Hurrying to nowhere.

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So far this has been a wonderful/strange sort of holiday. I’ve never found myself in such a place: wandering in a foreign country with no real place to call home, no real destination to seek. I’ve been a big one for wandering in the past but always with a home base, a place to return to after my well has been filled. This is entirely different.

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Driving Junk

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While more than one mechanic and machinist has bemoaned the loss of the simple automotive technology of a bygone era –carburetors, point ignition, 3-speed automatic transmissions, enormous displacement engines – the reality is for a very long time auto manufacturers were guilty of almost criminal laziness, counting on what worked eons ago to produce current profit. And as the decades rolled through the twentieth century and technology exploded, when it came to motor vehicles we were still more or less languishing in the steam engine era.

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Beating the old bag

 

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After a noisy night beside the highway (the earplugs helped a lot but when a big diesel truck pulled in beside us in the wee hours, sounding like the Queen Mary berthing, nothing would have worked) we were determined to find a place to stay put for the weekend. I suspected and confirmed by calling around that radiator shops would be closed until Monday. Long stretches of Oregon beach beckoned me, but with a top speed of 60kph, there was no realistic way of heading further south. My map showed a nearby park – Penrose Point State Park – that, although carrying more than one poor review on Yelp, seemed to offer shoreline and semi-wilderness. Better than brooding in a rest stop.

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