Yeah, I’m a curmudgeon. I admit it.
I’m also a two-time road tour warrior flying the curmudgeon banner.
And so, let me tell you about this 10-letter word, and the guys who smile and nod in agreement with me.
Who exactly is a curmudgeon?
Our average age is 70-plus years young. When it comes to vehicles, we’ve been-there-done-that already.
We are all gearheads. We love old vehicles. The kind with no plastic inside door panels, unpadded metal dash boards and built before seat belts were made mandatory. Some even have a headlight dimmer switch on the floor, if you can imagine.
Most, if not all these cars and trucks are totally rebuilt, and are now stronger, safer, and faster than when they originally rolled out of the factory. The ones that are painted are done so in bright vivid colours, and are always kept sparkling clean and polished.
Open the hood, and there is room on either side of the engine to put your whole arm, to allow the owner and his buddies to do what ever work that needs to be done.
Ripping the skin off while trying to get your hand between the engine and inner fender is not in our MO. Grease up to the elbow is, and grease rubs off by using that rag dangling from every gearhead’s back pocket.
Get the picture?
The first weekend of last month, for two weeks, I traded in my 10-wheeled International for my four-wheeled 1947 Chevy Panel street rod.
And I wasn’t alone. Fourteen of us old-timers, or as we prefer to call ourselves, ‘Curmudgeons,’ fired up our 1930, 1940, and a couple 1950 era vehicles, crossed the border, and headed south.
First stop was McMinnville, Oregon. It was there the American Curmudgeon contingent of the tour met up with the Canadian contingent, swelling the Curmudgeon ranks to 57 guys in 35 street and hot rods. The motel parking lot that was alive with colour, noise, and everyone checking out everyone else’s ride. Then, the normal folks in the hotel came out to see what the noise was about, and we had ourselves a party.
That’s exactly what these vehicles do. Make folks forget their worries, aches and pains of today, and drop back to a time when life was easier, simpler and a lot more fun.
We have complicated our lives, but some of us, just refuse to go along with the plastic ways of today.
Our organizer/chief Curmudgeon, who is 78 going on 58, laid out in that Oregon motel parking lot the plans for the next two weeks.
And that was we’d organize ourselves in groups of four or five vehicles, and proceed to tour Washington, Oregon, Nevada and California.
And none of that Interstate Highway stuff. No thank you. It would be all two-lane back roads, where it turned out it was not unusual for us to travel for a four- or five-hour stretch and think we were driving through Stanley Park.
Those four states have a lot of beautiful territory to cover, and we did a lot of it. We stopped and visited all kinds of places, but the most fun was at day’s end, usually around 4 p.m. Pool time.
One of the few rules for all us Curmudgeons is “no politics.” It was great.
Instead we talked about cars, what oil to use, gear ratios, crate motors vs. stroker motors, about the fun we used to have in the 1960s going to the drag races, when anyone, with any gumption, could have a shot on the track.
Once again, a reminder that rules, rules, rules have taken all the fun away.
Every hour was another experience. After every stop, you drove down the road with another set of vehicles. Checking them out, then telling the driver what you saw, or thought.
And we stopped for every vista you could imagine. Every vehicle climbed every mountain pass between our border and Southern California, with 2,500 metres being the norm.
The whole tour culminated with a special invitation to an all-day street and hot rod picnic at Oak Canyon Park at Lake Irvin, just south of L.A.
Over 1,000 vehicles arranged on the grass beside a lake, with nothing but warm sunshine and free food and refreshments. It was a rodders dream day. Then, the next day, after hand shakes and high fives with new and old friends, it was back on the road, heading north.
Do it again? In a heartbeat. Wouldn’t you, especially if you get the chance to forget the present, even for two weeks?
It was a no-brainer for me, and I felt right at home.
I could fill a newspaper with stories about life on the road, but why not share yours with readers? Send them to Driving editor Andrew McCredie at amccredie@sunprovince.com
