I didn't buy a top for the car. I was told that it wouldn't look right, and that it wasn't waterproof. For 1,500 bucks, it should be watertight! On the first day, I found out how porous my car was. In the Cobra, the rain came over the top of the windshield and went directly into my glasses. Then, droplets started accumulating on the inside of the windshield. Rivers of water poured in on my legs from around the base of the windshield, and finally, water sucked up from the road, found its way up the door sill, and deposited itself on my shoulder. There was no part of me that wasn't wet. I couldn't see the road. All I could do was park and wait with emergency blinkers flashing on the shoulder of the road. I tried putting the tonneau cover on the car, but the damage was done. There were lakes on the floorboard. I sought refuge in the shed of a snowmobile repair shop. I was learning a valuable lesson; when it rains, stop the car and wait for it to quit raining. The Cobra is not a rain car. I should've guessed this because windshield wipers were an option. From that point forward, I always kept a poncho in my car to put on till I could find a place to pull over whenever it rained. Perhaps someone should make a "tonncho." This would be a combination tonneau cover and poncho. It would fasten to the car like a tonneau cover and be made of a stretchy, waterproof fabric so that you could put your head through a hole in the middle of the "tonncho." It would give a tent like appearance with only the driver's face visible. To complete this rain protection, the driver could wear a scuba mask and snorkle for vision and breathing.
After considerable wandering through the wet, mosquito filled New Jersey woods, I found the house near Newton where my good buddy and soon to be travel mate, Jason, was staying. He couldn't believe that after all my talk about the Cobra that the moment had actually arrived: we really were going to drive to Chicago. That afternoon, I gave Jason and his friend, John, rides. I managed to consecutively scare them in just a few seconds on a previously quiet country road. That night, I slept on John's sofa using a pillow that smelled like malt vinegar and paprika.
We drove back to Brownstown and Mike Mack. Mike cheerfully replaced a faulty Stewart Warner speedometer and adjusted the rear springs. We spent the night just outside of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. We found a public campground with a pool. Without showering, we jumped in to relieve the mid-summer heat and shed road grime. No one noticed the spreading multicolored oil slick we created.
Afterward, I went to town for groceries while Jason made camp and phone calls. At an intersection of the small town, I heard a honk from a car. I turned to see a pretty girl waving at me from her gray Japanese sedan. I waved back. She followed me into the grocery store parking lot. She pulled up next to me and said something like, "cool car" and "is it yours?" and finally, "Can I look at it?" Of course there was no answer to that except, "yes." I went into the store, and after picking up camping food, I saw she was still walking in circles around the car. "I have to go back to work now, but I'm free tomorrow. Can you pick me up?" she asked. I looked at her long shapely legs and short shorts. Later, I wish I had said something Route 66ish like, "The road is my love, baby; I gotta follow the sun." but instead, what came out was, "Sorry, I won't be here tomorrow." How lame for a Cobra owner. "
That evening, Jason, who for the first time was seeing the country east of Oregon, also saw fireflies for the first time. We talked for a long time in the twilight as the lightening bugs entranced us both. We watched a hallow so filled with the gently glowing insects that it seemed the night sky, filled with stars, had fallen to earth in this little Pennsylvania park.
The next morning, we drove the short distance to Gettysburg. I had visited the national monument in about 1960 with my family. Jason and I went to the top of a very tall tower (just recently torn down)in the middle of Gettysburg.
From there, you could see the entire battle area. As we walked
around the perimeter at the top of the tower, recordings told of the battle plans. Mistakes, quick thinking,
difficult decisions, and valor. IT was a moving experience to look at the battle field. About 48 thousand men were
killed or wounded there for their beliefs. I cried for the men who had died, for their families, and for our
country. Then, I cried joyfully for my lost, happy childhood. I cried in love for my family, my brother and
sisters, and my Mom and Dad who sacrificed so much trying to make our lives
great. Gettysburg was so emotional for me. Not big sobbing tears, just a tight throat and a little rubbing of
the eyes, but it lasted the entire stay there. As I saw the graves, I asked Jason, "What happened here?"
I knew the basic battle stuff, but the big question was, "what were these guys thinking?" How cruel, how stupid,
how honorable, how necessary. I guess that sometimes evil just needs to be met with violence.
Afterward, I wanted to go to Little Roundtop. It was a place of slaughter, but it was one of my earliest
childhood memories. I remember my brother was all boned up on the place, and when we got there, he was busy
running among the rocks and telling me about a place called "Devil's Den." I would
like to visit Gettysburg again-- perhaps when my boy is old enough to store memories, when
he is seven or eight. Every American should go.
After visiting the battlegrounds at Gettysburg, we hit the road for Columbus, Ohio to see my relatives. We stopped at The Fort Littleton Restaurant for
a greasy lunch of chicken fingers, grilled
cheese sandwiches, and onion rings. Jason, a computer programmer who was taking a job in Silicon Valley after
this trip, ordered a milk shake. Our waitress giggled, "Milk shakes are hard to make." When she was out of
earshot, Jason turned to me and remarked, "That's why I'm going to Silicon Valley. In Silicon Valley, making
super chips for super computers is hard." As we delighted in the artery hardening food, I perused the local
newspaper where a story on the 20th anniversary of Elvis's last public performance grabbed page one headlines,
while the the news of the death of Jacques Cousteau was relegated to page 10.We arrived late at my cousin Missy's house in Columbus. She had forgotten that we were coming, so Jason and I camped out in her back yard. When she finally showed up at about 11 PM, she was embarrassed. We assured her that it was OK. We spent two nights there. We really needed the break after spending so much time on the road. The noise, sun, stiff ride, and cramped space take it out of both passenger and driver. We appreciated the hospitality of my cousin. We had a great breakfast, and that night, we gave the kids "rocket rides" in the Cobra. Later, my cousins and aunt and uncle threw me a baby shower.
Jason and I set out for Chicago. We took the "Blue Highways" spoken of by William Least Heat Moon. We made good time on these winding non-interstate roads, and they were far more interesting with rural Americana. As we drove through one small town, we saw a
hot rod
show that was just ending in a downtown parking lot. We drove up in our shiny new car looking
like one of the contestants. In fact, an admirer told us that we would have one a trophy if we had shown up
earlier. None of the car buffs could tell if we were in a replica or the real thing. We felt great.A few hours outside of Chicago, Jason was dying to say one of his favorite lines from the movie, The Blues Brothers. Something to the effect of, "It's 100 miles to Chicago, we've got a full tank of gas, it's night, and we've got sunglasses on." Actually, it was about 110 miles, and it was the middle of the day, but the moment wasn't lost. The City of Big Shoulders was over 100 degrees in the summer sun. We drove along in the brutal heat for at least an hour in maddeningly sluggish traffic while trying to avoid the huge potholes in Chicago's streets. Eventually, we reached Jason's friend's house in the shadow of Sear's Tower. The neighborhood was a strange mix of trendy make-overs of old warehouses into yuppie cafes and coffee shops and just plain run-down buildings. There were suspicious types wandering the streets. There was a dirty, dark alley in which to park my car. Jason went upstairs to meet his friends, and I went to look for a more suitable parking place. There were three tough young men hanging out on the corner. I asked, "Where can I park my car around here?" With a slow appraisal of the Cobra, the tall, dark, thin man replied, "This car? You can't park this car here." They were nice enough to tell me of a local motel that had secure underground parking at a rather stiff rate. However, I really wanted my car to be there in the morning, so I parked the car, took the kill switch, and covered the car. In the morning, after saying goodbye to Jason and his friends, I got up and rescued my car from the underground parking lot. I was deathly afraid that it had been stolen. As the trip wore on, I became more cavalier about the car. I always took the kill switch, and I sometimes worried about the area in which I had parked, but I had to remind myself that I had purchased full coverage insurance so that I could relax a little.
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