Adventure

First Trip In Bess, My P15

It was a long time ago, 1952, driving from Turlock California to Nebraska. We hit a snow blizzard in Utah and stopped in Ogden for the night as we were just about out of gas. Stayed in the car that night, running the engine to keep warm. A P15 heater does a good job. My wife and I were sitting under a service station awning, thinking we could gas up in the morning. Suddenly we see a man walking down the middle of the street with a bucket of hot water and thought, that looks strange. Asked him when the station would open, he said "about a week". Asked him how far to next town, "48 miles to Rawlings." I tell my wife I hope we make it and she says Bess will do fine. I thanked him and we found out the water was for his tires which were frozen to the ground. Couldn’t see fence post on either side of the road in the snow and finding it was really hard. A bobtail truck rolled in to town and I asked what the road was like to Rawlings. He replied I should see his tracks all the way. We followed them and as we rolled into the gas station in Rawlings, Bess burped two times and died at the pump! My wife looked at me and said ‘See I knew she would make it."

From Nebraska we headed south to my home state of Oklahoma, as my wife had never been there. Got on Highway 9, headed for my hometown. She was looking ahead and all of a sudden says, "What’s that black thing in the sky?" I made a U Turn and that tornado chased us all the way to Texas. P15s go better than 70 miles an hour with a tornado on your tail!

In Arizona on Route 66 my wife is driving at 5:30 am while I slept. She lets out aloud scream "On my God, what’s that?" The brightest light I had ever since the Bikini bomb in the Pacific in the late 40s woke me up. Our radio was not picking up anything. Two hours latter the radio started working, "Did you see the bomb test this morning?" YES!

Family grew to four children and needed a bigger four-door car. That little ‘47 Plymouth Club Coupe is still out there some where. I searched for 8 years with no luck. I found my new ’48 Club Coupe last February. Only difference I can see is the oil dipstick and the ‘48 has 15 inch tires. Both are the same color. Keep them old beauties on the road. And I will be looking for Bess on P15-D24.

Nelson Baker

Great Memories...

I learned to drive in a 47 Plymouth coupe in southern Indiana, so your Blue Goose story really struck a chord with me. The car was left behind by the previous owner on the "place" (house and 35 acres) which my parents bought in 1960. It was pretty rusty and forlorn with flat tires and a dead battery, but it sparked an interest in my younger brother and I, who were age 14 and 11 at the time. We coaxed my Dad into buying a battery for it, and a couple of recap tires, as I remember. Then we made a "race track" (which would later become part of our vegetable garden) in the field adjacent to the back yard. Because of the rough ground, we could rarely get up enough speed to shift to second. The floorboards of the car had rusted through and I can remember seeing the ground go by.

The car was dependable enough that for about a year my Mom used it as our second car and drove it about 20 miles to work in New Albany. There was a trick to starting it in cold weather, which we boys soon mastered. Three pumps of the throttle, full choke, and hit the starter. It would usually start on the second or third compression stroke. At temperatures less than 10 degrees, forget it. The old girl just wouldn't start.

The old P-15 knocked around Georgetown, Indiana for awhile after we sold it. My Dad traded it for a reconditioned 56 Ford (at a Ford dealership), as a second car for my Mom. A schoolmate of mine bought it and it stayed in the area for awhile after that.

Submitted by Joe Fulton

Blue Goose Stories

Back Home in Indiana…
I have been driving my P15 since the early seventies and it’s reputation for longevity and reliability is well earned. A friend originally owned the Blue Goose when I was at Indiana University. She didn’t have the mechanical inclination to keep it running and eventually the car ended up on her grandfather’s farm across the river from Louisville, Kentucky. The Goose sat for almost a year in a cow pasture. One day I got a called saying pick it up or would be scrapped. I was living in Indianapolis at the time. Come Saturday morning a friend and I headed down I-65 to New Albany, Indiana. The plan was to start the car and I would drive back. My Dodge Dart would be the chase car. I came fully prepared with parts and tools, not knowing what to expect. The early spring day was sunny with the temperature in the 50s. Arriving I discovered the battery was dead after a winter of neglect. The good news was it still was full of acid. Everything checked out, and as it was sitting on a small hill, gave it push and popped it into second gear. To my amazement it fired up on all six cylinders and settled down to a proper idle in a couple minutes. Maybe this was going to be an easy trip after all. Checking the gauges everything looked good, water temperature 160 degrees, oil pressure 45 pounds and the battery charging at 35 amps. Stopping at a gas station as I headed back to the interstate, I checked the tires and topped off the gas tank. All the time I was wondering why the car had been parked out at the farm. Everything seemed to be running ok, but soon the question would to be answered. Heading north at 60 miles an hour, it was normally a four hour trip. Forty miles down the road the battery stopped charging and the car was starting to slow down. First it dropped to 55, then 50. I grew more concerned as it continued to fall, 45, 40 and down to 35. The ammeter was pegged at a 35 amp discharge rate. Now I knew the answer. I looked for an off ramp to figure out a new game plan. I really didn’t want to pay for a 120 mile tow! Just as I was getting ready to exit, the voltage regulator kicked in, and the battery started charging again at 35 amps. Immediately speed climbed back up to 60 and we were making time again. As darkness fell the increased electrical load of the headlights only served to accelerate the fast-slow cycle. Six and half hours later the Blue Goose arrived at my house in Indianapolis and a new voltage regulator was installed the next day !

Heading West
Over the next couple years I kept the Goose running with appropriate mechanical care. My house didn’t have a garage so any major work was not going to happen. The block had a couple cracks in the water jacket above the exhaust manifold, I’m sure from the winter in New Albany, but radiator stop leak kept them under control. The bigger problem was a miss in # 6, which later turned out to be a burned valve. However, the car always started up, especially with the help of a split 6/12 volt battery.

After living in Indianapolis for 20 years I decided it was time to move on. People just don’t know how cold and depressing the winters can be and I had my fill. The production company I was working for was based in Las Vegas, so that was my first planned stop. In addition, I had college roommates living in Santa Barbara, California. Warm winters and ocean views sounded like a perfect break from the sub 32 degrees January weather. No more frozen car locks, rundown batteries and snow tires. My problem was how to get everything moved, including my household, my dirt bike and, of course, the Goose. My daily driver was a 4 year old Dodge Dart with the venerable 225 slant six I had inherited from my parents when they moved to the south. Fate would solve my problem. Two weeks before I was to leave the Dart was totaled. The lady running a red light didn’t hurt anyone except the fatally injured Dart. The choices were either delay the move or get the Goose ready for a 2,500 mile road trip. Tune up, check the brakes, get a working radio and the Goose was good to go. Then a solution appeared for my household items. Another college friend called who was moving up to Indianapolis and needed furniture. Second problem resolved. She would use it until I was ready to come back from out west and pick it up everything in a van. And I already had bumper racks to carry the dirt bike. Everything looked good for a late February departure, until I came out of work one night and saw the pool of gear lubricant under the rear end. The pinion had chipped a gear and sent it through the case, leaving a small hole. Next day I refilled the rear end lube, duct taped the hole and headed up the road five miles to a local repair shop/scrap yard. They had a third member out of a 50 Dodge pickup they would swap out for a hundred bucks. An hour later, I was heading down the road, noticing my speedo didn’t quite seem right. Turns out the rear end was a 4.1 versus the stock 3.9. Oh well, I won’t get any speeding tickets.

Departure day was a scene straight from the Grapes of Wrath. Dirt bike secured on the back bumper, padded with two spare tires. I still had snow tires on and didn’t know how far I would need them. On top, a Sears roof rack with the big suction cups. If was packed with clothes. Inside was filled with tools, parts and junk, and my pet cat that loved to travel in a car. Six hours later half way across Illinois things were actually running pretty smoothly. While gas mileage was about 15 mpg at $1.75 a gallon I was hoping for a little better. But not bad for 5 cylinders. Oil consumption was very low and the engine usually dripped more than it would burn. I didn’t have any trouble keeping up with the flow of traffic at 55- 60 mph, until I hit a hill. They that # 6 cylinder was really missed. I drove for about 12 hours and finally checked into a motel for the night. Next morning I discovered someone had stolen one of the extra tires. Other than that the Goose was ready to go, with all vital fluids topped off. After another long day of driving a police cruiser passed in the other direction. The evening darkness concealed his quick U-turn and the next thing I know I have red lights flashing in the mirror. Quick, grab the cat and stick in the carrier so she doesn’t jump out the window. "Yes officer, what’s the problem ?" After the mandatory check of registration and drivers license, I found out the real problem. "Sir, you have a headlight burned out. The next town was only a couple miles down the road and has a motel. Fix the light or park it for the night." Got a room and called it a night. This time anything that could be stolen was moved into the room. Next morning the local gas station had a 6-volt headlight and I was back on the road. The worse part was crossing New Mexico. Fighting a 30-mph headwind for over four hours makes you realize a P15 is a high profile vehicle. I could only average around 45 mph and it felt like that leg of the trip would never end. Along the way you hook up with other people traveling the same route. Eventually you get to meet them at the rest stops. This was an era when a lot of people were on the move and everyone was very friendly. As I neared Las Vegas even in February the desert can get hot (and boring) during the day. The temperature gauge hovered around 200 degrees, but the Goose never boiled over and kept rolling. After a short stay in Las Vegas I decided to head on to California to visit my friends. Coming into the California coast down Route 126, the air filled with the aroma of millions of orange blossoms, is an experience you never forget. Last leg was north on the Ventura Highway, made famous by the Eagles. That was 25 years ago and both the Goose and I still live in Santa Barbara.

On Vacation
Fast-forward 15 years. The Goose has undergone many mechanical upgrades including a new rebuilt engine, radial tires, electronic ignition and an overhauled brake system. Mechanically she is running like new. However her body has cancer, caused by too many salty roads in Indiana. It has spread to the roof gutter rail, rear quarters, floor and trunk area. She patiently awaits a body transplant, while being driven weekly. In earlier years she towed my 1,800 pound sailboat rig around town. Now her hitch was removed, living a life of retirement until a new body became available. It was August, time for National Championships in my sailboat class. The venue was Huntington Lake in Sierras of California. The lake, which sits at 7,200 feet, is a picture postcard and the perfect venue for small sailboat racing. The trip usually takes 7 to 8 hours when towing with my Thunderbird. My crew and I were ready to go, cabin rented, new sails and paint on the boat. We had been racing well earlier in the year so bringing home some trophies were in the realm of possibility. I had taken the Thunderbird in a week earlier for the usual pre-trip work, transmission service, oil and coolant change, tune up and, by the way, fix that annoying stumble off idle. Five days later we got the news: the exhaust pre-heater tube was cracked, dumping raw exhaust into the intake. The only fix was a new intake manifold. It was available, but would take four days to be shipped up from Los Angeles. We were scheduled to leave in two hours ! I called my crew and we made some calls to see if we could round up another tow vehicle. No such luck. Scratch the trip, no way. Time for our go to player, the Blue Goose. After a short discussion, we decided to go for it. First we had to find and reinstall the trailer hitch, Once completed, change all the trailer lights to 6 volt and get the harness working again. Fortunately the harness was stuffed up under the brake light in the trunk lid. Next check all the fluids and make sure everything was good to go. Last, stock up on extra water and oil, just in case. Much of the trip is across California's San Joanquin valley, where daytime temperatures exceed 100 degrees on a regular basis. Plenty of stops along the way, but getting stuck 30 miles out can be fatal. Four hours later we were ready to go. Up side of the late departure was ideally the temperatures in the desert would already be starting to cool by the time we arrived.
First leg was up 101 Freeway to Paso Robles, usually an easy 2-1/2 hour run. Thirty minutes out was the first big hill and we were over in the truck lane, but easily pulling second gear. So far, so good. Coming down the hill into Buelton, two things became very noticeable. First, the steel floor provides no insulation from the engine heat. Second, what was that gasoline smell ? Pulling into a gas station, out came the fire extinguisher just in case. Opening the hood was quite a surprise. On the fuel line the plastic filter had melted and was squirting raw gas onto the hot exhaust manifold ! Shutting everything down I quickly wrapped the fuel line with a rag to stop the fountain. Across the street an auto parts store was just closing so my crew ran over to get a new fuel filter. They had a metal one in stock ! After letting everything cool down I installed the new filter, checked for leaks and we were back on the road. Our next mountain to climb (literally) was the Cuesta Grade just north of San Luis Obispo. It rises over 1,600 feet in a little over a mile. It is always littered with cars along the roadside that didn’t the reliability of a flathead six. At the crest air temperature was over 100 degrees. The Goose hunkered down in second, passing semis as we started up. As traffic slowed we were forced to drop down to first gear. Traffic became stop and go at 15-20 mph. Thirty minutes later we reached the top and started the coast back down hill. The water temperature dropped 15 degrees and another hurtle was cleared.

Two hours later we reached Paso Robles. The next leg was due east and climbing to the inland valley. The highest pass was 3,100 feet before dropping to the valley floor near Fresno. Paso Robles sits around 850 feet above sea level and it was over a hundred degrees outside. However the Goose had settled down, cruising along at a comfortable 60 mph, right around 200 degrees on the temperature gauge. We stopped for gas, checked the oil and got lots of drinking water. We started up Route 46, AKA Blood Alley. This two lane death trap has already killed 35 people. To the east 25 miles is the Cholame Y where actor Jimmy Dean died. A mix on semis, RVs and fast moving passenger cars routinely exceed the 55 mph limit. We cruised along for about 30 minutes when suddenly the oil pressure dropped to 0. Pulling over to the side, the dipstick was looking dry. However a quick look underneath showed no problem. No pool of dripping oil or any other precious fluids. I had checked it at Paso Robles and it looked good. Adding 3 quarts got the dipstick wet and after 10 minutes of idling everything seemed ok. We never did find the missing oil. The next hour was spent letting people pass and climbing up the 3,100 foot pass. The last mile was in first gear at 20 mile per hour. Only the RVs were moving as slow. After clearing the summit it was all downhill for the next hour into Kettleman City. This is where Route 46 intersects Interstate 5. Lots of gas stations, truck stops and fast food joints. The only thing lacking was shade. The San Joaquin Valley was having a heat spell. High for the day had been 117 and it had cooled down to around 100 in the early evening. Along the roadside overheated cars sat waiting for the evening cool and tow trucks. However, the Blue Goose was still keeping her cool even while dragging an extra 1,700 pounds. Our next stop was Fresno, two more hours up the valley. Surprisingly the Goose was holding up better than the passengers. By the time we got to a grocery store in Fresno we were pretty dehydrated even though we had consumed a couple gallons of water. While it was 100 degrees outside, it was another 20 degrees warmer inside the car. We picked up out food and supplies for the week and I dragged my crew away from the frozen food section. We were only 88 miles from out destination, but we had to climb up 5,000 feet to get to the cabin. The air temperature was finally under a hundred degrees, but only the locals could tell the difference. We started up Route 168, a scenic drive through the Sierra foothills rising up to around 1,000 feet in 10 miles. Because the road twists so much speeds are limited to 30-35 mph. Finally the road breaks open to four lanes. Over the next 12 miles you climb to 4,500 feet. We quickly accelerate to sixty, made it around the first turn and start climbing. Soon we were down to second gear, with the temperature gauge over 200. Caltrans places water tanks every quarter mile, and a lot of people were using them. We kept climbing, slower and slower until we were down to first gear, crawling at 15 mile per hour. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. As the temperature gauge moved into the 210 degree territory, it was time to pull off and cool down. The Caltrans water tanks came in handy. Good news was we were not boiling over. Pouring cool water down the front of the radiator quickly dropped the temperature down to the 180 degree range. Parked at 4,000 feet two more miles of steep four lane still lay ahead. Then the grade moderates, as the road becomes two lane with 20 miles of low speed switchbacks. Once you reach the 5,500 elevation the air temperature quickly falls to the sixties as the evening progresses. The next hour was spent in first and second gear. Hitting the switchbacks really showed the need for a first gear syncro. Having to kill our momentum to downshift to first gear was no fun. Soon the air was filled the aroma of old growth forest. As we neared the town of Shaver Lake at 5,600 feet the air quickly started to cool off. Inside the car it was almost pleasant. The temperature gauge was under 200 degrees for the first time all day with 40 miles to go. The worst was behind. Leaving Shaver you drive down a pair of switchbacks past the base of the Shaver dam. I started down the switchback in third gear and this quickly proved to be a mistake. My crew, seeing the concerned look on my face, asked what was wrong. Brakes ! They had gotten quite hot on the short downhill and were fading fast. Should have used second gear ! But what goes down must come up and we quickly burned off our speed as we climbed back up the other side of the switchback leaving the dam behind. The last mountain pass was five miles further at 7,400 feet and then the downhill ride into Huntington Lake. Once again we were down to first gear crawling over the summit, but our effort was rewarded with sightings of deer and bear along the road side. We arrived around 1:30 a.m. and the Goose was ready to launch the boat the next morning. And our return trip was an uneventful, downhill run back to Santa Barbara.

Postcard From Rose in Tyler, Texas

Hi y'all, I'm Rose, a 1947 D-24, I had my second date this Veterans' Day since I got my new face lift. Last month I rolled through the Grapeland Peanut Festival. I wanted my grandson (a 1998 D350 cummings) to take me up there on Gator's back (a diamond plated car hauler), but he had an accident and is in the hospital getting reconstructive and cosmetic surgery. So I ask Bubba ( a high mileage '92 Chevy) and he said yes. I knew he would-he's a good ole guy. After he gets several gallons of super under his belt, he starts feeling young again. It was a super nice day here in East Texas, and the trip was really fun. One old geezer gave me the thumbs-up sign as he went by, but I ignored him. I had more serious things on my mind! We listened to KPXI 100.7 kool oldies on the 75 mile journey. They along with Whataburger were hosting the event. Sometimes my owner sang along with the oldies. I never say anything, but he can't sing well at all. Bubba ignored him-Bubba likes country &western. When we got there about 5:30 pm, there were already about 50 cars there. Eventually around 130 showed

up. I saw two of my cousins there, a 36 which got her picture on the calender (she was really pretty- alittle too much make-up I thought!) and a 37 4-

door sedan-all dressed in white. I was the only D-24 there. I enjoyed that uniqueness. Many people came by to see me and most kept their hands to themselves. Some of the ladies were looking at my roomy rear seat and whispering to each other laughingly. I never could figure what that was all about. I was alone for a while during which my owner went in to patronize the sponsoring establishment. While he was gone a couple of guys came by and I heard one say that I was a lot like his sister-real sweet, but not too pretty! I just took it as a compliment! When my owner came back he showed me a picture of the 51 Ford that was on display inside. I might like to pose sometime, but I'm kinda bashful! Bubba and Gator took a long rest (and probably a nap in the nearby Target parking lot) while I mingled with the crowd. About 9:00 the party started to break up and I hopped on Gator's back for the trip home. I loved the cool night air and I was tired so I slept while Bubba carried me home. I have to be in by 11:00. Don't you think that is a little early for a 53 year old? But my owner says it is dangerous for me out at night. I'm sending you some pictures of the event; I hope you enjoy them. Thanks for reading my adventure.

Rose

(Update 2002) Rose has a new owner, Patricia Petersen, and still travels the highways of east Texas.