Sunday around 2PM. 60 degrees, partly cloudy.
Cincinnati, Ohio. I bid adieu to my friends after a
fun weekend, and about 2:30 in the afternoon I check
the level of 15W-50 Mobil 1 in the 440 and head off.
My trip to Cincinnati had been with one express
purpose: get there quickly. As such, I had
frequented the expressways and superhighways I
generally loath. Also, with the planned inclement
weather, I figured a multi-lane highway would be a
safer bet.
However, on the trip home, I decided to test the old
Imperial on the roads it was meant to run- blue
highways. After circumnavigating Cinci on its Beltway
(275) I hopped onto the Appalachain Highway (rt 32)
and plowed thru the bottom part of Ohio, a few dozen
miles north of Kentucky.
Now, Western Ohio has one very pronounced trait: it
is flat. Pancake flat. This, however, is quite
advantageous when one has a large, powerful car that
one wishes to run full out and watch for officers of
the law who might not be pleased to see a large,
powerful machine speeding down their highway. On a
few occasions I tipped the needle up around 120; as I
was deccelerating off one such run, a police cruiser
passed me in the opposite lane. I watched him in my
rearview, but he never came after me. Got to thinking
later on, maybe that officer knows what a '67
440-powered Imperial is, and that, if he'd given
chase, I could have easily left him far, far behind,
given my head-start.
At any rate, 32 is 2 lanes each way, and I soon
desired more adventure. After a fuel up in Albany,
Ohio, I turned onto 681 east which, according to my
map, would take me right to the ohio river and West
Virginia. 681 was a blast. 25 miles of undulating,
twisting, up-and-down road that, on several occasions,
left my stomach behind me. Unfortunately, the
Imperial had a somewhat nasty habit on the blind
hills: As I'd crest a hill, the body kept wanting to
go up, but the suspension pulled the front wheels
down, and when gravity caught up with the suspension,
the front end nosedived and the suspension bottomed
out. The only solution was not to drive 65 mph over
such cliffs. ;) Besides, the fact that the road was
EXACTLY 2 lanes wide and each lane was EXACTLY 6
inches wider than a 1967 Imperial, made truely
spirited driving a dangerous proposition.
>From 681 I went through Parkersburg, W. Virginia and
took 50 east. 50 is a great, 4 lane byway, with
gorgeous scenery, and once again I was able to
flat-out run the wheels off the Imperial. For about
an hour. After Clarksbug, 50 turns into two lanes,
even twistier and more undulating than 681, but,
fortunately, with wider lanes and a shoulder.
Here, the 440 proved its stuff. 50, you see, cuts
right throught the heart of the Appalachain mountains.
And the mighty big block pulled that 5,000 pound
Imperial up the switchbacks with aplomb. And the
mighty Budd Brakes were more than adequate to slow
that lead sled down on the downslopes (which,
conventiently, were also switch-backed, with happy 180
degree hairpin turns, unmarked, of course.)
At the top of the highest hill I took a slight detour,
aiming the Imp down a single lane, barely paved stip
to the middle of the road. There, I found a small
gospel church with a modest graveyard, overlooking
what had to be one of the most beautiful vistas I've
ever laid eyes upon. I snapped about two dozen
pictures while I was up there, a few with the Imperial
in the foreground. :) As I got back in the car to
leave, I glanced down at the odometer: 86,000 even.
route 50 took me into Winchester, Virginia, after a
harrowing 50 or so miles with no gas stations and a
fuel gauge that was beginning to illuminate the "check
gages" light. Well, there was one station, but their
"premium" fuel was 89. Goat p*ss was not going into
my Imperial's tank.
>From Wichester I took 81 south to 66 east, back to the
Beltway (495 again) and up to the Balt Wash parkway to
get home. Being that I drove into Winchester under
cover of darkness, I figured continuing the trip on
blue routes would be meaningless, and perhaps
foolhardy.
The trip home was definitely more fun, had better
scenery, and was more relaxing. Sure, it took an
extra hour and a half, but the quality of one's trip
is not necessarily measured in how quickly one arrives
at their destination. Plus, I got to drive a plush,
smooth highway machine nearly 1100 miles, through some
beautiful country.
=====
--Mike Pittinaro
Piles of pitted chrome
Hubcaps along the floorboard
My junkyard-bedroom
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