Trip Report: Wisconsin to California and back in a 40hp Beetle

[supercub]

I have lots of pictures to share, just not from the first day due to a lot of rain, so bear with me as this first entry will be text only. I assure you there will be plenty of photos to come. Enjoy.

I'll start with a little back story as to the purpose of this trip. My good friend Nick from college called me up sometime in March saying he was getting married in September and wondered if I would be interested in coming to California to be in the wedding. I had not been there and seen him since I drove my 1966 Beetle out in July of 2013. I told him I would be happy to come for his wedding and decided to take the VW for another cross country adventure. Last time I drove the car to California I was living in Texas but now I reside west of Milwaukee, Wisconsin so a new route would have to be taken. About 2 weeks before departure I bought a suit to wear and "fixed" a leaking passenger axle seal. The day before, I changed the VW's oil, adjusted the valves, made sure I had all my spare parts and the necessary tools to replace them, packed up my stuff, and was ready to head west.

9-9-19

I woke up at around 5:00 AM, excited and a bit nervous, as would be expected when staring down a 4500 mile trip across the western United States in a 53 year old Volkswagen. My trip would take me across Southern Wisconsin, the heart of Iowa, the Sandhills of north central Nebraska, through Medicine Bow National forest in Wyoming, over the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, and through vast mountainous deserts of Utah and Nevada, before traversing the Sierra Nevada and ending at Foresthill, California in the western Sierra foothills.

I fired up the Beetle's little 40hp engine and headed off into a gloomy drizzle with the temperature in the upper 50's. Rain would be the theme of much of the first day and consequently I didn't take any pictures. I was admiring the blooming goldenrod framing rolling cornfields along the road and must have missed a turn to stay on State Highway 59. I bumbled around for a little while, knowing the general direction I needed to head, and soon reconnected with my route when I found County M in Milton, WI.

I suppose at this point I should explain that I do not use a GPS, just typed directions and a well-worn 2014 Rand-McNally Road Atlas. People are always baffled when I tell them I travel the country using a map, but ever since my first solo road trip driving a 1980 Datsun 210 from Texas to Michigan, that's just the way I have always done it. In all my trips I have never been hopelessly lost, though there have been some instances where I have had to resort to a few lucky guesses to get where I was trying to go.

The last couple trips I have taken, about 1-2 hours in, a creeping anxiety to turn around and just go home has plagued my consiousness. This time is no different, but I turn on my little portable stereo and sing along to the music to divert my attention and after an hour or so I feel pretty good. The ripening fields of corn and soy, red barned dairy farms, low wooded hills, and small towns pass by as the VW hums along Wisconsin State Highway 11. Suddenly, I am heading down a long hill as the highway cuts through the sandstone and dolomite bluffs that border the Mississippi River valley in this area. In my opinion, the Mississippi River valley is one of the prettiest places in the upper midwest. I have spent a decent amount of time hiking in the bluffs above the river on both the Wisconsin and Iowa sides, and the views are spectacular.

The light mist transitions into a steady rain when Highway 11 joins the heavier traffic on US-61 as I make my way out of the bluffs and across the river. On the bridge over the Mississippi I can see fall approaching in the fading green of the tree-covered bluffs. Some bottomland maples on the islands have already begun to show a splash of yellow or orange here and there. The rain obscures the sweeping look at the river which is usually visible from the bridge and soon I enter Dubuque, Iowa. There are many huge old red brick buildings which line the highway along the river. I have never been to Dubuque, just through it, but those buildings are always a striking sight as they contrast the dingy grey concrete in front of them and green hills behind them.

The highway then starts the long climb up the bluffs on the Iowa side and I floor the accelerator as the VW trudges up while gradually slowing to the crest of the hill. This is the first of numerous steep ascents that will test the little car's meager 40hp 1200 engine in the days and states to come. I am now on US-151, a very interstate-like four lane divided highway that I follow along it's southwesterly path from Dubuque to Cedar Rapids across the heart of the Corn Belt. Since moving to the midwest and falling in love with the few bits of remaining tallgrass prairie, I am always on the lookout for native plants along the roadsides and 151 doesn't dissapoint. There are numerous sections of right-of-way covered in indian grass and big bluestem, with switchgrass making an appearance here and there as well. A few small oak savannas remain on hillier sections behind the highway fence, now maintained by cattle grazing instead of the fires of the past.

I merge onto US-30 on the outskirts of Cedar Rapids and bypass the city. In Iowa, US-30 is largely constructed along the path of the Lincoln Highway, a famous early transcontinental route across the country. The state has done a good job of signing where current highway deviates from the old road and by following the signs, you can travel on parts of the original route. On another trip I rambled along several fun old sections which were never paved. This time I followed a bypassed section which went through Marshaltown, IA before becoming a quiet county road paralling 30 for a few miles before rejoining it. A large 2-lane section of 30 though these parts is currently being widened to 4-lane divided. The project is largely in the dirt moving stage as I go through, and proves interesting to see the massive amount of work that goes into prepairing the land before the concrete is ever poured.

I leave US-30 in Denison, Iowa for State Highway 141 which leads me to County Road E34, a pretty little road through a very rolling landscape, which is the edge of the Loess Hills. The Loess hills are the result of strong western winds blowing drifts of fine outwash deposits left behind after the region's last glaciation. Eventually they stabilized with grass and trees to create a variety of thin ridges. The hills are a small preview of the massive and similarly formed Sandhill region of Nebraska yet to come. I enter Nebraska on a really neat old bridge at the end of Iowa Highway 175. Old bridges fascinate me, and this steel decked truss bridge was a real treat. The VW's tires make a resonant humming on the metal grating as I cross over the Missouri river to the town of Decatur, NE.

The rain stopped a while ago and now the sky is starting to clear into a hazy partly-cloudy afternoon. However the wind is also now picking up from the west. That doesn't bode well for an underpowered car trying to go west. I fight full-throttle into the strong headwind along a 65mph 2-lane road to little avail. The VW can barely hold 55mph in these conditions and everyone, including a school bus, passes me while my speed yo-yo's with the rolls in the terrain. Mercifully the landscape flattens, but the wind just gets stronger as Nebraska continues its valiant attempt to thwart my westward progress. In the end though the VW and I claim victory as we reach our stopping point for the day in Norfolk, Nebraska, roughly 500 miles from where we started. I am excited for tomorrow because I will be traveling through one of my favorite places in the country.

[Shanghai Paddles]

Sounds like the beginning of an awesome trip! I like your story telling; very descriptive. Last summer I'd planned to drive my '67 from Minneapolis to Salt Lake City going through South Dakota and Wyoming, but health issues prevented me from going. I'm still trying to make that trip happen, and your story is more inspiration. Can't wait for more and some pics!
_________________
1967 Beetle, 1915cc. ~Daily driver~
2004 Passat, 1.8t APR stage 2. ~Race car~
2004 Jetta TDI Wagon, Malone stage 2. ~Axle snapper/dog carrier~
2002 Audi S6 Avant ~When you need groceries fast~
2002 Audi S6 Avant, Manual Swap ~When you need groceries fast, but want to have fun~
2005 Audi A4, 2.0t APR Stage 1 ~Cause I needed another car...~

[supercub]

Thank you. I am glad you like it. Get yourself healthy and then go for it. There is nothing quite like the experience, good times and bad, of driving an old VW cross country.

[supercub]

9-10-19

The temperature is in the upper 60's when I leave Norfolk, Nebraska at around 6:00 AM. The lingering humidity from the previous day's rain results in a thick fog as the sun starts to rise. The fog is so bad in places that I can only see four lines ahead on the roadway, and beyond the highway fence the landscape is swallowed up in a dim shroud. Occasionally, I can make out the dark silhouette of a lone tree cutting through the murkiness. As the VW and I press on through the fog, the windshield starts to cloud up with mist, so I turn on the wipers. That action proves to be a mistake, for when the mist on the window mixes with the caked on bug splatters, running the wipers only results in smearing that glop into an opaque mess of ick that inhibits all forward vision. Blinded, I pull off onto the shoulder and wipe down the windshield and the wiper rubber with a paper towel and vision is restored. I nearly miss the turn for State Highway 91 when the road too suddenly appears out of the impenetrable grey.

Finally the fog starts thinning out and soon I find myself on a high (for eastern Nebraska) hill overlooking the town of Burwell. There is a bright band growing on the horizon as the VW buzzes westward along 91 and in another half hour I am exiting the early morning's dreariness into the brilliant sunshine. The terrain is changing from generally flat to a series of small undulating hills and the nearly unbroken corn-scape has given way to grassy pastures as the VW whisks me into the Nebraska Sandhills. I notice an abundance of little bluestem grass in this sandy, rippling landscape. The Sandhills, like the Loess Hills of Iowa, are grass stabilized windblown sand dunes. But unlike the Iowa hills, the Sandhills cover a huge amount of territory, which includes most of north central Nebraska. The area is a vast rolling sea of grass, providing as close to the pre-settlement look of the Great Plains as you will likely find. I stumbled upon the Sandhill region in 2015 when I noticed Nebraska Highway 2 on the map; a thin red line cutting through a conspicuously white spot on the page. That blank space looked interesting, so I took highway 2 on a whim, and it turned out to be one of the best decisions I made on the trip. The wide open space of windblown grass shimmering along an endless multitude of hilltops stretching unbroken to the horizon in all directions is mesmerizing.

As I am nearing Alliance Nebraska, dark clouds begin to gather and rain looks immanent. I turn south on US-385 on the western end of town. US-26 then takes the VW and I to Scottsbluff, where the sun peeks out of a few breaks in the clouds to illuminate a portion of Scottsbluff National Monument in the distance. Scottsbluff the bluff is a really neat place that you can hike or drive to the top of for a commanding view of the entire area. It is one of many such sandy buttes that jut out of the flatness in the western end of the state. I turn the VW south onto highway 71 which routes us across one of the buttes. I then turn onto State Road 88, heading to the Wyoming border for the first time in 10 years.

In Wyoming, I turn onto US-85, on which I shortly have an epiphany. Through no fault of its own this little VW is just too damn slow! A combination of the increasing elevation, which I would estimate at around 5500 or so feet, the ceaseless western gale, and the sub-marginal power of the car's poor little engine provide a harrowing experience. US-85 in this spot is two lanes and 70mph, running southwest about 35 miles to Cheyenne and today it seems like every semi in Wyoming is headed there on this one road. I mash the pedal to the floor as the speedometer struggles to stick at 50mph while a never ending line of heavy trucks grows increasingly larger in the rearview mirror. My eyes constantly scan the roadside for an out as the trucks close in one after another. I pull off into turn lanes, side streets, even the shoulder if there is no other option to let them pass. When added to the incessant wind, any rise in the road requires a quick downshift into 3rd gear as the engine strains to hold the car at 40mph. Highway 85 is nearly suicidal in the VW. I made up my mind along this stretch of road that this will probably be my last trip out west in the little VW. The car just isn't fit for modern traffic.

With relief I pass the Reduced Speed Ahead sign on the edge of Cheyenne. My directions take me through the center of downtown right past the state capital building. Or maybe they don't or shouldn't have because before long I am at the other end of the city still going south, never having seen the road which is to carry me westward to Laramie. I turn around and go on some random road that looks substantial enough to cross State Highway 210 that I am supposed to be on. After a little guesswork I stumble upon 210 which, come to find, is signed in the city limits as Happy Jack Road. Glad to be back on track, I roar (as best as my VW could roar) out of town toward Laramie.

Utah Highway 210 sort of parallels the heavily travelled I-80, but it scenically winds up down and around through a beautiful section of Medicine Bow National Forest. The sky is a mixture of clear blue and gathering rainclouds in various shades and shapes. The change from Central to Mountain time somewhere back in Nebraska has left me with some spare time to kill so I turn down a dirt forest road and follow it up a hill. I get out and wander to a nice sitting rock where I rest for a while just taking in the scene. There is a small pine covered mountain in the distance and stretching up to its base is a golden grassland stippled with black cows. The gale force wind of the earlier afternoon has diminished to a cool, refreshing breeze that comes and goes as I look out over the land. The sound of woodpeckers hammering nearby trees and the rustling of the wind through the grass is only occasionally broken by the whooshing of a car passing below me on the roadway. After a half hour of relaxing, I take a few pictures an continue on my way to Laramie.

Highway 210 ends with a merge onto I-80 several miles outside of Laramie so I have no choice but to join the masses and together we head toward the city. I exit off the interstate and follow some surface streets to get through town. About two blocks before the road I need to get to, a Road Closed sign looms ahead. Fortunately there is a well-marked detour which I follow before ending another 500 mile day on the west side of Laramie Wyoming.

First picture of the trip. On a hill overlooking Burwell, Nebraska.

A ranch road in the Nebraska Sandhills.

Same road but at the bottom now.

North Loup River, Nebraska

North Loup River, Nebraska

Sandhills, Nebraska

One of the many marshes in the Sandhill region. Almost every low spot in the area had water due to the large amount of rain this year. Ducks abounded in nearly all of the ponds and marshes I saw.

One of the many buttes and bluffs in western Nebraska.

The VW in Medicine Bow National Forest, Wyoming.

The spot where I sat and relaxed for a while in the national forest.

[supercub]

9-11-19

I wake up and do the usual morning routine of checking the VW's oil level before giving the gas pedal one good stab to set the choke and firing the engine up for another day of inching my way westward on the map. It is still dark and chilly, only in the upper 40's, as I drive southwest out of Laramie, Wyoming on State Highway 230. Ahead of me the line of pavement stretches on arrow-straight to the distant mountains. The little car feels unexpectedly sluggish for such a level road but come to find out Laramie's elevation is 7000 feet. That would explain why I felt winded after several trips up and down the hotel stairs last night as well as why my VW is struggling to breathe now.

Eventually the distant mountains are on both sides of me as the incline of the roadway grows and full-throttle power becomes necessary to preserve forward motion. I can always tell when my ears need to pop as the elevation is changing based on the sound of the car's engine. When the metallic ticking of the valves begins to overpower the drone of the exhaust it's time for a forced yawn and suddenly the volumes of the mechanical sounds eminating from behind me are back in their proper proportions. I enter another section of Medicine Bow National Forest as I approach the end of the climb and up here the temperature is downright cold, probably the upper 30's with the west wind just beginning to blow up. Aircooled VW's have long been notorious for crummy heaters but my Beetle has no heat at all. I had patched over the heater connections while welding up rotted sections of the channels when I repaired the rust on the car nearly a decade ago. I lived in Texas while rebuilding the car figured I would never really need the heater anyway. Little did I know three years later I would be living in the north with real winter. For now my lined flannel shirt will have to suffice for warmth.

The VW and I whiz down out of the national forest and across the Colorado border. There are some dark clouds to the southeast but I'm crusing in the sunshine under a cobalt blue sky. I often find myself looking up at the sky wherever I am and can never get enough of just how blue it is out west. Where I live in Wisconsin, the high humidity results in a muted haze for much of the spring, summer, and fall. Winter is the main time when the humidity reliably drops and the air clears to reveal that deep hue. When we're not socked in under stubborn low clouds for a week straight that is! I take Colorado Highway 125 south to it's junction with Highway 14 where I turn the VW right and continue on 14. The road starts rising as we begin closing in on Rabbit Ears Pass (9429 feet), the highest pass the car will have to summit on this trip. Back in 2013, the VW and I slogged our way up the over 11,000 foot Monarch Pass on US-50, and I am thankful to subtract almost 2000 feet of elevation this time. I turn right on US-40, push the accelerator to the floor, and the engine's 1200cc's strain all they can to push us to the top.

The engine surely lets out a sigh of relief as the road crests and transitions into a steep and winding ride down. Looking out the drivers side window, the valley stretches out nearly 3000 feet below and the view is simply amazing. There is a lake down below that relfects the crystal blue sky and is surrounded by every shade of green. As enjoyable as the scenery and zipping down the twisty road is, a not so enjoyable thought creeps into my mind, "coming back I'll have to go UP this. Shit!" US-40 takes us into Steamboat Springs, obviously a very touristy type of ski town. I stop at a gas station and fill up the tank. Knowing how hard I worked the engine driving over the pass, I check the oil level and as I expect, it's about a quarter of a quart low. This small amount may not bother most people, but I have always obsessed about the oil level in my cars, and they have to be full to the line. I top off the oil and go into the store to buy a Dr.Pepper before I begin working my way through and out of Steamboat Springs.

I don't remember many details for the rest of Colorado except for a lot of full-throttle climbing and the wild temperature variations. It is sunny and hot, then I drive into a pop-up downpour and get chilly, and then back into the heat several times in succession. The window cranks get a workout during much of the late morning and early afternoon. The road takes me along the edge of Dinosaur National Monument, and Colorado transitions into Utah while the rain ends and the skies clear again. I stop around here to take some pictures of this interesting area. The layers of bedrock that make up the hills in this area have been tilted at a variety of severe dissimilar angles, and are all types of colors, from light grey to deep reddish brown.

I continue on US-40 west to Duchesne, where I am supposed to leave on US-191 south. I can't be sure that I didn't just miss it, but I'm going to rush to judgement and say that the turn for 191 was not marked. Or maybe some local prankster wanted to screw with the myriads of rental RV driving tourists that inundate his town and ripped it down. According to my map, 191 is the only major route going south out of Duchesne, so I go up and down an east-west side street at the south end of town and turn on the road that looks like the right one. I was fairly confident in my decision but still didn't see any signs, US-191 or otherwise. It takes several second-guess filled miles before I finally pass a welcome black and white shield proclaiming that this stretch of asphalt is indeed Highway 191.

Once out of Duchesne, US-191 heads up a narrow steep-sided valley which was one of my favorite, well visually anyway, stretches of the trip. I have to lean forward and peer up out of the windshield to see to the top of the hills that close in on the little two-lane road. The lay of this valley is oriented in such a way that to the eye all evidence of rising upward is negated. I can only sense the gain in altitude by the pressure in my ears and the engine's seemingly unexplained strain to propel the VW onward. The car gets slower and slower as I shift down to third gear to maintain speed. I did not realize that the VW and I were in for another nine-thousand-plus foot pass, but sure enough here we are at 9200 feet where I pull into the turn-out at the top to take a few pictures and give the car a short break. I start the engine back up and begin the descent down the other end. There are lots of tight turns where a few cars blast past me over the double yellow. I wasn't going that slow but out west, it seems people only travel down mountain passes at breakneck speed.

I turn right onto Emma Park Road, a small rather beat-up stretch of road that serves as a shortcut between US-191 and US-6. The VW bumps its way around the eroding edges of the asphalt strip that runs through a sloping rangeland of yellow grass and small juniper-like bushes. After some bouncy miles the road cuts sharply left, crosses a narrow bridge, and ends abruptly at a steep and busy uphill segment of US-6. Not ideal conditions to merge into with this car. Seeing an approaching break in the traffic I rev the engine, my left foot ready to let out the clutch. As the last car blows past I lift off the clutch pedal and stomp on the accelerator. First gear is used up so I push in the clutch, yank the shifter into second, and gun it again while watching the cars grow larger in the rearview mirror. By third gear the engine's power is pretty much tapped out so I hold it at 40mph and turn on the flashers. I pull onto the shoulder several times to let tailgaters pass.

At the top of Soldier Pass the threatening looking sky finally lets loose with a full-on deluge. The VW's little 11" wipers just cant wipe fast enough to see so I have no choice but to slow down, which the people following behind do not appreciate as they fly around me in the downpour. The whole way down the pass into Spanish Fork is pretty much the same. At the bottom the rain stops and the sun peaks out and illuminates the mountains behind me. The mountains look absolutely beautiful in the golden early evening light against the black sky to the east. I wish I would have stopped to take some pictures but I am burnt out after the stressful ride down them. US-6 joins I-15 here and I am in no mood to tackle that situation right now so I take a State Road that runs just east of I-15 and in the same direction. I rejoin 6 when it exits I-15 in Payson and continue on toward Delta. To the west is a clear sunny sky, but to the east, a strong storm cell rages in the mountains. The upper level winds have whipped the clouds into smooth round lumps that I always refer to as marshmallow clouds, generally a sign of a bad storm. I skirt the edge of this storm in the dry all the way to Delta where I stop for the night after yet another 500 mile day. Even though the VW has performed flawlessly thus far, I am a little nervous for tomorrow when I will be joining US-50 to head into one of the blankest spots on the U.S. map.

The mountains west of Laramie, Wyoming.

VW in Medicine Bow National Forest, Wyoming.

Colorado all green after the rain.

Near Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado. I wish I knew what these flowers are but I am unfamiliar with desert plants.

The VW near Dinosaur National Monument.

Another near the national monument.

Valley traversed by US-191 south of Duchesne, UT.

VW on US-191 for scale.

US-191, Utah.

Top of the pass on US-191.

[kpf]

Thank you, supercub, for sharing your cross country trips with us. Your posts are very inspirational!

When I read about your struggle to coexist with modern traffic, I felt like I was there driving the car myself. I’ve experienced enough of it to know the feeling. It’s disheartening to hear that you say it’s bad enough to call it quits (yet I believe you completely). Some of us have been dreaming of such a trip for years and have not yet had (taken) the time to do it. I suppose a Super Beetle should still have a few years left.
_________________
1971 Super Beetle

[Shanghai Paddles]

I love that part of Utah. Two years ago I did some camping in Goblin Valley and Moab. And I've been to Spanish Fork a few times. There's a great hot spring there. In fact, my brother (who lives in Utah) is camping in Spanish Fork this weekend. Loving the story and the pictures!
_________________
1967 Beetle, 1915cc. ~Daily driver~
2004 Passat, 1.8t APR stage 2. ~Race car~
2004 Jetta TDI Wagon, Malone stage 2. ~Axle snapper/dog carrier~
2002 Audi S6 Avant ~When you need groceries fast~
2002 Audi S6 Avant, Manual Swap ~When you need groceries fast, but want to have fun~
2005 Audi A4, 2.0t APR Stage 1 ~Cause I needed another car...~

[supercub]

[supercub]

[supercub]

9-12-19

I wake up really early today, before 5:00 AM, excited that I will be at my destination in California this evening, and a little nervous since the longest and most desolate day of travel is beginning. In my road atlas, US-50 bares the ominous sounding label "Loneliest Road" along the stretch from Ely to Fallon, Nevada. There are a couple sections of a hundred or so miles where there is nothing save for dry sagebrush, dust and sun. The only sign of human habitation in many places is the road on which you are travelling and the odd discarded can or shredded tire tread along its shoulder.

With some trepidation I point the VW west on US-50 and accelerate off into the pre-dawn blackness. In the rear view mirror, the lights of Delta and Hinckley, Utah shrink into an ever smaller twinkling mass, while ahead is an indeterminate vastness shrouded behind the cover of darkness. There is no moon out this morning and the impressive star display above me does little to illuminate the nothing stretching out in all directions. The VW's headlights cast a thin swath of dim yellow glow into the emptiness. Though slightly uneasy, I leave the radio off and remain content with the unwavering air-cooled drone behind me, strangely determined to savor this eeriness. Suddenly a jolt of movement in the road ahead startles me, and I swerve left into the other lane to avoid a rabbit.

Far ahead there is a tiny flickering light, looking almost like a distant campfire. The light disappears and reappears periodically as I continue in its general direction. For over a quarter of an hour this strange phenomenon continues unabated as I become more curious as to its source. On its next reappearance, I think I can just make out what looks to be two separate lights close together. Eventually there is a distinct pair of headlights coming toward me and soon a truck speeds past in the opposite direction. This nearly half-hour long apparition was nothing more than another vehicle traversing the same immense space as I am.

A dull silvery glow begins to grow along the eastern horizon, and I can just begin to make out the faint outlines of the distant mountains flanking the dead straight strip of pavement on which I travel. The roadway here has been freshly resurfaced, and as the light gradually increases, it cuts across the desert like a single ink line drawn on a massive sheet of grey paper. That line is now pointed at a rocky expanse of mountains where the VW and I are again climbing up, over and down. Now able to see the emptiness of the surrounding terrain, I find myself drawn to the little green mileage markers counting down the distance to Nevada, where I know from a previous trip there is a gas station right on the Utah/Nevada border. By about mile marker 20 my mind eases, as I am fairly confident I could reach the gas station on foot with my backpack and two gallon jugs of water should the VW's engine suddenly catastrophically explode.

But nothing happens as the VW pulls over the last hill and down into the valley where I can see the station ahead. There is a sign that states, "Services Ahead 12 Miles" or some similar distance. The visual compression of huge spaces is something that I have not become accustomed to out west. The gas station and the mountains beyond for that matter seem so close in the dry, clear air. But no matter how near that gas station looks, it still takes the full fifteen minutes it mathematically should have to reach it.

After another sixty or so miles I reach Ely, Nevada, the beginning of "The Loneliest Road in America." I have to take issue with that claim. This stretch is definitely remote for a US highway, and with a 109 mile gap between Austin and Fallon, it is no joke. But it is far from lonely, as there are plenty of RV's, semis, expedition style rigs, farm trucks, and regular cars which pass by frequently enough to question the title. I am sure the application of "Loneliest Road" has something to do with it, as the name draws people longing to get off the beaten path together onto this road for a not-so-lonely trek across this pretty but desolate area. It is a really fascinating stretch of the country in any case.

The VW and I continue westward with the usual struggles over pass after pass. I have heard that Nevada has the most mountain ranges of any state in the US and after half a day of long third gear pulls up and over the plenty of named summits on US-50, I am inclined to believe it. Relieved, I cross the half-way point between Austin and Fallon, and later stop in Fallon for gas and a late lunch consisting of a bag of Lays potato chips with a Dr.Pepper.

At the gas station in Fallon my credit card, which also didn't work in Austin, refuses to be accepted. In Austin, I chalked it up to the tiny little two-pump station I was filling up at where another customer was also having trouble with their card. Now though this was a huge travel plaza that should have working readers. I hesitate to use my debit card because I got scammed by a gas pump skimmer in Nebraska several years before. But I run it through the pump as a credit card and all is well, it goes through. Now nervous that my bank may think my cards are stolen and is in the process of cutting them off, I head to Walmart and buy two 98 cent jugs of water with $100 cash back on each. This futile gesture somehow placates my anxious mind even though I know darn well that the cash I have on me wouldn't even cover gas back to Wisconsin.

I continue on to Carson City, NV where it is peak rush hour. After traveling this country's highway system a number of times to a variety of places, I have come to the conclusion that it was designed to always plop you down in the middle of a large city at rush hour no matter where you go. I still remember being stuck on I-20 in Atlanta, Georgia; eight lanes wide but reduced to a parking lot with no end in sight.

Once out of Carson City, I leave US-50 for State Highway 88 which crosses into California and runs south along the base of the Sierra Nevada. The Sierra is striking to me because of the abrupt transition in the landscape. This range is nearly solid grey rock covered in dark evergreens, while looking to the east, the tan dusty mountain ranges stretch back for two states. The road rises into the mountains and the VW grinds its way slowly up. I turn right onto State Road 89 toward Luther Pass. Along this road, I stop to relax and take a few photos at a large turn-out on the way down. The air is clear, cool and dry, with just a light breeze; perfect. Below, tall pine trees frame a gold grassy meadow scattered with grey rocks and boulders of various sizes, while all around, cliffs and tree lined slopes surround me.

Highway 89 rejoins US-50 which I follow, thrown in with the craziness that is California driving. I always thought Californians are supposed to be all laid-back and chilled-out but driving here is sheer insanity. Obviously the VW doesn't have a prayer on the up-hills, but even going down the winding sections at almost 10 over, I'm being passed by freaking contractor vans with loaded down ladder racks. In Placerville, I take Highway 49 which is a really fun twisty road going up, down, and around toward the American River.

I stop in the town of Cool to get gas and have difficulty with the pump gun. The VW has a roughly 2-3" diameter filler tube in the gas tank and I normally only put the very end of the nozzle in so I can watch the fuel fill up. I don't want to fill too far because the little rubber sock on top of the fuel gauge sending unit doesn't seal the best and the interior smells of gasoline for the next couple hours if its too full. So I stand there pulling the pump trigger over and over looking stupid while nothing happens. The end of the nozzle has this big rubber accordion looking boot on it and suddenly it hits me. I push the nozzle all the way in the tank to mash that boot and the fuel starts flowing. I lift the pump gun back up and hold the rubber boot up with my left hand so I can see how full the tank is getting like normal. Ahh, California!

Highway 49 twists down to where it crosses the American River after which I turn right on Old Foresthill Road and twist back up the other side of the river valley. The sun is getting low on the horizon as I enter Foresthill, California after just over 600 miles of driving today. My friend Nick arrives in his hopped-up Porsche 914 about 15 minutes later. We have dinner and a beer at a place on the main street then head to the house they rented for the groomsmen, where we hang out for a while before I finally crash on the couch around midnight.

Early morning on US-50, Utah.

US-50, Nevada.

How it looks while driving a VW through the Nevada desert.

The VW in the Sierra Nevada, California.

Sierra Nevada, California.

Overlooking the American River from Old Foresthill Road, California.

The view from the wedding site. This was from when I walked out there in the early morning. The wedding was late afternoon so the sun was from the opposite angle and you could see all the way to the high Sierras in the distance.

[supercub]

Looking through some of my old pictures from my 2013 trip to CA in the bug I discovered an amusing near duplicate from Nevada taken six years and 50,000 miles apart. Some things may change but some just stay the same.

2013

2019

[supercub]

9-15-19

Well the wedding is over and after three nights of staying up way too late, two days of catching up with a couple of people I haven't seen for six years, and meeting a few new ones, it is time to say goodbye to California. It was good to see Nick again, and even though we hadn't been the best at keeping up with each other for quite a while, once there, it was like we had just hung out the day before. Even though I stayed up later than I had planned on the night before, I still wake up early for my longest day of driving. Now I will be losing an hour going back to Mountain Time. I also want to adjust the valves in the VW's engine before heading out, so I push the car under a street light to see better and get to work.

Valve adjustment finished, I fire up the engine and start off on the 2200 mile journey back to Wisconsin as the eastern sky is beginning to lighten. Feeling a somewhat more confident after a couple of days on the winding mountain roads, I push the VW a little harder than before while navigating the twists. The car heaves to one side and then the other as the weight transfers through the corners. The 4" tire contact patches and Sharpie marker-thin sway bar get a workout while the VW and I zip our way through the mountains between Foresthill and Placerville. I also want to change to oil before leaving California and in Placerville, I find an out of the way spot to do so.

Across from a gas station is a realty office with some bushes obscuring the view of the last few parking spots, and being early Sunday morning, nobody is there. I pull into the last spot and get out my tools, funnel, and the three quarts of new oil I have brought along under the rear seat. I cut the top off of one of my used gallon water jugs, slide it under the engine and pull the drain plug. Done draining, I reinstall the plug, pour in the 2.75 quarts of oil to refill it, and add the remainder of the last quart to my top-off oil bottle nestled with the spare tire in the trunk up front. Then I funnel the used oil into the now empty oil bottles, put them back under the seat to recycle at an auto parts store somewhere, and head across the street to the gas station to wash up and fill the fuel tank. This is the most expensive gas of the trip at $4.35 per gallon.

Feeling accomplished, I resume my easterly way into the bright morning sunrise. I cross the Sierra Nevada again into the flat plain that I follow into Utah and then to Carson City. It always seems that time during a return trip on the same route seems to progress faster. The anticipation is largely gone, things have been seen, and I have formed mental images of the landmarks to come ahead. I see something and remember, "oh yeah now I'm close to this town or that highway junction where I need to turn to get to there." The landscape is still largely new and fascinating, but the excitement of discovery is somewhat diminished when seeing it for the second time.

In Eureka, Nevada while checking the engine's oil level, I look under the car to discover an unpleasant situation. The right rear brake drum has a drip hanging from the bottom of it, being fed by a trail of gear lube coming out of the weep hole in the backing plate. The axle seal is leaking again. I have been trying to solve this problem for about a month now and thought I had it licked before leaving on the trip. Last year I was replacing the bearing on that axle, and in the process dropped the spacer that serves as the sealing surface for the seal in the bearing retainer plate. Naturally the spacer hit the ground in such a way to put a ding in the face right where the seal rides. I filed the high spot of the ding off, put it back together and forgot about it.

That is until in the process of installing new tires for this trip, I found the entire inside of the wheel was all grimy with a mixture of gear lube and a years worth of dirt. I pulled it back apart, filed every ding completely out of the face of the spacer, sanded and polished it, and reassembled the pieces with new seals, fairly confident that this time it would hold. And hold it seemed to do for the week leading up to this trip. But now here it is again, leaking. I know that in the process of removing the dings by filing, I created low spots in what was originally a perfectly round machined part. It was a gamble that was looking to pay off, but I ordered a new spacer just in case, which ironically arrived at the house in the afternoon of the day I left.

I am sure the now misshapen spacer is the culprit but out here, there is nothing I can do about it, save for picking up a bottle of gear lube and continuing to top off the transaxle. I wipe off what I can of the dripping gear lube so I can look under there again later on and try to gauge how fast it is losing fluid. I continue on, a little nervous not knowing how severe the leak really is or how much worse it may get, though it doesn't seem too serious for now.

Back on the road, I pass a green split window VW bus parked the at the top of Pancake Summit, and we wave to each other as I pass in the opposite direction. I look in the rearview mirror and the bus's hood is down so it looks like they are probably just resting or taking in the view from the top, and not suffering a mechanical breakdown. Normally I would have stopped to exchange stories or at least chat for a bit, but I'm in a slightly sour mood after finding the leaky axle with 2000 miles between me and home, so I am not up for socializing now.

I drive by a Napa in Ely, Nevada and am surprised to see an illuminated OPEN sign at 4:00 on a Sunday afternoon. I whip a U-turn and park, hoping that they really are open and someone didn't just forget to turn off the sign when leaving. Turns out they are open for another hour yet, and I am relieved to buy a quart of 80-90 gear lube for topping off the transaxle tomorrow morning. Before leaving the parking lot, I check the wheel, brake drum, and backing plate to find only a light oily film and a small seep from the weep hole. Excellent! It's not too bad. Man, what a relief! Spirits restored, I make my way out of Ely to cross the no-mans-land that stands between me and my stopping point in Delta, Utah.

Out in the desert, thick bands of clouds stretch across the sky, and the angle of the light from the early evening sun creates golden highlights along the edges of their dark masses in a marvelous overhead display. The temperature is perfect, just warm enough to drive with the side windows down and the vent and rear pop-out windows open for a breezy but not blustery ride. The ever present west wind, finally to my advantage for a change, has aided in propelling the pokey VW up and over the passes today with much improved performance. I stop to take some pictures of the amazing sky as the sun is starting to slip behind the distant hills. As the sun sets and the sky darkens, I put the camera away and finish off the last straight and level miles to Delta.

Nowhere, Nevada.

Overlooking Austin, Nevada from US-50

Evening in the Utah desert.

VW at sunset, Utah. I think this is my new favorite picture of the car.

West of Delta, Utah.

Last light in Utah.

[supercub]

9-16-19

I wake up at 5:00 AM this morning, ready to get outside to check the transaxle's fluid level after a week of leaking. The parking lot at the hotel slopes down toward the middle aisle from both sides, and to properly check the transaxle lube, the car needs to be sitting level. So I put the VW in neutral, release the parking brake, and it pretty much rolls itself into the middle of the parking lot. Having to do this check in the center of the parking lot drive through lane is a big part of the reason for my early waking.

I took out a flash light, the quart of gear lube, and the 17mm hex wrench before squeezing myself under the left rear fender and squirming myself up to the transaxle fill plug. I'm a tight fit underneath the VW, and if I were even slightly bigger, I couldn't have wriggled under here. I weasel my left arm past the wheel, around the exhaust, past the fuel line and clutch cable, and up to the left side of the transmission, where I poke around for the plug which from my angle of vision, I cannot see. Finally I find and remove the plug, and go through the same contortions, only this time with the bottle of gear lube. I squeezed the bottle and fairly quickly refill the trans, as fluid begins running out of the fill hole. I replace the plug, shimmy my way back out from under the car, and look at the clear line running the vertical length of the gear lube bottle to see how much this top-off has used. It has only required about a quarter of the bottle to refill the trans, which is quite a relief.

Now finished, I gather my things back into the car, check out of my room, and leave Delta, Utah for the second time in less than a week. I follow US-6 back northeast to Spanish fork, where I get gas at the base of the mountain pass the VW and I are preparing to summit. My good luck has run out as the wind is absolutely howling down the long pass I need to go up. Damn! I grudgingly point the VW into the bluster and we trudge our way up with the trucks in the slow lane. Mercifully the wind direction changes a few miles in and we are now pushed up the remainder of the climb by a welcome tailwind.

Once over the top, the clouds billowing over these tall mountains begin to thin as I make my way back along Emma Park Road. The sun pokes through the breaks here and there making for nice highlights and shadows upon the rolling foothills leading up to the tall peaks in the distance. I stop the VW in a gravel turnout to take some pictures of this sun-dappled scene. I continue my way on toward the 9000 foot pass awaiting us on US-191. Near the top, there has been a small rock slide and a flagger has the traffic at a halt while a bulldozer clears the roadway. I stop and wait, the VW's engine gasping to idle in the thin air. I decide to turn the struggling engine off while we are stuck here. After about fifteen minutes, the flagger gives us the all clear to resume our way up.

I turn the key and the VW sputters to life, but as I give it gas and begin to let out the clutch, the car refuses to go. It just coughs and wheezes in protest while staying put. I am the fourth car in line with about ten vehicles behind me, who I'm sure are just as eager to get going as I am. I try again to start moving with worse results, and on the third time the engine dies. The car has been sitting on an upward slope at high elevation for the past quarter hour which has flooded the carburetor. I quickly turn the key while pressing the accelerator, and the starter cranks for a bit before some weak popping and farting emits from the VW's exhaust. The engine coughs out a puff of black smoke before roughly revving up and finally smoothing out. Embarrassed, I throw the shifter into first, let out the clutch, and the car lurches its way forward. The flagger has obviously been amused by my pitiful car's predicament as there is a big grin on her face. I can't help but chuckle a little myself and I give her a wave as we push our way past. The ride down through the narrow high-walled valley back to Duchesne is just as pretty as before. Actually it's even a little better now because I am traveling downhill through it.

In Duchesne I stop to get gas and use the toilet. Walking down the narrow hall back into the store from the bathroom I bump shoulders with a fairly big guy going the other way. We hit hard, like hard enough that both of us are twisted from our paths. Being slightly disoriented from the elevation and the several hours of highway travel, I am not sure if I hit him or he hit me. Either way, I look at him and say I'm sorry. He just gives me a rough scowl and says nothing, continuing to the bathroom. I had planned to get a soda but decide I don't really want to cross paths with him again so I leave empty handed. Driving away from Duchesne, I have visions of that big guy flying up behind me while holding some strange grudge and forcing my helpless VW and I off the road into a rock or ditch in a diabolically calculated revenge. I spend several miles vigilantly watching my rearview mirror. Nothing happens.

Utah gives way to Colorado and by early afternoon I am making my ponderous way through the tourist-filled throng of a gorgeous late summer day in Steamboat Springs. Staring up through the open driver's side window at the deceivingly serene looking ridge of mountains getting closer on my left side, a twinge of anxiety begins to build. I know what horror lurks in those hills. This is what I have been dreading since that breezy carefree zip down several days before; the ominous slog back up Rabbit Ears pass on US-40. Three thousand vertical feet of continuous uphill torture awaits the VW's poor engine on the way to 9400 feet. This steep stretch of road is devoid of level or even shallow breaks for the motor to catch its breath. Adding insult to injury, it's also a heavily travelled section of highway, with a steady stream of much faster traffic working its way up. This is the stuff air-cooled VW nightmares are made of. Feeling sorry for what I was about to put the unsuspecting little car through, I stabbed the accelerator and set off up the pass.

The VW is giving everything it can to fight its way up the mountain. Third gear and pedal to the floor is only resulting in speed a tick under 40 mph. Slowly the speedometer sinks further to just above 35. As I meander around a left-hand corner, out of the passenger window a striking view of the valley below unfolds. There is a turnout and I whip the VW into it to get out and take a couple pictures. Remembering the carburetor mishap earlier today in Utah, I leave the engine running. After some pictures I hop back in the car to resume the climb to the top.

I immediately regret losing the little forward momentum we had by stopping the car when it strains to regain speed. It cannot even reach 30mph now so I leave the shifter in second at about two-thirds throttle, slow to just over 25mph, and the VW grinds it's way up. The whole way to the top, my ears are constantly focused on the engine sounds behind the rear seat. I listen carefully, ready for the sudden rapping of a rod letting loose or banging of pistons flying through the case while the engine roars along at a comically high rpm for the ponderous speed its producing. But in the end, the strength of forty horses prevails and we crest the summit of Rabbit Ears Pass.

There is a large parking area at the top which I take advantage of to let the overworked engine cool off for a while. I open the hood to allow the heat to dissipate better, and walk to the edge of the parking lot. The lot overlooks a boggy meadow with a small stream winding through it, surrounded by a practically equal number of dead and living pines. I sit on a rock at the edge of the slope down to the meadow and relax a while. However, the lack of even the slightest movement of air brings out a small horde of black flies, which waste no time buzzing into my ears and eyes the instant I stop moving. In short order they decide that I will make a tasty meal and begin to bite my legs. Frustrated, I go back and sit in the car for another few minutes. I am ready to leave these bloodthirsty flies behind, so I start up the engine and the VW happily begins its way down the other side of the mountain, no doubt thankful to have survived the last big pass.

A sympathetic wind is pushing at the VW's rear bumper, helping the car along the remainder of today's travels. Towards the end of Colorado, on State Highway 125, I pass another vehicle for the first and only time on the trip. Sure I passed several cross-country bicyclists and a few maxed-out semis on the long steep climbs, but the trucks eventually overtook me again later so I cannot truly count them. No, this is a legit pass and then slowly fade away into the distance situation. The fact that the other vehicle is an older overloaded Ford Explorer with a small boat lashed to the roof doesn't matter; the VW did it. This is such a momentous occasion that I even document "PASSED SOMEONE!" in my trip journal that night at the motel in Laramie, Wyoming.

Along Emma Park Road, Utah.

Another picture from a little further down the road.

VW along Emma Park Road, Utah.

View from the turnout going up Rabbit Ears Pass, Colorado.

VW relaxing at the top after surviving Rabbit Ears Pass.

[supercub]

9-17-19

Once again I start my day early, around 5:30 AM. I check the gear lube in the transaxle and am pleased to find that barely any fluid at all is required to bring it to the proper level. A great way to start the day. I leave Laramie at 6:15 as the eastern horizon is beginning to glow. As I travel east away from Laramie toward Medicine Bow National Forest, the sunrise continues to grow in intensity. Shortly after entering the national forest, on State highway 210, I round a corner on a low hill and am taken aback by the almost unreal sunrise that is unfolding. I notice a parking lot on my right and waste no time whipping the VW in, shutting off the engine and jumping out to experience this early morning spectacle.

The sun is still hidden from view behind the pine covered hills, but the sky is blazing with brilliant yellow and orange streaks fading to a rosy pink above me. Looking behind, over the VW there is a line of bright pink clouds casting purple shadows. Above the cloud bank, the nearly full moon shines white through a thin veil of moisture in the pale blue sky. This is easily one of, if not the best sunrise I have seen in my life. I take some pictures and then just stand and watch as it continues to progress. The sun eventually peaks out from behind the trees and casts a faint orange light on the hills to the south. Just as the sun's golden rays are beginning to illuminate the grasses in the meadows at their bases, it goes behind the clouds and the glory quickly fades into a dull grey light. The fire is gone from the sky as it becomes a nondescript cloudy morning. The whole show lasted barely a half hour but I am grateful to have experienced it in such a beautiful place.

I continue eastward out of Medicine Bow National Forest toward Cheyenne. Remembering losing my way in Cheyenne going out to California, I decide to brave US-85 where it joins and runs concurrently with I-25 on the western edge of the city. It works out well, for even though the 75 mph speed limit is well out of range, there is little traffic and in only a few miles US-85 exits I-25 and continues northeast toward Nebraska. The west wind still plays to my advantage as I scoot my way into Nebraska and over the long hill up the butte on Highway 71. US-385 takes me back to Alliance at the gateway of the Sandhills.

First though I take a little detour to see an interesting creation a few miles north of Alliance on State Highway 87. Rising out of the surrounding grasses stands a oddly familiar monument. Here on the prairie a man named Jim Reinders recreated the famous Stonehenge with a twist. He built his own version of well-known megalithic site out of junk cars in the mid-1980's. It is a fascinating creation which has an interesting relationship with the nearby city of Alliance. Originally ridiculed as a blight on the landscape, it has transformed into an accepted cult curiosity, with a gift shop and large billboard covered in advertisements for nearby businesses, obvious evidence of the current local support. The change of heart is not surprising because there aren't many other things to draw tourists into Alliance, other than a quick stop at one of the couple of large travel plazas where US-385 skirts it's western edge.

I am generally easily entertained, and spend nearly an hour meandering through and photographing this assemblage of old American vehicles. Being fairly well-versed in vintage cars, I soon find myself trying to identify each one. I can place most of them, my favorite being a '67-'68 Cadillac ambulance sticking straight up out of the dirt. In the parking lot, nearly all the visitor's cars bear out of state license plates and I even hear a couple speaking in German as they wander amongst the beat up relics. Carhenge is likely the biggest tourist draw in the county. Curiosity for roadside folk art satisfied, I resume my way east out of Alliance and back into the Sandhills.

After some brief localized downpours mid morning, it is now partly cloudy and warm as I travel through the endless landscape of grassy hills stretching before me like a choppy sea whipped by a strong storm. Periodically I stop to photograph a ranch or small town set against the backdrop the never ending swell of prairie in a desperate but futile attempt to give perspective to the vastness. The feeling of space in the Great Plains doesn't generally translate well in pictures, you have to be here. A train of probably a mile and half in length transforms into a thin grey line, nearly swallowed up in the high green hills it runs along the base of. Though the train is steaming ahead at nearly 60mph, from my vantage point it is crawling in relation to the massive space it traverses. Along the highway, small towns come and go, the odd farm truck or two passes in the other direction, and a rancher on an old tractor bounces along pulling a hay baler through the dried cut grass along the road's shoulder. A few miles later, I pull onto the road's shoulder and turn off the car. Stepping out of the VW, the endless rustling of windswept grass fills my ears as red-tailed hawks soar overhead on the thermals and cattle grazing in large herds dot the slopes in various spots. I can loose myself in a place like this.

Nebraska rolls by and though it has occurred gradually, I suddenly notice on one uphill pull that the VW is maintaining speed without full-throttle. The elevation is decreasing, but the change is so gradual through the Great Plains that it is practically unnoticeable. That is except for the slowly increasing power of the VW's engine as the elevation ticks down toward sea level. Eventually the prairie grasses slowly become infiltrated by patches of corn, which slowly but surely tips the balance in its favor as I continue eastward. Eventually the prairie is relegated to the strip of right-of-way between the asphalt and the unbroken continuum of corn and soy; a stalwart holdout determined to cling to whatever little space can get. By early evening I am travelling north on US-81, and at around 7:00 PM I arrive in Norfolk, Nebraska for my last night in a motel, and what a motel it is. Ha!

It is one of those instances where as soon as I drive up, I know the place is going to be a dump. While making a reservation last night, I discover there are hardly any rooms available in Norfolk for tonight. After a couple of failed attempts, I made a reservation at a hotel chain I have stayed at many times with no real complaints. But this place is complete crap. A messy unmanned front desk, ripped up furniture, and old magazines strewn haphazardly around the dirty lobby greets me upon entering. I eventually find the front desk employee and check into my room. I park around the side and go in. The smell in the hallway takes me back to the middle school locker room at the end of gym class after we had spent the previous hour running laps around the track in the Texas heat. Minus the deodorant and cheap cologne though.

A dirty, rough-looking dude with neck tattoos and a backpack wanders up and then back down the hall as I walk to my room. This is a truly sketchy place. I take everything that looks mildly enticing, even my crappy little portable boombox out of the VW, and put it all in my room. The backpack wearing guy is still wandering around, this time up and down the hallway across from me. Back at the VW I open the hood, remove the distributor cap and take out the rotor before replacing the cap and closing the hood. This will at least prevent anyone lurking around from hotwiring and driving the car away. I grab my hammer out of my tool bag and put it on the nightstand, just in case.

Since I was a kid, I have always take my shower at night before bed and to this day I find it hard to go to sleep without taking one. However the shower looks like it hasn't been cleaned in the past ten guests, so I will pass. I entertain thoughts of a night in my sleeping bag atop the bed, but to my surprise, the bedding looks fairly clean. I watch some TV while taking in the crappiness of my surroundings. What a dump! The crushed box of Kleenex on the desk by the television is a nice touch to complete the decor. Needless to say, I don't sleep well; less than 4 hours total. I wake up just before 3:00 AM and spend the remainder of the way too early morning aimlessly flipping though the ridiculous line-up of TV programming that exists during these hours.

The amazing sunrise in Medicine Bow National Forest, Wyoming. This is probably the prettiest sunrise I have ever seen.

The VW and moon at sunrise in Wyoming.

One of the many buttes in western Nebraska.

Carhenge north of Alliance, Nebraska.

Bingham, Nebraska.

The Nebraska Sandhills.

A distant train nearly swallowed up by the rolling grassland.

No trip through the Midwest is complete without at least one corn-to-the-horizon picture. Somewhere in eastern Nebraska.

A farm road in eastern Nebraska.

[supercub]

9-18-19

At 5:00 AM I decide I've had enough of this crappy hotel and gather my things back into the VW. The car is still there and it appears nobody messed with it, which is a relief. I am so eager to leave this place behind me that I don't even check the engine's oil level. I just fire the car up and go. I leave Norfolk for the darkness shrouded cornfields beyond.

Overhead the stars are out and the moon is shining bright, casting a ghostly outline along the edges of the multitude of small puffy clouds that gradually fill in to the east. On the eastern horizon, a faint flicker of pale light flashes every so often as I motor towards it. After about half an hour of eastward travel, I can plainly see those faint flickers are bolts of lighting produced by a large thunderstorm to the southeast. Each brief flash of light momentarily illuminates billowing thunderheads before they once again disappear into the blackness.

The increasing morning light is beginning to reveal the extent of the storms spanning the horizon as I near the Iowa border. Shortly into Iowa the rain begins, first with the occasional large drops which resonate with a loud metallic "pang!" upon impacting the VW's sheet metal. Under the line of thick clouds, a muted band of pale pink and orange light is blotted out in spots by patches of grey downpours. I skirt just north of the massive lightning show in the heart of the storm, but don't get past before the sky suddenly lets loose in a torrent of rain. The VW's wipers try their hardest but can't keep up with the deluge from above. Just as quickly as it came, the rain subsides into a steady shower and the sun peaks through the gap between the horizon and the dark clouds above. The sun reflects on the water-soaked strip of straight road ahead, illuminating a brilliant orange pathway undulating over the rolling green hills.

Continuing east, the VW and I eventually break out from under the clouds into the sun and bright blue sky of a late Iowa morning. The past few stops I've made, I noticed that upon letting off the throttle, the engine braking seems weak and the gas pedal has required a few quick jabs before the engine settles down to its normal idle. Upon exiting the highway for gas in Ames, the engine refuses to rev down and no amount of blipping the throttle affects it.

I pull into a spot at the end of the parking lot, get out, and open the VW's hood. I naturally look at the carburetor and can plainly see that the idle screw is not sitting down against its stop. I push the linkage closed by hand and it seems to move easily, with no binding or roughness. The throttle cable looks good, no frays or kinks, the barrel nut attaching the cable to the carb moves smoothly in its bore, and the return spring is connected where it should be. But every time I pull back on the linkage and let go, the throttle returns while leaving that gap between the idle screw and stop. Strange. I remove the return spring to inspect it. The spring looks okay except that instead of closing up tightly when there is no tension on it, there is a small space between each coil. I actually laugh out loud when I realize what has occurred. The throttle return spring has been stretched out due to the massive amount of full-throttle driving the pokey engine has endured over the past 4000 miles.

Looking around at the various people quietly filling their gas tanks behind me, I feel a little self-conscious about my sudden outburst. Pay no attention to the man standing next to the dirty old Volkswagen cracking up while staring at the small spring he holds in his hand. To restore the spring's tension, I cut a couple coils off, re-bend a hook at its end, and reinstall it on the carburetor. I fire up the engine and stab the throttle a few times. Each time, the engine idles right back down to where it should. For a final test, to replicate the conditions that had usually resulted in the throttle sticking, I hold it steady at part throttle and then slowly let off the gas. The engine responds well, with the rpm's instantly falling back down when I release the throttle. Problem solved, I go into the station store, wash up and buy a Dr.Pepper before heading back onto the highway.

Along the roadside, patches of deep purple punctuate the fading green of late summer. The New England Aster has bloomed. This pretty plant is relatively tall, usually 3-4 feet in height around these parts, and patiently waits until the very end of the summer season to unveil its blossoms. The top of each plant flares out and opens up in a large clump of one and a half inch round flowers; many thin purple petals surrounding a golden center. Generally this aster flowers in conjunction with the several varieties of goldenrods native to the area in a spectacular send-off for the waning summer. But this year the goldenrod blooms are nearly spent so the aster looks a bit lonely without its yellow companion.

Behind the purple aster and ripening prairie grasses along the highway, the green of the massive fields corn and soy is fading as the time for harvesting is drawing near. A few corn fields have been cut already, leaving behind only a scattering of shredded husks and rows of stubble in the damp brown earth. The fields of soy have mostly yellowed here, with just a few green patches left in the wettest areas. The cornstalks bend east in unison while their leaves flutter in the strong west wind blowing the VW and I ever closer to home.

The generally flat terrain covering much of central and eastern Iowa suddenly gives way to the long rolling hills as I near the Mississippi River. The highway winds down the bluffs flanking the river valley. The weather is much improved over my dreary Mississippi crossing on the way out. I look up and down the valley as I drive along the US-151 bridge spanning the river. Framed by the steep hills on each end, the water sparkles below me in the wind as the VW buzzes its way over to Wisconsin. The car valiantly tackles the climb back up the bluff on the east side of the river, the roar of the engine amplified off the vertical sandstone walls of the highway cut on either side.

After a few miles the steep hills once again give way to a gently rolling land. Once again I am passing pastures of black and white spotted dairy cows, fields of corn and soy, bright silver grain silos, and big old farm houses in various states of repair. The numerous marshes along the way are beginning to fill with small flocks of geese, grouping together in the early stages of preparation for their big convoy south. The oak and hickory trees covering the low hills are showing bits of brown and yellow respectively. The tips of a row of huge old maples lining a farm driveway glow orange. Overhead from a clear blue sky, the sun shines its warming rays across this familiar landscape.

4600 miles travelled.

In Conclusion

The grandeur of the mountains, solitary remoteness of the western deserts, and never-ending sky of the Great Plains will never cease to move me. These places are all special and I am grateful to have the opportunity to visit them. However, their beauty is usually accompanied by a feeling of vague uneasiness, that I don't really belong in those lands. Here in the Midwest, I feel at home. There is something peaceful about the mild landscape that surrounds the area of Wisconsin where I live.

I have only been here for a little over three years but have come to really like it; to the point where for the first time in my life, I want to stay somewhere. There are things I can definitely complain about. The hoards of biting and generally obnoxious flying insects that swarm from late May to early August for instance. Or the less than perfect weather that can leave you in a week and a half long stretch of unbroken clouds in February, seemingly endless chilly rains in April or October, and stifling humidity in July that will make an 85 degree day as miserably sweaty as a hundred plus was growing up in Texas.

But I would trade the view from a mountain summit for a time I spent in the Scuppernong Prairie on a perfect late summer morning. I was lying on a foot bridge with a spring-fed stream gurgling along below me while bright yellow sunflowers danced above in the cool wind and puffy white clouds drifted across the deep blue sky. Or sitting on a moss covered rock on a grey October afternoon at the edge of a kettle bog covered in a damp reddish mat of vegetation rimmed in pale yellow cattails, the whole area walled in on three sides by hills glowing with yellow aspens and oaks of dull orange and dark crimson.

I spent a good chunk of my adult life dreaming about going to this place, moving to that place, and seeing another. I never spent enough time exploring and appreciating where I was. I still have a list of places I would like to get to and head out at least once a year but I am enjoying discovering where I live for a change. Since moving to Wisconsin, I have spent the meager $28 required to gain a year's worth of access to the state parks and forests. I take day trips all over the southern part of the state, from the Mississippi River bluffs to the sandy dunes along the Lake Michigan shoreline, seeing what there is to see. I have been pleasantly surprised at what I have found.

Thank you to those who have followed along on this adventure. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Tim

Nearing the end of the morning rain in Iowa.

A beautiful day to be back in Wisconsin.

Bugs on the VW.

Grungy rear wheel from leaking axle seal. The fender also has a nice greasy line across its underside. The next morning I replaced the damaged spacer with a new one for a good sealing surface. No leaks yet as of writing this.

All cleaned up again. I am incredibly proud if this little car. It now has 70000 miles on it since I rebuilt it, including two California trips. Not bad for a formerly ruined car that spent 20 years sitting in a field in Texas.

[Shanghai Paddles]

What an epic trip! I've enjoyed following along, thanks for sharing. In a couple weeks I'm driving back to Utah to visit my brother and this story has made me think about taking my bug instead of my Passat. I'm still not sure, my bug isn't exactly water tight and I'm worried about rain. I have faith in the car, but not the weather. That may have to wait until next summer. We'll see.

I know what you mean about feeling like you don't quite belong out there. My brother keeps trying to get me to move to Salt Lake, and while I enjoy my time when I'm out there, it doesn't feel like home. Getting back to Minneapolis always feels right.

Thanks for sharing!
_________________
1967 Beetle, 1915cc. ~Daily driver~
2004 Passat, 1.8t APR stage 2. ~Race car~
2004 Jetta TDI Wagon, Malone stage 2. ~Axle snapper/dog carrier~
2002 Audi S6 Avant ~When you need groceries fast~
2002 Audi S6 Avant, Manual Swap ~When you need groceries fast, but want to have fun~
2005 Audi A4, 2.0t APR Stage 1 ~Cause I needed another car...~

[supercub]

Thank you for reading. I am glad you liked my story. My Beetle also leaks a bit through the vent window seals as well as the trunk. The trunk lid doesn't fit right due to poorly repaired old accident damage but I just roll with it. Whatever car you decide to take, I hope you enjoy you drive out west.

[Shanghai Paddles]

I've got a safari front windshield and extended latch pop outs in the rear quarters. The windshield does fine with light rain, but with a heavy downpour it will leak. And I don't usually have the wipers installed because they interfere with opening and closing the windshield. I keep them in my trunk so I can install them at any time, but that sounds like a pain if it's already raining. The rear windows I can't seem to close tight enough to get them to seal well. I might have to adjust the sliders a bit, but since I rarely drive in the rain I don't care to. I also don't have heat anymore, but that doesn't appear to have been a problem for you. Just gotta layer up!

My Passat has a good amount of work done to it, so it's not a boring car either, but I've always wanted to drive an air cooled on a long trip. So far the farthest I've gone is about 4 hours one way to northern Minnesota.

Thanks! I can't wait.
_________________
1967 Beetle, 1915cc. ~Daily driver~
2004 Passat, 1.8t APR stage 2. ~Race car~
2004 Jetta TDI Wagon, Malone stage 2. ~Axle snapper/dog carrier~
2002 Audi S6 Avant ~When you need groceries fast~
2002 Audi S6 Avant, Manual Swap ~When you need groceries fast, but want to have fun~
2005 Audi A4, 2.0t APR Stage 1 ~Cause I needed another car...~

[aircooledhabit]

Supercub, I really enjoy reading about your road trips! You have quite a talent for telling a story and for photography. Keep ‘em coming!
_________________
Baby Blue 1970 Beetle (sold)
Burgundy 1962 Beetle (sold)
"Red" 1967 Beetle "Lola" (sloooow restoration in progress)

[kpf]