Another pit stop on the road of life
CRUISING IN THE ’70S: A road trip to San Francisco in a Chevy Nova offered plenty of tips on saving cash
Iam often asked by strangers, especially when they connect my name with this column, “Where do you get your column?”
It used to be a difficult question to answer, but after all these years I don’t even think or even worry about next week’s column anymore. I know an idea will present itself. I am always interested in any subject matter, especially when it comes to driving.
The idea for this week’s column, for example, popped up while I was reading an edition of Muscle Machines Magazine. Somebody had written to the magazine asking about anti-smog legislation forced on car manufacturers in 1973. A light went off in my brain. Back in the summer of ’73, I had taken a few months away from my on-air radio gig and decided to try my hand at selling cars. I had fun. Sold a lot of Vegas and Corvettes. Earned a two-figure commission selling a Vega, but big bucks for the fibreglass car.
I moved a lot of Vettes, but during that time I fell in love with the Chevy Nova. So much so, I purchased one as my very first new car.
While the dealership was getting my Nova SS ready for delivery, I borrowed, with permission, a used Nova SS from the lot, disconnected the speedo, called a friend and the two of us headed south on one last adventure for the summer.
I was going back into radio in September and my friend was going back to university. We were headed for San Francisco.
Remember Dave Dudley’s hit song Six Days on the Road? That was our theme. We had seven days to do this trip and we were gonna make it home in time. We hoped so anyway.
Playing a key role in this little adventure was the fact there was a gasoline shortage at the time in the Excited States. Our ride was a slightly hopped-up machine, not exactly known for great gas savings. Especially not with two heavy footed young men behind the wheel on a time-sensitive adventure.
But we hit the road with a tank full of Canadian gas and with a destination, but no hotel reservations. Dumb, dumb, dumb!
Remember I mentioned no speedo? We would pick a car, any car that seemed to be doing the speed limit, and tail it. I don’t know why, but we always picked one that was in the hammer lane.
We seemed to follow any colour Porsche, a few Corvettes and even an occasional state cop car, but never got too close to the rear bumper. We made good time and seemed to luck out when it came time to buying go-go juice.
We slept in the car. It was a hatchback, so with the back seat folded down, we could stretch out and sleep and the wheels kept on rolling through the night.
We had fun in San Francisco. Got lost numerous times. Went up and down the wrong way on one-way hilly streets. Went across the Golden Gate Bridge.
Found a great bar that we quickly noticed was just all guys. We exited, stage left.
Found a coed one and met some great folks, a lot of whom had never met Canadians before. I am not kidding.
While heading home, the gas shortage hit hard. We were worried until we came up with the idea to draft behind a commercial rig, follow him into his fuel stop and hope for a gasoline pump. Worked to perfection.
This was my first introduction to truck stops.
Made it home on time. Reconnected the speedo. Put that car back on the lot, picked up my new Hatchback SS and didn’t stop smiling for months.
Those truck stops? A couple years later, I was a regular at every one of them, driving my own rig.
Life has a funny way of coming full circle, doesn’t it?
I could fill a newspaper with stories about life on the road, but why not share yours? Send them to Driving editor Andrew McCredie at amccredie@postmedia.com