The entire west coast was enduring an unseasonal heat wave and Grants Pass at noon baked in the high 90’s. Our baggage was substantial – all of our painting gear, clothes for all seasons and reasons as well as various things we’d collected in Seattle thrift and art stores. We dragged it all into the back of my brother, David’s truck and headed for Elk Lane, the last home owned by my parents. My father had died the previous Thanksgiving, my mother was in a Rest Home in a nearby town. The house now felt strange and sad, but I was eager to get there and meet my mobile inheritance, a beautiful blue 1938 Plymouth Coupe. As we drove up the curving driveway, I craned my neck to look. It wasn’t there. Hmmm. We greeted Ann, who was the current renter. David called his friend, Bob - a local mechanic he had hired to get the car ready for the anticipated 1500 mile drive to New Mexico. We were told that Bob and the Plymouth were out on a test drive.That sounded hopeful to Carol and me.
We dragged our luggage into the house while David repeated his unending words of advise - we’d be wise to ship the car to New Mexico. He added that he’d talked with Bob the day before and was told it would not be a good idea to drive it that far. We’d heard it all before from several others plus statements such as "Are you crazy?", "Two women – alone?", "If I were you, I’d…." But we were steadfast. Both of us were adventurous, 50-something women who loved a good road trip. I knew that I’d be up for the drive and willing to make decisions as we encountered problems. Carol was the "Jill of all trades", having learned her mechanic basics on motorcycles and honed her skills with a variety of "fixer uppers" including a ’39 Ford and a ’64 Volvo. She was willing to donate her talents as long as we could get back to New Mexico in 6 days. No problem, I thought. Curling up into a window seat with a portable fan, I withdrew into my mystery novel and waited for Bob’s call. The phone rang at 9. He reported that the test drive was "interesting" and we agreed to pick up the car at his house the next morning. Carol and I mused about the word "interesting" and went to bed. Our adventure was beginning!
Day 2: June 26, Monday Grants Pass, Oregon
Ann drove us over to Bob’s the next morning. As we neared his driveway, I saw her! My parent’s ’38 Plymouth. She looked wonderful – a shiny medium, cerulean blue with chrome. I’m not sure when we discovered that the Plymouth was female, but we’d named her Elizabeth weeks before. Bob walked out to greet us. In the next two hours Bob mostly talked, Carol began her acquaintance with the car’s mechanical parts and I listened and admired.
Opening the center hinged hood, I saw what appeared to be lots of room and a very small engine. The most obvious things were the air filter and horn. Carol remarked on the flathead six engine. Bob reported that he’d rebuilt the fuel pump, worked on the brakes, cleaned out the carbuerator, drained the gas and added new, flushed the radiator, put in a new battery and a few other things. He hadn’t had time to change the oil and hadn’t been able to find new points. I asked about the tires. He said they looked good. I looked and they seemed fine to me. I climbed inside. The upholstery was a soft beige wool, perfectly preserved. Behind the divided seats was a split leather flap secured with a series of metal fasteners. On the driver’s side it covered metal shelves where I understood that sales goods were stored for the traveling salesman. The passenger side compartment contained the spare tire. The chrome details were beautiful – on handles, supports and knobs. There was even a beautifully detailed round chrome cover for the lock on the passenger door and the trunk to protect each from weather. I was reminded of the Art Nouveau and Art Deco periods as I gazed at the horizontal bar lines, the graceful Mayflower ship, the perfectly symmetrical dashboard with a fake front compartment mirroring the actual glove compartment on the right side. Even the knobs were unique, chromed and elegantly designed. In architecture school I had loved the design of the 20’s and 30’s. Now I was sitting in it. In a similar way, Carol was admiring the simplicity and beauty of the engine.
Handing Bob the rather substantial check I asked how he felt the car handled. He shrugged. "It was a very interesting trip I took yesterday", he repeated. "All bets are off once you get on the road. Maybe you’ll make it. Maybe you won’t. Anything can happen with these old cars. If it was mine – I’d ship it to New Mexico." Carol and I looked at each other knowing once again that we would disregard the advice. After purchasing a spare water pump from Bob, we climbed onto the running boards and into the car – me driving, Carol beside me in the passenger seat. I turned the key and checking to be sure I was in neutral, pressed the floor ignition button. The engine started up. At Carol’s direction, I waited a few minutes "to let her warm up" and then we were off, Ann following in her car. Our first stop would be a lube and oil shop.
We were greeted enthusiastically by the entire crew at Speedy Lube. Carol directed the process explaining that the existing oil filter would remain and to please check the generator fluids. As one of the mechanics was greasing the zerts (if you have to ask you must be either mechanically challenged or under 50) underneath the car, he noticed that the clutch had apparently worn down the battery cable producing a significant safety hazard. We decided to risk it now and return with materials to fix it later. Off to Wal Mart where we spent at least two hours getting everything we thought we’d need – 2 gas cans, 1 water can, tools, flashlights, an extra length of radiator hose to encase the skinned battery cable, duct tape, drinks, paper towels, baby wipes, silicone sealant and poster board. We found bailing wire which Carol declared "an absolute must have" at a local feed store. Returning to Swift Lube, Carol was invited into the pit so she could fix the battery cable. Elated and relieved, we decided to finish the day of preparation by searching the local thrift stores for appropriate road trip head wear! Carol found a dubiously stylish hat and I found a rhinestone tiara. Both were as close as we could get to 1938. The polyester beaver coat Carol found was the most convincing but would probably not be needed in the hot summer weather. On the way home we ran out of gas and discovered that the gas gauge actually worked very well - hm - and Bob had not filled the gas tank. Nothing could dampen our spirits, however. We were too busy preparing ourselves emotionally for the unknown adventure ahead.
We continued onto Elk Lane and turned into my parents’ long driveway. Memories flooded over me. I thought about my father and his love of his antique cars. As the oldest child I had often been recruited to help him bring an old car home. I would sit behind the steering wheel of his "new" acquisition with my eyes intent upon the knotted rope, trying to keep it taut as my father drove showly ahead. I accompanied him to the junk yards when he searched for various parts with which to build my first car – a ’31 Model A with a V-8 engine. Mostly I helped him build it by handing him tools. But I loved the car and cherished the memories. That car was gone and my sister really wanted his Model B roadster. One of my brothers wanted the T-bird. No one wanted the Plymouth. I did. I remembered him telling me that this blue Plymouth was an exact replica of the one he and my mother had owned when they married in 1940. They had taken it camping on their honeymoon and slept in the ample trunk with the trunk lid propped open. In 1943 they had driven it from Lincoln, Nebraska to California. As a 6 month old baby I made the trip wrapped in blankets and lying on the shelf below the rear window. This car had been a sentimental favorite to them. As a member of the local antique car club, my dad had driven the Plymouth to many meetings, shows and parades during his last active years. I realized that it was a miracle of fate that I now had this particular car that had spanned and marked my own lifetime. Suddenly I felt very grateful for it all.
This trunk, large enough to sleep in - or so my parents said - was packed full of everything we thought we'd need.....and then some.
At home Carol went out into the garage to try to find some tools that we would need. My father never threw anything away, but finding something one wanted might take awhile. Later she emerged with various old open end wrenches, an S&H Green Stamp ice pick, pliers, a tire gauge, various screw drivers, a pipe cutter, electric tape and a travel tool box from Daddy’s paraphernalia - and a point file, which we were unable to find anywhere in Grants Pass. The pipe cutter would find a later use in helping to remove the electric fuel pump. The wrenches were old – bearing names like Blackhawk, Fairmount Cleve, Ford USA, Matador Dowidat. We thought they were appropriate. We even found an old Western United States map by Texaco – complete with hand signal directions. We were now officially in tune! Our last job of the day would be to plan our travel route.
We spread the maps of Oregon, Nevada, California, Arizona, Colorado, Utah and New Mexico over the dining room table. The maps of Idaho and Wyoming were abandoned since we’d spent more time in preparation than we thought we’d need. What would be our strategy? Two things were critical for the car. Mountains and Heat. It would be best to stay out of both, if we could. We looked at the maps. My preference was to drive down the coast of California, cut across Southern California into Arizona and then on into New Mexico. The biggest problem with that was heat. An unseasonable heat wave was in progress all along the west coast. Carol preferred to stay to the north and out of the heat. But getting to Idaho from Grants Pass seemed to take us pretty far out of our way as well as over mountains, which we weren’t too sure about. It looked like the compromise would be to go east from Grants Pass to Klamath Falls, on through northern Nevada into Utah, then south via the SW corner of Colorado and on into New Mexico. There were mountains, but not of the Cascade, Sierra Nevada or Rockies league. There could be heat, too – but probably not as bad as through the Mojave Desert. We decided that the interstates would be the best routes through mountains and that we would choose the smaller highways for the rest. They would be likely to have old towns and possible parts along the way.
_ Carol. It’ll be hot in Moab. We could go from Salt Lake to Grand Junction.
_ Jan. Except that it looks like there are some pretty high mountains around there. I’d prefer to just go south from Salt Lake.
_ Carol. You don’t do well in the heat.
_ Jan. The heat will bother the car more than me, I think. The car was overheating in town because of the stop and go. As long as I have ice I think I can handle it. I’m more worried about the car. Just what can she handle?
_ Carol. She can’t handle the ups and downs. We need to avoid high mountains most.
_ Jan. What about our weight? We’ve got the trunk full!
_ Carol. That’s really not much. It probably doesn’t weigh more than another person.
_ Jan. Yeah, but it’s a car built for just two. If going up and down makes most of the difference, I say we worry less about the heat.
_ Carol. If you don’t mind stopping a lot along the way to cool off….
_ Jan. I don’t mind at all. Let’s just head east to Salt Lake and make the next decisions as we go, okay? The goal is to get you back by Sunday. We’ve got six days and a goal.
_ Carol. It should be nice to just go along without the daily deadlines, like at the workshop. I’m tired.
_ Jan. Me too.
We slept fitfully - with fans running and excitement building for the trip ahead. Tomorrow we begin!
..............................................................................................To Be Continued...........
n
