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This is the final installment of our "Road Trip" that we had been so excited to embark upon.
We lazed around a bit before getting up to make the final leg of our trip back home to Alice. Bud had spent the night with us in Alice before we left, so his car was there.
I started off driving and went very, very light on the foot feed. We got through Baytown, and took the tunnel under the ship channel on highway 146. It was a risky move because the angle of attack coming out of the tunnel was twenty five or more degrees. We would be blasting noise all the way out through the end of the tunnel and figured we might be stopped on the other side. We gambled that we might be able to talk ourselves out of trouble, and figured it would be better than trying to go through Houston. Apparently, our decision was the right one, because we got away with it.
Going over the lift bridge at Kemah was a breeze and we angled toward the west southwest into Alvin and down through Angleton where we turned more south and headed toward West Columbia. We were more or less going back against the path of Santa Anna's march into Texas where he met his Waterloo in 1836.
These were all the nice old towns we had to pass through that are now the foundation of lots of nostalgic festive weekends. I can remember driving through them in those days, and always looking at the dates on the top of many of the flat topped buildings. The vast majority ranged from 1903 through 1920 in most of the towns, but there were some 1899's up to 1929.
We lucked out and got through Sweeny which was a Phillips 66 town. If you got there at shift change, forget about making time. The gate emptied in both ways to Texas Highway 35. Down through more towns, we got through Bay City without any trouble. We had a lot of small towns to pass through before we got home, but only three more moderately sized ones.
About twenty five miles south of Bay City, Texas Highway 35 made a bend at went to the coastal city of Palacious. That was the site of many July 4th "Firecracker 200's" where the inboards and outboards put on some spectacular races in front of huge spectator crowds lining the pits and seawall. We took the bypass through Blessing as Baldy always did. A couple of miles past where Texas Highway 35 bent east toward the coast, we slowed down as we passed through the small community of Blessing.
I guess we must have been having some fun talk when I suddenly saw the intersection where we had to turn east to go to Port Lavaca. It angled off in our favor at about fifteen degrees, but I had too much speed to be able to make it. I was able to come to a stop about fifty fee past the intersection however. Traffic in rural areas like this is light when farmers and ranchers aren't in a busy time, and although it was only a two way road, I swung wide to the right and hoped to be able to curve around to shorten the turning radius to keep the left wheel on the asphalt. Bad decision. I would have been much better off, just backing all the way up, especially with Mark and Bud to direct traffic on a lonesome road..
The big problem was that this was rice territory and just like around Breaux Bridge, the road was crowned, no shoulders and steep grass down to the bar ditches on either side. The only difference was the lack of water and gators, and the roadbed was a little wider. I was very good at backing a trailer, but in those days there was a saying that you should not back up a long way because you can damage the rear end. I figure that falls into the category of an "old wives tale", but having a problem with doing just such a thing with my Dodge Polara in 1966, and being anxious just to get home, I made a stupid decision.
I had moved over in the grass as far right as I felt safe. Then turned the steering wheel full lock to the left in order to come around. That's when I learned later that maximum pressure is put on the steering wheel hose. It burst and steering wheel fluid squirted all over the left side of the 440 TNT Chrysler motor, and into the air intake. It looked like our engine caught on fire. Nasty smelling smoke began billowing out from under the hood, and mostly on the left where exhaust came directly out of the manifold. The motor started shaking and coughing, then finally died.
I got it cranked up again, but it wouldn't hit on all cylinders. I gassed it up and tried to turn it again with full lock and it immediately died. There was still some power steering fluid left in the hose, and the power drag was enough to kill the motor. We all got out and tried to push the New Yorker at least into the southbound lane. As it was, we were blocking both lanes. I got back in and fired up the motor, because we could not push or steer it with the motor off. We got it pushed back into the lane...and as far off the road as we could get it. I punched in the hazard signal, and that was the only part of this car that remained loyal...and worked.
There was no point in walking the few miles back to Blessing, which had no gas stations, or anything, so we started off in the direction of Port Lavaca about thirty miles to the southeast. Somehow, we were still in good spirits. We walked thinking that someone would pick us up, have sympathy and take us all the way to Port Lavaca. Hitchhiking was a common practice then, and not dangerous like it is now.
We walked along talking, laughing about all the things that had gone wrong and we weren't going to let it get us down. We had walked several miles and had not seen any traffic at all from either direction. I think it must have been a Sunday and why we got away with blaring through the Baytown boat tunnel. But we continued walking.
That area was a very large rice producing country then, and had rice paddies on both side of the road. It was during our walk that we came across a frog that didn't make it across the road. It was huge. Even huger being squashed. None of us had ever seen a frog that big. The legs must have been close to a foot long. It was hard to tell what size the front part would have been because that was where it was pancaked. Wrong place....right time.
As we walked along...probably about five miles by now....we saw a slow moving rainshower moving up behind us from the northwest. When it caught up with us, we felt the cold rain drops and took off running. We ran about a quarter mile then started walking again. In a little bit, we had to do the same thing. After about the third time the rain caught up with us, a farmer heading the same way we were in his pickup pulled over to ask us what we were doing. We told him. He told us to pile into the back of his pickup and he drove us into Port Lavaca. I had adked him if he could drop us off at Gordon's Seafood Restaurant just on the right across the bridge over Matagorda Bay. He did.
They had a pay phone just inside the door as you walk up the steps to enter. It sat on stilts because of storm surge. All around where the pay phone was were a very good collection of sea shells, including the kind of giant clam that was always clamping down on Lloyd Bridge's leg during a "Sea Hunt" espisode when he was running out of air.
I got a quarter and called Baldy collect. When he got on the line, I told him what happened. I told him that we have been having lots of trouble with the car, and that we couldn't drive it home. He said "Bull5h!t!" I told him how it was running...the power steering hose had a hole in it, and it would not go anymore. He said that he could drive it in, and we told him where we would be. We had a very good and relaxing seafood dinner while we waited.
It was a couple of hours before Baldy showed up, but he took me at my word and was leading an Alice Specialty winch truck with a float. We rode in Baldy's new Chrysler to the Blessing cut off where the New Yorker was still sitting on the side of the road with boat racing trailer attached.
I gave Baldy the keys and he was able to crank it right up. He backed it up like I should have done in the first place, then made a left hand turn into the road heading back toward Port Lavaca. Baldy drove the New Yorker less than half a mile, pulled over to the side, got out and told the winch truck driver who had turned around and started to follow us..."Load the Son of B1tch Up!" Baldy came back to where I was driving his Chrysler, got in and said "Let's go." The winch truck driver knew the way home, so I blew around him as he got back on the road, and we proceeded to tell Baldy all that had happened since we had left a few days before.
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Originally Posted by Master Oil Racing Team
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