John Carson
May 4, 2025
I was thinking about Loren Reeves last week after learning that he had passed. I read Gene Coakley’s note on our Facebook page, commenting on Loren’s long term ownership of his 69 Charger. That little memory got me thinking about all the long road trips Loren had taken, and by way of advanced age day dreaming, all the road trips I had taken in my own history, and how that has stayed with me, and fueled my love of vintage vehicles, and of old age day dreaming.
That took me back to the early summer of 1972. Life had changed a lot as my Mother had died just one year prior, and I had inherited quite a few adult responsibilities. With the changes also came opportunities as well. My older brother Tom was a consummate car guy too, and he used me as his big city connection to buy and find cars, as he lived in Juneau, Alaska. He had seen a 1954 New Yorker wagon for sale in Seattle, and had me check it out, which ultimately led to its purchase. This deal was done in late April, just a few weeks after I got my license, so I was very game to be involved.
The wagon had about 100,000 miles on it and was in decent but well-used condition. It carried small scars from use, a few small dents, a scratch or two, and some carefully applied duct tape on the driver’s seat. It carried an 8-volt battery and two aftermarket gauges for amps and oil pressure under the dash. My job was to get the car ready to make the trip to Juneau. First up was dual exhaust, which exited out in front of the rear wheels on both sides to save a bit of money. We did splurge on chrome baloney cut tips however to give it a bit of a Nascar vibe. With dual glass-pack mufflers, it was kind of an imaginary muscle car for me, and it sounded awesome roaring through the I-90 tunnel!
On one of my shake-down runs in town, we had gone over to West Seattle to pick something up and were returning across the Spokane Street bridge during rush hour. My buddy Don was with me, windows down, arms out, listening to the pipes like a couple of sheiks riding across the desert. Then Don shouted, “look at the amp gauge!”, I looked down and saw a red puddle of liquid at the bottom of the gauge. Before I could fully process that visual it was if the car had been hit by flak, the cabin instantly filled with acrid smoke and the cars around us disappeared into a fog. Instinctively I grabbed the smoking wires under the dash and yanked them out, replacing the stench of burning cloth with the rich aroma of burning flesh as we coasted to the side of the bridge, steering with my one non-barbecued hand.
My Dad was once again called in for a flat tow back to Mercer Island. Flat towing across the old floating bridge with its bulge is a story of its own as well, but for another day! The next week I addressed the amp gauge repair, deciding not to run the wires through the air vent mechanism as the previous owner had chosen to do. Once the wiring was handled, it was just a matter of an oil change, tune-up, and new blackwall tires, and the old girl was ready to meet Alaska head on. Somewhere during this preparation it was decided that rather than shipping the car to Juneau by barge, we could make the whole thing an Alaska adventure. My friend Don and I could drive 1,400 miles to Prince Rupert B.C., get on the ferry, and zip over to Juneau. The plan also included hopping over to the Yukon territory and taking a 500 mile float trip down the Yukon river after the car was delivered. We loaded two Klepper folding kayaks, two newly purchased tents, sleeping bags, paddles, backpacks, and assorted tools and parts into the lovely varnished wood cargo area, filling the back to the headliner. With my 2-month-old driver’s license, and my 16 year old co-driver, we set off for the great north!
The old Chrysler did great, and after 2 days we were just outside of Prince Rupert when we saw a pretty girl hitchhiking. Don suggested we stop, and with testosterone fueled enthusiasm I pulled the mighty wagon to the shoulder and waved her over….well, immediately her boyfriend appeared out of the bushes too, and the two of them climbed in the back on top of our gear. Our darkened mood didn’t improve when she had us take them up a really steep hill to their hippy shack. As we climbed the hill the old Powerflite kicked down into first with a nasty clank. Our two con-artist riders jumped out and never looked back. I went to turn around, but where once reverse motivation existed, now there was just neutral, I tried again, but no going back as it were. We got the wagon turned around by coasting, but as we headed off it seemed to be content with first gear, and had no interest in upshifting.
At least first gear was good for nearly 60 mph if needed, and we were only a few miles from the ferry. Being young and naive certainly adds to adventure. The two of us had only $1.50 in cash in our pockets, and once on the ferry there was no way to get our money out of the backpacks in the car down on the car deck. And we were unaware that our ferry ride was over 30 hours long , not the 45 minutes we were used to. We ended up sleeping on the deck, and families felt sorry for us and gave us snacks as well. We were finally able to access the car at a stop in Ketchikan to get some heavy coats and cash.
I had to give my brother the sad news upon arrival in Juneau that his new car only had neutral and first gear. The funny thing is that he drove it that way for nearly a year before I shipped him a newly rebuilt Hemi and transmission assembly, which went up to Juneau on the fantail of a Coast Guard cutter, all 1,250 pounds of it!
With no experience, we learned and survived our trip down the Yukon River from Whitehorse to Dawson. While riding back down the Alaska Highway back to Whitehorse after our trip, we met a scout leader and an Eagle scout who had made the paddle also. After some chatting, we found out that they were from Portland. One thing led to another, and we ended up hitching a 2,000-mile ride back to Mercer Island with these two strangers in a 1959 International Travelall, which was a whole new adventure in itself! So yes, I do love the adventure of the open road, and I always will!
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