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The best road trips that I have ever done, were in vehicles that should never have been allowed on the road in the first place! These vehicles defied the laws of maintenance and miraculously delivered me and whoever, to where we needed to go; It was probably a combination of good karma, oblivion and the possibility, that somebody loves me up there?

Years ago, I was on one such journey; I was completely and utterly unaware of the fact that there was no water in my radiator and that one of my wheels could have fallen off at any moment!

Additionally, if it wasn't for the fact that I used the engine-braking technique and down shifted as often as I could, like a racing driver approaching a hair-pin bend; My big heavy foot, would have popped the very last ounce of brake fluid, right out of the dry-rotted hoses!

So, we set off in my 1972 French Chrysler, Simca. It was a beautiful morning and I didn't notice the temperature gage, creeping into the red! I guess I was too busy feeling good about myself and impressing my friends, with my fancy maneuvers?

About twenty miles later, I pulled into a gas station and popped open the hood: Amongst a mass of oil, leaves and an engine, I noticed a glass tank, connected to a small rubber hose, next to the radiator. It was empty! Without the slightest thought, I poured some nice cold water, into it!

The sound of glass snapping with a severe temperature change, followed by glass shattering on concrete, made me feel somewhat, uncomfortable! I looked at my oblivious friends; They smiled and I forced a smile back at them.

As I sweated and smiled, I drove off, keeping one eye on the temperature gage and the other on the roadside, scouring for a junk yard.

I quickly discovered the art of air-cooling; Letting the car drift down hills, not applying the gas pedal and then gunning the engine, up the hills, watching the gage needle, go up and down.

My friends were inquisitive, but with my exuberant confidence, fueled by a state of possible insanity, they remained in their pleasant zone.

Thirty miles later, or so, I found a junk yard! The very first car in it, was just like mine, with a spare glass tank. Good Karma!

Approximately ninety miles later, as I approached one of the very few stop signs in rural England, I noticed how soft my brakes were getting. Again, I checked my rear view mirror, my friends were still smiling and I applied the hand brake and pumped the last bit of life out of the brake line.

Anyway, it was time for lunch and a quaint little pub caught our eye. I pulled in slowly, applied the hand brake carefully and we went inside.

A couple of pints of ale and a cheese sandwich later, we were off again. My friends were having the time of their lives!

As we entered the expressway and merged with the eighty-mile-an-hour or so traffic, I noticed a front end wheel wobble. As I sped up, it sort of became less apparent, as the speed seemed to counteract the shuddering, quite nicely.

My friends had drank a lot more than I, so they started to sing. I joined in, but the wheel shake was somewhat distracting.

We eventually arrived at our destination, three hundred miles from start to finish. I pulled into a little street and tried to parallel park. As I reversed into the parking spot and turned the wheel hard over, I heard a soft sharp crunch and the wheel wouldn't turn anymore!

Laughing, we all pushed the car into the spot and walked away, alive!

When I finally sent that car to the scrap heap, in 1984, it was like having an old and loving pet, put to sleep! Sometimes, when I pass by the canned vegetable aisle in a super market, I look twice, wondering if my beloved Simca is in there somewhere?

Learn more about this author, Jon Coe.
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