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Thread: Washington to Florida in Hrly Erl

  1. #21
    Bernard Guest

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    Nuts--sorry about the double post. I hit a key and the screen went freeking nuts. I landed back on my desk top. Glad it wasn't lost, though. I accidently dumped much of this day's record earlier trying to show my step-daughter the pictures of Harley in the snow . . . . Enough for tonight.

  2. #22

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    Great read! I hope you're sending copies to the Pensacola paper.

  3. #23
    Bernard Guest

    Post

    Thank you, sir -- but I wouldn't send copies to that Gannett yellow press snapper-wrapper if my salvation depended on it !

  4. #24
    Bernard Guest

    Post

    We turned onto I-10 at 4:35 Friday, and ten minutes later ran into constrution, with single-lane traffic and traffic backups. Dee's notes: "A surprise? NO!" I-10 must be a National Welfare Resource for homeless highway construction companies . . . a soup kitchen for steamroller drivers . . . a gravytrain for tarmac tampers . . . In the 11 years I've lived in Pensacola, I-10 from the Florida line eastward for miles has been in a constant state of partial dissembly euphamistically termed either "improvemets" or "repairs." It is so also in Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, and New Mexico, apparently. The only part of I-10 I've experienced or am familiar with which has not bee constantly disrupted is the short Alabama streatch.

    By the way--anyone coming east into Florida along I-10 would do well to get off at US90 east bypass, the first exit in Florida, and stay on it through to the east side of Milton, Florida (about 20 miles down the road), before returning to I-10 via Avalon Boulevard. Hurricane Ivan broke holes in both bridges of the I-10 span across Escambia Bay, on Pensacola's east side, and one span was jerry-rigged with pieces of the other and portable steel sections. Here the contractors did a marvelous job in an amazingly short period of time, but the current state of affairs is single-lane traffic east and west, traveling very slowly over one span. The shortest traffic back-ups experienced around the clock are several miles long, and at peak periods, exceed five to ten miles.

    Well--back to New Mexico:

    We learned that the town of Deming considers itself "The Home of Pure Water and Fast Ducks."

    We'd stopped at a little place called Lordsburg, presumably for a potty break as there is no record of gasing up there, and had asked a Mexican fellow who had come up to admire Harley where we should go for authentic Mexican food. He told us to go to "Si Senor," about 40 miles farther along and in Deming. We rolled through a fair amount of Deming (very quickly) without seeing it, and stopped to ask where it was. How odd--we stopped at one of the cross streets flanking the block it was on, about two blocks off the highway--no backtracking! Murphy must have blinked on that occasion. The food was good, but no more "authentic" than at the half-dozen Mexican restaurants we've patronized in Pensacola, and not at all like the food I got at a genuine, We-Barely-Speak-English Mexican restaurant I visited in Beaumont in 1982.

    On the road again at 6:44 p.m., dodging orange and white barrels and having all kinds of fun keeping Harley Earle off of the concrete barriers flanking narrow lanes with very uneven pavement. As soon as I get paid for putting out the oil well fire, I'm getting radial tires . . . .

    We approached Las Cruces on a long, straight downgrade at 7:40 p.m., in full night time. Las Cruces is flat as a tortila, and all the lights were on. Dee's notes" "Moon is huge, quite bright . .. From the highway Las Cruices looks like a bundle of jewels sparkling." It was pretty. I tried to take pictures by holding the digital camera out of the window as we rolled toward it, but I didn't get it out until we'd lost a lot of altitude and the deep perspective had flattened out into more of a swath . . and with the flash the camera didn't expose properly to pick up the lights, and without it the lights were caught with enough movement to look like a true version of glow worms. Too bad.

    We turned off onto Motel Boulevard. It's a scam---there's only one motel on it, and nobody in their right mind would use it for a full night. We went north for a couple of miles, turned right onto a main drag (and into a forest of orange-and-white construciton barrels (the official Florida state flower--we must export them), and landed at the first motel we could get to through the stubble of barrels, the Town House Motel. We were charged $25 for a no-smoking queen, double occupancy. We were overcharged. Dee wouldn't even walk on the rug without socks. But Dhrwu, the high-school aged front desk attendant, was very courteous and personable, and didn't babble as fast as his lips could move, as is the want and custom of American teenagers in service jobs. Good for you, young man--may you go far. (Besides he's left-handed, like me.)

  5. #25
    Bernard Guest

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    Dang it -- does this site occasionally do an "add reply" on its own?

  6. #26
    Bernard Guest

    Post

    On the 25th Harley Earle did fine--just fine. From Stanwood we'd averaged 13.32 mpg by the odometer and 16.9 corrected. Oil consuption wasn't as good--762 miles per quart, with, I think, most of that blowing out of the breather cap. The transmission demanded monitoring, also, dribbling out fluid at an estimated rate of 1400 miles, but that's not at all exact because of the heavy spillage from two flatbed jackings. We didn't need to add coolant the whole trip.

    But Harley E had a trick up his sleeve.

    We made 543 miles (actual) that day, our best run so far. We were 12 hours, fifteen minutes motel-to-motel for an overall average of 44.3 mph. Not too bad, I suppose, including stops for food, gas, and Mother Nature--but no break-downs!

    We had decided we didn't want to make a forced march from Las Cruces home to get Dee back to work on schedule Monday. Instead we would take three days to cover the remaining miles from Las Cruces to Pensacola. I knew from experience that we could make Houston to Pensacola in one fairly long day, and Las Cruces to Houston was obviously less than an honest two day's ride. Then it occurred to me that we could make Layfayette, Lousisiana, our destination for Sunday. The itinerary was set, with only where we'd reach by Saturday night in question.

    This being decided, we didn't leave Las Cruces right away. Dee had a hankering to see the Farmer's Market in the historic section of the city, so we went there. She was disappointed: there were many and varied crafts for sale in the courtyard of a bunch of shops, but the display, as a whole, was rather commerical. We meandered; I got bored and worked hard not to show it, thinking Dee was having fun; but when we did get back in the car without her having bought anything, I suspected she had been disappointed. It was worse than that--she was disallusioned. She sulked in a most lady-like fashing for an hour, then shrugged it off, as she always does. We left Las Cruces at 10 a.m.

    By 10:25 we entered Texas; wer were at the El Paso city limits at 10:29; and --blush---the artictically-finished retaining walls and overpass supports I credited to Pheonix are here, instead. Oh, well. Columbus didn't get it quite right, either, did he?

    A gas stop at 11:13; a lunch stop at 11:20.

    At 1 p.m. we reached a detour for all east-bound traffic--an ICE checkpoint. It was chilly; the ICE man (giggle) had a fur-lined collar turned up and the fur-lined ears of a cap turned down, and all I could see of his face at first was his nose. He waved us through. As we pulled abreast of him I shouted "I'm disappointed!" I could then see teeth in a grin. He still didn't make us stop.

    The time zones change from Mountain to Central, our home zone, just past Horn (it was there Dee saw the "diesel fried chicken"). We crossed at 2:20 p.m., losing an hour.

    In a tiny place called Kent, we pulled off for drinks. On a two-way serivce road between the off-ramp and down town metropolitan Kent (a Chevron station and the attached Kent Mercantile Store, one attendant for both, and no working bathrooms. I suspect the attendant didnt want to be bothered cleaning them, and hung the out-of-order signs on them, depriving all of metropolitan Kent restroom service), was the stone walls of an old school, roofless and windowless. I went back for a photo op after drinks. We took some pictures than investigated the ruin. Evidently it had burned. There were the charred nub ends of floor joists embedded in the walls, plus a horizontal line of charred wood which used to be the floor. I confess I peed in a corner of what once was the crawl space. If all of Metropolitan Kent has no working bathrooms, a fella has to improvise.

    We rolled into Stockton around 4:30 and stopped for gas, drinks and potty. Harley began to spring his up-sleeve trick . . . at first, nothing happend when I stepped on the gas pedal to start him. Nothing at all. I opened the hood on one side, saw nothing wrong, and opened it on the other. Nothing wrong there, either. But when I pressed again, he fired up in good order. Good-I could practice magical thinking: it was a quirk, nothing was wrong, and it would never, ever happen again. We got back up on I-10 and rolled eastward.

    Dee's notes are filled with references to wild flowers and catci; there is a litle sketch of a two-armed sonora catcus--and then one of a windmill.

    About 300 miles west of San Antonio there are several hundred acres covered with moden electicity-generating windmills. They stand in goups, the orientation of two-row groupings in different directions. There must have been hundreds of windmills, white, with single enclosed columns and three very long and slender blades. Only some were turning, and were turning rather slowly, so much so that ther was no difficulty following a single blade around while blowing past at 65 mph. Before we passed, we saw an of-line grouping come on line, with first one, then another, then more windmills starting to turn. They made no noise audible from a distance--undoubtedly a design requirment met by slow-turning, powerful blades.

    The powerful front which had raised hell all across the west had been ahead of us for two or three days; at about 6 p.m. we caught up with it, driving into light rain and gusts along its backside. By this time our target for overnight was San Antonio, and Dee's notes, along with an obseration about it beginning to rain, say "at least two more hours before we get to San Antonio." Read into the comment that she is not thrilled with riding in Harley E in the rain. There is also a closley-floowing note, "Rain-X mostly gone." True. Two days before, I think, I'd made the mistake of cleaning the windshild with soapy water.

    Rain was heavy around Junction, which we reached at 7:45. From somewhere I had the idea that we had enough gas to make it to San Antonio. At 8:55, in the rain, in the middle of nowhere, we ran out, and rolled off onto the shoulder at an exit ramp labeled Cyprus Creek Road.

    We called AAA again. I think they know us. Rather sooner than we expected--in fact right at the outer limit of the one-hour time frame we were given--a flatbed rolled up with gasoline.

    "I knew the dispatcher had it down wrong," said the drive. "I knew it was a 1994 Buick. I owe her a candy bar."

    It turned out that Cyprus Creek Road is a sort distance west of Comfort. We filled at Comfort, and it was comforting, indeed. On to San Antonio!

    We passed the San Antonio City Limit at 11:25.

    We missed a right-hand split at 11;45, rolling onto I-35. We got off at the first exit and turned right. We drove through unsavory neighborhoods. We turned right and left a couple of times, hunting for I-10 right of I_35. We found ourselves running parallel to US 90 west---how the hell had we done that? When we finally turned onto a large thoroughfare, we pulled into the first convenience store we came to, and I asked an elderly man how to get to I-10.

    He couldn't tell me. He thought, then gave up. He suggested that I might inquire at the next convenience store down the street. I retrospect, I suspect the man didn't know how to drive, and may not have been away from his neighborhood for years.

    We pulled into the parking lot between the next convenience store and a take-out pizza establishment. Wait--take-out pizza, a business depending on knowledge of highways and byways! We'd inquire there, instead!

    "Yeah, you go that way (the way we'd come) and it will take you straight to 90 east, and that will take you to to I-10 east." Sigh.

    At midnight we found US90 east. Dee's notes became sketchy some time before that. The only other entry is "12:45 a.m. at Motel 8, Seguin, Texas."

    We made 572 miles by the odometer, 726 corrected--tthe greatest distance covered between beds, with bstart-to-stop time of 14.75 hours and an all-included average speed of 49.25 mph. Not too shabby for a dumbbutt who runs out of gas.

    Next, a bison, an ostrich, and a zebra; Harley plays the card from his sleeve

  7. #27
    Bernard Guest

    Post

    Seguin, Texas, to Lafayette, Lousiana, was mechanically uneventful, except for one ominous little happening. At one of our potty or gas stops, Harley E didn't want to restart. Key on, gas pedal down--nothing. Might as well have been a 1975 Ambassador or something. I sat there for a minute, wating for magical thinking to kick in, and kick in it did . . . mashed the pedal once more, and Harley started. Magical thinking cuddled up close--Naw, nothing to worry about. It didn't happen.

    We left the hotel in Sequin at 9:20. I don't remember why we left so late, except that we'd put in a long day prior. Four minutes later, according to Dee's notes, we passed a "place" that had a bison, emus, ostrichs, and a zebra, plus cattle. She exclaimed; I caught a glimpse of the zebra. They stand out--they look like road gang members from an animal prison. Oh yeah, and there were a bunch of cattle there, too.

    There's a Texas saying: "He's all hat and no cattle." What about "He's all hat and no zebras"?

    10:20 in Flatonia for drinks. Are the residents Flatulants?

    I have to include this from Bride's notes to ensure domestic tranquility:

    "Now seeing the salmon & purple flowers plus pinks and yellows--beathtaking in its own way [that explains the funny noises she was making over there . . . .]. The whole trip has given us the opportunity to see so many breathtaking sights that help tomake up for not getting to go to the Grand Canyon and Painted Desert." I'm really glad she recorded the important stuff. Salmon colored flowers?

    1210 going through Houston . . . 12:25 passing "Slick Willie's Family Pool Hall" . . .

    Here's a memo I empathize with . . "3:20 entering Louisiana, casino signs everywhere--how sad."

    By 5:07 we were in Lafayette, and five minutes later rolled onto friend Mike's bleached-white concrete driveway and began to deposit pink spots thereon. We had a very nice visit and stayed there overnight.

    I tried to take us all to dinner in Harley, but he refused to start. I puttered and fussed until we lost our light, then went in his 2000 Town Car with less than 20,000 miles on it. In that plush conveyance, he took us to cracker barrell. And he's the general manager of the country club there . . . .

    Monday morning Harley continued to refuse to start. I borrowed a multimeter from Mike and began some serious exploration. Had power through the safety switch on the gear shift linkage. Had power to the battery side of the vacuum switch. Aha! I'd get it running by shorting the two wires on the vacuum switch! What? Nothing? Hm.... There's power in the other wire, the one on the starter side? Well no wonder they don't spark and nothing happens when I touch them together. . . .

    I'd been under first one side of the hood and then the other several times. I'd taken the wires off the vacuum switch terminals and put them back on. I'd wiggled the wires on the starter solonoid. I was getting nowhere.

    Then, with no idea why, I got a zero voltage reading at the starter side terminal of the vacuum switch! "Start the car!" I told Dee with great confidence--and she could!

    Well, we were underway, but I still didn't know what was going on. Harley hummed down the road (leaky exhaust manifold gasket) but didn't give a clue about what he was up to.

    We pulled off for lunch at Hammond, Louisiana. As soon as I shut off the engine I tried to restart, and nothing happend--again. With the car we got an original shop manual for the 48-49 cars. I brought that into the restaurant with me, and as we ate, I found an studied the overall wiring diagram. I came to the conclusion that the only place a backfeed voltage to the starter side of the vacuum switch could originate was in the voltage regulator, because there was simply no other possibility.

    When we finished, I opened the hood and smote the voltage regulator several times with my Leatherman tool---and Harley Earle fired right up! That was IT !

    The voltage regulator cover now looks like a 20-year old garbage can from the Bronx, but it's been a while now since whatever was hanging up in the voltage regulator hung up.

    Dee's final note: "4:05 Home! 43,683, 3030 miles, 3,484.5 miles actual"

    Thanks for listening, Boyz and Girlz. It's been fun.

  8. #28

    Thumbs up

    [img]graemlins/wavey.gif[/img] Hey Bernard,

    I would like to "Thank You" for Your Narration
    and Dee for her "Event Recording Composition" regarding Your Trip. It took a lot of time and effort on your part to share your experiences with us.

    I have to say it took "Gumption" on your part to even attempt such an expedition.

    You experienced your fair share of weather and road conditions.

    And you were able to overcome some of "Harley's"
    mechanical quirks. If anything under those conditions, it there was and underlying problem, it would surely rear it's ugly head.

    I imagine that the tempermental Regulator problem was caused by dirt and temperature conditions caused by stirring-up an already pre-existing condition.

    I expect that you will be getting a new one to alleviate / avoid and future recurring problems.

    You got home safe and sound and that's what's important and at the same time enjoyed the experience of aa lifetime.

    In the early stages of your escursion, you recorded "Harley's" fuel comsumption. At the End of the trip you never mentioned it.

    Over-all how did "Harley" perform? How did he handle?

    Did you experience any "Brake Fade"

    Does Harley have the 320 Straight-8?

    What kind of fuel milage(economy) did you experience ?

    a long trip you experienced different terrain, road and weather conditions, I would think would give you a complete spectrum that you probably never encounter again.

    I wish you the best of luck and hope you enjoy "Harley" the "Super" Fine '49.

    Regards,

    Tom Gallagher
    Thanking YOU, for YOUR Valued Cooperation and Experience in This Matter.

    NOSTALGIA Is A DEVICE That REMOVES The RUTS and POTHOLES From MEMORY LANE.
    Tom Gallagher (BUICK BANSHEE)
    1956 Buick Special 2 Door H/Top 46R: Red & White
    Darlington Station, RI. 02861

  9. #29

    Post

    Nice job Bernard
    Really, enjoyed riding along with your writings. [img]graemlins/thumbsup.gif[/img]

    Now, since we all gave you our opinions and suggestions before setting out for Washington for this envious adventure of yours; how about sharing your thoughts and recommendations to others that may be planning such an excursion, now that it is all in your rearview mirror.

    Also, when you get some time - How about getting a few pictures of Harley's trip up on the vistors rides section of this fine website ???
    I'm sure everyone would enjoy them. [img]smile.gif[/img]
    Joe-(39 Century)

    Remember it takes approximately 3500 bolts to build a Buick and only 1 Nut to spread them all over the highway"

  10. #30
    Bernard Guest

    Post

    Tom and 39,thank you !

    Tom: It's the 248 engine (or 2-something).

    Driving mostly in the 60-70 true speed range, we got 16.7 overall, door-to-door, assuming the corrrection factor of odometer reading x 1.27 is correct--and that is what we came up with over the 5-mile odometer check distance in Oregon.

    No brake fade. The brakes are excellent. The car has new or rebuilt wheel cylinders and probly new shoes. The parking brake is even very effective.

    Handling was much better than I anticipated. There is a lot of wander in the recirculating ball steering and bias ply tires compared to rack-and-pinion with radial tires, but that's to be expected. The more I drove, the more accustomed I got to it. I realize now that one developes a sixth sense about which way the car will dodge, a tenth of a second before it does.

    The car cornered much flatter than I anticipated--much flatter than the 1952 Studebaker Starliner coupe I drove most of my teen-age years, for instance. In fact, body roll wasn't ever a factor. And as I mentioned in the narrative, once a little g-force set in to take out the wander, it tracked well and I thought held the road quite well.

    Yesterday, on a gallop-rated exchange here in Pensacola, I though I noted a shift to slight oversteer at about 50 mph on a moderate curve, and that, too surprised me. Must be the rear roll bar at work.

    I wish we'd taken the time to have the tires balanced and trued before we drove all the way home. Shudders set in at about 70 mph true, and limited out speed. At the fastest, I held the car just under the shutter speed except for a very few short bursts to clear the left lane for someone coming up behind me.

    39, my best advice to someone else contemplating driving a new purchase home cross-country is (1) "Get really lucky with your choice," and (2) Have a current AAA (or equivalent) membership."

    Beyond that, I'd have been a lot more at ease, at least at first, if I'd gotten the box of tools trucked out to the buyer in time. I delayed until getting them there in time would have cost $165 express motor freight, so we went with the Leatherman my wife gave me for Christmas a few years ago. We also intended to get a 5-gallon jug of water for the radiator and a set of those easle-type tringular warning reflectors like truckers carry, just in case, but we never got around to it, and luckily needed neither.

    Carry 4 quarts of the proper motor oil, a couple of bottles of lead substitute, and 4 quarts of transmission fluid if the car's an automatic. We have been experiencing a progressive series of failures of fibrous materials (gaskets) from old age, mostly since we got back, but a more advanced stage of decomposition would have caused us real trouble on the trip without spare fluids.

    Make this rule and live by it: "If it doesn't cause physical pain or flowing blood, it's fun."
    Even our beakdowns were fun with that attitude. I didn't throw a single tantrum. Dee is still amazed.

    For the really nervous, a hand-held cartplotter GPS with good maps would be a nice thing to have. Garman makes a good one for about $300, with the base map chip which comes with it more than adequate for navitational assistance and emergency location finding. We thought about it, but I was too cheap.

    Reference pictures: Would someone send me an e-mail telling me how to post 'em?

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