Let's hear your best road trip story

Late 70's 4 of us piled into a 4 door 59 Impala (straight 6 / 3 on the tree) for a road trip from Winnipeg to Thunderbay. The car was a $200 hand me down from one of the guys aunts that leaked from every oriface, had 3 good tires, questionable brakes and kind of sort of went where it was pointed. We stopped 2 hours out for 4 of 5 bags of chips the road trip size bag of twizzlers a six pack of Coke, topped up the oil, checked the gas (with a stick) and kept on truck'n. In the middle of no-where we came around a blind corner cut through the rock and nailed a Moose broadside. Thankfully it wasn't a big one but the beast had enough size to take out the grill, the front of the hood, the windshield and the front edge of the roof on it's way over top of the car. The huge space from the driver to the windshield saved us from any real harm. Once we got our wits about us and dragged what was left of the poor creature off of the road we went about pealing the windshield out and jumping up and down on the hood to get it to latch. We pulled into T-Bay a few hours later looking a lot worse for wear and stopped at a McDonalds for a bite. Almost immediatey our beat up blood splattered Impala with no windshield drew the attention of the cops. (We think the McDonalds staff called them). They took pity on us but told us we couldn't drive the car. My buddy sold the car for $50 to the tow truck driver who showed up. After partying all weekend we jumped on a bus to get home.

 

the night before leaving for thailand ,my buddies and got plastered on boones farm and coors.my 56 pontiac 2 dr hardtop was cherry.we went all over the state that night looking for excitement.i bet my buddies i could knock down a telephone pole and still drive the car.the challenge was on. about eighty miles an hour i headed straight at those old railroad telegraph poles on the rock island rr .i got right up at them and whipped the ass of that old pontiac and clipped that pole with the rear quarter,between the screams and crunching i brought down that pole.
i must have knocked down five or six poles that night...before i left the next morning,i took that old pontiac..still running to the junkyard...35 bucks and a hangover....wished i had that old pontiac back.

 

Somebody ask BigO about our road trip to the north?2800 miles in 2 weekends and we are still friends!!!!!!

 

what???you can't tell us???

 

Mine started in the Mid West. Had an old Dodge. Cop motor, cop brakes. 1/2 a pack of cigarettes, it was dark out and I was wearing sunglasses.

Serioulsy though, I have been lucky to have a few good runs and look forward to many more. Best trip ever? Reno for HOT AUGUST NIGHTS at about 19years old in my buddies Nova.

The week before the trip we still had to get the front clip on. Just built a nice 406roller motor and replaced all the bushings in the front suspension. The thrash was on the whole week.

Shakedown run was the drive from the California Central Valley to Reno. Somewhere around Rocklin (just outside Sac) the alternator bracket sheered off. Walked quite awhile to find a parts store. Then the new wheels sheered 3 studs on each of the front wheels coming into town.

I think we spent more time wrenching on that Nova in the parking lot at the motel than attending shows or drag racing like we planned. Also we couldnt get that motor to run right to save our lives. The elevation changes and lack of tools kicked our butts.

Finally got it running good the last day. Put it in the main cruise through downtown Sparks and the damn thing pitched the fan belt somewhere on the route. No wonder they call it HOT August Nights.

Limped it back to the motel and decided it was time to go "shoulder tapping." We found some old strung out hooker and she agreed to get us our "pint of old harpers" (20 box of Bud Light). Her only condition was that we had to buy her some of those god awful 7-11 taquitos and a pack of smokes. Money well spent.

Might not sound like much but at 19 it cemented in my heart there is nothing like the bark of a V8 rolling down the highway, the hot air whippin through open windows, the thumbs up from people passing by, and the satisfaction of being able to MacGuyver your way home again.

My tastes have changed a little since then. I am a recovering muscle car guy. I hope to rack up the miles on the Chev this year.

 

Back in the good ol days they used to have a system call Auto-Drive-Away. The program put you in a car that need to be delivered. They paid for the first tank of gas and the insurance and you delivered the car. My Brother and I decided to use this system for a road trip down to Florida for christmas break. When we left Winnipeg it was about -25 and Florida was reporting 85. We had a brand new Chrysler 5th Ave to drive and we were headed to paradise. About 20 or so hours later we found ourselves coming out of Tennessee just in time for the morning rush hour. We were doing 75 and quite frankly, just getting in the way. My sleep deprived road weary butt was just about to pull over for breakfast and safety sake when a rusty blue apparition in the form of an old International pick-em-up type truck filled up my rear mirror. This was classic, missing headlight, flapping fender, wobbly front wheel, 2 good old boys in coveralls and plaid shirts. That poor truck was blowing blue smoke all over the place. It probably came within a foot or two of my bumper before it pulled out to pass. I have to give the old clunker credit as it moved on by right smart like. The image was made complete when we saw the 2 pigs penned up in the back. It was a good thing my Brother was awake because he would never have believed me. Trust me, you can't make this stuff up.

Oh ya, that was also the trip where we sat outside the Garlits museum, 5 minutes after it closed for Christmas. We also missed the tour of the Daytona speedway. As luck would have it we got to Florida in time for 4 days of rain and one morning of wet snow. Just to make the trip complete, we were a day early to get into the Indianapolis museum on our way back (Closed for New Years). Timing was not our strong point.

 

I have been on many many road trips. I have driven my 69 F100 in sixteen different states besides the one I live in. It has been to Texas, to Alabama, to Indy, to Colorado, to North Dakota, etc. all on separate road trips. One road trip stands out though.

A (fellow Mopar) friend of mine shows me an auto-trader type magazine with a picture of... a 1930 Dodge coupe. I absolutely had to have it - but the coupe was for sale in Montana, and we live in Wisconsin. This was over ten years ago, and in winter - February to be specific.

I called the seller and we worked out a deal. When I asked about him holding it until better weather arrives, he said flat out "no". I asked if I sent a large deposit, and he still said "nope". I asked if I sent all of the money... and he replied "the first person here with the money gets the car". Again, this was in the dead of winter.

I discussed this with another friend and he told me I was "fucking crazy" if I thought I was going to go and get that car now. The temperature at home that week was around -20*F and in February, Montana is almost always colder than Wisconsin.

My dad had been on a couple road trips with me before, but I knew this one was out of the question. Since there was no way in hell my dad would go, I asked the two people I know I could rely on most and are crazy enough to help pull this off: my brother and my friend Pat. Pat suggested we take his Ramcharger as it is 4WD (my 69 F100 is 2WD) should we get caught in a bad snowstorm pulling a trailer. I agreed and told him I was buying all of his gas then.

Pat also used his Ramcharger to plow snow. The evening before we departed, he pointed out how the one front tire was hitting the running board and the other cleared. The runing boards had an equal gap at the rear tires... We pulled it into the shop and I measured the chassis - it was indeed out of square. I grabbed a hardwood 4x4 about 8feet long and one of the smaller (15ton) hydraulic bottle jacks. Pat wasn't sure what I was up to, but he trusts me. I chained the front axle to the rear axle and jacked the axles across the diagonal to get the truck square again. After many creaks and other weird noises, several measurements and jacking sessions, the chassis was finally square within 1/16". Good enough for me, but I didn't know what was in store for for that truck yet.

Friday at work went by so slowly I swore the clock had stopped. Pat picked me up and he and my brother had the truck packed and all ready to go. Since the low temperature that night was to be around -30*F, we covered the entire radiator with a sheet of cardboard.

Pat drove the first shift and my brother wanted to be the navigator. I decided to crash in the back seat, bundled up in a sleeping bag. When I woke up, it was completely dark out, and I asked if we were in Minnesota yet. They told me "no" so I asked "how many miles to get there yet?" They told me we had passed through Minnesota and were into South Dakota already. I told them to keep it up as I needed a little more sleep before taking my shift as driver.

I drove in South Dakota and that state seemed endless. The frost heaves in the highway were really pitching that short wheelbase truck around. I didn't feel comfortable driving it over 75mph.

Around 2AM at a fuel stop, we shut off the engine to check the oil. It was OK, and we restarted the engine... only to have the "check engine light" come on. I wasn't sure what the problem was (no legend to decypher the trouble code), we were in the middle of nowhere at a tiny gas station, and it was freakin cold out. Probably around -25*F or -30*F. I asked Pat to see how he thought it was running, and he said it was running fine. We decided to push on.

We cut through Wyoming and an indian reservation to save some miles and time. Coming around a mountain curve, we saw half of the road was gone in a slide. Fortunately for us, it was the other direction's lane.

Pat was driving again in Montana and I didn't ask him how fast we were going. Keep in mind there was no daytime speed limit then in Montana. I did ask him if he noticed too that the truck felt smooth and then rough, smooth and then rough... I finally figured it out - the truck was airborne at those times it was riding smoothly!

We finally got to Billings and stopped at the MoPar dealership. Fortunately ther service manager was cool enough to share a service manual. The trouble code said it was the MAP sensor. I checked it out with my DMM and it was OK across the whole range. It must have frozen up at the gas station when we shut the engine off briefly to check the oil.

I checked our miles travelled (1157 miles) and total time elapsed (13 and change)... and determined our average speed was 86mph!!! And I didn't drive any faster than 75mph...

Since there was three of us drivers, we decided we could purchase another two rust-free running vehicles out there and be able to drove them home as well. Pat REALLY wanted a 1970's Dodge 3/4 ton 4WD that had a big block and a 4speed trans. It was geared at 4.10 and had a blown-out muffler...

Fortunately, picking up the coupe and winching it onto the trailer was pretty much uneventful.

My brother snapped a couple pictures on the road. I attached one he took through the back window at 70mph.

Pat's Dodge truck lost a water pump in western South Dakota. Spewing antifreeze, we knew it wouldn't make the entire trip so we changed it in Mitchell, in a grocery store parking lot, not far from the Corn Palace. With a new water pump, we were back on our way again. Pat wanted that truck so bad he drove it all the way home at 70mph with 4.10 gears, no radio, and a blown out muffler. Good times.

 

The one that stands out from the others: Moving from Kansas to Oregon - 1975. I was working at a wrecking yard in Kansas and bought a cherry '48 International K-1 (1/2 ton short bed) for $200 from work. Put in plugs, wires, etc. Loaded my killer 292" SBC in the bed (all that remained from my last hot rod), picked up my buddy, "Biker Bob" and we headed west. Top speed was 45 MPH on the shoulder of the freeway. We tried to keep to little highways, but couldn't always.

Everything went smooth until the water pump died, just outside Kemmer, Wyoming. We found an ATV place that ordered a water pump from Salt Lake City - said it'd take three days to arrive. We got a room at the hotel in town. Kemmer was an oil boomtown, full of drunken cowboys blowing off steam - shootin' guns, fistfights, etc. Bob and I both had ponytails past our butts and were immersed in our own little Fear and Loathing epic at the time. It was the longest three days ever...

We survived, but just barely. It's a long story and not fit for public consumption on this forum. You'll just have to take my word for that...
Scotty