Has it really been over 2 years since I brought Mavis home? Geez, it has and friends only find out when they ask, “Hey, did you ever finish that car project with your Dad?” Shame on me for not writing this sooner, but Mavis is happily parked in our garage in Denver.

After a final push on Mavis with the help of brother Dan, we got her to the point where we could take, and I quote, “that triumphant drive home.”

We did get her back, just not how I imagined. It was a harrowing trip for Pop, Momma and myself, but I wouldn’t have wanted to do it with anyone else. I took a one-way flight to Kentucky and the plan was to drive Pop’s truck and Mavis back across the country to Denver. Pop and I would switch between Mavis and the truck with Mom riding shotgun. We attached the car trailer for the “that’s never going to happen” moment.

First up, Momma and I in Mavis, and about a mile from the house we ran out of gas. We were actually on our way to the gas station to fill up, but how were we to know that when the gauge says there’s an 1/8 of a tank left, she’s full-on dry? Ok, the gas float isn’t 100% accurate, lesson learned. Luckily this happened literally while turning into the gas station. Some young gents helped push us to the pump and I got on the phone to Pop to tell him to come back as he had already charged ahead not realizing we were two damsels in distress.

We gassed up and Pop asks me to reverse Mavis a little bit so that he could manuever the truck and trailor around her. I do, and as he’s pulling past, and I decide that he needs MORE room. I reverse a bit further and place Mavis’s backside directly into the path of the trailer’s back bumper, which proceeds to tear a hole in Mavis’s back fender. I knew it happened, Pop knew it happened, as I had seen his slight eyeroll in his sideview mirror, but neither of us acknowledged it. Like if we just ignored the little tug we both felt, perhaps it hadn’t happened. We hadn’t just ripped through the underside of Mavis, one of the only areas of her body that hadn’t needed Bondo or fiberglass.

Ok, so now we’re trucking along and I’m driving Mavis on my own. I’m feeling pretty damn good, working through the gears, windows down, wind blowing and the smell of the woods passing. Pop had told me we were not going to get on the highway at any point. We were going to keep this low-key, under 70 mph in a somewhat controlled environment because I am still learning how to drive a stick shift with ‘three on the tree’. (Also I still believe that the car might just blow up. I can’t get over the fact that we built it from the ground up and it hasn’t blown up yet.)

Suddenly, Pop signals a right and we are headed down the ramp directly onto the Interstate! What the!? Panic sets in as we come to almost a complete stop in a line of traffic running up the left side. Cones are blocking the rest of the lanes and traffic is crawling. It’s about 95 degrees out and the sun is BEATING on me. I’m soaked in sweat, practically standing on the clutch desperately trying to inch along and not stall, cursing Pop’s name.

Then it happens, the thing I’ve dreaded since day one, that thing that caused severe trauma in my teens. I stall and can’t start the fucking thing back up. Mom and Pop see this and have moved off to the right side of the highway a little ways up. We are in a SINGLE line of traffic enforced by cones, there are cars stacking up behind me and the horns start. People are breaking through the cones and driving around me. I’m freaking out and like a woman possessed I get out of the car and try to push it. To where? Not sure. It’s not budging, in fact I think I remember it starting to roll back slightly. Out of nowhere there’s man at my side. He yells, “you steer, I’ll push.” I look back to see that he has parked his semi across all 4 lanes, blocking the traffic driving around us so that he can push me across to where Pop has pulled off. Next thing I know, the trucker angel is gone, Pop jumps in Mavis, starts her up and takes off! He’s ripping down the highway and exiting! I jump into his big-ass Ram truck with car trailer attached and a seat set for a 6 foot tall man and race after him. It was then that I COMPLETELY LOSE IT. “I can’t drive my own fucking car! I just shut down an interstate! Why did he get on the highway! Where is he going now! I’m so fucking hot!” All the while I’m whipping this truck and trailer through narrow bridges, tears streaming and my poor mother is just holding on for dear life. In all honesty, I think she said something like, “I can imaging that must have been frustrating” or something totally sane and understanding. This is a dynamic we’ve come to know in our relationship over the years…the hysteric and the wise sage.

Then, this…

Yup, that’s Mavis on the car trailer not 100 miles into a 1200 mile trip. Ends up the gear shifter was loosy-goosy (the only part of Mavis we didn’t rebuild) and she fell into third and stayed there. This happened while Pop was driving (thank god) not long after the highway drama. At this point, Pop proclaimed Mavis, “done for the duration.”

It was now, not kidding, 101 degrees in this little town as we were winching Mavis onto the trailer. There’s 80+ year old Pop, on the ground, sweating through his shirt, getting her hitched up. Luckily we did all this just outside the local pot store, so we had an audience.

For the rest of the trip, the good times just kept-a-coming! At a stop for BBQ, the top of a sauce bottle exploded off into Pop’s lap along with it’s contents. At the motel that night, Biden showed his age during the first debate, and so started our further decent into hateful, racist, pervert ridden authoritarianism (but as of writing this…there is hope!) Woke the next morning to a flat on the truck and best of all, we drove through a hailstorm/tornado warning in Kansas! I was sure Mavis was going to come out with damage, but she survived. Here’s video from when we pulled over because we could no longer see to drive. You can see how concerned the P’s are. Momma with a smile on her face and Pop mocking all those who would be afraid of a little weather. I cried.

Now, while all of this was going on, my man Mike was kicking ass in Vegas during the World Series of Poker. He came in 13th in one of the tournaments where he got to play against some of the best of the best (oblivious at the time to my plight!)

Other highlights included a thrift store stop with a retro pink hamper find! Pop was thrilled…for me.

Arriving home to a big hug from Mike. xoxo

And of course just being with my parents, some of my favorite people, was so wonderful. It didn’t matter how many times Pop would look in the rearview mirror and say, “who’s that asshole tailgating us?” it was always funny. And most of all, having them stay with Mike and me in Denver for a bit, something that was nice to have after heading their way for so many years.

I really want to sum up this project, which took about 10 years and way more funds that I had originally thought, but that is a post for another day. Hopefully not 2 years from now!