[JONAT-chat] Oregon Sector - Chapter 1 - no pictures included.

[jonat-chat@autox.team.net]

My 2004 Oregon JONAT Experience - Chapter One
By Christina Lilienthal

May 13, 2004:  I awakened with anticipation, thinking bthis is the day!b
I
had pre-arranged with the Oregon Sector Coordinator Bill Smith to bjoin
upb
with the Jaguar Owners North American Tour at Port Orford on the southern
Oregon Coast and was only 166 miles from my destination.  I looked out the
window,
the sky was clear and the sun was rising. (photo: Port of Port Orford)

I had taken my car into the shop the week previous to have the transmission
flushed and other minor repairs to prepare it for the distance, and all was
packed and ready to go.  This was going to be fun!

Everything was fine, I was cruising along smoothly in my shining, original,
chocolate brown 1978 XJV12L Jaguar listening to Anne Murray on the eight-track
-- through Idleyld Park, Glide, Roseburg and Winston. (photo: my car -- with
license plate VLAAR for Volcanic Legacy All-American Road)

About 33 miles west of Roseburg on the windy, backcountry, 2-lane Highway 42,
I approached Bear Creek Campground, a site managed by the Bureau of Land
Management in the Coast Range.  I noticed a little hesitation in the
acceleration
or advancement of the transmission and thought I would pull in, use the
restroom facilities, and check it out.  I was just slowing to pull off at the
intersection when the car died and the steering wheel froze up b but I was
able to
maneuver it to the side of the intersection and out of the lanes of traffic.

First thing was to check all the oil levels.  I had learned about that b
gawd-awful twist your hand around and dig deepb cap you had to take off to
check
the steering fluid and I put a cloth around my hand so I wouldnbt get burnt,
to
check that first, because I didnbt realize the car had diedb&I thought I
had
just lost my steering.  It was hard to tell how full it was, so to make sure,
I
filled it up with the long funnel my mechanic had taught me to useb&and, of
course, filled it to overflowing.  But at least it was full and I thought that
would do it.  So I went to start it up and it turned over but wouldnbt stay
running.  I tried several times.  No luck.  The other oils were all good and I
looked to see if there was anything else evident under the hood b but my
mechanical ability is about the size of a pea, so that didnbt take long.

About that time a little VW drove up from the campground on the river.  An
elderly couple got out and came over.  The elderly gentleman, looking worried,
was a retired tugboat captain.  His wife said he could fix anything, and he
looked like he could.  He peered under the hood for a very long time.  I tried
starting it a few more times and even pressed the accelerator, thinking
something was stuck in the fuel line, but only succeeded in flooding it.
Considerately, they said they would stay with me until a solution could be
found b they
were concerned about my safety.  The cell phone couldnbt get service in that
location because of all the hills, so I walked up onto the road a ways to call
my
mechanic.  Perhaps he could tell me what I should do.  After several dropped
calls, in between the whooshes of log trucks driving by, I made connection and
a couple more dropped calls gave me enough information to check out a few
more possibilities.  Nothing worked.  So I hiked up and connected with the
Sports
Car Shop long enough to see if he would call AAA for me and contact Bill
Smith about the situation b since my communications were marginal.  He did
b and
he told me that if I could get the car to the shop (about 120 miles away) b
he
would put me in a car, an S-Type, to finish the tour.

That was a little fresh oxygen in a stifling environment.  Of course, I had
no idea what an S-Type wasbjust the idea of having a car, was enough for me.
So I thought about that for the next two hours while waiting for the tow truck
and being hauled to Winston.  I felt such disappointment.  This was the first
time my car had not worked in all the time I owned it b and I had taken it
on
long trips to Mt. Shasta, CA and Vancouver, WA -- why did it choose this
time!?  I was in the process of reading a book called bThe Purpose-Driven
Lifeb
and I figured that maybe my character was being put through another heat
application b kind of like tempering steel.  I could feel my body trembling
just a
bit from the stress.  My choices were clear.  I considered whether to just
have
my car hauled home and cut my losses, have the car hauled to the shop in
Eugene and just go home and forget the tour, or travel up to Eugene on
Interstate 5
in the tow truck with my car and take Bob Macherione up on his offer to loan
me one for the rest of the trip.  From Eugene I could still circle back to the
coast and join the Tour for dinner in Newport.  It was settled.

The drive to Eugene was hot, jolting and noisy.  I felt sorry for the tow
truck driver as his air conditioning didnbt work and the noise of the truck
was
so loud you couldnbt talk.  The seats were far from comfortable and I could
see
him hunched over the steering wheel as his back was killing him and his eyes
were tired from the long hours of emergency calls.  But he was in good humor
and smiling as he looked forward to the next seven days with his family -- his
first vacation in three years.  As we blew along the freeway perched high in
the truck, I saw landscapes I had never seen before b previously hidden from
view to those driving a low-profile vehicle.

With the car unloaded at the shop, Bob and his main assistant came over to
work on the car like medical personnel in an emergency room.  They rolled over
machines and hooked up wires like reviving a heart patient, blew oxygen both
directions into components and tried, to no avail, to get that heart beating
again. It looked like it was a deeper problem than the obvious.  So Bob asked
his
lovely wife, Brenda, to pull up the car he was giving me to drive.  I was
stunned into silence as she pulled up their personal daily driver, a
magnificent
light blue 2000 S-Type.  My gosh!  What was happening here!  I felt
overwhelmed with their generosity and their trust.  Brenda took me through the
procedures of where all the controls were and how everything worked. What a
gorgeous
car.  And we were both the same height, so no adjustments needed to be made to
the driver parameters as everything moved into position for my height, as
programmed.

Bob and Brenda sent me on the road with directions on how to head west.  Now
I know how it may have felt being part of the pony expressb&except the
package
I was trying to deliver was simply myself in a jaguar.

It felt like a long drive to Highway 101 over another one of our windy
Westside Oregon roads.  My energy level was wearing down.  I was having no
luck
getting through with my cell phone, despite the coverage I was bsupposedb
to have
with US Cellular, so the back up plan was to rendezvous in Newport over
dinner.  As luck would have it, I fueled up at the same service station in
Florence
where Bill Smith had pulled in an hour previously in his bsweepb vehicle.
The attendant told me about him when he saw I was driving a jaguar because
Bill
had mentioned that he was with the Jaguar tour.  So now I was driving
bsweepb
 b the last car in the line-up, but feeling relieved to know they were ahead
of me.

Driving along the Oregon Coast is always so beautiful.  It was getting late,
and as I sped along, I could see the clouds moving in and it occurred to me
that it might rain.  Too bad.  Thatbs always a killer for pictures.  At the
first gorgeous promontory, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, I parked the car in
a
position where I could get a couple nice shots, before the light was gone, of
the 2000 S-Type with the expanse of the ocean in the background b I wanted
to
have something to give to the Macherionebs for their gracious support.
(photos:
2000 S-Type Jaguar loaned by the Sports Car Shop)

Then I continued up the Coast passed the Sea Lion Caves, Cape Perpetua,
through lovely, rugged, coastline scenery that is so very captivating. I
crossed
beautiful architectural masterpieces built to span the rivers and streams in
the
last century along Highway 101.  Oregon bridges are truly works of art.
Finally I crossed the last arching bridge to Newport and wound my way through
the
darkness down the old town street to Canyon Way Restaurant.  I could see a
significant number of Jaguars parked side by side in the parking lot by the
light
of the street lamps, and breathed a sigh of relief.  What a beautiful sight.

By that time I was so exhausted that it was all I could do to back the car
into position, reach for my purse and digital camera and climb out.  Somehow,
my
thumb must have flipped open the hatch to the batteries on my camera when I
moved.  The batteries fell out and rolled under the car.  I couldnbt reach
them
b they were smack dab in the middle under the car.  At that point the little
gremlin that was sitting in the back seat of my car since the day started
almost lost his life.  But instead, I took a deep breath, climbed back in,
moved
the car, got out, picked up the batteries and parked it again.  Now--to find
the front door.

When I walked into the dining room, it was about 8:30 PM.  I saw Jay the
Jaguar sitting at the head of the table, first thing, and happy people sitting
around the full length, visiting.  Everybody clapped.  I had met Bill and
LaVerne
Smith, previously, since we were members of the Jaguar Owners Club of Oregon.
 I sat next to the Smithbs and ordered a seafood dinner and some stout
coffee.  (photo: Bill and LaVerne Smith with our mascot, Jay)

We exchanged stories about everyonebs adventures and had some good laughs.
I
met everyone and could hear the bforeignb accent of our international
sector
coordinator, Fazal Cader, at the far end of the table.  Plans were made for
the morning, and I took a few photos before we all retired for the night to
our
respective motels.  It felt good to have finally bjoined upb with the
bunch.

To be continuedb&b&b&

Christina Lilienthal
Oregon ASC
1978 XJV12L
JOCO