Fuel, Fire and Water with a Misfire

I wrote this lying in bed at the Portofino back in 2019, waiting for my wife to land in California after the run edited ever so slightly.

A week before the start, I found myself with no codriver. I had mostly resigned myself to doing it solo, no big deal. Then I got a message from Rob. We talked. Turns out, we saw this the same way. Same sensibilities, same drive. A few conversations later with the last one literally happening literally as a friend walked down the aisle at his wedding. Rob was in and was going to fly over from the UK.

Friday comes. I pick Rob up at the airport. We hit the hotel, settle in, and do a final strategy session at Barnes & Noble. The car checks out except suddenly the auxiliary fuel gauge, which is dead. No fixing it now as it’s likely the gauge. But I’ve got an odometer and I know my transfer timing cold.

Saturday morning, we crush the hotel breakfast buffet, double-check everything, and load the car for the last time. It’s game day. We retreat to our rooms to call loved ones and try to rest before our late checkout… but sleep never comes.

4 p.m., lobby call. I grab some fuel injector cleaner to help the factory tank’s sensor—my paranoia about fuel gauges stems from past experience where there is a complete gauge failure. We stop at Walmart for snacks, then top off both tanks with fresh fuel before linking up with Dave for our pre-run gourmet feast of Stop & Shop hoagies.

We hang out until it’s time to roll. Except it’s not. An accident near the Tappan Zee threatens our launch, so we delay. I prep the Garmins for timekeeping, planning to start the scanner and ALP 15 minutes before departure. Want everything fresh. Except… one Garmin isn’t charging. I can’t find the charger I just had. Thankfully, Dave comes through with a spare. Back in business… for now.

Then: more problems. I deleted the wrong app for my V1 detector. The big Garmin still won’t charge. The module’s cigarette lighter is dead. I scramble. Fix the lighter, plug in the Garmin, reinstall JBV1, and re-launch the scanner. The IR camera on the backup phone quits—fixed that too.

Finally, everything’s working. JBV1’s running. Scanner is logging. Garmins prepped. Rob slaps a Cannonball sticker on the dumpster. I bring the car down. Photos at the start. It’s late, but we’re rolling.

At 10 p.m., I’m standing outside the car—my last few moments before being glued to the seat. Rob snaps the start photo, starts the stopwatch, and we’re off. Dave runs alongside until the split. Rob reminds me to keep it safe, this isn’t a sprint. It’s a chess game.

We hit New York. Traffic starts thinning. Time to find a rhythm. Then a misfire. Feels like a hard miss, but intermittent. I figure the injector cleaner is working its way through. No big deal.

Then a light comes on. Not the CEL I expected from the fuel cell evap mod, its something else. Rob checks it while I drive. The misfire gets worse. We make an unscheduled stop in Pennsylvania. I check fluids and everything's full. Turns out the light is a coolant-level warning. False alarm. We fuel up, and mileage checks out.

Then more issues: Rob switches the Garmin from route to stats—and the data’s nonsense. Moving time, averages, everything is off. Both Garmins are cooked, intermittent power loss. Even our independent tracker craps out. We’re flying blind on the “big picture” stats now. It’s calculator time.

The CEL kicks on. Cylinder 8 misfire. Car is running worse. I limp it through a 30mph zone with a cop behind me. Fantastic. Once we’re back on the highway, it slowly clears up. Probably gunked from the cleaner.

Detector is chirping like mad with false alarms maybe, maybe not. I’m stuck at 65% of our intended pace. Frustrating. But then I transfer fuel from the cell to the main tank—and suddenly the car comes alive. Time to move.

At the first scheduled stop, Rob hits the restroom while I fuel up, then we swap. Car’s okay—not perfect. After a bit, the dash starts cutting out. Full instrument failure. I research it and it’s a known issue, won’t leave us stranded. Push on.

Rob handles Ohio and pushes into Indiana. Finally, the car’s loosening up. He’s getting 80% out of it now. I try to nap. Try.

Somewhere past Indy, it degrades again. No power, even at full throttle. Feels like something this might be it. We stop again. I check under the hood. All the coil packs are loose probably from the earlier misfiring. I tighten everything down. Fire it up and bam, power’s back. A lot of power. We didn’t realize how crippled we were until now.

Rob crushes the next stint. Car’s strong. Roads are clear. Illinois passes fast thanks to our eye in the sky, Rob Zappa. In Missouri, we make a small wrong turn and end up at the Gateway Arch. Worth it, got a great photo under the arch.

Next fuel stop. My turn. The stumble on startup fades. In Oklahoma, traffic slows us down. No mechanical issues, just humans. Then an overturned truck in OKC blocks our ramp into Texas. Once clear, I open it up while Rob sleeps. Hit a zipper merge in Texas coming to a dead stop. I pull over and amazingly it ends up saving us 10+ minutes. Bonus stretch, bathroom break, topped off coolant to shut off the annoying light due to the sensor coming uncovered on the road, replaced some fuses for the dash as this was something that could cause the dash issue. Back at it.

At the next Texas stop, we swap again. Ironically, it's the same place Rob stopped during his C2C Express run. No traffic. Rob hits it hard. 80-100% sustained. After dark, I finally crash hard for a real nap.

We realize we’ll need one more fuel stop due to being out of sequence, so we plan for a shorter stint. In New Mexico, we fill up near the Arizona border. Rob crashes. I push on. Roads are garbage in Arizona, rough and full of potholes. I’m tired. Really tired. Then I see it: “Winslow, Arizona.” That damn song stuck in my head thanks to Zappa. I pull over and take the photo—“Standin’ on a corner.” Rob’s bewildered. “What are you doing?” He doesn't know the song. I hop back in and hammer it.

But fatigue wins. I’m cruising, then suddenly slam the brights thinking I saw a massive black panther leap across the road. Full brake, heart racing. Rob bolts awake. “What’s going on?” I tell him. He says, “How about I drive?”

Deal.

I pass out cold.

Later, I wake to Rob yelling, “Where’s the f***ing kill switch?!” He slams the brakes—we just flew past an Arizona sheriff. Brake lights off, we coast at the speed limit. The sheriff paces us… then backs off since he didn’t get a hit and who would expect this car of going triple digit speeds. We live.

Fuel light’s on. Rob tries to wake me. I barely register it. He shakes me again. I get up, find a stop, pass back out. He tries again. I guide him to a good stop. He’d been hammering it, making up serious time.

My turn again. Final splash and go before California. I grab coffee, top off. We're on the last leg. It’s uneventful until Barstow. Then the usual: L.A. traffic hell. Two and a half hours of stop-and-go. But we’re close.

Adrenaline kicks in. No more fatigue. Just drive. We weave through school zones, hammering it. Three lights from the marina entrance, I go to make a pass around someone panic stopping at a yellow. BANG!. No power. Nothing. Rob and I lock eyes—did we just blow the transmission?

We can see the Portofino.

I start rolling. Hills are on my side. I throw the shifter around. Suddenly the drive engages. We’re alive. I punch it, pull into the Portofino, stop at the sign. Rob jumps out and snaps the photo. I follow.

We did it.

I figured 40 plus hours. That’s what Rob had been saying.

He looks at me, grinning. “37 hours, 13 minutes, 36 seconds.”

I wanted to be disappointed, we had issues start to finish with so much time stopped but with everything that happened?

I couldn’t be prouder.

Because we made it. And only those who’ve stood at that sign, after ripping across the country, truly understand what that feels like.