Thursday, May 14
“Oh No, Not Again!”
What a morning! I actually slept (a little) in my own bed last night. Unfortunately, there were a thousand things to do (give Pamela and Robert their baths, help with the laundry, process the day’s digital photos, check e-mail, do some quotes for my salesmen, make a few calls, blah blah blah. You get the idea.) before I got to sleep, and morning came all too soon.
After taking Pamela to school, Pat, Robert and I took off for Gary’s hotel. Thanks to that same construction spot as yesterday, we were a little late. Gary had the 442 clean, and after quick good byes, Gary and I were back on the road.
Blasting along through southern Illinois, I spent the morning writing yesterday’s story. Suddenly, I smelled oil. Gary checked the gauge — all normal. Still more oil smell. As Gary pulled on to the shoulder (70 miles from Saint Louis, and 30 miles from our first stop, Effingham, Illinois), the 442 dies.
Oh no, not again!
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Gary opened the hood as I peeked underneath.
Nothing underneath. Hummmm, what could it be? Behind the 442 on the shoulder, a black IROC convertible stopped. Out popped Andy Hutton, a Saint Louis addition to the Tour.
“I saw smoke,” he said.
Hummmm, what could it be?
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Gary called us up to the engine compartment with an, “I don’t believe it!”
Hummmm, what could it be?
Andy and I leaned over the fender, taking care not to touch the flanks of red paint.
“Well, I’ll be,” Andy said. “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”
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Hummmm, what could it be?
Want to know? Just read the next line:
THE STUPID FUEL PUMP BROKE-OFF!
Yes, gentle reader, that’s right. The stupid fuel pump broke off. The bolts and mounting pad were still attached to the block, but the rest of the pump (arm, housing, hoses and all) was hanging loose, held by the fuel lines only.
Who’d of thought it?
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Gary quickly removed the offending pieces. . .
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. . . while I negotiated with Andy, his wife Tracey, and daughter Andie (age 2-1/2), for a ride to Effingham, 30 miles east, to pick up a new fuel pump from one of our valued customers, Dust & Sons Auto Parts. I called ahead on my digital PCS phone (I know, I was surprised, too, it actually worked) and was assured the pump, spare hose and clamps were all in stock.
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Leaving Gary on the side of the road in rural country (I know that was the music from “Deliverance” I heard in the distance), we blasted off for our pump.
Fifty dollars later and an hour later, we were back at the car. Gary quickly installed the pump and fuel line. . .
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. . . with the help of Andy and a local who stopped and kept Gary company while we were gone.
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As a low rumbling shook the ground, Gary shouted, “962!”
"What?” I asked.
“That was the 962nd truck to pass here since we broke down,” Gary said.
Oh. And folks think I’m anal about stuff.
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Stowing his tools, Gary and I gave Andy and his family a “bucket o’ wax” to thank him for his help.
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Stopping in Effingham, we found the Tour had already come and gone. Oh darn, missed another meal exactly like the last 17.
We blasted east, slowed once again by big trucks and one lane interstate.
Gary promised we’d “really fly” to catch the Tour.
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We must have.
Did we take a wrong turn? Paris?
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We must have been flying, because we soon caught this ’59 Vette, with its copilot sporting fashionable headwear from Chez Wal-Mart of Paris.
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Gary informs me they stopped and offered to help while I was off buying our swell new fuel pump.
Gary continued to extol the virtues of the Oldsmobile family (“You know, they are 100 years old as a brand.”) while Carly Simon’s “You’re so Vain” played on the CD. Think I could make up something so serene?
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Before I could blink, we made Indiana — land of Hoosiers!
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At least I thought it was,
but then we were in Brazil. What’s going on here? Europe? South America? I feel like Carmen San Diego. Aughhh, another wrong turn somewhere along the way.
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Gary soon corrected our route and we viewed the Indianapolis skyline, replete with skyscrapers and the RCA Dome.
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Feeling the heat (my right arm is now noticeably darker than my left — passenger tan, I think they call it), I make an executive decision to check in the hotel first before heading for the Indiana State Fairgrounds. A nice shower sounds good right about now.
Unfortunately, the computer gods have once again struck the Hampton Inn has cancelled our reservations. Grabbing my digital PCS phone (can you believe it? It worked again!), I call my travel agent to find out what happened.
After 2 minutes, Mike figures it out. He called last week and cancelled one of the three rooms we had reserved (always good to have a spare). The clerk at the Hampton Inn mistakenly cancelled all three rooms instead.
Life is NOT good.
After begging, pleading and threatening to make all arriving guests smell our fuel and sweat stained bodies, the General Manager finds us two rooms. He suggests we not make any appearances in the lobby later this evening, as there will be two VERY UNHAPPY guests showing up with reservations and no rooms.
Not my problem.
Showers quickly completed, Gary and I fire the 442 and off we go for the Indiana State Fairgrounds, through areas where our company name, so prominently displayed on the windshield top, is only half a word.
(Think about it.)
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Finally, we arrive. Up on stage is the Marshall Tucker Band,
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belting out their southern rock with enthusiasm. Off in the distance, I spy a slick ride from last year,
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Dave Olendorf’s flamed ’56 Chevy pick up. I ran with Dave last year through parts of Colorado and Kansas. Its 350 TPI motor allowed it to cruise effortlessly at obscene speeds. Dave looked like Dave, although his sidekick, Donna, couldn’t get off work for this year. Dave looked rather bummed by this, so Gary and I will take it upon ourselves to keep Dave occupied these next couple of days.
Hope he knows a good bail bondsman.
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As MTB ended their set, we spied Jim Savas, Publisher, Ro McGonegal, Editor, and Scott Killeen, Petersen Photographer holding an executive level meeting.
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Rumors abound of a side excursion tomorrow to the new Route 66 Raceway, near Joliet, a Chicago suburb.
Will the 1998 Hot Rod Magazine Power Tour be the first to drive Route 66 like we did in Las Vegas a couple of years ago?
Stay tuned, and find out.
Until tomorrow.
Forrest Tosie
Mothers® Polishes•Waxes•Cleaners
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1998 Cruise Night Schedule
Thursday, May 7
Pomona Fairplex, Pomona, CA
Friday, May 8
Fairplex, Mesquite, NV
Saturday, May 9
Intermountain Events Center,
Grand Junction, CO
Sunday, May 10
Bandimere Speedway,
Morrison, CO
Monday, May 11
NW Kansas VoTech School,
Goodland, KS
Turesday, May 12
Station Casino, Kansas City, MO
Wednesday, May 13
St. Louis, MO
Thursday, May 14
State Fairgrounds,
Indianapolis, IN
Friday, May 15
Tinley Park, Chicago, IL
Saturday, May 16
Downtown, Mount Clemens, MI
Sunday, May 17th
Mount Clemens, MI
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