My Big American Road Trip

I am happy to report that my big American Road Trip in May - June 2015 panned out a lot more successfully than my big Aussie Road Trip had, although it was not without its incidents - as all story-worthy road trips are.
There was enough "epic-ness" to this journey to fill a whole book... and maybe I will one day!

After months and months of preparation, the time had eventually come for our epic American road trip to begin. My awesome hot rod mechanic Dave Jobe had installed brand new disc brakes, a new radiator and exhaust system and given the Hudson a full going over to make sure it was ready for the trip. I was sent off with gallons of fluids and strict instructions to check the oil, coolant and automatic transmission fluid every day. The prize giveaway 1956 Mercury was all packed and I had plenty of room to stash clothes and supplies to last me for two months on the road.  All that was left for me to do was to hook up, and hit the road.

On the 4^th of May, I set off from Oakland Oregon, meeting up with my Sister on the Fly travel buddy Linda Hutt in Portland on the first leg of the journey to Chicago. We travelled via Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming and Minnesota checking out some amazing sights along the way. By the time we got to Deadwood in South Dakota, we advised by the KOA campground staff to move on as quickly as possible as they were expecting eight inches of snow the next day. After checking out the Presidents carved into the rocks of Mount Rushmore, we hightailed it on to the Badlands, keeping one step ahead of the storms, or so we thought…

The next morning Linda knocked on my door. 

"Lisa, what do you call this?" she said. 

It was snowing - a lot! Resembling an arid moonscape, the Badlands under snow was quite a sight to behold.  The storm had hit a day earlier than expected and when a motorhome pulled in piled high with snow that had just made a hasty retreat from the blizzard up on the highway, we knew it was time to move on.  The Hudson wipers struggled to keep the snow off the windshield and at the Pioneer Auto Museum in Murdo I had to pull over to scrape the snow off so that I could see where I was going.  

We finally managed to get ahead of the storm and by the time we reached Sioux Falls, the snow had subsided to heavy rain with wind, lightning and thunder.

The next day we planned to continue east to La Crosse, Wisconsin. A chance encounter at one of my many gas stops (the Hudson only has a fifteen gallon tank and towing was running at about ten miles to the gallon, so my petrol stops were frequent – thank goodness for cheap American petrol!) saw us make a change of route.

The Hudson always drew plenty of admirers wherever we went and at one stop in a small place called Albert Lea in Minnesota we met a lovely hot rodder called Brian who recommended we take a short cut through Iowa to Joliet to avoid the traffic and tolls around Chicago. He had a Willy’s Jeep in a truck and was heading that way, so he cruised with us for a while through the acres and acres of cornfields of Iowa until we pulled off at Waterloo for the night and he carried on. Brian had also told us that if we continued on this way we would drive right past the American Pickers Iowa store; Antique Archeology, so we made sure we stopped in there on the way to Joliet. Although they were closed for filming, Rob Wolfe (Mike’s brother) and Danielle Colby saw the Hudson and the caravan and came out for a chat and a photo.  American Pickers is my favourite TV show, so this was a definite highlight for me.

 On the 12^th of May, after one week on the road, we crossed over the Mississippi river and cruised into Joliet, Illinois for the “Sisters Get their kicks on Route 66” kick off party with the rest of our Sisters on the Fly. On Wednesday we all went into Adams Street, in downtown Chicago for our group photo with the official start of Route 66 sign before hitting Route 66 with our caravans in tow and heading towards Springfield, Illinois.

We stopped at the Gemini Giant in Wilmington and the quaint old Standard Oil Gas Station in Odell with its blue and white Winnebago parked out front and in Pontiac I got a cool photo of the Hudson and the caravan with the Route 66 mural that is painted on the back of the museum wall. About thirty miles before Springfield, on some remote stretch of Route 66 in a place called Braidwell I heard a bang, smelt burning and the car seemed to be stuck in first gear. Not good!

I pulled over outside a rather scary looking abandoned old Motel to check the transmission fluid when a couple of my caravanning Sisters stopped to see if I was OK. I topped up the fluid and added some trans conditioner and managed to follow them to the Illinois State Fairgrounds in Springfield where I camped the night with the two Connies (Yes, they were both called Connie!) who had stopped to help me.  

The next afternoon we set off to catch up with the rest of the Sisters but as soon as I pulled out I knew that I had a serious problem. The car would not budge out of first, so I pulled over and asked some locals if they knew of any transmission shops nearby. By some miracle, Steve’s Transmission Service was just around the corner from me, but by now it was 3pm on a Friday and Steve said he wouldn’t be able to work on it until Monday. So, much to my dismay, the Connies went on without me and I ended up back at the fairgrounds on my own. I called my mechanic back in Oregon and he called Steve and told him of my mission and how important this trip was, and Steve agreed to work on it over the weekend for me. Thanks Steve! In the meantime I had a new camping neighbor called Dorian Santiago who was resting his weary feet having begun his Hike for Humanity walking tour of Route 66 a week prior and that made me feel a lot less sorry for myself.

By midday on Monday the burnt out 700R transmission had been replaced with a reconditioned Turbo 350 and I was back on the road again and racing like Doc Hudson from the Disney movie Cars to catch up with the rest of the group. I drove straight through St Louis and managed to catch up with them all in Springfield, Missouri just in time for dinner that night. Phew - Crisis averted!

After two nights in Springfield, we hit Route 66 again taking in the thirteen miles that go through Kansas and Doc got to lead the parade of caravans as we came into town. I stopped in to see Melba and Dean at the Cars on the Route store on the corner where I got a photo of Doc with the tow truck that was the inspiration for “Tow Mater” in the Disney Pixar movie Cars before heading west to Claremore, Oklahoma. That night we all camped up in the rodeo grounds and had an awesome catered dinner at he Will Rogers Museum. I got a new neighbor called Kim and when we hit the road again we ended up travelling together stopping in at the Blue Whale in Catooza, for lunch at the Rock Cafe and marveling at the roof of the Round Barn in Arcadia before making it into Oklahoma City.

By this stage it had been pretty much raining non-stop since I had left Oregon and we were all getting a bit fed up with it. In Oklahoma City we were camped in the fairgrounds where we were invited to participate in the OGRA Rodeo with our petticoats and stick ponies.  The next day the rain got heavier and heavier until the campground was awash with puddles. Then all of our phones started honking with warnings about flash flooding and tornados.  I had no idea what to do but figured sitting in a caravan probably wasn’t the best place to be during a tornado, so I packed a small backpack with a few essentials such as my laptop, mobile phone and hard drive (so the business would be safe!) and a change of clothes and a bottle of whisky (to keep me warm!) and was about to head across the bathroom block (figuring a concrete structure would be safer than a fifteen-foot aluminium shell on wheels) when there was a bang, bang, banging on my door.

“Get out, NOW! Come on We’ve go to get out of here, there’s a tornado coming!” I jumped in the car with some other sisters and we were directed by security to the main auditorium of the fairgrounds and told to take shelter under the covered concrete stairs with a film crew from the New York who had been covering the rodeo. The large roller doors were closed and we were warned to listen out for the sound of a freight train that would indicate the tornado had struck. We watched live streaming weather reports on phones and i-pads as the tornado hit ground just thirty miles from us but thankfully it skirted around us and after a few hours (and a few shots of whisky) we were free to go back to camp.

The next morning the rain had subsided and we all packed up and hit the road as quickly as possible, keen to head towards Amarillo, Texas and promises of sunshine. On the way there, we stopped in at the Redneck capitol of the world in Erick, Oklahoma and were entertained by the hilarious Harley at the Sandhills Curiosity Shop before crossing the border into Texas where I got a photo of the Hudson at the U Drop Inn in Shamrock. Both of these iconic Route 66 stops were also featured in the Cars movie, so you can see why it was that I chose “Doc Hudson” to make this trip with me. 

That day, we took parts of Route 66 that had been closed due to floods the day before. We drove down over washed out bridges and across huge potholes on the original stretch of road that rolled up and down hills like a roller coaster through some lovely countryside but that gave us, the cars and the caravans some serious shaking. Doc had started sounding a bit like a Mack Truck and it became clear I had knocked a hole in my exhaust somewhere. The next day I was lucky enough to get on to a local hot rodder in Amarillo; Skeeter and his buddy Andrew who took Doc back to their workshop and fixed up the hole in the exhaust for me and gave the car a bit of a tune up. Thanks Skeeter and Andrew!

I finally pulled into Amarillo at around sunset (Yes, there was sun – and it was good!) and stopped in at the Cadillac Ranch that was just around the corner from our RV Park.

From Amarillo, we headed to the midpoint Café and crossed the line that meant we were half way across Route 66 before crossing the border into New Mexico. 

I stopped to check out the awesome car and memorabilia museum at Russell’s Truck Stop and really enjoyed driving through the town of Tucumcari with its old neon motel signs like the Blue Swallow Motel and the Palomino Hotel – Classic Route 66 at its finest.  From there I went to the Blue Hole at Santa Rosa and took a refreshing dip in the vivid clear blue natural spring that is icy cold all year round before heading up to Santa Fe.

After a couple of days in Santa Fe, I stopped in to see Vicki and her Hudson at Enchanted Trails RV Park & Trading Post and cruised solo along old 66 taking lots of photos of the abandoned old Motels and service stations along the way that I find so intriguing. I felt so right at home there on the Mother Road in my old car, and really enjoyed the freedom and exhilaration of plotting my own course and took my time to appreciate as much of it as I could and at around sunset I pulled into the historic El Rancho Hotel in Gallup for a well-deserved Margarita.

The next day we set off for Arizona taking in Holbrook and the Wigwam Motel and the Jack Rabbit Trading Post with its “Here it is” sign before heading into Winslow to stand on the corner.

That night we cruised on through Flagstaff and stayed in Williams where we were treated to a great night out at the Wild West Junction Saloon the first night and at Twisters Soda Fountain the next.

After Williams I drove through Ash Fork and Seligman to Kingman where I opted to stay at the Kingman KOA campground. As soon as I rolled into the KOA and checked in, the Hudson died right there in the driveway and I couldn’t get it started. The KOA manager towed me into my site and called a mobile mechanic friend of his who agreed to come and check it out the next morning.

So, once again, the sisters moved on to the next town while I stayed behind getting a new starter motor put in by the very reasonably priced Greg from Simplified Automotive. Thanks Greg!

I was back on the road by 2pm and decided to do what we had been advised not to do, and tow the caravan up an over the steep and winding “make or break” hill climb over Sitgreaves Pass that had been the end of so many early Route 66’ers “California or bust” journeys.  This part of the road was the most important to me, and the sense of achievement and satisfaction I felt when Doc, the Mercury and I made it to the top was indescribable. I was on top of the world and I felt it! Across in the distance lay the deserts of California and Nevada and below me the old mining town of Oatman, where descendants of the donkeys used in the mining days now roam free in the main street. I had made it and the end of the journey of a lifetime was nearly over.

I continued on old Route 66 for as much of it as I could across the dips and rises and bumpy, bumpy roads that shook my bones although some parts were closed due to flood damage. I managed to make it across the border to California and to the Bagdad Café just in time to watch the Sunset over the wrecked old Airstreams made famous in the 1987 movie Bagdad Café starring Jack Palance before getting into camp at Barstow at around 8pm that night.

The next day I was thirty-eight miles from our final destination of Ventura, California, when I realized I had no power and was just coasting down the big hill on the highway.  I pulled over but could not get the car to start at all. Of all the incidents that I’d dealt with and taken in my stride, this one got me.  I’d come this far and was determined to make it right to the end. Despite having taken out maximum AAA coverage before I left, this was the first time I actually had to call in for a tow. Willy the very funny and sweet tow truck driver thought it was my fuel pump, but I wasn’t so sure.

“You’ve got no fuel in your fuel filter,” he said and towed me to nearby Calabasas Car Care and told them to order a fuel pump for me. Being 350 Chevy powered the Hudson was always easy and cheap to get parts for, so I knew it would be an easy fix. Problem was it was now 4pm and they closed at five.

“You’ve got no fuel in your fuel filter,” the mechanic said. “We’re trying to get the part now”

Once again I assured them that I did have fuel in my fuel filter, but that it was clean and the filter was new. But they weren't convinced, so they unscrewed the connector hose and lo and behold fuel spurted out. Feeling quite smug with myself at this point we then had a new problem. If it wasn’t the fuel pump, what was it that had stopped the Hudson in its tracks? It turned out to be some dodgy old wring that had shorted the ignition out when it had broken loose and been touching the engine, probably from the bumpy roads I had been on the day before. About half an hour, a few new wires, $210 and some handy welding later, I was back on the road and feeling victorious. I drove straight to the beach, took off my shoes, walked across the sand and dipped my toes in the Pacific Ocean. We had made it!

Over the next day or so, a sense of real sadness swept over me. I had spent so long dreaming of doing this trip in an old car and caravan, and this was the end of the my journey on the Mother Road. I was exhausted beyond belief but feeling very proud of myself and totally in love with the car and caravan that had made my dreams come true.  Including my journey back to Oregon, I had drove almost 6,000 miles from one side of America to the other and back again and was on the road for two months. I made so many new friends and saw so many amazing sights; things that photos or words will never be able to fully recreate. It felt magical and surreal and I didn’t want it to be over yet.

I guess I’ve ticked a pretty major achievement off my bucket list now, and it’s going to take some time to recover, but I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

 Thank you to all of my wonderful, amazing Sisters on the Fly sisters who partook of this epic journey across Route 66, to all the hard-working organizers and especially Maurrie & Becky (sisters #1 & #2) who started this whole crazy thing. What an amazing trip it was! There were almost 300 of us at the end of it, and 39 of us who "went all the way". I have made friendships that will last a lifetime and created very special memories that will never leave me...

Adelaide or bust...

February 2015

There have been some serious gaps in my postings lately with most of my words and energy having been going into Vintage Caravan Magazine. I had originally written this story to go in issue 24, but I opted not to tell such a sad tale of woe and so I left it out.  But let me fill in some gaps by explaining what happened on my last Australian road trip and why you haven't seen me out and about for a while. 

I had it all planned perfectly. I’d spent the previous month planning my big Aussie road trip: Five events in five weeks across four states.  I’d booked where I was staying and when, how many kilometres I would be driving on each of the days. I made arrangements to stop in and meet VCM readers along the way and planned to stay at places I’d been to before where I had I wanted to spend some more time. The van was packed, the car was loaded with magazines and I was excited to be back in Australia and back on the road again. Ah the best made plans…

The Cresta had spent the previous few weeks at the mechanics getting a new alternator, new leads and points and a full service and tune up and as we set off from Maleny she ran like a dream and I was loving life. Cruising down the highway in a classic car with my pink little portable abode bobbing along behind me, it just doesn’t get any better than that!

I’d decided to take the more direct inland route heading down to Adelaide, South Australia and the first drive was a relatively short one to Leyburn; home of the Historic Leyburn Sprints, about three and a half hours away.  Whenever I do a long road trip, I generally break my trip up into alternating short and long drive days so as not to wear myself out.  The next day was going to be a big drive day, so I set off again past Goondwindi with the intention of making it to Gilgandra, New South wales about six hundred kilometres away. With rest stops I figured it would take me around eight hours to get there and I had booked myself a spot at the Gilgandra Caravan Park.

It was hot and sunny and the skies were clear and blue and then the colours changed as the sun began to set and I marveled at the glorious hues that I only ever see in country Australia. Life was good. About forty kilometres out of Narrabri, there was an almighty “BANG” and then the wobble, wobble, wobble in the steering as my front driver’s side tyre exploded. As I removed all my outdoor setting and pink flamingos from the boot of the car, I suddenly realized that I had emptied the boot of the Cresta of everything when my spare fuel tank had leaked last time I had taken her out to let the fuel dry and had forgotten to put the jack back in. D’oh! Luckily, a call to RACQ roadside assistance had me sorted and Luke from NRMA put my spare on and kindly offered to take the busted wheel into the tyre shop to get fixed saying I could pick it up in the morning. It was too late to check into a caravan park by then, so I stayed that night in a park by the river in Narrabri. I was feeling quite content in my cute little pink gypsy abode.  I set about rearranging my itinerary in order to make up for lost time so that I could still make it to the South Australian Caravan and Camping Show.

The next morning I set off the pick up my new tyre, but missed the turnoff, so I pulled over to call Luke to find out where I was supposed to go. I turned the key off but something was terribly wrong. The Cresta was making a horrendous whirring sound from under the bonnet and no matter what I did with the key it wouldn’t stop. Smoke started billowing out from the engine and I panicked. I frantically called Luke again and a nice guy with a truck stopped and disconnected the battery for me.

By the time Luke arrived the starter motor was fried. He towed me to the mechanics and then towed the caravan back to Narrabri Big Sky Caravan Park so I could have somewhere to chill and catch up on work while I waited.  Later that afternoon, I got the call that the car was fixed. Still determined to make it in time, I hooked up and set off again, stopping in at Repco to pick up a new jack and wheel brace, just in case! But to soon became apparent that something was seriously wrong with the Cresta. She was struggling…. big time! I could barely get over sixty kilometres an hour and the further we went down the road, the worse it seemed to get. All of a sudden, the long flat road started to feel like one very long gradual uphill crawl. It took me over three hours to get only one hundred and twenty kilometres down the road to the astronomy capitol of Australia: Coonabarrabran.

Concerned about setting off into the impending darkness and out of civilization again, I pulled over and it was at that moment that she decided to completely give up and die. I couldn’t get her to start again. Disheartened beyond belief, I called RACQ again and they sent a tow truck out. “This motor’s stuffed”, the tow truck driver said. I told him what had happened and he gave me a look like only a true blue country bloke can when he comes across a woman traveling solo in a pink car and caravan from the 1960s. “Well whadidya keep driving it for then?” he scowled.

“I’m supposed to be in Adelaide tomorrow for a big caravan show…” I replied defiantly.

At that stage I knew I was doomed. There was no way I was going to make it to the show now. Because the driver determined that the repairs would take more than twenty-four hours, RACQ said they would arrange for it and the van to be towed back to Queensland.  They would also pay for my accommodation and transport back.  If you take nothing else from this story, let it be this: No matter where in the world you live, if you want to go on caravan adventures, make sure you have top level roadside assistance cover and make sure you tell them you want extra cover for your caravan or trailer! What I would have done without them I have no idea…

A very kind VCM’er from somewhere near Sydney, on hearing my plight kindly offered me his Landcruiser so that I could continue on my journey and so I set off once again. We managed to get the Cresta started and going and he offered to drive her very gently back to his place and assess the damage and possibly get her fixed. I would be heading back via Sydney after Adelaide and Phillip Island anyway, so that sounded like a good plan. Off into the land of no mobile phone reception I drove towards Dubbo with the intention of pushing through to Mildura that night and on to Adelaide the next day. I was still hopeful that I could make it; albeit a day or so late.  At the very least I would make it to the next event; the vintage caravan display at the Clipsal 500 V8 Supercars race and was looking forward to a week on the beach at the Adelaide Shores Caravan Park in the meantime.

As I arrived in Dubbo, the texts came in. Cresta had only made it about thirty kilometres down the road before she had let out an almighty bang and last groan and was now officially and completely 100% dead. I had no choice - I had to turn back. I called RACQ again and stopped in at the NRMA office to fax the recovery forms off. On the way back to the car, I bumped into an avid VCM fan named Kris who had spotted Betty parked on the main street and had left me a note on the windscreen. “I just have to tell you, you and your magazine have been such an inspiration to us!” she told me, and I burst into tears and hugged her hard.  What a blessing it was to hear such words of encouragement while I was having such a hard time of it!
Admitting defeat, I back tracked to Coonabarrabran, gave Mitchell back his car, said a sad goodbye to the Cresta and went back to Queensland, feeling sad and deflated.

After a couple of days recovering, a new resolve dawned on me and I asked my son if I could borrow the black Commodore that I had given him for his 18th birthday and try it one more time.  I felt like I’d let so many people down who said how much they had hoped to see me at the Caravan show but I still had time to make it to the next event; the Clipsal 500, also in Adelaide. Even though it had been less than ideal, I had loved being back out on the road again and I wanted to be back out there. I hooked up the van again and set off once again. I was back on the road, I now had air conditioning and a pumping stereo system and I felt awesome! Life was good!

About fifty kilometres before Narrabri and the car’s temperature suddenly hit the roof and alarms went off, I pulled over, let her cool off and checked the radiator. It seemed to have water in it and the fans were working OK, but I topped the water up just a little anyway and set off again. All was going well and I watched the temperature gauge anxiously.  It was fine, it was fine, it was fine… and then it was not! The engine made an almighty BANG followed by a clunk, clunk, clunk clunk and I pulled over again. I opened the bonnet and smoke was billowing out from the engine. This was not good. I was forty kilometres outside of Narrabri; the exact same spot where the Cresta tyre had exploded. What are the odds?

I called RACQ and my old mate Luke came to the rescue once more. I rolled back into the Narrabri Big Sky Caravan Park with the Commodore on the flat bed and Betty bobbing along behind and they could not believe their eyes, or my bad luck.  By then, neither could I.  For whatever reason I may never understand, I was slowly coming to the realization that this trip just wasn’t meant to be. I shed some tears, but I accepted my fate and felt thankful for small mercies. I was safe, I had good people around me to help, and road trips are what road trips are; unpredictable snippets of time where things quite often don’t go as planned, but the unplanned detours along the way and the amazing characters you meet as a consequence are usually what makes the whole adventure so worthwhile. 

Having told my tale of woe to Bob Taylor (aka: Mr Olympic) who was down in Adelaide keeping me filled in on all that I was missing, he put me in touch with Narrabri locals Allan and Gabbie Pym who came by to visit me at the caravan park in their classic Monaro. We went back to their place to check out their car collection that included and old PA Vauxhall and 1964 Sunliner like my "Betty". Allan was working on his EH Holden and the caravan had been painted to match – very cool! We then went back to the caravan park ordered a pizza delivery and had a few drinks and chats outside my caravan. It turns out that the Burns who own the fabulous green Sunliner and Zephyr that were on the cover of issue 22 had also broken down in Narrabri some months before and met up with the Pyms too, so I sent them a text to let them know where I was. Small world. I crawled into the van and slept soundly with the saying: “It matters not how far you travel in life, but those you meet along the way” in my mind. I was thankful for my wonderful vintage caravanning family. I had made some new friends and I still had my beautiful portable home Betty.  Things could be worse...

The next day Luke the NRMA guy hooked Betty on to the back of the tow truck that had the Commodore on it and drove me all the way back to Queensland. By the time we got back, the inside of my van looked like a cyclone had hit, she’d been bumped around so much.

The Commodore got a new water pump but I was nervous about what else could possibly go wrong.  At close to 200,000 km on the clock, I was told that the next things to go would be the radiator, alternator and fuel pump. Not willing to risk another breakdown, I opted to preemptively replace them all.  By now I had missed both of the Adelaide shows, but I had still had time to get to Phillip Island, Victoria, for the Phillip Island Classics and complete the rest of my trip.
So I bravely decided to give it a third shot, hooked up the van and set off yet again.

I stopped at the post office on my way out and when I walked back to the car I noticed that the van seemed to be sitting up unusually high in the front end, even with the weight distribution bars on. Something was not right… I took a closer look and noticed that the bolts that hold the caravan onto the chassis had pulled clear through the floor and there was nothing holding her on to the chassis at all in the front half. The badly made chassis that had only been put on two years ago was only made out of 2mm thick steel and now had a 50mm bend in the middle of it and resembled a banana!.Had I driven a few more hundred kilometres down the road, the results could have been catastrophic. I thanked the caravan angels profusely for drawing my attention to this potential horror before it was too late and turned back once again.

Betty was lifted off her old chassis and a brand new 4mm thick steel one was fitted. This process took about a week. While I was waiting for the caravan to be fixed, my daughter called and asked if I wanted to go to the Gold Coast with her so we could chill on the beach. After all I had been through, that seemed like a great idea. So I picked her up and we headed to the coast. Being the weekend traffic was a nightmare and it was stop, start all the way from Southport. Just as we approached the Southport bridge, the car in front of me stopped suddenly. I hit the brakes and managed to pull up just in time, but the car behind me did not. BANG! We were slammed into from behind, which then pushed us into the car in front. Ouch!

The car that hit us was completely smashed in and was a total write off but, because of my tow bar, we appeared to have made it without barely a scratch. A lucky break, or at least that’s what I thought…

The tow truck driver said that even though the Commodore appeared uninjured, the fact that the back door made a funny “clunk” sound when I close it and now had a gap at the top and sat tight at the bottom meant that my chassis was bent and that the car would be written off. When the insurance company assessed it they agreed that at $11,000 to repair the damage and the fact that the car would be permanently recorded as having been involved in a major collision, they had no choice but to write it off as well.

They towed it away and it was then that I finally admitted defeat. Three strikes, I was out.

I now had no functioning car and my gypsy dreams of that big Aussie Road Trip were well and truly shattered.

One day I hope to be able to afford to rebuild the Cresta engine and in hindsight I should have bought the Commodore off the insurance company and pulled out that newly fixed up supercharged V6 engine to put it in the Cresta as I had always dreamed of doing one day… but by then I was so defeated and exhausted and broken that I just knew I had to do some letting go…

Besides, in a few weeks I would be off to New Zealand for Beach Hop, then back to America for my next big adventure – a ten thousand kilometre across-America road trip in a 1953 Hudson Hornet with the Vintage Caravan Magazine subscriber prize giveaway caravan on the back, taking in all of Route 66 with my fellow Sisters on the Fly.
I am pleased to say that trip was a bit more successful. Life is still good…

You can read all about that adventure in issue 26 of Vintage Caravan Magazine!

www.vintagecaravanmagazine.com

The Mercury gets a new butt

Having suffered a bit of water damage in her rear end from having been sitting in a field knee deep in snow, the back half of the Mercury has had to be completely rebuilt.  The floor under the bed was completely rotted and needed to be replaced and the timber that connected it to the chassis had suffered from water damage as had done the rear interior panels.

Luckily, the damage was only in the rear of the caravan under the bed where there was no Lino flooring, so it hasn't affected the plan to save the original flooring if we can. The J rails were unscrewed  and the skin peeled back and the old floor, interior panels and perished beams were all ripped out .

Once the chassis was exposed, the caravan was hoisted up and the metal chassis was wire brushed and treated with a rust inhibitor in preparation for a repaint in black Rustoleum.

Once that was all done, the rotted timber floor and support beams were replaced with brand new treated timbers and marine grade ply and glued, clamped and bolted back together.  This van is going to be so solid and waterproof after all this that it should last another fifty years!

My sister's dog Rosie has become quite the "trailer dog" and loves spending time with us out when we are working out in the caravan

So now the next step is to remove all of the J rails and remove the perished old chewing gum type sealant that had allowed the water to come in and reseal the entire caravan with a urethane sealant and brand new screws  - replace all the window rubbers and get stuck into sanding the entire outside back to raw metal - Oh joy!

Doing up caravans is not fun...

Just when I thought we might have a bit of a break from what has seemed like almost constant road tripping intermingled with restoration projects, here we are back at it again! How did this happen?
I mean it is, as always a great adventure and I love coming to America, but to be honest, I was all set to jump on a plane and head back to Australia right after we had dropped Rosie off at Retroluxe Vintage Trailers and come back when she was all done and ready to take to Trailerfest.
Ah  the best made plans...

So it started like this: Back when I first started Vintage Caravan Magazine, my dream was to make it a truly international magazine with features and readers from all over the world coming together like a community of wanderers finding their tribe.  Although our caravans (or "trailers" as many Americans call them) may all be different, unique expressions of our varied personalities, we all share a love of the quaintness of these tiny spaces as much as we love their portability.  Knowing that there were lots of events happening all over the world, my plan was always to have a car and caravan in the three places I spend most of my time: Australia, America and New Zealand. That way I could hitch up and go to any event in any of those places and live in eternal summertime in my rolling abode...

My other big dream was to eventually be able to offer a prize giveaway caravan to my loyal subscribers; the ones that have helped to make the press keep rolling issue after issue for the past three years; my favourite people in the world! Knowing that parts, labour and things like retro Laminex, cool flooring and professional paint jobs and upholstery were cheaper in America, it seemed obvious to do our first one there.

But back to the story..
One day I was heading towards LA, all set to fly back to Australia. Finding it hard to say goodbye, I decided to stop in and visit with my sister and her family one last time as they were staying over at a friend's ranch that was only about three hours drive away from where we were in California. We pulled into the driveway of the ranch and saw this:

"Isn't it just gorgeous", squeals my sister.
"Hmmmmm...." I reply as I hold my nose to enter inside the musty and grimy interior of a caravan that has quite clearly not been lived in by anything but mice since around 1975. "Lovely"( said with quite a large hint of sarcasm in my voice)
Anyway, it turns out that it was for sale for $1500 and the next day we had bought it and were towing it back to Oregon. What the?

Noddy got all fired up about how we had always talked about giving away a restored caravan as a Vintage Caravan Magazine subscriber prize.  With one issue of the magazine having just gone to print, the book launch done and some free time on our hands what better time to do it than now, he says. I ponder if this man of mine even knows the meaning of "free time" and remind him again that, even though I have done it many times before and have written an entire book and publish a magazine on the "joys" of vintage caravans, I keep saying; "Doing up caravans is not fun".  It's dirty, it's messy, it's exhausting and it's expensive. You end up with paint in your hair, broken fingernails and raw fingers from sanding and scrubbing and big dusty brown boogers up your nose.  Tell me again why we though this was a good idea?

I say; "No, I'm not going through this again. I am done with restoring old vans. If you want to do this one up babe, you're on your own.  There's too much work to do and I don't think you're being realistic about the costs of it all and the time it will take".
But we've had this conversation before and when I liken this whole process to child birth, people who have been through this and know what it is like always laugh.  You know the drill; you swear you'll never do it again, that it was too hard, but somehow you do, and when it is all over you sit back and admire what you made and go: "Isn't she just so beautiful?"

Yesterday Noddy towed the 1956 Mercury off to get water blasted in preparation for sanding and her new upcoming paint job and then he brought her home to begin cleaning and preparing the inside.
Today, armed with disinfectant, steel wool and a very large bucket of soapy water he started off by ripping up the filthy old musty carpet. Feeling just a tad guilty, I went and got some dirty work clothes on and went out to help.  Under the old carpet was yet another layer of 1970s blue carpet tiles - Gross! But just as we began to peel back the carpet tiles, I spy a thing of great beauty; it is the original mosaic laid lino tiles in a spectacular blue and yellow that matches the pale 1950s yellow oven and ice box. Oh my! How cool is that?

I got all excited about the discovery of this piece of originality and had a sudden overwhelming desire to preserve this very, very cool old floor. So I picked up a sponge and started scrubbing...
Yep, here I am doing it all again! Stay tuned for updates...

Subscribe to Vintage Caravan Magazine at: www.vintagecaravanmagazine.com

The fine print:
The caravan is currently undergoing restoration in Oregon, USA and registered in California, USA
Delivery to a U.S winner can be arranged for a fee. (We don't mind taking a long road trip if you can pay for the gas!)
If the caravan is won by one of our Australian subscribers or by anyone else outside the USA they will have the choice to either shipping it home (at the winners expense) or sold and the proceeds kept by the winner.
The estimated value of the restored 1956 Mercury is $10,000 USD
The draw will take place once the restoration is complete and the winner will be notified by email or phone

Rosie's make over begins...

Rosie is a cute little 1949 Crown "canned ham" caravan that we found for sale in the yard of a Salvation Army thrift store across the road from the Hot August Nights Swap Meet two years ago. I wrote all about her in a previous entry and you can read all about it HERE

After having spent the last two years locked up in a shed in Oregon, the time has finally come to give her the make over she deserves.

Her old axle and bearings were pretty crappy and it had a 5 by 5.5 stud pattern that limited our options somewhat, so once she was rolled out of the shed, she was hoisted up onto stands and the temporary wheels we had put on her to transport her from Nevada to Oregon were removed.

We ordered some shiny new chrome smoothies and Coker whitewall tyres and a brand new axle, hubs and bearings online and Noddy set to work replacing the old ones with the new ones in the car park of our hotel.

Noddy had been quite confident that we could do the rest of the restoration work ourselves as we have now done up four  caravans together and they all came out AMAZING. The problem was that we both have very busy schedules and Rosie was going to be a big job.  She had suffered quite a bit more structural damage than we had at first noticed, and having been transported hundreds of miles with missing windows had made it worse. The once intact ceiling had been sucked out through the missing window in the door revealing some major rot in the supporting timbers and the side panel had come loose. After re-bracing her temporarily with some extra timber and boarding up all the missing windows to make her air tight again, we both agreed that it was time to call in the experts.

After having sussed out quite a few vintage trailer repair places around, we decided on Retroluxe Vintage Trailers in California. Firstly because I liked their cool name, secondly because in our email communications they had always been great to deal with. The third and main reason was that their prices seemed reasonable (as always, we work to a tight budget!) and the work that they had done that I had been watching on their Facebook page was impressive.  Feedback from their customers was always glowing and Scott had years of kitchen and cabinetry making experience under his belt that I thought would come in handy in repairing the extensive timber damage in both Rosie's structural framework as well as in her internal fixtures. Scott 'gets' the hot rod-yet-original kind of look I was wanting. It was great to be able to meet him, Wendy and co-worker Damon at Pismo a couple of weeks ago to talk about our plans to start work on Rosie.

One week later we set off on the 8-hour drive from Oregon to Northern California with our 1975 Ford F250 truck and our new-shoed Rosie in tow...

Once we crossed the border, we stopped for a break and a photo of Rosie with Mount Shasta - isn't she just the cutest?

The next day we caught up with Scott and Wendy for breakfast at a local eatery and then spent a great day sightseeing around the area, antique shopping, checking out the great collection of second-hand caravan parts and retro wares at the Vintage Deluxe Travel Trailers Shop 

We even found this old US Military Airstream Bambi for sale on the side of the road.... very tempting!

Later that afternoon we chilled out and brainstormed our ideas for Rosie over a glass or two or three of particularly scrummy wine on the deck of the Iverson Winery vineyard.

The next day Scott cast his expert eyes over our Rosie and we talked in depth about what we wanted to get done, what was required and how much it would all cost. 

"I'm not afraid", declared Scott 

"We can do it!" said Wendy

  I breathed a sigh of relief and dreamed of what kind of fabulous interior style I will do once she is all done... Stay tuned!