Have you ever owned a “lemon?” An automobile that’s just a bottomless pit of money to keep it on the road. The car I’m talking about is best remembered for it’s propensity to combust in rear end collusions. Yes, you guessed it - the Ford Pinto.
We named ours The Mean Green Booger Machine.
Back in the late 1970s my best friend, Nathan, and I decided we would embark on a road trip from Cuba, Illinois to California, to photograph the country.
He had a clever idea, “I’m going to take the back seats out of the car and fabricate plywood beds.When the front seats are folded forward we will be able to sleep in the car very comfortably with a backpackers pad and our sleeping bags.”
Brilliant! We would save hundreds, well maybe a few bucks, on motel rooms to California and back.
So the renovation began. Seats removed, plywood measured, cut, and 2x2 wood blocks screwed into place to keep the boards from sliding around. Nathan's father owned a Skelly Gas Station and the car was subjected to a rigorous inspection for our plan to motor west. The routine stuff, oil change, radiator fluid, washer fluid, brake fluid, and check the tires. There was ONE major repair completed; the entire exhaust system was replaced from the manifold to the tailpipe.
Now we're ready to go. We had a cooler for food, water, a wash basin, all our sleeping paraphernalia, camera gear, clothes, you name it we had it. Our own RV.
We chose the southern route, Interstate 40 (Route 66).
It winds from Chicago to LA
More than two-thousand miles all the way
Baby, get your kicks on Route 66
It goes through St. Louis
Joplin, Missouri
Oklahoma City looks mighty pretty
You’ll see Amarillo, Gallup, New Mexico
Flagstaff Arizona . . .
Well, we didn’t quite make it to Flagstaff Arizona. As we entered the Grand Canyon State near the small town of Houck our trusty steed overheated. We were towed to a local Standard Oil service station, because the only credit card either of us owned was a Standard Oil credit card. It was mine.
The car was hoisted on a lift, we waited.
“I’ve got some bad news for you boys,” said the mechanic.
We had noticed the fan belt was broken before the car was towed.
“Looks like you’ll need to replace the water pump as well as the fan belt.”
“How much?” We asked.
“Well, that’s not all. Where you boys headed?
“California!”
“Not on these tires, and you also have a busted left rear shock absorber.”
“Your kidding!”
So, after a few hours, with three new tires, water pump, fan belt, and a new left shock absorber, we were “On the Road Again,” cursing Willie Nelson for that damn song we couldn’t get out of our heads.
As we passed through Flagstaff I had to ask my traveling companion, “I thought you checked the tires when you took out the spare to accommodate the plywood beds?”
“I did, the spare is that one-good tire, we put it on to replace the worst of the four tires, on the car, before we left.”
“Oh brother,” I thought to myself.
“Well, looks like smooth sailing from here.”
Flagstaff, Arizona don’t forget Winona
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernardino . . .
We made the California trip, on to LA then drove up Highway One through Big Sur across to Yosemite National Park. It was an incredible trip. Excellent photo opportunities. While touring Yosemite the car seemed sluggish, not much power. Keep in mind this was a tiny four cylinder engine.
“We better check the oil.”
We had to put in a couple of quarts so we decided San Francisco was out, our California cruising days were over. We needed the most direct route home.
Which led through Las Vegas. It’s been a gamble all the way with our Pinto, so why not go back through Vegas.
Well, we did. And as a couple of groovy guys from Cuba, Il. we cruised the strip in Vegas in our mucous colored Ford Pinto. The Mean Green Booger Machine just stopped running.
“Damn! The engine threw a rod. It won’t start. We’re totally screwed now.”
“What a piece of junk, now what do we do?”
“That’s it, let’s find a junkyard.” Said Nathan.
“I agree let’s find a junkyard and sell this junk pile for scrap.”
“We can’t, we have too much money wrapped up in this car.”
So, we had the booger machine towed - once again - this time to a junkyard. We had found a replacement engine in a wrecked Pinto which the junkyard would install for $600.00.
“Hah, we don’t have a credit card, we sure as hell don’t have $600.00, now what?” Exclaimed Nathan.
“I have an idea, let’s see if we can borrow the money from Avco Financial Services. My girlfriend in Macomb works at Avco, maybe she can help.”
“Let me get this straight," said the financial advisor, "two young guys from a small town in the Midwest, in Las Vegas for the first time, want to borrow $600.00 to buy an engine; from a junk yard; for a Ford Pinto - Righhht?”
“That’s right, since we started this trip we’ve replaced the exhaust system, three new tires, a new water pump, fan belt, and a new left shock absorber. We can’t afford to junk it now."
Needless to say we had a difficult time getting the loan officer to buy our story. So I begged him to call their Macomb office, speak to my girlfriend to validate the integrity of my character and our story. Amazingly enough they loaned us the money!
Believe me, in the late 1970s, if you looked hard enough, you could find a cheap motel in Las Vegas. I’m not here to endorse the particular part of town we stayed, we met some pretty weird folks. We were there a couple of days while they swapped out the engine.
Finally, we were “On the Road Again,” by now we were wailin' (Waylon) on Willie for that damn song we couldn’t get out of our heads.
Interstate 15 out of Las Vegas to I-70 through the mountains of Colorado, once we reached the plains of Kansas we were home free - or so we thought.
“What else could possibly go wrong?” I mused.
My reading friends never ask yourself that question aloud. It’s a curse!
Crossing the plains of Kansas the synchronizer gears in the transmission went out.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Not an exact quote.
We were not about to stop again. As long as we kept moving, and the manual transmission in fourth gear we were fine. The new engine had the power to cross the plains but inevitably nature calls and you must stop for gas.
So each time we stopped for fuel, along with some food, it was my job to nurse the transmission through the gears, skipping a few, as we accelerated to avoid the transmission from completely going out.
There is a happy ending. The booger machine limped home.
Nathan’s Dad found a replacement transmission, in a junk yard, and Nathan drove that car for another four years. Thankfully, The Mean Green Booger Machine never suffered a rear-end collusion. And we did get some amazing photographs. What a trip . . .
Believe it!
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