As we neared Fort Collins, Colorado, we got hungry. I was thinking of a nice burger or something. La Rue had other plans. He had been munching on nuts and dried berries that he had squirreled away from the health food store. "Turn here," he said in his reedy voice. "There's a health food store on this street." Sure enough, there was a health store, and he stocked up. He bought all natural bottled water, pesticide-free fruit, and suntan lotion that contained no artificial ingredients. All of these items appeared to be about 40% more expensive than equivalent items that you would buy at a grocery store. He crammed the very tiny Cobra trunk with these special provisions. I ended up eating an apple and all natural potato chips for lunch and some vegetable juice to wash it down.
We headed into Wyoming. Highway 287 has to be one of the best drives in the country. La Rue wasn't as taken with the landscape as I was, and in spite of the four point racing safety harness, he managed to coil his legs under himself in swami style and meditate. We traveled most of the day, and toward evening, we found ourselves looking for a place to stay. We stopped in Jeffery City, Wyoming, which is simply a wide spot in the road. The town existed because of a nearby uranium mine that was no longer being mined. The hotel and the restaurants were still able to do a business there because the EPA had designated the area a Super Site cleanup area, and those assigned the task of cleaning the area ate breakfast, lunch and dinner there. Giant dump trucks drove over the main highway about every ten minutes as they hauled the uranium tailings of the mine at the end of a gravel road to the other end of the gravel road that had been deemed safer. Jeffrey City consisted of the Top Hat Hotel, where we got a room, and two restaurants. One of them, The Ore House, was furnished with whore-red tuck and roll Naugahyde dinning booths. La Rue, in effort to show how flexible he was, actually ate a grilled cheese sandwich there. He was already sensing that I was finding his life style difficult to deal with. He wouldn't eat the potato chips though because they contained preservatives.
Getting ready for bed is a relatively quick process for me. I brush my teeth, take off my clothes, and get into bed. That's about it. La Rue, on the other hand, had his ritual. First he began by meditating for about 45 minutes. That's fine, I read my Kerouac book, but what he did afterward I was unprepared for. He began his Yoga exercises. He assumed "The Lion," position: on all fours, back swayed, tongue protruding. Then, he stood on his head in what looked like "the Bat" position. He arched backwards, putting his feet behind his neck in "the Pretzel" position. He twisted his thin bony back, and it sounded like someone breaking a bunch of fresh celery. Then his neck popped, and then his shoulders crunched. After this strange display, he began a sort of rhythmic wheezing and hacking. I thought he was going to bring up a fur ball. This whole procedure was repeated when he woke up in the morning. I woke up, showered, but my clothes on, and I was ready to hit the road, but I had to wait for the ritual.
We stayed that night with some of my brother's friends in Jackson Hole near the Grand Tetons (French for "Great Breasts"). The leak in the differential was getting worse, and after calling
around to some shops in Jackson,
we found one shop that could take look at the problem. The owner, Eric
Johnson, had started and stopped building his own kit car. The stripped Cobra body and a 427 engine were
collecting dust in the corner of his shop. It was obviously a forsaken project. The mechanics all stopped what
they were doing when I drove up, and they began to inspect the car. They made comments about the construction,
and they all approved of the design. One of the mechanics ground off the old seal, replaced it with a silicone
seal, and refilled the pumpkin with transmission oil. Eric then decided that we needed to test drive the car to
make sure that it was all right. I rode shotgun as we found a narrow winding lane in the country. He
blasted through the gears, and at 110 mph in fourth gear, he decided he didn't need to try fifth.. I was scared
stiff, and grinning anyway. He shut it down, and shouted over the engine, "not bad!" He only charged me thirty
bucks for all the work and parts. I was happy to pay it. I could
see that I got the job done right, and my visit motivated Eric to finish his Cobra.After eating at a Chinese restaurant in Jackson, (La Rue brought his own food), we were able to camp in the backyard of my brother's friends. We set up the tent, and prepared for rainy weather. It was lightening, and a cold front moved in. Before we went to bed, La Rue performed "the ritual" and scared the two kids who lived there. In the morning, there was frost on the car again, and we headed for Yellowstone Park.
We got to Yellowstone about ten o'clock. It was only about 40 degrees, and we could see our breath. Without a top and the drizzly rain,
it was a pretty miserable section of the trip. From the beginning, I knew that this
would basically be a motorcycle trip. We wore everything we brought with us to stay warm, and it didn't help.
The park had bumper to bumper city traffic. However, we did stop at Old Faithful, and later at the paint
pots, which made for a wonderful photo opportunity. La Rue complained about
the rain and the cold. He couldn't meditate with all the distractions.Finally, we reached Montana. We drove to Billings, and got a room for the night at a Holiday Inn. Neither of us were in the mood for camping out after all the rain and cold. We got a nice toasty room, and then I ditched La Rue to find a big juicy patty melt. The next morning, there was ice on the car, and as we were leaving, another guy introduced himself in the parking lot to tell us that he had owned an original Cobra. That brought the number of self-introduced original Cobra owners to about 47.
I had been waiting for this part of the trip. As we crossed the Montana state line, there was a sign telling motorists that the speed limit was whatever was "prudent" during the day. We got on the interstate and I revved it up. At 100 mph, we were cruising, and we were passing cars quickly. Then, a guy in a Chrysler Cirrus snuck up on us and passed us at about 110. The people inside were checking us out and waving when they went by, so I accelerated and passed them at about 115. I wasn't going to be out done by a big cruising Chrysler. They smiled as we drove by. I understand that Montana is beautiful, but I didn't see much of it because I was too busy watching the road. Although there was no real speed limit, most of the people drove a "prudent" 70 mph. I ended up cruising at about 115 for several hours. The car seemed to like the high speed, and it handled like we were doing 70. I was hoping that one of the highway patrol guys would ask me to pull over so that I could tell people about it, but it didn't happen. In fact, I saw no patrolmen at all. At Missoula, we stopped for gas, and paid the price for such high speed driving. We had been getting about 20 miles per gallon at 65 and 70, but now we were only getting about 12 miles per gallon. That was OK. How often does one get to drive the Montanabahn?
We drove to Roslyn, Washington to see where they had filmed the TV series, Northern Exposure. We stayed at a marvelous bed and breakfast there called
The Hummingbird.
We ate at The Oasis, where the moose is seen wondering at the beginning of each episode of the critically
acclaimed TV show. La Rue decided on something that he could eat there, and later, I had a beer and watched a
Stevie Ray Vaughn type band play at the Brick. It had been a really good decision
to stay in this tiny town. 
The next day, we had a cold rainy ride to Spokane, Washington. I have a very good friend there, Ed Honodel, and we stayed at his house for the night. Ed and I have been best buddies since junior high school. He works at a high tech body shop in Otis Orchards. A mile before we reached his shop, A small stone kicked up from the road and poked a small, but draining, hole in my radiator. Ed was able to fix it with a soldering gun at his shop.
Ed has a '49 Mercury that he has slowly and meticulously restored. We thought it fitting to go cruising in
the cars to a local fifties style
hamburger shop called Wolfy's. La Rue came along,
but it was like bringing a prostitute to a Bible study. He tried his hardest, bless his heart, to act like he
was enjoying the atmosphere. He ordered a shake, and ate some french fries, but you could
tell it was killing him--at least that's what he thought. We listened to oldies from selections we made from
the table mounted juke box, and ate great, greasy burgers.The next day, we drove to Seattle. We headed straight for the Space Needle. At the World's Fair in 1961, my brother and I had waited patiently in line to go to the top. Here I was, 36 years later, at the same place. It was a fitting way to end the trip. I happily took La Rue to the airport, and then made arrangements to ship my car to Hawaii. I had heard horror stories of cars being totally destroyed by the people who ship the cars, particularly nice cars. I was reluctant to give up my baby, but it was the only way. As it turned out, the car arrived in perfect condition in Honolulu. I had driven 5,000 miles in thirty days. For this trip, I could use all the superlatives, but that didn't mean it was all wonderful. There was the heat, the cold, the rain, a few minor problems with the car, feeling uncomfortable with your driving partner, worries about the car, and missing home. But it was worth it. The Cobra and the great American road trip combined to create life-time memories.
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