My fascination with Chicago and the car’s electrical spasm put me more than a day behind schedule, so air traffic control (Catherine Russell, our office manager) routed the Brougham through Madison, Wisconsin instead of Milwaukee. A cold Pabst would have to wait for another trip, sadly.
As I zoomed into Wisconsin, the car felt full of vim and vigor. What was I thinking yesterday about too little power in this buggy? Was I crazy? She rides like a rocking chair, races like a rocket. And I needed to make good time. I’ve been on the road for a month and this weekend is my anniversary.
Not a good thing to miss one’s anniversary.
The plan: cut through cheesehead country, then bunk the night in St. Paul, and fly to Birmingham for my first weekend off in eight weeks. I never eat in the car, but concerned about time, I stopped for lunch at a gas station. That’s right, I ordered 93 octane and a ham and cheese sandwich for the road. (The Shell lady tried to put Swiss on my sandwich, but I insisted on Wisconsin cheddar.)
Then I made tracks out of the gas station, just pausing long enough to grab an essential shot of the big mouse advertising fireworks, cheese, and gifts. What a combo.
Sunny day, the top shining in the afternoon light, and an open road in front of me. Now, if I only had a radio. The miles passed quickly, but for some reason I felt uneasy. Catherine called and asked if I needed a hotel room in St. Paul. I responded, “If I make it . . . .” Although the car was running fine, I moved into the far right lane just in case of a breakdown. My cousin Kim called and I told her, “I need to get off the phone because . . . .”
The car suddenly died at 70 mph.
It cut out like I’d thrown a switch. So that was the first item I checked–the switch I installed a few hours earlier. It was fine.
Fuel pump working? Yes.
12 volts to the coil? Yes.
Fuel in the carbs? Yes.
Automatic starter disengaged? Yes.
Ignition switch functioning properly? Yes.
Stumped, I called Mark and Dennis at Impatient Creations in Alabaster. Dennis walked me through many of the items I’d tested, though it was nice to double-check with someone far more knowledgeable. Mark listened to my symptoms as trucks passed on the 90/94 at 85 mph.
“And then it just cut out . . .” WHAAAA-WRAAAAMMMMMM!
“but I have fuel. . .” BRROOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!
“I can’t get it to catch.” VROOOOOOOOM!
Mark advised me to see if I could get a spark on the center distributor wire, which I could not. His diagnosis: the Pertronix Ignition Series I solid state ignition. Impossible? No. The Pertronix Coil had already bit the coal dust back in West Virginia, so maybe I got a bad batch. Or maybe leaving it on or 15 minutes while I did my TV interview finally caught up to it. Despite the poor punctuation, The Pertronix web site does warn:
Leaving the ignition switch on when the engine is not running, can cause permanent damage to the ignition system, and related components.
Okay, so there may be the problem. Next question: where am I?
Two ladies were walking on a road adjacent to the interstate. Suddenly a man waving a tripower aircleaner began hollering in a Southern accent, “Hey! HEY!” at them. The ladies began to power-walk. I stepped up to a jog, “HEY! Where am I?”
“The forest,” one of them said.
Oh, hilarious, I thought. “No, what town am I in?”
“You’re in the forest,” the other woman replied.
This was getting old.
“Seriously, ladies, I don’t mean to interrupt your walk, but can you tell me where I am, the municipality?”
“THE FOREST!” they both shouted.
I trudged back to the Cadillac. Another set of comediennes. I was clearly in a pasture–not a tree in sight.
Another call to AAA. The most gracious company, Parks Automotive, came to my rescue. Calvin (great name) got the Brougham on the flatbed with the utmost care and told me about the superior garage he worked for. “We’ve got some great old timers who know these cars,” he said, “In fact, one guy with a 1956 Bel Aire was in here yesterday. He was from Alabama!”
Now that’s amazing.
Feeling lucky, I cracked open the Cadillac and LaSalle Club Directory. What’s that, you ask? Most automobile clubs have a telephone directory of their membership organized by state. Like Motorpool.com, you can also search for enthusiasts by year, make, and model in many club directories. It’s times like this when you need that.
Bill came to the rescue. I’d found the parts I needed (points, condenser, and coil at a local AutoZone, and Bill drove the store, picked them up, and then drove 40 minutes to meet me in Deforest.) What a guy.
My mechanic in Birmingham, Mark, gave me step-by-step instructions on how to install the points. I was nervous, but vowed to get up early the following morning and give the conversion a try.