Book12

AEROBUS

Chapter 12 - MONTEREY BOUND

Faced with my third ultimatum for getting Bud running since buying it, I dove into the task. The muffler shop tried to argue with me when I went back but once they put Bud up on the lift they could see how much work I did. They could also feel the heat from my eyes, the impatience in my voice and finally agreed to do whatever work I wanted done, gratis.

Bud was still running kind of lousy when I drove home from the muffler shop so I removed the automatic choke the smog station forced me to install and replaced it with the manual cable I removed and saved. The difference was remarkable. It started and ran considerably better. So much for technology.

I took Bud to a tire shop and had them put four new tires and a new spare on while I did some other shopping. When I returned and saw the new tires they looked dinky on that big car. I made a mental note to replace them one day with high-profile light-truck tires, to make for a more proportional look. These were fine for as long as they would last.

"Hi, I'm here to pick up my car, I see you've already got the new tires on it out there."

"Oh is that thing yours?" tire-man asked with a chuckle. "We were all wondering why anyone would bother putting new tires on a car like that."

I was stunned. I guessed, since the reception to Bud so far was universally positive, I was unprepared for criticism. I was disappointed a car-guy, as a tire man should be, would criticize it.

I was unable to muster a witty reply, so taken aback, I just quietly paid for my tires and walked out.

I was finally on the road at last. With new tires it was reassuring not having to cringe as I went over each bump expecting one of them to explode. I no longer had to give them a second thought though I continued to for quite a while. Knowing I had a reliable spare tire helped me to eventually forget the tires altogether. I never did put the spare tire into service.

I had a smooth running engine and a quiet exhaust system too. I was proud to be seen behind the wheel of Bud despite the remaining blemishes on its body.

I was still leery about taking it out on the highway until I trusted it more; trusted my own work more. I tooled around surface roads never getting above 45 miles per hour. I was having fun and getting looks. I was also getting more confident with each passing mile.

I ran into a guy at work one day who told me he spotted a car just like mine in a nearby neighborhood.

"No, you must be wrong. It's probably something like a 1958 Chevy."

"No, it's just like yours, except that it only has four doors. It's like a regular station wagon."

I was sure I was on a wild goose chase this time but I went out to the address he gave me and, sure enough, there in the driveway was a Checker Marathon station wagon. A smaller version of Bud the Aerobus.

This was just like day one at Jaime's house when I first examined Bud. I was out of my truck and circling the station wagon in the driveway, calculating its value and what it would require to be fixed up. It had a lot of potential. There were many parts I could use and the car was complete save for two bullet holes in one rocker-panel, doubtless owing to its location in a slightly seedy part of town. I thought it would be a shame to part it out.

Just like at Jaime's house that first day, there was no one home here either. I left a note on the house with my phone number.

The very next day I got a call from the owner. He said he wanted five hundred and fifty dollars for it. With my assignment to Monterey I knew I didn't have time to do anything with another Checker so I advertised it on the Internet Checker List.

I described the car in detail. It was a rare rust-free car and five hundred and fifty dollars was a tenth or less than some people reported paying for a rusty Checker. A few people wrote back and asked for more detail but no one showed any interest.

I didn't want to see this car wind up in a junkyard or in the hands of someone who wouldn't appreciate it. I also hoped for the chance to get a few parts off of it I needed for Bud. Then I thought of Gary.

Gary was the owner of an Aerobus I heard about and saw pictures of. I recently learned he was located about 45 minutes from me. I looked his name up on the Internet and called him. I introduced myself and made some small talk about Checkers and Aerobuses. It began the most rewarding relationship I would develop with another Checker owner.

"I've got a military transfer coming up to Monterey and I found a Checker station wagon here in Sacramento. I'd hate to see this car end up somewhere where it would be unappreciated."

"I'm interested in it but I've agreed to take my Aerobus cross-country with Hot Rod magazine on their 'Power Tour' this week which is something I don't want to miss."

"Well at least give the guy a call and perhaps he'll hold it for you. He wants it gone now but a few weeks shouldn't matter if he knows he has a serious buyer."

Gary eventually traveled to Sacramento and bought the car. He's holding it to this day, unimproved, waiting to find the time to restore it properly.

That same month McClellan Air Force Base conducted a car show at the aviation museum as a fund-raiser for that operation. I decided to enter Bud for its novelty value. I knew it didn't belong in a car show next to street rods costing tens of thousands of dollars but I wanted to get opinions from some real car people; car owners and car show attendees.

The effort was a real success. It seemed like Bud got as much attention as many of the expensive entries.

One guy told me, "I like your car a lot. I go to a bunch of car shows and I see the same type of cars over and over. But yours is different. Even though yours isn't finished, it's a lot more interesting."

A woman expressed a sentiment repeated many times that day; "It's so cool! I've never seen anything like that before."

Several people shared with me their memories of Checkers and even some with Aerobuses.

"I rode in one of those to the airport that took me to Viet Nam." said one guy in a tattered pair of camouflage pants.

I left the car show that day with a renewed sense I was on the right track with this Aerobus. There were still cars I thought I would rather own, some in the show that day, but there sure weren't many Aerobuses left in existence.

With only a month left until my reporting date to Monterey I still wasn't sure of Bud's ability to make the three to four hour trip down there. I decided it would probably be smarter to tow it that distance. That presented a larger problem since I understood there was no trailer or tow dolly big enough to do the job. It was a problem I needed to solve before too much longer; before other preparations became more pressing.

I was offered an historic house on the grounds of the Presidio of Monterey, an old Spanish fort taken over by the US after the Spanish defeat. The grounds of the Presidio were used as the Defense Language Institute for the last 50 years or so. The house was huge and located on a half-acre of land on a bluff overlooking Monterey Bay. It was military housing but it was roomy and wonderful. I accepted it even before transferring but the assignment required me to report a couple of months before the house would be reconditioned for my occupancy.

I left my family and Bud in Sacramento and reported to Monterey on the first of June. I spent that first summer commuting the two hundred miles on weekends until the Presidio house became available.

One weekend I called Gary to see how he was doing with the Marathon station wagon I turned him on to.

"Yeah, I got it down here with no problem."

"How did you do that?"

"I've got a tow dolly."

"What, is it specially made?"

"No, it's an old one I bought from U-Haul and reconditioned."

"I thought they wouldn't accommodate a Checker? When I wanted to rent one they said my car wouldn't fit."

"Naw, heck no, I've towed my Aerobus a couple of times with it, no problem."

Thinking I had a safety net, I asked Gary if he would come and rescue me if I failed to make the forty-five mile drive via highway from my house to his in Bud.

"Sure, come on down" he replied eagerly "you'll make it. From all you've described about your work on the car you won't have any trouble getting here."

Gary had more confidence in Bud and me than I did and he hadn't yet met me, nor seen Bud.

"All right, I'm leaving now."

I hung up the phone, kissed Vilma on the cheek and said I was going for a drive. I made some comment about Bud and Ed's big adventure but I don't think she was even listening to me. I grabbed the fire extinguisher from the kitchen and headed out to Bud.

I started out as usual on the surface roads enjoying the looks and the comments. One lady rolled down her window and yelled to me.

"What year is that?"

I answered "Nineteen seventy" and got the usual blank stare in return. People expected it to be older. It looked like a 58 Chevy with its dual headlights. It was then I decided to just tell people it's a fifty-eight unless an encounter provides enough time to tell the whole story about how Checker went to this basic body style in 1959, and never changed it until they went out of business in 1982. Only a Checker purist could tell the difference between a 1959 and a 1982 anyway.

I nervously drove the five miles to the entrance of the freeway. I was down the on-ramp and up to sixty miles an hour fairly effortlessly but I held it there. This was the first time in fourteen years Bud felt the highway. Everyone was passing me. Perhaps the speedometer wasn't accurate or perhaps they wanted a better look. Then I smelled smoke.

I was sniffing the air like a hound trying to identify the odor. Was it a wheel bearing; brake shoes; grease; what? What was burning? It smelled like hot metal. Was it the brake drum I manufactured all those months ago? All that went through my mind were internet stories of Checkers catching fire. There was no visible smoke but the odor was there.

It was a tense three miles to the next off-ramp and I hurriedly pulled down it and into the parking lot of a business located there. I was out of Bud quickly circling it looking for signs of smoke or heat. Nothing. I popped open the hood. Nothing visual. I moved from wheel to wheel smelling for hot brakes. Still nothing.

Not finding the source of the smell I attributed it to something that wouldn't jeopardize the voyage and eventually got back in and onto the highway again. I kept to the slow lane all the way to Gary's house, constantly looking at the oil pressure, water temperature, alternator, and fuel gages for anything out of the ordinary, all the while monitoring my speed. I didn't want to overload anything. Bud performed perfectly the 45 miles to Gary's house. None of the gages ever indicated anything abnormal.

I noticed again everyone passing me despite my odometer speed of sixty. After a while I surmised that the smaller diameter tires I installed must have been making the odometer inaccurate. I would confirm this later with a pace car. The odometer was off by 5 to 7 miles per hour. Again I vowed to get some high-profile tires on Bud as soon as possible. I never would.

I didn't mind being passed by everyone. It gave me a chance to observe them looking at me. Almost every driver turned their head just a little to the right, towards their rear-view mirror, to take another look after passing me. I got a lot of waves and thumbs-up. Some emphasized their approval with a honk of their horn.

Meeting Gary for the first time was enjoyable. He was a real nice guy, very warm and natural. He had hundreds of photos of his Aerobus at many places around the country. His Aerobus was nice. It was finished in a Checker Cab Yellow with flashy graphics down the sides. He reupholstered the whole thing. He took some pictures of our cars together, the first of many, as it would turn out. I hadn't considered writing this story back then so I came unprepared with a camera.

Gary and I spent a couple of hours talking about Aerobuses and where we spotted them. It turned out he was trying to buy the YLS parts car I purchased but he could never connect with the owner. We agreed to stay in touch and get together as often as possible.

My trip home from Gary's house was just as trouble-free as the trip down though I was still nervous upon departing. My arrival at home was a glorious moment for me. I traveled 90 miles on the highway with Bud without a problem. That was nearly half the mileage to Monterey. I was sure Bud could make the trip on its own power and I no longer needed to consider towing it.

I charged excitedly into my house and babbled to Vilma what I just did.

"Where have you been?"

"I just drove Bud to Stockton!"

"Stockton? That's so far."

"Yeah, and tomorrow I'm driving to Monterey."

Vilma just shook her head. She would still not even ride in Bud because of its appearance. She still felt anything that ugly certainly couldn't be mechanically sound.

I could barely sleep that night in anticipation of my trip the next day. In the morning I loaded Bud up with a lot of tools, food, water, and other emergency supplies, just in case. I allowed extra time starting out to Monterey.

The first half of the trip was uneventful save for all the attention from the other drivers. After about an hour and a half I pulled into the only gas station for many miles. I topped off the fuel tank and went inside to stretch my legs and get a snack.

Back out to Bud I turned the key to get going again and the engine just slowly turned over and over but wouldn't start. I hated situations like this. Here I had an interesting car that looked like crap on the outside. The least it could do was not embarrass me by failing to start and giving everyone the impression it was as mechanically bad as it was cosmetically. I considered renaming it "Dud".

I got out and opened the hood and took the cover off the air cleaner. There was plenty of gas in the carburetor. Why wouldn't it start I wondered?

A small man came over to me speaking in broken English and said, "You need some gasoline."

"No, I just checked, it's got gas."

No, no you pour some gas into 'de carb."

I just felt bugged by this guy. I knew gas wasn't the problem. He assured me it would help and tried to explain in his unsteady English.

Realizing I wasn't convinced he finally said, "Okay you pour some gas in or you wait forty-five minutes."

I thanked him impatiently and bid him goodbye. I didn't buy his first solution but decided to try his second. I left Bud at the pump while I went and sat on a picnic table next to the gas station for about a half hour. It was at that point I decided to write this book about Bud and my experiences.

I wrote down the day's events there at the picnic table. It took my mind off the fear of being stranded almost exactly half way between Sacramento and Monterey at a no-where gas station in an agricultural district on Highway 5 in California.

I couldn't stand to wait forty-five minutes so after thirty I tried starting it again. After much jiggling of the accelerator pedal with my foot it barely coughed and tried to start. More frantic pumping and verbal urging on my part succeeded it getting it running. It smoked a lot and finally wheezed to a rough idle and gradually settled down to normal. I vowed not to shut it off again until I got to Monterey.

The rest of the trip was as uneventful as the first half once I left the gas station. My trip up the mountain pass went a lot smoother than I anticipated. Bud never skipped a beat though I did stay in the slow truck lane up the five-mile grade to the summit. I didn't want to push it. After the summit Bud didn't have to work very hard the remaining fifty miles to Monterey.

Since Bud was temporarily the only vehicle I had in Monterey I drove it a lot. It never failed to start again that whole week. The reception it got from the 800 or so Air Force language students in my unit was encouraging.

"That's the coolest car I've ever seen Chief," said one student Airman.

From then on Bud became known as "the Chief's car".

"Have you seen the Chief's car?" I would hear Airmen say to one another when they didn't know I was within earshot.

"Yeah, isn't it incredible?"

It was nice to hear spontaneous, unsolicited comment from so many of a generation behind me. It never failed to elicit smiles from the hundreds of new students passing through the Defense Language Institute each year while I was there.