That trip from Illinois to Florida in the TR-6 that I related awhile back
really served two purposes. One of course was the delayed honeymoon. The
other however was more pragmatic. H and I were really close to getting AA
degrees at the College of Du Page in the western suburbs of Chicago. I had
a dual major of Biology and Communications and H was working in Psychology.
Well, I knew that in order to successfully and happily complete my
education WE HAD TO GET OUT OF THE COLD. I hated getting up for class or
work and scraping the ice off the car only to find that it was too cold to
start or that I couldn’t get the thing out of the driveway for all the
snow. Fighting blizzard conditions and snow drifts getting from class to
class was not my idea of a good time either. I wanted to ride my bike to
school and lie on a warm sunny lawn between classes. We had narrowed
choices of schools down to locations in Florida or California. The trip to
Florida disabused us of the notion of moving there, even though I was
considering a B.S. in Marine Bio. No offense to any Floridians but it was
just not my cup of tea. Palmetto bugs, bad drinking water (the Keys had the
worst), a 2 month wait in “75" for phone installation and the, shall I say
“ the back woods culture” of all but the coastal areas were powerful
disincentives for a hardcore but comfort loving hippie.
Back from the south with the TR-6 still needing a weld job on the rear end
mounts in the middle of a mid west winter I first addressed that problem.
Rented what was at the time known as a Buzz Box, a 220 volt welder that I
plugged into the outlet for my stove and set inside the house at the door
to the garage running the welding lines out the door. A nearby friend had
volunteered to do the necessary welding but looked askance at the ancient
machinery I was providing for the job. Nevertheless during a 20 degree F
warm spell we crawled under the car in the unheated garage and had at it,
with the Buzz Box snarling menacingly in the house and H cowering in the
waterbed in terror of Dr Triumphstein and his equipment performing surgery
in the garage. All’s well that ends well though and within hours we had
accomplished the goal and the TR was once again roadworthy.
During that winter spring and summer H was doing the window displays for
all of the Limited Stores in the Chicago area. H is extremely multi
talented. She used the TR in her travels while I was relegated to using the
a silver 70 Vega better known locally as the “Flagrant Vagrant”. It was
well suited to my job. I had managed to snag a job as a surveyor for a
Civil Engineering firm in Aurora IL (Party on Garth). Could get all my
equipment in the back of the Vega and it was cheap to run and air
conditioned (big plus in mid west summers). We did the topography studies
and the layout of sewer, water, streets and lots on 40 square miles of
planned development, freezing in the winter cold and broiling in the summer
heat and humidity. Another impelling reason to cast my eyes to the west and
California.
Now I’ll admit to being a bit prejudiced in favor of CA from the get go
having spent some time in San Diego and San Francisco in the late 60s while
on active duty in the Navy and having loved every moment of California if
not the Navy. Once discharged and back in Illinois, I was in the habit of
lying in the hammock studying on spring and summer afternoons listening to
John Mayal croon “Goin back to California, So many good things Abound, Goin
back to California, Sun seems to never go down” and daydreaming of warm
beaches, cold beer and bikinis and cruising down California highways and
byways with the TR-6 top down and the smell of jasmine in the air. So when
a friend who had already migrated west and settled in Santa Barbara
informed me that the University of California at SB was blocks from his
front door, the stage was set for our escape. We began immediately planning
our departure. That June we graduated and I sent an application to UCSB and
waited for a reply. H wasn’t totally convinced yet whether she would
continue her education or stay in the fashion trade.
During this time the TR was performing admirably... a battery failure here
a flat there, H getting forced off the road by an early day road rager to
whom she had flashed the Bird resulting in a huge dent in the front fender.
Did I mention that H is a little...let us say impetuous. Nothing too
serious. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed.
It had been 3 years since I had nearly totaled the TR-4a at Southern
Illinois University. The left rear tire blew on a hard right at about 55mph
while I was slaloming down a winding country road slightly under the
influence of a couple of Ludes. The rear end broke loose and I slid
sideways into the left hand guardrail smashed the entire drivers side
including cracking the left rear suspension in half. Had the car towed to a
barn on a friends rented property, pulled off the Mini Lites (they were
amazingly unscathed and put it up on blocks in the barn. I arranged to get
all the parts from a TR graveyard in the mountains of southern Missouri
about 50 miles north of Paducah Ky (that place was amazing, I never saw so
many TR’s in one place. Anyone know if its still there?) Went back to get
the car a month later and it was gone. Oh woe! But I digress. I mention
this because its amazing how much one can forget about maintaining a TR in
only a couple of years of non-ownership. And I was making some mistakes in
driving and maintenance on the 6 that would come back to haunt me later.
At any rate, the reply came back from UCSB.... I was not accepted. I
needed a few more courses. By this time however I was determined to get to
CA come hell or high water and once there never leave. I figured that I
could pick up the classes I needed at the SB City College once there and
reapply to UC in a year. This would save me out of state tuition fees as I
would then be a certified CA resident. Hadn’t quite figured out how to pay
those fees anyway. I was even more motivated to skedaddle by comments from
friends to the effect that “ You may go to Cal, but you’ll be back.” Now
I’m the stubborn type and once I say I’m going to do something I make sure
that I follow through as a matter of ego. So H and I dug in our heels and
set our plans for a bicentennial year departure from the Land of Lincoln to
the Golden state. I contacted my pal in SB and he said he would welcome us
in a spare bedroom at his place in on the beach in the UCSB bedroom
community of Isla Vista. (This location would turn out be a revelation in
alternative lifestyles) By Thanksgiving of 76 we quit our jobs, sold off
everything we could, (including the Vega for $500 despite a leak in the pan
and sure signs of an imminent big end bearing failure) and packed up the
rest and shipped it off rail for SB, sublet the farmhouse, and moved in
with H’s sister. I did a thorough tune up on the TR with my pop in law.
Then packed it with our remaining possessions and mounted our bikes on a
rack on the rear bumper. We packed stuff everywhere even found places for a
considerable amount of goods under the hood.
So on the warm and sunny Monday following Thanksgiving we folded ourselves
into the now bulging at the seams TR-6 and with a final wave goodby set out
bright and early with a song on our lips on the southern route west to
California.
Next installment “The Highway West”
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