I always was a “car guy” or I guess you could say, a “car kid.” My dad always worked on his own cars, always buying them two years old and keeping them until they rusted out (at about the eight year point—this was the 70s, after all). Since he usually drove GMs (especially Buicks), I got to know the Buick models and years from 1959 onward, as well as many of the others. I sometimes tinkered with things myself (especially the go-kart which almost got impounded by the police) and like any teenager, I couldn’t wait to get my license so I could drive myself anywhere I wanted to go. Attending our yearly car show downtown was a highlight of my year.
As time went on and life happened, fixing my own cars became a necessity. One of my worst nightmares was a new car I’d purchased which broke down on the freeway with only 1,480 miles on it, in the middle of nowhere, on its first road trip. And I maintained and fixed others. While our daily drivers are mostly trouble-free, I am often maintaining, modifying or repairing all of our cars.
As an example, I bought my daughter’s car in February 2020 and over the summer, worked on replacing a steering rack, the front suspension components, repaired and recharged the air conditioning system, and did a full detail with a ceramic coating.
Replacing a cylinder head? No problem, provided I get good weather and the time to do it. Had to do it, in fact, on what became our spare car. I am good friends with the random orbital polisher, the Milwaukee impact wrench, a set of manifold gauges, more hand tools than brains, a welder I have no clue how to operate (that is this summer’s “learning experience”), and several creative words that are best not spoken in front of grandmothers or small children.
Everyone who knows me, knows that I love road trips. Until COVID made a trainwreck of routine, I was going on at least one long road trip a year, often two, getting far away from home. My favorite destinations are anywhere in The Rockies and the Southwest—the “four corners” states, along with Wyoming, Montana, South Dakota and others, are all favorites of mine.
Yet as a car guy, I wanted to go beyond looking at cars, working on cars, or reading about others having car-related adventures on the road. Racing wasn’t an option—I’m not big on racing. Nor am I a fan of road rallies where participants drive exotic cars, exceed double the speed limit, and avoid close scrapes with law enforcement.
An option?
I had been aware of the 24 Hours of Lemons races for quite a few years, not each individual race, but just the overall concept of driving $500 crapcans around a race track, hoping the cars can complete the race let alone win it, seemed comical, dangerous, and slightly insane. The $500 qualifier can be fudged slightly—if you buy a $2,500 car, you can sell off $2,000 in unneeded parts (which you don’t need in a race car) for a net cost of $500. Safety requirements such as a fuel cell, seat harnesses, brakes, fire extinguishers, etc. do not apply towards the total.
The race environment might be a bit insane, but it’s not stupid. Driver safety is paramount. The main thing with a Lemons race is to get out there and have fun. Many teams put together a theme to their cars, and themselves, often dressing the parts to participate.
A few years ago, though, I discovered they had launched a new series of events—the Lemons Rally. Basically, taking the Lemons concept on the road. Crapcans, AKA hoopties, done up in some kind of theme, with the teams often dressing up and playing the part. Other than the lack of a racetrack, the big difference is that there is no cost limit on participating vehicles. Yet here, the cheaper, rattier cars are the better choice, especially if they are of unreliable heritage and questionable history. But even those are not a requirement—some might bring a daily driver, and they have recently entered a rental car class for those who fly out and participate.
Unlike other rallies, the goal here is not to finish first. The goal is to finish. And thankfully, most do. The winner is determined through a collective total of points given for initial judging of the vehicle (where it was made, its age, the theme, and other points at the judges’ discretion), and points gained through checkpoints and optional daily activities. This is not a racing-style rally, in other words. Think of it more as a well-organized scavenger hunt of locations and landmarks.
The Lemons team comes up with a handful of rallies each year, in different parts of the continent. A rally through the southern states of Alabama, Louisiana and Florida is referred to as Southern Fried Heaps. A fall foliage tour through Massachusetts and Vermont is the Fall Fail-iage Tour. A rally through Illinois, Michigan, Ohio and Pennsylvania is the Rust Belt Ramble.
The one that caught my eye was the Rocky Mountain Breakdown (emphasis on “breakdown”), with the 2022 edition of the rally going through the “four corners” states of Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and Utah. Four favorite destinations. I have an older car—heck, two older cars—at home that could probably work.
Let’s do this?
With no clue as to what I was doing, or where my sanity was that day, I registered for the 2022 Rocky Mountain Breakdown.
Of my two choices at home, one is probably too structurally unsound to drive anymore (thank you, 19 years of road salt), and the other is burning way too much oil. (It needs the piston rings replaced and the cylinders honed.) With the garage used as storage, my only “garage” is the driveway, rain or shine. And I already mentioned the lack of “shine” in my area. (Although moonshine may have helped in this case!) So, driving either one won’t happen.
So despite my good intentions, I decided to take my daily driver. It would unfortunately be the most unhooptie-like car in the rally (or so I thought), and I couldn’t decorate it in any kind of theme or livery beyond anything easily removable, but at least I knew it would get me there, and from numerous past road trips, it was already fitted with all the road trip accoutrements.
So, it was decided. I had some birds. I had a few t-shirts and bandanas. I had a couple of magnetic stickers. This would have to do on my inaugural Lemons Rally.