trip around the US and part of Canada. The car was an unrestored 1940 Buick 4dr convertible. My self, my wife, my mother, our three children and our 6 week old baby all went. Only car problem was a failed distributer cap, I had a spare.
Perhaps not as exciting if you are in the back seat, but the MIllion Dollar Highway is mine. Wife and daughter in back seat did NOT like my comments as we were inches away from the edge of the road in some places. Mind you, the edge of the road was also the edge of the cliffs. My son, who is normally not risk averse for the most part, puckered up several times and later admitted he was scared. No one in the car appreciated my comments to look at something, wildlife, scenery, etc. They would all yell to “look at the road”.
Somewhat like Pikes pike, the lack of guardrails was very unnerving. I can’t imagine driving that road in wintery conditions. From Ouray CO to Silverton CO, later that day I found out the possible reasons for it’s name. This same trip, we took the Narrow Gauge train ride up and down, very cool if you get the chance. However, you could take the train one-way and then ride a bus back….oh hell no. I would have been like a crying baby in the bus all the way back down. Scary in many places in a normal vehicle, much less in a “charter type” bus.