It all started with a red trailer from Fred Meyer, some plywood from Home Depot and a whole lotta stuff. Completing the ensemble was a maroon 1980’s Datsun 200sx and two college kids who had no idea what they were getting into. “No problem, we’ll just drive strait through from Mukilteo, Wa to Phoenix, AZ”. “The car is reliable and the trailer is brand new, what could possibly go wrong?”….

 

I guess the answer to that is “plenty.” It started with the trailer assembly, which was no small feat since it came in a box of about a thousand pieces and had more hardware than the audience at a Puffy Daddy concert. After a couple days working with another friend piecing together the trailer, I stood back to marvel at the beauty of a 4’ x 4’ x 8’ plywood box on wheels. Hook it up, time to move.

As always, packing took considerably longer and more space that originally calculated. Why can’t guys do anything that doesn’t take at least fours longer than their most conservative estimate? After staying up most of Sunday night packing, we managed to shoe horn most of my things into the trailer and hatchback of the Datsun.

Monday, June 15, 1992 – The plan was quite simple. Head to B.C.C. to take a final in business and admire Karlie one last time. That was nice From there, head to Totem Lake to say bye to my Mom and sister, and then hit the road for a 1,437 mile tour that would turn into quite the journey.

Yet the troubles were manifesting themselves prior to leaving. One phone call about a week prior to leaving, “My car is leaking oil like a plastic bag with the bottom removed. Can I bring it to your place so we can take a closer look at it?”. “Sure, I am a renound mechanic,(NOT) and its only 9pm, bring it by, I am sure it’s nothing serious.” The car and driver arrive sometime later and the trouble light is brought out. “Uh….it looks like the oil is coming from that easily accessible spot where the engine and transmission are happily joined.”

“Man, I do not want to pull the tranny”

“Me neither, we need a third opinion, after all, we don’t want to get in over our heads, do we”

“No”

So what do two intrepid travellers do in times of a potential mechanical crisis?

“Dad, could you take a look at this? We think there is a problem.”

The problem turned out to be a minor external oil leak, so after a quick fix, we were off. The plan was to cut across the Cascades in to Eastern Washington, through Yakima, Sunnyside, down into Pendleton Oregon, over the Blue Mountains and into Boise before turning south into Utah and on to our first scheduled stop at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. But, like I said, that was the “plan.”

The wheels came off at nearly 5:00 p.m. on Monday just outside Sunnyside Washington – literally. The trailer had a blowout at high speeds, but we were able to coax the car and trailer to the side of the road without much excitement. After pondering the situation (no spare for the trailer), we decided to drop the trailer on the side of the road and head into Sunnyside to test our fate with a tire shop. We got to the only tire shop just before closing and bought two new tires; one on the rim, one as a spare. After a quick backtrack, we remounted the wheel and were back on the road heading towards Idaho as the sun began to set. It must have be about one in the morning just outside Boise when suddenly I was staring out of the passenger side window puzzled by the sudden shift in direction. The second tire had blown at around 80 mph and violently whipped the car and trailer sideways, snapping the co-pilot out of his deep sleep.

The co-pilot woke with sudden jerk. All he could hear was the sound of tire debris showering the backside of the car. That sound and the fact that the pilot was recovering the car & trailer from almost jacknifing on the highway indicated that, yes, the other trailer tire had blown. So there we were, grinding to a stop alongside HWY 26, just outside of Boise, Idaho.

“Well, at least we have a spare”

“but its not on the rim”

“we can go to a tire shop, they can put it on the rim for us.”

“The sun’s not even up yet, I don’t think any shops are open yet”

“Well, we’ll just have to kill some time until one opens”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know, lets get the rim off, leave the trailer by the side of the highway, and head into town. I’m sure a solution will present itself”

Now, the tire is off, the trailer disconnected, and we were speeding down the highway.

“Wow, I didn’t know your car had a Hemi in it”

“No, but it sure seems like it when we aren’t pulling a trailer that weighs more than the car.”

“Good point. By the way, what is your cars trailering capacity?”

“Not sure, probably about 1000lbs”

“What do you think the trailer weighs?”

“Probably 3 times that”

“No wonder the tires blew”

“That and the fact that the original tires were made of recycled trash bags”

*laughter

“I guess we should have noticed that”

“Except for the fact that we assembled the trailer in the dark”

“Well, at least the worst is behind us”

…at least, thats what they thought….

So with tire and rim shrapnel in hand, we headed into a sleeping Boise Idaho looking for some signs of life. After a few miles, beaming through the darkness was the familiar sign of a Flying J truck stop. These had become a favorite pause in the journey for food, fuel and a never-ending supply of coffee. My best guess is that it was roughly one o’clock in the morning on Tuesday , June 16th. As we entered the truck stop, we decided that an attempt to mount the tire we bought in Sunnyside to the rim was in order. After struggling with the mess for the better part of an hour, we gave up and headed into the restaurant for another shot of joe and to make tactical changes to the itinerary. See, what we haven’t mentioned until now is that our stop at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon was to meet my parents, Aunt and Uncle for a ride down on the mules as a sort of welcome to Arizona gift. With that said, I must revise an earlier statement; guys can’t do anything that doesn’t take at least six hours longer than their most conservative estimate. Let me explain. Seattle is about 500 miles from Boise or 8.5 hours driving at 60 mph. We left town around 11:00 a.m. on Monday, and now It’s 2:00 a.m. the following day.

There we sat, with our maps, a bottomless cup of coffee, and about 5 hours to kill before any tire shop opened. After a couple hours in the diner, we figured it was a good idea to try for some sleep as unlikely as that seemed. We were road weary and wire on countless cups of coffee, but rocked back the seats in the Datsun and crashed out for a couple hours until it was starting to get light and it was, well, coffee time. Can’t hit the road without a cup of joe – really. We situated the car and set off across town to the local Les Schwab to ensure we were the first in line. We figured 7:10 well be back at the trailer about ready to re-embark on the 5.5 hour journey to Salt Lake.

The guy at the tire shop mounted the tire so fast that we questioned how we couldn’t have done that just a few hours earlier. We chalked it up to high pressure air and the all mighty power tool and were off to see if the trailer was still sitting along side the highway. It was. We mounted the tire and slowly motored up to cruising speed as the clock rounded eight.

Salt Lake - The land of world class skiing, high speed autos, Mormons, and traffic jams which sucked us into a two hour delay. Seemed a guy driving a new t-bird was drafting a semi and may have trusted his depth perception more that he should have. Needless to say, the whole freeway had to stop to see who the moron was (I said moron, not Mormon.)

At this point, we had been on the road for nearly 28 hours and I had driven most of it, so what happened next is a bit foggy. Seems like we wanted to clear Salt Lake before stopping, for food, or coffee, or something. All I know is it wasn’t sleep - we were now a full eight hours behind schedule. Doctor! Caffeine IV, stat!

by thewog on Tuesday, December 09 @ 22:53:52 PST

The copilot, after determining the exact location of the two travellers on the map, made one of the crucial decisions to direct the next phase of the trip. It was time to turn off interstate 15 on to state highway 14. A rual two lanes of blacktop winding through the southern foothills of the Utah rockies. They left behind the security of the six lanes of blacktop, with the neverending string of gas stations, motel 6’s, and of course, the ever convienient tire store.

“Wow! this road is alot rougher than the interstate.”

“No doubt. Alot narrower and deserted to. If we crash, no one would find us for days. The only auto I’ve seen is those huge 3 trailer tractor trucks. Think hauling a load of goods like that is safe?”

“Probably alot safer than the rig we are in. Do you realize that if we had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting an animal, the brake linings would disintergrate before the rotors melted, sending molten parts of auto through the floor, possibly igniting the gas in the tank, and launching us into desert?”

“Yep, I discovered that when I drove.”

“But you only have driven for 2 hours or so.”

“I know, the car scared me.”

“How could the car possibly scare you?”

“It handles funny.”

“I know it handles funny! Everything I own is in this car or in the trailer!”

“Except what we left for Mark to clean up in Mukilteo.”

*laughter “It was only a few inflatable water toys and some odds and ends. I’m sure he will take care of it. Its not that big of a deal.”

‘You think he’ll make a dump run?”

“Sure, it will only take him a few hours to take care of, less if he gets Tim to help him out.”

“Not to change the subject, you think we should check the oil?”

“Good idea. I’ll pull over.”

The two intrepid travellers pull to the side of the road. The kind of pullout used by aging RV’ers that want to take some photos of the landscape. It was quite impressive. This part of the country was a small winding canyon. Red cliffs on one side sprinkled with small pines and underbrush, then the road, a guard rail, and then a smallish river. For the time being, we were alone. Just us, the river, the wind, and a case of motor oil, buried somewhere in the pilots belongings.

“Ummm..wheres the oil?”

“In the hatchback of the car. I moved it while we were packing.”

“Ok, here it is, how many quarts do you want?”

“Three, and while you are getting it out, is there any more coffee left?”

“Yep, its cold though.”

“At this point I don’t care, I need the caffeine.”

We were now on highway 89, and possibly in some of most amazing scenery that these two boys from Monroe, Washington had ever scene. If you have never driven from the Northwest, over the cascades, into the Rockies, through the badlands, and across the high deserts near the Arizona/Utah border, you don’t fully grasp the change in landscape. Wooded hills give way to grassy plains followed by stretches of terrain that seem incredibly barren and lifeless. All we knew is that we were now in the unknown with only a case of oil, cold coffee, and no spare. As we approach the intersection to Long Valley, we quickly checked the map to get our bearings and see just how long we were talking. Let me just say that long, construction ahead, expect delays, 6 percent grade, curves, falling rocks, nails in roadway, and no service next 200 miles are not words you want to see after 33 hours towing a trailer with no spare. It makes for a classic case of road rage.

As it turned out, Long valley was anything but. Before we knew it, we have traversed the 50 miles past the Bryce and Zion National Parks and into Kanab, Utah, which is situated on the Utah/Arizona border. I should point out that the stretch of highway 89 between Richfield and Kanab is absolutely incredible. The final pass is flanked with a flowing river that springs from the desert floor and is host to what seemed like the only abundant plant life since the Oregon border. Given the chance, make this drive – you won’t forget it.

We stop in Kanab for fuel, food, and something else – what was that… oh yeah, coffee. We check the map which placed us about 90 miles from the Grand Canyon, our final destination for the day. We took a deep breath, glanced around at what could only be described very interesting locals, and jumped back in the car for the final leg. We were so close we could taste it. “90 miles, that’s child’s play. We’ll knock this out in our sleep.” Ha! I think that those last miles were longer that the sum of the trip thus far.

The road from Kanab falls off the Escalante shelf into what can only be considered a barren wasteland; the high desert of Arizona that leads to the North rim of the Grand Canyon. Roads are strait, flat and seemingly endless for the first 70 miles or so and then you hit a steep series of switchbacks to rise to the altitude of the North Rim – 7,800 feet. To put this into perspective, we skied in Washington at around 4,000 feet, and the Datsun was challenged by that. Now, climbing to nearly twice that, we rocketed along at an amazing 20 mph. I was mashing the pedal to the floor so hard that I had to switch feet from time to time to give my leg a break. We climbed, and climbed, and climbed. Paul woke up and said, “are those trees?” in astonishment since his last sight was just outside Kanab in an area the area that he termed a barren wasteland. We talked until, with the engine screaming, we crested the hill and turned towards the rim for our final run to the Canyon. At this point, I have been out of coffee for a couple hours, we are out of food, and I am hanging over the steering wheel with my eyeballs nearly touching the windshield. I’m on the verge of driving off the road from exhaustion when we approach a sign saying, “Grand Canyon, 7 miles.” Yeeeeeehaaaaaa!! We were almost there. I floored the pedal again only to experience the longest seven miles of our lives.

The road to the canyon seems to be a series of sweeping turns follow by straight stretches through meadows where the deer and antelope play. After about two miles, I come into a turn with deer on the road at about 70 mph. I looked down at the speedo and start laughing uncontrollably to the point that Paul wakes up and wonders what’s so funny. I said “Why am I doing 70 with a trailer and a Datsun and a road full of deer.” We know it’s not funny now, but we sure thought it was back then. Needless to say, I slowed down and we clocked off the 5 remaining miles, then 14, and finally reached the canyon at 22 miles. We were ready to kill the sign painter by then. Seems seven miles was to the park entrance, not the lodge.

The canyon seemed deserted by our expectations as we drove the loop looking for our rendezvous party. Couldn’t find anyone so we found a parking lot that was away from everything and proceeded to ignore the signs that said no sleeping in cars. Paul rocked back his seat, but mine would not go back because of all the stuff packed behind it. I decided to open the hatch and dive in across all the boxes and bags. The hatch slammed shut on top of me and I was out. I remember I was dreaming and I kept hearing this thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump! I woke up and looked out the small back window to see someone standing outside the car, banging on the door. “Crap, it’s a ranger” I said to Paul. “Don’t move and maybe he wont see us.” Thump, thump, thump! Thump, thump, thump! I look out the window again and realize it’s my dad who had just pulled up.

We got out, exchanged greetings, and left the Datsun and trailer there for the comforts of a cabin. It was now well past midnight, but we had made it – we were officially in Arizona, my new home.

So like couple of zombies who have had waaaaaaay to much windshield time, we staggered toward the cabin. “Have a good sleep, boys” Entering the cabin was a shock to the senses. Two clean beds, a shower and the comfort of knowing that there were no tires attached. One thing I remember while slipping into bed. “Brrr, these sheets are cold.”

The next morning was picture perfect. Blue sky, in the 80’s, huge pine trees and the knowledge that we had a brief respite before returning to the open road. This morning was supposed to be an “adventure of a lifetime” Like we hadn’t had enough of those in the last couple of days. His dad had scheduled us for a morning mule ride a few miles into the canyon. Sounded ok. We were both from Monroe, WA, and figured since we had both at least “seen a horse” riding a mule couldn’t be that difficult. As we walk up to the staging area with the rest of the tourists, we are intro introduced to the ranch-hand who will lead us on this ride down the hill.

As he’s asking the group where they were from, ect ect. He turns to us at last and says… “You two look as though you need an adventure today. Either of you ever ridden a horse?” We nod our heads yes. We were after all from Monroe and had spend the last several dozen hours wrestling with matters that made spending some time on a pokey old mule seem, well, rather tame. “Good, you guys get my favorite two mules of the whole pack”
He gestures towards a couple of grey and brown mules, muching on hay and being saddled by another mule skinner.
“Okay” we reply. “What are their names?” “Nightmare and Jitterbug. Now boys don’t look so worried, these mules are just a little skittish by nature. They usually calm down about halfway back up the trail”
This was not sounding so good and we briefly debated skipping the ride, and hiking down the trail ourselves. But in the end, the foreman convinced us that he was only kidding. That merry twinkle in his eye didn’t fool us for a second. We were sure that our bones would be picked over by buzzards and coyotes by nightfall.

In the end, it was an uneventful but beutiful ride that morning. As we were approaching the rim on the return leg of the trip, both of us were anxious to get back on the road and onto the final destination. Pheonix.

One thing we had forgotten in our travel weary state the night before. We had parallel parked across 5 or 6 parking stalls. We returned to the car, ready to check the oil (and tires) fire it up and hit the road. Coming up to the car and trailer, we found that the flood of tourists that morning had parked their cars in front, back and beside us. We could not drive the car and trailer out. How would we get going? Would we get a ticket for parallel parking in across spaces with a sign clearly saying “No parallel parking, head in parking only. No trailers.” Would we completely lose it mentally and start creating big showers of broken glass with the first rocks to become airborne missles? Yes, the final leg of the trip was rearing its ugly head.

So the lesson learned is that if you double park, don’t do it along the curb. Pull in all the way out by the end of the stripes. That way, the morons that don’t understand the geometry of two objects hinged in the center can’t block you in. Lesson learned. After hosting several devious thoughts on retaliation, a tourist approached one of the vehicles blocking us in. After an explanation, they refused to move their vehicle for fear they would loose their spot. Absolutely ridiculous, but I now chalk it up to a language barrier, not the “I want to get my ass kicked attitude” I did back then.

As it turned out, Houdini and a gaggle of engineers could not have devised a better escape route from our impossible situation. It seemed that the median offered a small escape route, so long as we could get the trailer detached and muscled around the corner. We did, and after a thousand point turn with the deprived Datsun, we managed to reconnect of the other side avoiding tickets, confrontation, and any charges of vandalism. So, said our goodbyes for the time being, and were off for the final six hours jaunt into Phoenix.

Hard to believe that in just 6 short hours, we will have arrived at our destination.  It seemed like childs play, a piece of cake, nothin’ to it.  It was just 6 hours.  First we had to wind our way east instead of south to avoid the worlds largest hole in the ground.  After crossing the canyon at its narrowest point, the real desert began.

“Man, is it always this hot here?”

“I don’t know, I have never been here before, but I believe I am turning into a puddle.  It there any ice left in the cooler?”

“We have ice in the cooler?”

“We should, could you check?  I just dumped a half bag my parents had in so we could keep some drinks cold.”

“Sure…..Ummm how about a cup of warm water?  Or a warm Pepsi?  In fact every beverage we have is warm.  The good news is the thermos of coffee from this morning is still steaming. Want a cup?”

“Yep, I am sure sweating more will cool me off.”

Our two weary travellers were serenely crusing through the desert, admiring the red rocks, saguaro catus, and the occasional road runner keeping pace with them on the uphill streches. 

“When I get on my feet down here, I am going to sell the Datsun and get something new and fast.  Maybe a Grand Prix.  Those are pretty cool.

“Yeah, hey, whats that ahead? 

It was a truck, pulling a smoldering trailer used for patching holes in asphalt.  But not just any truck.  It was a early 80’s Ford F-250 that had seen better days.  Better days being before the current driver bought it.  It was white, covered by a layer of red dirt and mud so thick, you could have planted mesquite on the fender.  Both bumpers looked as though they were the primary source of braking. So many dents, this truck went from being classified as a “project” to a “career”. The driver of this canidate for the crusher was a perfect match.  Unshaven, sunburned, western hat, pretty much the quisessential Arizona redneck.  I could here “Dueling Banjos” begin playing in my head.  The best thing about this guy and his ride…he was in the right lane, AND GOING SLOWER THAN US!  Finally, one vehical on this whole trip that we could pass, going uphill none the less.

“Punch it, lets get past this guy”

“Its been punched since Oregon, but okay.”

The Datsun swung out into the passing lane in an attempt to take the pole position.  Slowly but surely, they began inching past the Ford on the uphill slope.  Knuckles gripped vinyl, sweat was pouring from their bodies, the engine was roaring like a beast out of hell.  The tension of it was tremendous.  Then an incredulous thing happend.  The driver of the Ford noticed us creeping past in the fast lane and did the predictable thing.  He “punched” it.  The race was on.

“He’s trying to race us!”

“I see that, and hear it.  It sounds like his exaust rotted off the engine block.  I’ve heard commercial jets that were quieter!”

Now imagine this scene, the travellers red Datsun pulling a plywood trailer, “racing” some redneck in his delapidated pickup pulling a smoking tar trailer, up a 10% grade for several miles, in over 100 degree heat, at a blistering 30 miles per hour.  With engines howling and muscles tense, the slow crawl up the hill continued.  The driver of the pickup started grinning like a maniac at them as the slope got just a bit steeper and he began to inch ahead.  A squealing untertone began eminating from the ford.  Growing louder and louder with every foot of elevation being gained, when..BANG!!!  Steam began pouring out from under the hood of the truck in great big white clouds.  The drivers face changed from a triumphant smile to a frustrated grimace as he began to limp his truck to the shoulder.  The Datsun pulled ahead in victory.  The last the two travellers saw of their competitor, was in the mirrors, stopping his great steaming truck, and getting out to open the hood, in over 100 degree heat.

“hahahaha!!!!!!!hahahahaha!!!!”

“That was to funny!!”

The great race was over, the two travellers won by default, the sun was begining to set, and it was only a couple of hours to the city limits.  Life was perfect.

 

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