“An inconvenience is an adventure wrongly considered.” – Gilbert K. Chesterton
Against All Odds: Denver to LA in a Vintage RV
The alarm wakes me at 6:30. I check my weather app. It’s 18 degrees – 8 degrees with wind chill. I get up, shout a good morning to Liam and Michael in the adjacent room, take a hot shower, and dress. Long johns, layers, and flannels. And the ski jacket Alec gave me yesterday morning in Cleveland, after he checked the weather and saw that a cold front was moving through Denver.
It arrived yesterday – a blizzard of ice and snow. You couldn’t see beyond a car’s length in front of you. It would have been challenging for a 2020 four-wheel SUV. For what we are driving, it was a no-go.
I look out the window. The sky is clear. As we leave the hotel, the doorman grins at us.
“Where’re you heading?”
“LA.”
“In that?”
We nod.
Now he’s laughing.
It’s a 1973 Dodge Travco. All 12,000 pounds of it waits for us snowbound in front of the hotel.
I kick away the snow bank in front of the vehicle. Michael scrapes the ice from the windshield and Liam checks the engine and then jumps in and cranks it. It starts right up. A good omen.
The engine should be good. Liam had it rebuilt in Missouri before he took delivery. The brakes are new, too, having been replaced when the mechanic took it on a test drive and was almost killed when the old brakes failed while he was going down a steep hill.
On the drive from Missouri to Denver, the temperature began dropping. That’s when the boys discovered that the heater system didn’t work. After stopping every 10 minutes to clean the windshield, they stopped at a Walmart and bought a small space heater, which Liam propped up on the dashboard in front of him. That cleared up just enough space to take them through two days of driving.
“All aboard!” Liam calls after the engine was humming. I climb inside, the first time I’ve seen the interior.
“Wow!” I said.
“Nice, huh?” Liam says with a laugh.
The interior looks like it hasn’t been touched in 47 years. Touched or cleaned, for that matter. Whatever image that brings to your mind, I promise you: It is worse.
Liam and Michael climb into the front seats. I take one in the back. I notice it doesn’t have a seat belt. (I wonder: Did they have rear seatbelts in 1973?)
Driving through town, I quickly discover that the lack of a seat belt is not the real problem. The real problem is that the seat itself is not bolted to the frame. I know that because it slides as we change lanes.
And now another problem: The door next to me swings wide open on left-hand turns. My unbolted seat slides scarily towards the opening. I scream. The vehicle stops.
We have a little discussion about this. Yes, the boys were aware of the problem. But no, it didn’t particularly bother them because they were securely strapped into the front seats.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” Liam says.
He fishes through several boxes of what look to be stuff that should have been thrown out by the original owner and finds a length of wire that he ties to the door handle and then again to another handle.
“All set!” he says. And off we go.
As we continue through downtown Denver, pedestrians gawk and grin at us as we pass them. Several give us a thumbs up. That cheers me. I don’t know why.
At the first stoplight, the engine stalls.
“What the heck?” Liam says.
He turns off the ignition, puts the transmission in neutral, and restarts the engine. At the next stoplight, it happens again.
“What’s wrong?” Michael asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe the engine is cold.”
It occurs to me that this is exactly what it must be. It’s been so long since I’ve been in a car with a motor that needs warming up that I’d forgot how common stalling out at a stoplight was back in the day.
It stalls again at the next light, but starts right back up again.
“It’s warming up,” we agree.
Our destination is Liam’s house in LA. The goal is to get this antique curiosity there in one piece. This is day four for Liam and Michael. Day two for me. Today’s plan is to drive west along I-70 for three hours, and then find someplace to stop that has WiFi. I have a Zoom business meeting at 11:30. When that’s over, we’ll drive on and have lunch in Grand Junction, and then try to reach Green River where we’ll find lodging for the night.
A light snow begins. Liam switches on the windshield wipers. They are vintage. Like skinny teenagers, they move awkwardly over the wind- and snow-battered glass, cleaning with one stroke and smearing with another.
At about 11:00 am, we pull into a rest stop in Eagle, Colorado, that features a Starbucks. Good news. They have socially distanced seating. I find a table in the corner and prepare for my Zoom meeting. Meanwhile, the boys go looking for more engine oil (it needs refilling every 100 miles) at a local auto parts store that also sells power tools and firearms. Two hours later, we are on our way again.
I forgot to mention: The speedometer cable broke some time before the boys arrived in Denver. It’s been rattling ever since, but now the rattle has morphed into an ear-piercing, demonic howl. Liam and Michael make a dozen calls to auto shops in Grand Junction and find only one that has the time to remove the damned thing. They are very kind and accommodating. They remove the cable, change the gas filter, check the tires, and put in oil. The total bill: $50.
We arrive in Green River at 7:00 and book two rooms in what an online app described as “the finest motel in town,” the River Terrace Inn. I can describe its level of luxury this way: The porte cochere was twice the size of the motel itself.
Dinner is at a diner next door. Social distancing in the foyer. Less than that in the dining room. The menu is vast – like a Greek diner in New York. The staff are friendly and professional. Liam orders ribs. Michael orders pork chops. I order an Asian chicken salad. The food, to our delight, is excellent.
After dinner, we walk down the bank and look at the Green River, smoking and talking about tomorrow’s objective: Las Vegas.
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