AlCan Roadtrip

(In my best TV announcer voice) “Previously, on Route Not Found…”

Once upon a time, we drove the Pacific Coast Highway from San Diego to Seattle in cheap-as-shit cars we found on the internet. This spring, we decided to finish what we started and drive from Seattle to the end of the road in Alaska… until we realized we’d have to put it off until late this summer. So we ordered ourselves an appetizer of overlanding through Arkansas over Easter so that Evan could play with his 4WD Civic from the eighties.

Once we got back from the Ozarks, we hashed out a preliminary AlCan route and figured out when we could pull it off.

Then it all went to hell: the ferry didn’t run when we thought it did and there were show-stopping issues with buying vehicles in Washington as non-residents. We drank pondered about it and decided that we couldn’t just abandon this trip. I mean, look:

So we doubled-down instead, deciding to buy cars at home and ship them to the start line. But to preserve the magic, we also decided to keep them a secret from each other, too.

Then I went on a rock climbing roadtrip for a week and a ton of planning happened.

We “re-finalized” the Re-Revised Alternate New Schedule Option™ and confirmed the route. Then I disappeared for the week, leaving my blessing for the boys to start booking accommodations… and oh right, they also bought their cars.

As it turns out, we each were looking for very different kinds of vehicles.

When I got home, I was already feeling like I was behind schedule. And I still had no idea what kind of car I wanted. But I managed to buy one in short order. … Only then did we found out that shipping cars has become appallingly more expensive than it was the last time we did it. Charming.

Figuring we were past the point of no return anyway, we continued:

We booked the rest of our overnights (one of which has its own airstrip) and pinned more detours. George and Evan were able to arrange shipping because at least they could ship together, which they managed to do while maintaining the secrecy. And I decided to drive from Austin to Seattle instead — because my shipping would have cost almost as much as the car. So I leave for Roswell in three days, hoping to make it to Seattle in five… during a full-time pre-vacation work-week of crazy.

Also, I made a bunch of technical updates to this blog and gave a lightning talk about it at work.

And that’s what’s happened. I should start packing.

UPDATE: I made it to Washington, lightly chronicled. And we’re already going on the trip, if you want to start from the beginning, or just hit the home page for what’s new.

Apparently George and Evan’s cars are now slightly delayed. Thankfully, they built a lot of lead time into shipping, so now delivery is expected Monday or Tuesday of next week. Meanwhile, I leave in the morning and I still haven’t packed.

The boys arrived late last night, but I messed up my PTO request in the big schedule kerfuffle, so I am at work and they are upstairs making fun of me while I host one last meeting:

Today’s shenanigans had to be delayed because someone had to work today. (Okay fine — me. It was me. I screwed up my PTO and had to work today.) The boys did get in late last night, and as expected, I did not wake up for it. Great suffering ensued all day as I worked and they ran a few errands after finally regaining consciousness. What we all really wanted was Christmas!

As I tied the last of the loose ends on work stuff, we ran for a quick bite of late lunch and then over to the tow yard. They took a rental and I followed a few minutes later. As I drove up, they were waiting for me, and if there are words to describe their astonishment, I don’t know them, as they watched me roll up…

in my…

1997 Toyota Celica GT Convertible. I cannot believe I own this car. And yet it is perfect. And we’ve already had quite the journey together to get here.

Then we walked into the front gate area of the tow yard to meet…

George’s 2003 Chevy Tracker LT and Evan’s 1998 Volvo V70XC.

We’ve all been deeply crazy in our own ways. And, in at least my case, a very uncharacteristic way.

As it turns out, George’s Tracker also seems to leak fluid, which it apparently did all over Evan’s Volvo en route. So our first stop was to a carwash. This also gave me the chance to remove the veneer of southwestern bug guts that caked the frontend of the Celica.

Then we came home, watched some of the ill-fated Tulsa / Michigan State game…

… and made some dinner while we told stories about acquiring each of these characters.

More stories on each of these tomorrow. In the meantime, a quiet evening of “I can’t believe what we’ve just done” bourbon.

The story of the Celica, written on July 30th, but with photos from purchase through the solo trip up to Seattle.

The shopping list

Once we opted to buy local, I knew I would be in a crunch with very limited time. I still hadn’t even decided what I wanted to drive. Coulda been anything. I pulled ads for everything from Jeep Cherokees to Suzuki Sidekicks, pickups, even convertibles and a Mini. My only criteria were price, the potential for good storytelling, and some reasonable assurance that I might make it at least half way.

That Rodeo would have been a good fit — cheap with a broken starter. The owner lives on a hill so it would have been test drive-able, and replacing a starter isn’t difficult or outside tradition. But he didn’t have a title. The Trooper would have also been amazing, but with a leaky manifold, it wouldn’t pass Inspection. Subarus are in high demand in Alaska and I’ve always liked the ones I’ve been in, so that would have been great. And how I wanted that glorious of 2DR/MT/red 90s Cherokee Sport!

Ultimately, I decided I wanted something very different from “my usual,” but I also wanted to leave George and Evan with the impression that I was buying yet another high-miler red truck.

I quickly learned that, among bottom dollar rides, no one in Austin wants to actually sell their car because they never answer their phone. When they do, they postpone on you. At the end of the weekend, I was only able to get one seller to respond and agree meet with me. He had a 1997 Toyota Celica. There was something about it that spoke to me, even if I don’t like white cars.

The Celica, the seller… and his father

Let me set this scene: I bought the truck at a recycling plant in an industrial park outside San Diego. I bought the 4Runner at a nice house in a middle class suburb of Sacramento. The Celica… probably isn’t allowed under the HOA it parks in at this exclusive gated community.

As I walked up, an enterprising young soul named Mark (changed for privacy — he has an uncommon name) stepped forward. I couldn’t figure his age exactly, maybe 18? His dad walked up to introduce himself but then retreated slightly to let Mark make the sale. This was gonna be interesting. In a few subtle ways, his dad reminded me of my dad. (Which I’m sure I’ll be asked about once Dad reads this…)

As I looked it over, its history came out: the family purchased this car from a veteran who they said didn’t drive it a lot, but kept all his service records. They bought it so that the seller’s younger brother could learn to drive stick in preparation for work on a ranch this summer. How preciously familiar. Having completed its service to that effort and survived the whole 100 miles they put on it, it was ready for me.

They let me go for a spin around the neighborhood unobserved so I could get a feel for it. It’s a fun little car in a very 90s-tastic way.

I could make this work. Everything felt solid. There were obvious problems in creature comforts and cosmetics, with a couple broken features, but it felt ready to make this trip. And with a little love, some Alaskan could put another hundred thousand miles on this car one day.

It felt right. Or right enough that a car in the lot is worth two in the expanse of unanswered messages. And I’ve never had a convertible, and likely never will again.

So why not have one now?

Beaches, mountains, ferries, forests. And George said he was going to get a pickup so I’ll have somewhere to put my stuff. Sounds perfect for this summer adventure.

The “negotiation”

I asked Mark his asking price — he answered by launching into how they arrived at that price, starting with their purchase price, the amounts they spent on the two things they did to it before its first listing, then increasing the asking price when they replaced the battery, also by exact amount.

Between that, the combination “confidence boost” and “performance anxiety” of Dad watching from the sidelines, and my instinct that this might not be an amount of money he can practically conceptualize, I didn’t get him down as far as I was hoping. But to his benefit, I had developed a fondness both for the car and the family.

We called it a deal and Mark’s Dad asked how I intended to pay — a check, money order… Bless. You really don’t do Craigslist cars, do you… You’ve entered a world of internet scams and cash, sir, so here’s a stack of the latter.

I headed home on a scenic highway that I took entirely too fast. That was fun. I feel good. I think this car may need a little work (spoiler alert…), but I’m pleased. It is ridiculous. It is entirely outside of my usual tastes in cars. It is rather impractical, it’s definitely been in at least two accidents, and it’s kind of a mess.

But it’s my mess. And I’m driving it to Alaska.

Evan has written an intro story over at OppositeLock. Looks like he had a bit of fun on his quest, too. But his car was on sale — free book with purchase.

Part two of the story of the Celica, written by Taylor on August 1st.

Something told me not to let this car just sit until the trip, so I put a few miles on it over the first few days. As it turns out, this was a smart but incrementally expensive choice.

The service history

I noticed no issues on the first day driving this around. On day two, I ignored what felt like a strange knocking in the steering. By the third day, I couldn’t chalk it up to road condition anymore — this car had rocks in his shoes. I figured it was time to more thoroughly peruse the “complete service history” in the manila folder in the glovebox. It actually just covers 2016-2018 plus the “replace all the fluids” that Mark’s family did at a Jiffy Lube in May.

The Celica sure had a lot of work recommended in its former life, but the PreviousPrevious Owner declined most of it. Including, apparently, the repeated recommendation starting in 2017 that the passenger’s side C/V axle and outside boot be replaced because the boot busted. And having spoken to Mark and his father, I truly believe the family had no clue. So I went to take a look:

I should have seen this. I didn’t feel it driving before, but perhaps the combination of “test driving on new roads paved with gold” and “I was excited” caused me to miss it. But through the second and third days, the steering knocks and grinding had been getting worse.

Other highlights from the service history included observations about substantial leaks (most of which had corresponding fixes), old engine mounts, and “RADIATOR IS BENT LIKELY FROM AN IMPACT OF SOME SORT.” If there was an accident, that might explain why the passenger airbag looks like it deployed at some point. Also there’s a sales order for a new motor for the convertible top, but nothing saying it was ever installed… which would make sense because it doesn’t work.

The repairs

I suppose it was my turn. I’m willing to live with plenty of brokenness. Just look at the truck… But the worst case scenario for a C/V joint going is catastrophic handling loss on a mountain road in rural Canada. I probably would have been okay, but while we’re always a little worried that we’ll break down on these trips — there’s a difference between breaking down and being catapulted into the sea, even if it’s an off-chance. So I’ve enlisted the help of my local shop to take a look. And with confidence moderately shaken, I’ve also asked for a maintenance inspection. (What they must think of the circus of vehicles I roll through their bays, but they’re rather good sports about it.)

Thankfully their maintenance inspection turned up nothing else, so I feel better. Poorer, but more confident because now I have a new axle that isn’t grinding itself to pieces. Two. I should make that two axles, because the driver side was in even worse shape.

Oh and also the tires.

I go into these trips knowing that tires are probably needed. Surprisingly, all 4 tires on the Celica were in great shape! Two are brand new and two are in decent condition.

But given where we’re headed, I needed a spare. Like a real spare, not just a donut that this car shipped with (but did not still have). So I made a run to the Discount Tire where the salesman made the discovery that the two newer tires are a slightly larger size… Because of course they are.

Now rather than pick which set of tires to make the spare for, I now have five tires of the same size… so I’m ready to give this a shot.

Seattle to Anchorage… that’s only two thousand miles… How hard can it be?

Today was my only “day off” between my working roadtrip to get here and our roadtrip yet to come. On the original schedule, today was the “buy cars in a terrific frenzy and get them ready to go” day. But we’ve already done that first part. So instead, we slept in and took a slow day making repairs and cleaning things out to get ready for tomorrow when we will drive to Canada! (That still feels bonkers to even say, let alone actually do.)

Each car needed something minor. Evan’s Volvo had a terrible aftermarket tint strip along the windshield that he wanted removed. He also Armor-All’d the whole world. George worked on fixing the electrics for the power windows and repairing his instrument cluster which had not only problems with its lights but also its lens was mostly opaque.

I was feeling rather smug in the Celica, feeling like I had nothing actually important to do. I’ve already driven nearly three thousand miles. All I had in mind was putting the driver door threshold in place. Mark included the trim piece in the trunk (not sure why it had even been removed, to be honest) but I needed the clips. Thankfully, George had a box of a million.

So I put on the Mystery Machine hat that Evan gave me and got to work.

This turned out to be quite easy once I got my hands on the clips. This looks so much more respectable now!

I also worked on tightening up the screws that hold in the atrocious pedal pads that the PreviousPrevious Owner installed. They’re awful, and I hate them, and they are so bad that I must keep them. But they were loose, which was a problem all the way up here, so I adjusted that. Amusingly, I found this exact set of pedal pads at an AutoZone today; they were $14. This kills me because the service history that included so much paperwork of repairs declined also included a receipt for like fifty bucks in labor for someone to install these pads.

I figured I might as well run a diagnostics check on the car’s computer. As the engine warmed up, coolant started leaking out… a lot…

Turns out, coolant leaks out of the upper radiator hose (you know, the even hotter side…) when it’s under operating pressure. We unhooked it, determined the hose and the radiator both look okay, and remounted it, tightening the hose clamp a little better around a flange. That seems to be holding for now, at least idling in the driveway. I’m rather pleased! If this fixes my coolant leak, that means one less cause for my car to smell like car part barbecue after each segment.

Also I made a friend… mostly because I didn’t want this little neighbor to try and drink the giant coolant poison spillage I made.

And a few more odds and ends…

After all of that, we ate far too much seafood on the waterfront of the Sound at the Harbor Lights restaurant.

Tomorrow, we take the short drive to Port Angeles and return to Hurricane Ridge, before boarding the first ferry over to Victoria, CANADA. Which is a place, I repeat, that we are going to go to, tomorrow. In these cars that, somehow, we own, which is also insane.

This keeps hitting me in waves — we’re doing this again.

It’s time to leave for Canada! And for Target to learn how Roman numerals work…

Made it back on US 101 to Port Angeles! We’re at the very same restaurant for lunch before running up to Hurricane Ridge for one last nostalgia fueled moment. Then it’s of to Canada!