Most of my life has been accompanied by a vehicle or two that have left me mostly fond memories. I thought I would try to chronologically list them here. A few of them I have no pictures of, so I grabbed the closest image I could find from the internet. Here goes!
This was my first motorized vehicle, a Go Kart mini-bike. I am 12 or 13 in the picture, taken on the family driveway that was still unpaved.
I made a longer seat so I could bring a friend along. You might notice several gussets welded into the frame which would break on occasion. The engine was an unmuffled West Bend chainsaw engine that drove the neighbors in the canyon crazy. I would drive the backroads of Santa Barbara, going clear through Montecito, and several times up to the top of La Cumbre Peak. I would have to stash extra gas on the dirt road leading up the mountain. I had a couple different sprockets to change the gear ratio, with one ratio giving me a top speed of 40 mph.
My first car was a 1931 Model A Ford coupe like this one, except mine was much rougher. I bought it when I was 14 for $100. I can't believe I don't have one picture of it! After spending a couple years drooling over Hot Rod magazine while I was deprived of TV and supposed to be doing homework, my plan was to build a "rod". That plan quickly changed due to lack of money. I learned a lot about mechanics on this car, which was so basic and easy to work on. I pulled the engine and put in a new short block. I replaced spring perches in the suspension and cut and made new wooden bows for the roof and covered it in vinyl. The car was missing the roof when I bought it. I had fun adventures driving the backroads, and once John Pedersen and I drove on fire roads over the Santa Ynez Mountains down to Mono Campground. The friction shock absorbers were missing from the car and when I hit one particularly bad pot hole, John bounced so high that his head snapped one of the roof bows. When I turned 16 and could legally venture onto highways, it became a little scary going down the freeway. By this time I was really into surfing and just wanted a car to get me to the beach. I remember driving down to Rincoln in this car with my 9'2" surfboard on top, doing my best to go 60 mph, getting cut off by semis, and having to stand on the floorboards to keep them down, as I hadn't replaced their screws. I put an ad in the paper asking $300. I got a call from my Dad who was tuning a piano for a ranching family down in Oxnard. He said the resident would buy it if I could drive it down. I drove it down that afternoon. Apparently, he wanted it for his kids to drive around the ranch. I needed a surf wagon.
My surf wagon was a 1954 Ford Ranch Wagon just like this one. Except mine was another $100 special. I was 16 and loved this car. It had a 6 cylinder engine, overdrive, and three on the tree. It was quiet and comfortable, had room for multiple surfboards, and the model name "Ranch Wagon" had particular significance. North of Santa Barbara was the fabled Hollister Ranch, 15 miles of surfing heaven that was guarded private property. Sneaking in was an exercise in teenage resourcefulness. I signed up on the waiting list for the Santa Barbara Surf Club which was allowed entry. In return, they would run off any trespassers. I finally got into the club after being on the list for 6 years or so. In the meantime, my friend Roy Freeman, son of author Don Freeman, had a family connection to the Hollisters, and we were allowed to enter the ranch and sleep overnight in the "Ranch Wagon". I had put big tires on the rear wheels to drive on the sand a little better. You could drive for miles on the beach unless the tide was high. When I didn't go with Roy, I used a Sportsman Pass for hunting on the ranch that one could buy at a local sporting goods store. I would paddle my board from Gaviota about a quarter mile up the coast past the ranch gate, drag it up the cliff, stash it, then make my way back down the beach to get my car and drive through the gate manned by the surfer hating Floyd. Sometimes I would skip the surfboard and just carry in a kneeboard or paipo board hidden behind the front seat. At 18, I sold the Ranch Wagon to Roy, as I needed money for my Europe trip.
A couple days after graduating from Santa Barbara High, I was off on my European adventure. After several months, I grew tired of hitchhiking, and bought a motorcycle just like this one, a 1963 Royal Enfield 350 Bullet. Once again, no camera, no picture. I bought it used on the island of Jersey for $130. The front brake didn't work, the horn didn't work, but it ran strong, taking me over 5,000 miles. My friend John Pedersen met up with me on his 1953 Matchless 500, and we had fine adventures crossing the Alps in November, going down into Yugoslavia, through Italy down to Naples, and over to Spain. In January, I had to head north up through France to get to Glasgow, Scotland in order to fly home on Icelandic Airlines. I ran into extremely cold weather, and driving on ice and snow was nerve wracking. I remember driving through one town, and some people on the street starting clapping as I went by. It was minus 10 degrees Celsius. I reached northern France and my battery went dead. I could not push start the motorcyle on ice, so I tried selling it to a motorcycle dealer. He wouldn't buy it because of its Jersey plates, so I left it standing, with the key in it, in front of the pension I was staying at. John shipped his motorcycle home, and the following year a massive oak tree fell and crushed it while it was parked in his driveway.
After coming home from Europe in January, 1966, my parents helped me buy this 1961 VW bug. It had forty-some thousand miles on it. It was quite reliable for the next 40,000 miles.
The above picture is in San Blas, Mexico, about 100 miles south of Mazatlan. I still have the tent, by the way! This car had 36 horsepower, and no synchro for first gear. There were also no seatbelts or gas gauge. If you heard the engine sputter, you would reach under the dash with your toe to push a lever that gave you a reserve of the bottom half gallon of gas in the tank. The real problem was if after you filled up and you forgot to move the reserve lever back up, because the next time the engine sputtered meant you were completely out of gas. Why I never got killed in this car is a mystery to me. I became quite the VW mechanic with this car, removing and rebuilding the engine several times, and replacing the transaxle. I used to see adds in Popular Mechanics on plans to build your own airplane using a VW engine. What?!!! How suicidal is that! I sold the car in 1973, or maybe I gave it away. It had about 155,000 miles on it.
After selling my VW, I was in the process of moving to Napa from Atascadero. A car with enough space to haul my belongings was in order. I bought this 1961 Chevy Carryall that was originally a school bus for Atascadero - you can barely make out the emblem on the door. This proved to be a good road trip car, firewood hauler, and camper. The vehicle took on the name "Pounder", which had something to do with Mac Truck / Big Mac and McDonald's Quarter Pounder. The house in the picture was where I lived for awhile in Bennet Valley, outside of Santa Rosa. It was built in the 1860's, and was torn down a few years later.
This was my campsite in the Ventana Wilderness. I liked how the rear doors opened on the Carryall. My dog Piedmont was a great companion during his short life.
In 1974, I bought this 1973 BMW R50. It was much more refined than my old Royal Enfield. I rode it to Santa Barbara and back no problem. After having it for 3 years, I began to think maybe I was pressing my luck riding motorcycles and sold it. I still fantasize about having a motorcycle to putt around on.
I fell in love with a 1958 Chevy Apache pickup like this one, except mine had a faded patina, and was a little more green. A friend had inherited it from her father and was willing to sell it to me. The engine was pretty shot, so I ordered a long block and replaced the engine on my driveway up on Bald Mountain. I took a year off of work to take care of Andria between the ages of one and two. We used to drive to the dump, etc., and I would teach her the names of all the different kinds of trucks. It was cute, and impressive, to hear her say, "Flat bed truck!", etc.
My next after the 58 Chevy was a 71 VW Westfalia Camper just like this one. I bought it in 1981, I believe, and hadn't learned my lesson well after my first VW. In the first year, it sucked a valve driving back from Santa Barbara, which destroyed the engine near Arroyo Grande. I left it there to have the engine rebuilt by VW experts. After getting it back, the transaxle failed, and that had to be rebuilt. I spent months making curtains like the ones above and getting it ready for our first camping trip. We did our camping shakedown trip to Sugarloaf Ridge State Park. The next morning, coming down the mountain, we heard our friends honking behind us. I looked up in the mirror and saw smoke billowing out the back. I pulled over in what turned out to be the only turnout on the road, and hurried to get Andria out of her car seat. I remember her saying, "What's the big rush, Daddy?" When I opened the engine compartment, there were flames dancing on top of the engine. Some one rushed over from the nearby lodge with a fire extinguisher which I emptied on the engine, but that didn't work. the gas tank was full, and located a few inches in front of the engine. The heat ruptured the tank which now was spilling gas onto the fire. In minutes there were 20 foot flames erupting. The only two things we salvaged from the van were a cast iron frying pan and the Coleman Stove. It was a real testament to the Coleman Stove, as the pressurized tank did not blow up. Later, I repainted the stove and continued to use it for years. No more VW's for me.
My next car was this 1976 Toyota Pickup. I thought it would be a more reliable and a safer vehicle - it had lap belts! It was very reliable, but the braking was super scary on wet roads. You could easily do a 360 braking for a stoplight on wet pavement. A number of times I had the rear end slide out coming to a stop. Not much to say about this one.
What? This doesn't look like a Bob car. One just like this was given to me in the 1980's by my Grandma Clark who had decided to stop driving. It was a 1963 Chrysler New Yorker, in excellent condition, and kind of a blast to cruise around in. It had power everything, and pushbutton gear selection. The engine, a monster V-8, had a thirsty four barrel carb. I kept it covered in the driveway for a couple years, then sold it for $1,100. What would it be worth today?
This is Blue, my first ever new car, a 1993 Toyota Previa. It was kind of a spacey looking egg shaped vehicle that was quite innovative at the time. The engine was between the front two seats and leaned over to one side. The back, with the middle row bench taken out, was big enough to lay a 4x8 sheet of plywood flat on the floor. It was so reliable, versatile, and rode pretty much like a sedan. I have so many fond memories of 23 years of owning this vehicle. Memories of hauling the kids around, camping, helping Nick move to Minnesota. This van could do it all, except pass other cars.
Gail and I car camping up a wash in the Anza-Borrego Desert. Sadly, after 235,000 miles on the Previa, I sold it. It was at the point of needing some expensive work.
In 2012, I bought this 2006 Honda CRV from Dave. We named it Dusty. This was another great car, being both nimble and versatile. Gail and I put on about 75,000 miles driving around the western states. After moving to Oregon, the car was going to need an expensive transmission repair, plus I needed either a truck or a vehicle that could tow more than the CRV.
Gail and I on our way to Yellowstone NP in 2014.
And finally, my current car, a 2019 Toyota Highlander. It is a fine car with a lot of tech features I'm not used to using yet. It can tow up to 5,000 pounds, which has been useful to pull our utility trailer. For having almost 300 horsepower, the gas mileage is impressive, better than the Previa or CRV. The one thing it doesn't have yet is character or soul. I guess that comes with age and memorable trips.
Well, that's the summary of Bob and his vehicles, and a road trip down memory lane.
