Against All Oddities: LA to Detroit in the Roo Chaser, Part 1

If it were up to the devil on my shoulder, I’d never sell a single car from my fleet. The Roo Chaser—a 1984 Ford Falcon ute out of Australia—is one I truly miss, even five years later. The crapcan-with-a-bed fell victim to my pre-Germany cull, when I parted with a number of vehicles before moving abroad. The Roo Chaser was a hot rod, equally well suited to home improvement store runs as it was stop light burnouts. (RIP to that one C4 transmission that bit the dust while bump shifting at redline, over a highway expansion joint, with a full load of fencing material and Sakrete in the bed.) Good memories, for sure. But my best memories with the thing? Picking it up for the first time.

Some background: It was the end of the 2011 Grand-Am season. I was exhausted, full of frequent flier miles from travel for my engineering job, and it was hump day. I was living in Ann Arbor and commuting to Farmington Hills, Michigan. I desperately needed a vacation. Craigslist was still a great place to find a cheap used car, and I often browsed the Los Angeles market’s offerings over lunch. A V-8 Aussie ute came across my screen, painted prosthesis beige with a mural of itself doing a burnout on the tailgate. While gazing out a conference room window and munching on Zingerman’s deli leftovers, I called and impulsively bought it and probed the seller: “When could I get it? How’s Friday sound? Does it run?”

Once I had my answer, I turned to the cubicle behind me. “Andrew, dear colleague, what are you doing Friday? Also, unrelated question, do you have any rewards miles left?”

“Nothing and lots!” he shouted.

I tried to succinctly explain this surely doomed mission: “We need to go pick up a barely running Australian ute, located 2500 miles away.”

Now would be a good time to introduce my driving partner, Andrew, a guy who puts my diagnostic and improvisational automotive abilities to shame. Andrew is well qualified for a trip like this; at the time he drove a V-8 RX-7 and a base model standard cab Duramax with 600 hp. He now runs a very successful off-road diesel performance business, and it is fair to say he developed an aptitude for the risk of a new venture amid nonsense adventures like you’re about to learn. At the time, in September of 2011, Andrew was kind enough to document the entire trip with very detailed pace notes, almost like a rally co-driver. Here’s how it all went down.

The Planning Phase

Ship, trailer, or drive? That was the question. Now that I appeared to be the new custodian of one of my dream cars, I was not prepared to risk shipping damage by a bargain basement freight broker or pay $1800 bucks to get it back to Ann Arbor in the hands of a trusted individual. The thought of the car sitting in freight lots, surrounded by paint-huffing thieves and scrappers around the country made me a little nervous. After Andrew bolstered my confidence a bit, we decided that the most economical approach would be to drive it home. After all, if the Roo Chaser broke down half way, the U-Haul to finish the journey would be, relatively speaking, half price… right?

We aimed for as direct a route as possible. That narrowed our options to I-40 across the Southwest or I-70 through Denver. We opted for the former path, for two reasons: 1) Doing so would avoid crazy altitude and potential carburetor fettling in Colorado. 2) Neither of us had ever driven the I-40 route, and we were curious.

Our airline status entitled us each to a free checked bag. We could only take two suitcases at 50 pounds apiece without paying extra. Minimizing the budget was essential. Operating within the weight constraints allowed us to bring nearly complete 3/8- and 1/2-inch socket sets, minus some of the bigger pieces, and full metric and standard wrenches up to 11/16 inches. (A crescent wrench replaced the larger ones.) Screwdrivers, pliers, vise grips, channel locks, a flashlight (very much an afterthought and ultimately very much needed), and duct tape rounded out the package. Also, being that we were electronics engineers, we tossed in a multimeter.

The Pace Notes (Plus Matt’s Later Commentary)

OK, this is Andrew speaking now. The flight out went flawlessly. We found out at the airport that Matt could have actually taken two bags at 70 pounds apiece, because of his Gold status. Next time we’ll have even more tools!

The car was located in Ontario, California, between Los Angeles and San Bernardino. Once at the guy’s place, we looked the car over. It looked excellent, and other than some shoddy wiring under the hood there were no obvious causes for concern. It had a rebuilt radiator, new radiator hoses, new fuel pump, new battery, and new tires. When we fired it up, it sounded great and idled great. Ready to roll, we headed off to Walmart to buy water, food, and whatever else. The plan was to find a lake and a place to grill for a cookout, so we got some brats, buns, and beer as well. We crammed it all in an $8 cooler and headed out.

Thirty miles in: Matt is getting concerned about a rattle he is hearing in the engine. I can hear it, too—a bit like detonation, but not quite. Matt is (M: I still am) pretty sure that it was a rod knock, but I am not convinced. We resolve to stop to check it out and on the first highway exit ramp overheat the engine.

Not a very good start. I can’t hear the rattle that Fireball (M: This is what Andrew calls me, it’s a long story) is talking about when idling and revving, but when cruising I can hear it. I decide it is a non-issue.

Sixty miles in: Overheating again. We let it cool down and wait for the coolant to be sucked back into the radiator, and then we head out again. Outside temperature is 90 degrees F. We are counting down the minutes to sunset in the desert so we can, hopefully, stop overheating. To compound the overheating problems, the car is vapor-locking like mad. Following the stops, the Cleveland V-8 will barely even run until we get some speed and airflow across the carburetor. (M: This problem was compounded on on-ramps, where the car was decidedly NOT “fast as hell” like the ad said. This, combined with the transmission’s inability to downshift, made merging into semitruck traffic almost impossible.)

Ninety miles in: Overheating again. This time we let all the pressure out of the radiator and fill it up with coolant. It takes a whole gallon plus what was in the overflow tank. It must have been low when we left, right? Current outside temp is now 95 degrees. Wasn’t it supposed to start getting cooler after 4:00 p.m.? More vaporlocking problems. Makes starting hard, and overheating gets worse when lean.

180 miles in: Overheating again. Much better this time than our prior 30-mile overheat breaks. We do a full fill again, in the middle of the desert, and head out. Current temperature is unknown, as my phone doesn’t have any data access for this area, but it doesn’t feel cooler. More engine vapor-locking problems.

250 miles in: Stop in Needles for fuel. Overheating getting off the interstate. We fill up with gas and try to get back onto the interstate to cool the Roo Chaser off, but this fails. End up parking in some questionable housing area in Needles. Walked to Denny’s for dinner with all of our stuff, in clear sight, in the open bed. Trust in mankind is one of the many pluses of the Ranchero-adjacent lifestyle.

We need to let the Roo Chaser have a solid cool-down before heading out again. Enough time for me tohave 5-6 glasses of water and a skillet. Matt has 3-4 glasses of iced tea and half of a half salad. Neither of us have a great appetite, probably from walking in the heat and the terrifying reality of our situation. When we return to the car we remove the hood for better airflow through the radiator, hopefully keeping the gas lines cooler to decrease our vapor-locking problems. 

(M: The hood fits in the bed perfectly, as if the Roo Chaser’s engineers had seen this trip coming 27 years ago. I had brought a tow strap in my luggage, so we wrapped the hood good and tight so that it wouldn’t fly out. It also covered all of our belongings in case of rain, thieves, etc. I noticed that the straps were chafing the hood so I took some underwear out of my bag and put the strap through the legholes. Naturally.)

460 miles in: We discover that the car cannot run over 70 mph and starts acting like it is vapor-locking, this time at speed. The problem gets worse as the fuel gauge goes down. I think, “Damn, we had just filled our spare gas can with water, how about that.”

We keep driving. Between the 250- and 460-mile mark, my phone picks up the outside temperature again. It is 109 degrees in the desert that night. No A/C in the car, hot underhood air is now blowing directly into the cab. We cannot be any sweatier. It is a sauna with a bed and four wheels.

550 miles in: I am driving somewhere east of Flagstaff, Arizona, and Fireball is sleeping. Actually, he is out cold. The headlights in the Roo Chaser are horrible. I run the brights most of the time, but I am a bit worried about the charging system so I run dims sometimes.

It makes no difference for what is about to happen. I see something white in the road. I look closer and realize it is a large, Igloo-looking cooler. It is 10 feet in front of the car when I make it out, so no time for evasive maneuvering. Full contact at 70-ish miles per hour. The sound of the cooler explosion muffles my yell.

Fireball arouses from his deep sleep and explains that the last time this happened to him (being woken from a deep sleep abruptly, not hitting a cooler) he was sleeping on a beach in Australia and opened his eyes to a Maglite shining in his face and a cop kicking him. We don’t bother stopping because there is not any steam emitting from the radiator. We’re basically helpless, anyway. Outside temps are, finally, dropping.

615 miles in: Maybe 3:00 a.m. We stop on a reservation in New Mexico for fuel and water. Matt is driving now. I had been sleeping. This gas station/truck stop is the shadiest place I’ve ever been. Fireball sees a character loading what he suspects is stolen stuff from people’s cars into a Ford LTD Landau. After witnessing this and a few meth deals across the gas station counter, we buy some water, oil, RTV, and duct tape. I have never been so glad to leave a truck stop.

(M: While I was waiting in line, because for some reason you COULD NOT pay at the pump even though the equipment to do so was there, a guy with a Harley in the back of his Z71 stopped, came in, and said “Hey, remember me??” to the cashier. She stared at him blankly as she sorted through the remaining memories from the last couple days. He said, “It’s me, from last April, remember?” She did not seem to remember. He ended up just going back outside.

Then, while I was filling gas, they exchanged cash for something in a bag outside the store. He left. I went back in to buy the aforementioned supplies and it took her literally five minutes just to ring up the first item, the RTV, which she wasn’t aware that they sold even though there was a price tag on it. She was obviously stalling and looking outside. I can’t stress how much I knew that this was a theft ring. Andrew walked out to the car to get the important stuff and stood watching at the door. After that happened, everything got rung up quickly and we were out, not a moment too soon. In our hurry to leave, we remembered that we forgot the item at the top of our list: a radiator cap. Neither of us wanted to go back to get it.)

720 Miles in: This is the only stop purely for sleep and nothing else. We both nap for about an hour and head east to Albuquerque.

770 Miles in: We stop at a bank where we brush our teeth in the parking lot, fill the radiator, change clothes, and get breakfast from across the street. None of this looks too out of the ordinary for the locals, we think.    

900 Miles in: It is daylight again and we stop for fuel and water, as usual. We decide that it is time for the new radiator cap, removal of the thermostat, and a new fuel filter. The fuel filter is a necessity at this point as the car basically cannot move. It dies all the time and we can’t get onto the interstate even if we tried. We also discover that the tank vent isn’t working, so I slice some of the rubber out of our fuel cap gasket.

We find a NAPA store to get the goods. When I pull the thermostat housing off to gut it, I realize that someone else already had that idea. Welp, guess that isn’t sticking after all, so what’s causing the overheating? The new fuel filter makes the car drive amazingly well. Almost as good as the ad promised. Our vapor-locking problems are pretty well solved now. Our good fortune is partially due to the lower temps, partially from the removal of the hood, but primarily because the pump does mnot have to work so hard to get fuel into the bowl of the carb. Four psi of pressure will only push so much fuel through a plugged filter.  

1030 miles in: (M: Seeing lots of cops in Texas and being warned about the panhandle’s enforcement, I knew it was only a matter of time before we got pulled over and harassed about our situation. Sure enough, a cop pulled right behind us and stayed there. He then started to come up alongside us. I looked to the left and saw the officer, expecting to be waving us over in the way that southern cops sometimes do to avoid the commotion and attention of the siren and lights. It makes the experience much more personal. Instead, he was taking a picture with his flip phone before gassing it and heading off.

1060 miles in: Driving down I-40, looking at the brownness in Texas, Fireball sees a bunch of Cadillacs sticking out of the ground in some farmer’s field. Cadillac Ranch! (M: We had to stop and reflect on how we were almost halfway home. The car was running much better at this pointe, and we only were filling up with water at fuel stops. Amazing progress!)

I recommend everyone take a shower break and meet back here in two weeks. There’s a lot more of this story to tell.