As the sun peeks up over the horizon, Zoomina, that pro street Lumina, passes us on I-80.

Notice that great blue sky. Looks to be a great day to leave Chicago. Running 72 in a 55-zone, we’re passed by most of the Tour, including our “door ding” buddy. I can understand everyone wanting to leave Chicago, but Gary, Indiana is next. Hurry to leave Chicago for Gary? Go figure.

Now I know why they were in a hurry: to sit still in traffic at 5:45 am.

There are 2 lanes closed, and no one working.

Ah, your tax dollars hard at work.

We even passed Ripley Street, believe it or not. Unfortunately, the picture didn’t quite turn out, what with the sun in our face. Trust me, it was there.

We pass the Michigan Welcome Center at 6:30 am some time zone or another — Eastern? Central?

Who knows where it changes.

With a lack of sleep induced stupor, I wasn’t quite fast enough with the camera to get the state welcome sign. Gary says I’m slowing down. I really don’t care.

Gary decides we’re hungry, so he stops in Bridgman, Michigan, at what else — McDonalds.

There is one person working the counter, and when we finally get our food the order is screwed up. Gary continues his ranting and raving about all that is wrong in the world while I eat my hotcakes.

Lack of sausage isn’t the end of the world. But, it must be to Gary.

We catch back up to other Tour cars, including this ultra-straight, ultra-red ’57 Chevy.

Here’s a quickie picture of Climax, but since I wasn’t ready for Climax, it wasn’t very good for me:

By the way, I wonder what the high school team mascot is called?

Some coincidence, but there’ s a Big Boy near Climax.

All the single women on the Tour stopped.

A monumentous occasion, the last gas stop of the 1998 Hot Rod Magazine Power Tour, was Dexter, Michigan. While Gary gassed-up, I went in to the full service truck stop / grocery / store / restaurant / garage / museum / hotel / motel / adult book emporium for a quick look around.

I happened to notice one of those Tour dudes driving a tightly sprung car (remember — complaining about his “bottom” hurting so bad?). He yelled out, “THEY’VE GOT IT!”

In short order, many Tour dudes gingerly made their way to aisle 17. A fight almost developed as the stack dwindled down to a few remaining tubes. It got ugly at the end.

Back to a more pleasant subject — cars. Ford brought one of the ’99 Cougars out for folks to see.

It’d be really neat if they’d do an SVT version (hint, hint).

Back to eastbound I-94, and the mad rush to Mount Clemens. We flew by famous names and places. Stuff like:

Ford World Headquarters. . . 

. . . in Dearborn, Michigan.

That big ol’ tire that let’s you know Detroit is the car capitol of the world.

Woodward Avenue. Anyone want to go cruising?

And Gratiot Avenue. Sounds like a great place for an auto parts store.

Finally, after NOT making the wrong turn we arrived in Mount Clemens,

with the Hot Rod Magazine Power Tour van.

Some of the Tour folks were already there and others wouldn’t make it for a while because they had different directions.

Must have been a SNAFU with who got what piece of paper. So, I thought I’d give everybody a look at how they SHOULD have gone:

Save ’em for next year, folks.

They even erected a really swell finish line for us — notice that great blue sky.

But unfortunately made us turn 12 feet beforehand and park in a lot a block off the action. All the locals must have swiped the good parking places, I guess.

But, the crowds started filling the street,

people and cars everywhere.

There were lots of great displays, including Ford SVO. . . 

. . . and GM Performance with some concept cars.

The Hot Rod Magazine 50th Anniversary rod,

shown here with Sniper.

The local car club finally came to their senses and found room for us long haulers. Out of the lot we went, and a couple of blocks down the main drag. Then we finally got to see other deranged folks who had driven over 3,000 miles total (trust me, it’s a LONG way), like Dave Ahokas of San Antonio, with his blown 33 Willys,

and Winnie Flugger (with 5-year-old Jacki riding shotgun).

Locals had some interesting cars too, though I doubt this really qualifies as a car.

In a coincidence of grand proportion, we parked next to a green Hornet SC 360. Our trusty companion, Jack, spied his long lost brother Jerry. It was such a tearful reunion I couldn’t even focus the camera.

Afterwards, Jack was really happy to have not only found his brother, but be done with the Tour. He’s already hinting about the fall 1998 Power Tour (Boston to Orlando), because Jerry told him about several of his other brothers who have retired to Florida. He wants to look ’em up. Maybe we just will.

Gary detailed the 442 for the last time while the crowd milled about.

Gray Baskerville, that gadabout and Hot Rod Magazine icon, stopped by for his annual photo op with Jack.

That’s how we knew the Tour was really over.

We stuck around until dark, saying our good byes to friends like Harry and Cindy from Virginia (Remember? 1KUL67 license plates),

Trace in the RRRUSH Camaro, the old guys who know how to have lots of fun (Dave from Texas, along with Tim and Dan, brothers from Michigan), and of course, Dave in the flamed ’56 Chevy pick-up. (Hey Dave, let Donna come along next year, okay?)

After dark, the Oldsmobile groupies all came to worship at the altar of 442.

Reverend Gary stood at the pulpit, giving thanks to REO (that’s Ransom E. Oldsmobile, for you non-Olds guys) for his creations. Me? I got cold and tired.