1990-1993 (FORMERLY 4 YEARS- NOW CONDENSED TO 3)
Good-Old-Ragtop60:
Thanks for sharing your memories. Reading the storys is great!
I think it would make a nice book. ;)
guillaume:
Love those stories Jim. I'm impatient to read the next chapter :)
Sven/DFL:
Perfect! Can't wait for the next part! 😄
Manche fahren so langsam - die werden nicht geblitzt, sondern gemalt!!!
Jim Ratto:
Thanks again for all the nice comments. This was a slice of time that meant a lot to me. 8)
In fact, the day I am about to discuss, (actually the weekend, as the drive down was Saturday and the show itself was on Sunday) is probably more responsible for me still being into this hobby than anything else.
We'll begin the long, strange trip to Southern California shortly.
Jim Ratto:
A Searing Day, Headed South on Interstate 5, to Costa Mesa
Going through glovebox of the '67 over the weekend, while looking for more old pictures, I found this, the original map that had been used so many times to find stuff in Southern CA, including my way to Costa Mesa for Jamboree.
My plan, as I headed south on Interstate 680 out of Pleasanton, was to catch CA Highway 1 down in Monterey, and take the coast down as far as I could, then eventually weave and snake my way through greater Los Angeles, and hopefully end up in Orange County sometime later that night. Highway 1 runs exactly along the western edge of North America between basically Carmel CA and San Luis Obispo, CA. From there you hop on US 101 and head inland a bit and drive through the central coast wine country, and then skirt Santa Barbara, meeting up with Highway 1 again near Ventura CA, winding south through Malibu and the snarls of Santa Monica, etc. My plan would avoid Malibu and the crowds near there. Actually south of Ventura, I had no plan. Hence the map.
The drive in the Fiat through San Jose and south to Gilroy was quick and boring. The weather was typical early morning East Bay Area mid summer, clear skies and moderate temps. By the time I got to Gilroy it was nearing 11am and the sun began to penetrate the targa top of the X19. I stopped while heading west on 152 (towards the coast) and stowed the roof panel in the front trunk. As I drov closer to the coast, the sky began to turn to gloom. Fog banks were just beyond the beach and the air took on a definite chill. This wasn't what I wanted. My trip all alone to So Cal was supposed to be sunny and celebratory. This overcast crap was the pits. Hours of headlights on, poking around in fogged in coast highway just spelled boredom and frustration. In Carmel I made a decision. I would change my route, and take CA 152 back inland, all the way back very deep into the armpit of the San Joaquin Valley and catch Interstate 5 south. I was somewhat familiar with 5, only in that if you stayed on it long enough, and your car didn't fry, you'd eventually end up near Disneyland. Which had to be near this VW show...
As I headed east, past the yellowed grassland hills near Mission San Juan Bautista, the weather did, of course, warm to my liking, and beyond. Summiting Pacheco Pass, the Fiat was being buffeted by waves of hot wind from the east. Descending into the bowels of Santa Nella, the heat seemed to double upon itself. I kept one eye on the road, one on the map sprawled out on the passenger seat, and one on the coolant gauge (which was edging to the trouble end of the scale.... a true Fiat trait). In the distance I could see the mirage like image of I5 and the silhouettes of diesel trailer trucks heading north and south. By now it was 1pm. I was running way behind some imaginary schedule. I met I-5 and got on, southbound.
If you traveled I-5 in this area 25 years ago, you'll know that there was little in the way of anything for what seemed like hours. No road signs or exits with any type of means to rescue an overheating Italian junk sports car with 58,000 miles on it. Or a kid with just cash and a change of underwear, but no water or food. As I headed south, I grew silently afraid of the what-if's, what if I run out of gas. What if the car boils over. What if a wheel falls off. What if I get lost. What if there are no merged headers in the swap. To hell with the what if's. I stuck a cassette in the deck and turned it way up. Rolling Stones Hot Rocks, (like a best of) with all the songs that made the band famous. Songs like "Ruby Tuesday", "19th Nervous Breakdown", "Gimme Shelter" came and went, as I thought I was getting closer to Costa Mesa. The lack of road signs did that. As the tape came close to finishing side two ("You Can't Always Get What You Want" {ain't that the god@m truth I thought to myself}), a faded green road sign came into view: Bakersfield 149 miles, and Los Angeles 251 miles. I was pushing 66 miles per hour. You do the math. This was way before the days of Siri, GPS, sat nav or cell phones. I glanced over at the wind-blown road map. I had no idea where I was. It seemed it was about every hour or more, I'd see some kind of sign, but they didn't say much, just "Kamm Ave" or "145 North", never mentioning any city names. Maybe because there were none. There was nothing but heat, and this weird aroma of cattle and hot Fiat. The landscape wasn't reassuring either. To my left was nothing but flat. Ahead of me, flat. To my right, west of me, wrinkled hills of this strange yellow-grey dust crawled by. Huge insects were splattering all over the windshield. It grew hotter and hotter. From trips as a child with my parents, I knew I-5 was a long, straight, boring drive, and that the "halfway marker" between the Bay Area and Los Angeles was a place called "Coalinga." All I remembered about Coalinga was some gas stations and when I was a kid there was a bad earthquake there. So as I pressed on, I kept on the watch for this Coaling place. And the temperature gauge continued to creep in the wrong direction.
Maybe this was a mistake.
By the time I reached the Coalinga exit, I was on side-two on the Stones tape for the second time. And I froze as I remembered something: I was supposed to be somewhere at that time. I had met a girl through the pizza place where I was previously employed. We had gotten to know one another, maybe for a month or so. On the day I was now driving to Orange County (alone), I was supposed to be at a family picnic with her and her mom, etc. Oh crap. Now what? I know, just don't think about it. Just think about your motor-to-be, that header, your Bus and the engine it needs, the sound of merged dual mufflers, practice knowing part numbers, early 200mm pressure plate is 311 141 031.. something. Gasket kit, 111 198 007A... holy crap now look at the temp gauge. I slowed my pace down to about 61 or 62 mph and it began to fall. Next sign was for a place called Avenal, and a prison. Los Angeles was still 190 miles in the hot distance....
More later.
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