Hey Gang,
So, anyway, should you ever happen to find yourself in Tallahassee, Florida on
a lonesome Saturday night and should you happen to be your basic party animal,
the happenin' place turns out to be, much to my surprise, the Days Inn on the
Apalachee Parkway. The party got started promptly once the motel filled up
and it was perking along nicely by the time Janet and I got back from supper
at about 6:30.
By the time we cover the Alpine for the night, 9 PM say, things are really
starting to rock out. No music, just booze 'n chatter. Apparently, all you
need in the way of an invite is a trashcan to fill with ice and just about
anything alcoholic cloaked in a paper bag.
Since our room is conveniently located adjacent to the huge old ice machine we
are able to keep intimate track of the goings on even though we are in bed
with our eyes slammed shut in a somewhat desperate attempt to induce sleep.
The Sunbeam is unfortunately parked outside our line of sight and the first
time the alarm goes off is at about 10:30... I go tearing through the room
door, barefoot and wearing only one of my favorite pairs of Fruit of the Loom
boxers, to immediately encounter half a dozen revelers standing around pulling
on a jug of wine and spittin' into empty peanut butter jars. These gents and
ladies don't seem to think my costume is at all unusual but I go back to the
room and put on some proper shorts anyway.
I turn off the alarm and pat the car down before returning, again, to my room
to crawl back into bed, pausing briefly to listen to a lady sing a couple of
choruses of "Go Down Moses" while again shoveling her trash can full of ice.
There is another Alpine alarm at about 2 AM but it is not nearly as dramatic
because I already had proper shorts on. There are still people standing
around all the landings but they seem to be slowing down a bit and they are
getting pretty blurry around the edges.
I notice that here and there a few partyers have crashed, some crawling into
parked cars, others just collapsing on the landings.
Pretty classy, I'd say.
Now understand: while all this is going on the temp is over 80 degrees and the
relative humidity is well over 90. Sticky! Sticky! Sticky! Man, you have
just gotta be some kind of dedicated juicer to enjoy standing around swilling
wine outside under these conditions! I mean, why the hell not go into a room
somewhere? Hello! Roomtime, guys!
When another alarm rousts me from a light doze a few minutes after 4 AM I
decide to give it up for the night. I rise and, after inspecting the car
again, shower and shave, at least those portions of my face that I still
shave. Janet gets up shortly after 5 and we are on the road, US 319 West,
promptly at 6 AM. We are taking the longer, scenic route that runs right
along the gulf as we are in no particular hurry.
I leave nothing in Tallahassee, at least nothing that I value highly enough to
go back for.
It is, of course, stony dark at 6 AM, but the road, a nicely surfaced two-
lane, is dry, smooth, clear and... crowded. Where are all these people going
at 6 AM on a Sunday?
Soon after we hit the road I find that we have a bug walking in circles on the
inside of the windshield. His circles are slightly eccentric so they don't
quite repeat... It is pretty hard to see him in the dark but it seems he
starts circling in front of Janet and gradually circles his way over to my
side of the windscreen... Apparently he hits some obstruction on my side which
starts him back across the other way. Back and forth, round and round, back
and forth, round and round...
It occurs to me that for all his effort this bug is never going to make any
progress. He is going to almost repeat every mistake he ever made as he
vacillates between the right and the slightly less right... Going in circles
that he doesn't know are circles because he doesn't quite manage to repeat
himself exactly and, thus, convinces himself he is making progress.
It occurs to me that this bug is undoubtedly the mascot for the Republican
Party.
As we beat along to the south I discover that, contrary to my previous report,
the Alpine's high-beam indicator does, in fact, work. It is just that the
bulb is so dim that it is impossible to see if there is any competing light at
all... Even the relatively subdued dash lighting is enough to overwhelm the
indicator light and I might not have seen it at all except that I am playing
with the fog lights -- just to show the bass boats, donchaknow? -- and notice
the pale little light glow when I accidentally turn off the panel lights.
I watch the pale indicator light for a moment and decide it probably has a
poor ground. I make a mental note to deal with this on some cool New Mexico
morning in the not too distant future.
As we motor along I see the bonnet pop open and I cruise to the side of the
road where I hop out and reclose the bonnet with some authority.
As we beat our way to the southwest the Alpine gets several opportunities to
show it's stuff in the passing lane, which is, of course, the oncoming lane as
this is still a two-lane we are on. The car really does a respectable job of
jumping up from about 55 to 70 mph to haul around the occasional '78 Granada.
The Alpine's temp holds steady at 80 degrees C as the air temp is the
"coolest" -- a relative term I assure you -- we have encountered in Florida.
Surprisingly, we hit an occasional patch of dryer air and the dryish wind
whipping through the Sunbeam's windows feels almost chill as it hits our
sweat-damp skin. As a lovely, though subdued, dawn begins to break the
traffic clears from the still smooth, still dry, two-lane highway and a few
nicely banked turns appear as though on cue.
Feeling good, I happily squash the Republican bug.
As I start to toss the Alpine around just a bit I remind myself every few
seconds of those brittle old Bridgestones and urge myself not to leave the
kids orphaned, not while they are still in their "terrible thirties." Still,
even running well within safe and sane limits, this is the first really
enjoyable motoring we've experienced in Florida.
We remark on how clean all the roadsides are now that we have got away from
the cities a bit. Really impressive, no papers or bottles or cans to speak
of.
We feel cool and dry and are running happily through scrub palmetto and piney
country with the occasional glimpse of big water beneath towering pink clouds
off to our left when we see the roadway rise dramatically ahead, rising to
clear a body of water shrouded in mist. As we climb the steep two-lane
concrete bridge at about 60 mph we are able to look down at the $200,000
shanties and small boat docks along the banks of the Ochlochockonee River when
the Sunbeam runs through a cloud of river mist and every glass surface -- the
windshield, my glasses, Janet's glasses, everything -- is completely misted
over.
This, mind you, at 60 mph on a two-lane bridge. I shake my glasses off and
hit the windshield wiper switch and the wipers come on as the high beam
indicator light's candlepower increases a thousandfold. It is almost enough
to blind a guy despite the fact that it is now daylight. Suspicion confirmed.
Across the bridge, the sun completely up now that it is about 7 AM, we are
struck by the beauty of our surroundings. Tall pines, Spanish Moss draped
trees and dunes down to the sea. The beach houses, two and three stories tall
rising on twenty foot stilts, peer out between the trees at gulls wheeling in
the morning skies.
Remarkable.
Someplace around the village of Eastpoint we stop in a small waterfront park
for a few minutes to enjoy the dawn and it occurs to me that I should call the
Tallahassee Days Inn and have somebody thank all the jerks that forced me into
getting up so damned early that I am here to enjoy this sight. I mean,
silver linings, right?
Janet does not understand this philosophical outlook despite the fact that I
explain it in considerable detail.
We continue our run along the coast... Apalachacola, St. Joe, Port St. Joe,
Mexico Beach, Tyndall AFB. Nice towns in nice country but as the sun rises,
the sweltering heat and humidity returns. As we leave Tyndall AFB oncoming
cars suddenly all seem to have their lights on and I tell Janet to get ready
as we are likely in for it.
I see the bonnet pop open and pull off the roadway to hop out and reclose it
with considerable authority.
The rain starts lightly enough, little more than a heavy mist really. The
little windshield wipers busily slap the droplets away and I drop down to 50
mph to run on with the windows down. I note a drop of water on my sandal clad
right foot. Then a drop on my equally sandaled left foot. It seems
refreshing to me. Janet gets a drop on her foot, too, and she is not the
least bit refreshed.
Suddenly the skies open up and visibility drops to perhaps a hundred feet. I
keep my eye on the bass hauler in my rearview mirror as I drop my speed to 25
mph, then 15. Just ahead in the oncoming lane a Camaro slaps into a Toyota's
backside... The line of traffic behind them pulls into my lane as I drop down
to a crawl and get my right two wheels on the grassy right shoulder.
We get around all the action safely and visibility improves as the rain eases
a bit. I am back up to about thirty when the Alpine begins to float merrily
along. Even floating on a cushion of water under those damned Bridgestones
the car stays straight while I curse and Janet makes little gasping noises.
I, of course, get off the accelerator but the car does not slow. It feels
exactly like encountering glare ice while having the cruise control set on
your car. Gradually, the Alpine does slow and soon we are back on the road
surface again, more than can be said for the several cars in the ditches.
Janet asks what the hell happened there and I explain that the Alpine's
tendency not to shut down the carbs when I get off the accelerator could be
something of a handicap on these roads. Weak return spring, probably.
Can I fix it? Sure.... I don't mention that I have already examined the
linkage and I'm damned if I can see a return spring, weak or otherwise, on
there.
The rain stays intermittently heavy and I drive very, very carefully so we
make it all the way through Fort Walton Beach before we do a reprise of the
'Pines on Ice dance. Again, there are several other cars off the roads and I
wonder if they do this often around here. With all the tailgating and tag
these people are playing you'd think they never saw rain before.
The carbs' refusal to close down is quite annoying, In order to avail myself
of any engine braking I must slip the clutch, blip the throttle, and re-engage
the clutch. Slow and clumsy.
The rain is often very, very heavy and we are forced to drive with the windows
all the way up, wiping the inside of the windscreen to clear the fog. With
the windows up it is very uncomfortable, hot, humid, close.
Another big difference between Tigger and the Alpine occurs to me: This trip
would be impossible in the Tiger because the heat rolling off the 260 would
literally kill me. I just can't imagine it...
On the other hand, Janet claims her pants are "wet to the knees." I give her
a cursory examination and point out that only her right pants leg is wet to
the knee. The left leg is scarcely wet to mid-calf. Always exaggerating,
that woman.
As for myself, every time I manage to accelerate, at least a cup of water
comes gushing down on my left foot. Whereinell is that coming from?
At least it isn't raining when we pull onto the long causeway and bridge that
enters Pensacola from the south and I see the bonnet pop open yet again. I
have to drop down to about 30 to drive on across because the wind is coming
from all directions. I finally get to a place where I can safely stop to
reclose the bonnet, this time with authority and, perhaps, a little venom.
It is exactly noon when we pull into our motel to stop for the day. Yes, it
is another Days Inn. We have covered 273 miles in 6 hours... about 45.5 mph
average including food, fuel, and pit stops. We've now put a total of 549
miles on the Alpine.
After unloading we head up to Wally World to get a few necessaries and it
occurs to me that I have been in a Wally World every day since buying this
Alpine, more Wally Worlds than I have in the last 3 or 4 years. I buy some WD
40 for the hood latch. I buy some carb cleaner for the linkage. I buy a fire
extinguisher for.... well, ya just never know, do ya?
Cheers!
--Colin Cobb, Smilin' and Scratchin' Philosophically Outside Pensacola
PS: BlueGolfer your edress is no good!
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