Hitting the highway, we assume a usual position, behind 2 slow moving trucks.

Our mascot cum car guard, the Taco Bell Chihuahua (hereafter referred to as “The TBC") gazes out ahead, looking for those who wish to take the ’59 from us.

After a few miles, The TBC even tries driving.

Naturally, he complains about the handling, claiming he prefers rack and pinion to recirculating ball, for a sharper on road feel.

Critics. Ha.

At Boonville (home of the girl’s State Corrections School — I wonder if any Tour dudes are cruising for a date?) we see the 1929 Hupmobile which started out in California.

At last, a car older than me!

From what I can tell, we’ve taken over every gas pump in town, and pandemonium reigns. The local law doesn’t show up, most likely because he can’t get any gas for his cruiser.

Then, our first major problem. Careful examination of the ground near the ’59 has revealed a small area of liquid.

Our friend, The TBC claims to be innocent, but our hidden camera reveals otherwise.

Gary is furious, and turns the same shade of red as the ’59 (DuPont ChromaBase Ferrari Red 300). He promises payback when The TBC isn’t looking. I fear for his safety (Gary’s, not The TBC).

We blaze way in a streak of red, along with the rest of the crowd. Gary continues to mutter under his breath. A yellow streak follows — the Checker limo.

We finally catch the ’ 64 Thunderbolt on the road near Columbia, Missouri.

We’re halfway to Saint Louis. I beg Gary to stop at the discount fireworks store along side the highway,

but he refuses. Sure seems like a small building for the “world’s largest.” Same with the walnut bowl place.

One of these days I’ll meet someone who actually purchased some of those walnut bowls. I really wanted those “Buy 1, get 5 free” firecrackers.

Maybe next year.

The TBC starts squirming around, looking with lust at all the trees.

Gary snidely suggests he just “hold it,” and reminds The TBC of the fiasco at the last gas stop. The TBC whimpers away, hiding in back.

Gary’s sharp eyes find a pristine ’57 Nomad,

which cruises with an early Cougar Eliminator.

We dust them both at 75 mph.

At the next gas stop, The TBC guards the car while Gary signs autographs.

The clerk has recognized Gary and the ’59 from the cover of July’s Super Chevy magazine. We don’t get our gas for free, but Gary does walk a little taller.

The TBC has found a new friend, too.

He claims it’s a distant relative, but I have my doubts. Nearing Saint Louis, we see signs for our favorite Elvis museum. . . 

. . . along with the original Big Boy’s Restaurant.

Boy, oh boy, my stomach’s just growling at the thought. Maybe next year.

We even pass a 10 second street car, the budget beater Nova (10 seconds for $10,000 — what a concept). Too bad it’s on a flatbed because of oiling problems. But, at least we can say we outran a 10 second car.

By now we must be in Saint Louis,

because traffic’s sitting still. The TBC is the first to spy the Arch as we cross over into Illinois and head for Chris Pook’s Gateway International Raceway.

After cleaning the car, we leave The TBC guarding the engine.

While I search for my family, Gary sets up a grudge race with the Motel 6 Bus.

I find my kids. . .