As the Grateful Dead used to say, "What a long, strange trip it's been." And, now that it's safely over and we're all back home, the same can definitely be said of our latest CFCA club adventure in our Corvettes. Having just returned from our "whirlwind" tour of the Florida Keys (okay, so it was just two Keys: Key Largo and Islamorada), our not-so-close encounter with one mischievous Hurricane "Michelle," and a rash of vehicle mishaps that can best be described as "interesting, but let's not do them again," we can report that a relatively fun, albeit short time was still had by all. Before going any further, however, I would like to personally thank, in no particular order, the following members for literally going the extra mile--and then a whole bunch more-for seeing to it that I and my '59 made it home safe and in one piece:

Lisa Lafferty
Gary and Joan Wollenhaupt
Duane and Arlene Pavlic
John "Hutch" and Patti Hutchinson
Kim and Donna Cole
Jerome and Janice Jones
Bob and (soon to be) Karen Gray

The occupants of the twenty vehicles that rendezvoused between 7:00 and 7:45 AM Friday morning at the Cracker Barrel Restaurant across form Universal Studios (nineteen Corvettes and one bright red, recently repaired Chevy pick-up truck, driven by Shelly and Roger Schwartz) can be thought of as (among other things) fun-seeking, risk-taking, Corvette enthusiasts. We all knew there was a tropical storm brewing southwest of Cuba that was gathering strength and heading oh-so-slowly towards the north-northeast. We all knew there was a distinct possibility that the tropical storm might turn into a hurricane that might pass near or over the Keys. And we all knew that, unlike a good Marguerita, hurricanes and the Florida Keys do not mix well. But, hey, we had a Corvette show to go to, and so what if the show just happened to be in the potential path of a potential hurricane?!?

After last minute gas stops (both kinds) and final preparations, our caravan departed the Cracker Barrel's parking lot at 8:00 AM, bound for points south. While most of the cars in the troupe were of the removable-top category, only three initially chose to brave the elements and go topless. Arguably, there are few things in life more fun than blasting down the highway at a high rate of (relatively lawful) speed in a Corvette with the top down, and that morning was no exception. Unfortunately, the fun factor dropped a bit when large, white thunderhead clouds began to appear on the distant southern horizon. When these soon became the more menacing dark gray storm variety, the caravan slowed while the three convertibles pulled over to quickly raise their lids. While buttoning up diminished only slightly the driving enjoyment of the other Corvettes, the raising of my '59's convertible top added greatly to a challenge that she and I were doing our best to ignore. Only a few days before the trip, the source of extremely noxious exhaust fumes in the cockpit (no, not those kind of fumes) was finally discovered: the driver's side exhaust pipe, aft of the muffler, had a very large rust hole atop the pipe where it passed under the trunk. Unfortunately, the raw, non-catalytic-converter-treated exhaust fumes were being sucked into the trunk, then through the openings in the cardboard trunk liner panel, into the convertible top well, and then into cockpit. With the top down these fumes were merely sub-deadly; with the top up, they became, uh, breathtaking. Fortunately, I had learned in the few days leading up to the trip where in the passenger compartment to stuff several large beach towels, so as to force the fumes to find other, less habitable routes out of the car. This more or less worked, reducing by more than half the amount of carbon monoxide that was going places other than where GM had intended. But putting the top up trapped more of these fumes inside than the open windows were able to compensate for. The only element missing that would make the experience complete was a heavy downpour. Well, guess what? For those members that have not had the "pleasure" of driving in an old C1 or C2 convertible with no air conditioning, the top up and the windows down in a pouring rain storm, well, you simply have not lived! And don't forget the exhaust fumes! Thankfully, the (first) downpour was relatively short-lived and by the time we reached our first pit stop, it was sunny again.

Although it had been tentatively agreed that the first scheduled pit stop would be the Turnpike's Fort Pierce Service Plaza, the group made this first stop at a closer plaza. On the way there, the Corvettes had passed Shelly's and Roger's shiny red Chevy pick-up, parked on the right hand shoulder. We checked with them by radio-phone and they said everything was fine, and that they would catch up with us. However, that proved to be a little more difficult than they had planned. It seems that after they got back underway, they were rear-ended at 70 mph by a careless driver in a rental Cadillac that had his cruise control set and never bothered to slow down as he closed in on them from behind. Their pick-up (which they had only gotten back from the repair shop a little over a month before, after $12,000 in repairs) was a crumpled wreck! The impact had caused Roger's head to whip back, through the rear glass, and Shelly's head and hand to impact the steering wheel. Fortunately, both survived with only their (relatively) minor injuries. They returned home and, like the true and devoted Corvette enthusiasts they are, jumped in their '93 40th Anniversary Edition Corvette and headed south to, eventually, join up with the rest of us in Islamorada!

After the assorted potty, coffee and gas breaks at our first service plaza stop, the group hit the road again. Having driven through the first rain showers, which lasted only a few minutes and didn't seem all that bad, I decided to take a chance on any new rain that we might drive through, and dropped my top again. Now, some of our caravan members looked at me a little oddly and called this a rather "bold" and "brave" move on my part (what they were really probably thinking was, "you've got to be kidding!"). However, knowing that we were going to be stopping again at Fort Pierce, I figured, how much rain could we possibly drive through in 30 to 40 miles? Well, let me tell you, it was a LOT . . . twice! Now, while they may look curvaceous and streamlined, C1 Corvettes are about as aerodynamic as the proverbial brick. Wind and rain do not so much flow over and around their frontal area as they do smash into and roll through them. This was clearly proven to be the case as the first heavy downpour turned my open cockpit into a rolling hot tub. Actually, it wasn't all that bad; very little water really made its way over the top of the windshield header, and with my cap on and me ducked down low, I stayed fairly dry. However, the one-piece, wrap-around windshield proved to be excellent at channeling the water around its sides and into the interior area, where it tended to collect on the inside surface of the windshield and atop the dashboard. The meager efforts of the tiny windshield wipers on the outside did little about the water that coated the inside. Happily, I was the second car in the pack, behind Jon and Pat Gardner's C5 Flyer, and I only lost visual contact with them, oh, five or six times when the white-out conditions of the deluge rendered their car's tail lights all but invisible. After a few miles of some rather tense concentration-driving, the rain lifted, the skies cleared and it was all peaches and cream again. For about fifteen minutes. Then it started again. And the second time was worse than the first.

Needless to say that, by the time we all arrived at the Fort Pierce Service Plaza, it was time to put the top back up, which I did . . . once, I dried off everything inside the car. As a proven testament to their status as true believers in the thrill and excitement of the Corvette experience (all Corvette experiences), no one in our group gave me an "I told you so." However, I was, for a short time, the subject of some pretty "wet" observations and comments, and deservedly so.

As this was a perfunctory pit stop, we were soon back on the road (with all tops up and firmly in place) and headed for our next "planned" stop at Florida City, at the "top" of the Keys. While the balance of the drive was fairly uneventful (yes, we did drive through several more rain showers), we managed to make another unscheduled stop at the Lake Worth Service Plaza. This was due to my '59's rather small gas tank (16.4 gallons) and poor gas mileage (we won't go there) causing me to need fuel more often than my C4 and C5 brethren. Everyone stopped, stretched and did their thing while I and a few others gassed up, and we again, hit the road. One of our members duly (and correctly) noted over the radios that this was why it took three days to drive a Corvette Caravan to Bowling Green.

From Lake Worth to Florida City was a fast-paced blur. While the vast majority of the group used their Sun Pass transmitters to blast through the toll plazas and "virtual-pay" the $10.90 toll at the Lantana exit and the five $0.75 tolls after that, a few of us (me included) were forced to actually STOP and fork over the actual tolls with real money. Playing catch-up was tricky, but oh-so-fun! After warping ahead of the merging hoi polloi at each toll plaza, those up ahead slowed (just a little) to allow the rest of us to join up, and we were soon together again. Although the group fleetingly considered a detour to Naples, Hutch was not in the lead, so the course remained firmly to the south.

Florida City was, once again, the gateway stop to the Florida Keys, and it provided the group with a much-needed pit stop for gas, drinks, snacks, and the usual potty breaks. Kim and Donna Cole's '81 suffered a broken U-joint that required replacement, and which temporarily kept them from continuing with the rest of the group; fortunately, they were able to catch up with us later. As we finished using the facilities, the skies remained partly sunny, the temperature warm, and the breezes stiff. We climbed back into our cars for the last hour's push to Islamorada and the Holiday Isle Resort, and roared out onto US Highway 1 in a single-file right-turn parade.

3:30 PM found those of us that had made it all the way stacking up in the left turn lane of US 1, awaiting our individual opportunities to dart in between northbound traffic as we turned into the Holiday Isle parking lot. There were already more than fifty Corvettes parked and set up in the designated "Corvette Parking Only" area, with many of them in various stages of being cleaned and prepared for the following day's show. The weather remained unexpectedly great, and it wasn't a few people that remarked that there was little evidence that a hurricane was a day or so away (Tropical Storm "Michelle" had been upgraded to Hurricane "Michelle" while we drove down, and her winds were intensifying).

As our group slowly made its way, one car at a time, into the show parking area through the narrow entrance drive, I made the mistake of turning my car off to keep it from overheating. And, of course, it would not restart; not even a "click." Dead battery. Luckily, some helpful Corvette owners walking by offered to push my powerless '59 into the parking area, where she would land up sitting overnight (I was not worried; the Florida Keys Corvette Club sponsoring the show always arranges for excellent overnight security for the cars. So, even though I had not planned on leaving my car overnight at Holiday Isle, I knew it would be safe). As the rest of our group was herded into place by the show organizers, I could only stare forlornly at my ride. Although she had performed flawlessly all the way down from Orlando, she had (unbeknownst to me) sacrificed her 100-month DieHard battery after only six months of use to do so.

While most everyone in our group had elected to stay at the Holiday Isle Resort for the two nights that we were originally scheduled to be in Islamorada, I and one or two other couples had hotel rooms in other nearby resorts. Unfortunately, I now had no way to get to mine. To my rescue came "Bullet" Bob Ellis and his white '91 convertible! While leaving his lovely wife, Ann, to fend with the natives, Bob loaded me and my bags and gave me a lift for the four miles south to the beautiful Islamorada Hampton Inn and Suites, where I stayed last year. Once there and checked in, I was somewhat marooned and unable to join up with the rest of the group to party later that evening. But, boy, did I ever sleep well that night! As the clouds descended and the sky ominously darkened, the onshore winds picked up considerably. The Weather Channel was all a titter over the now Category 4 (winds over 135 mph) Hurricane "Michelle" that was slowly making its way towards western Cuba and, possibly, the Florida Keys. As night fell, the palm trees all around the hotel were bent westward, their fronds all pointing in one, never wavering direction. Following a delicious dinner at the Outback Steakhouse that is attached to the hotel, I returned to my fourth floor room, opened the drapes to stare out over the inky black ocean, and fell instantly asleep.

Saturday morning arrived tempestuously on the winds of our girl "Michelle." The Rumor Police were nowhere to be found, so everyone you spoke to or overheard had their own version of what calamities lay ahead. Even the Miami television stations were victims of occasional hyperbole and inaccurate reporting. Depending on to whom you listened, there were various reports of either voluntary or mandatory evacuations of one, several or all of the Keys. Some reports had these evacuations being for tourists and visitors only, while others had them for everyone, including residents. No one really seemed to know, for sure, what the truth was. About the only thing that could not be argued with was the colorful satellite imagery that kept popping up on the Weather Channel every ten minutes or so; at least that was accurate.

After failing twice at getting a taxi to come pick me up at the hotel, I was offered a ride back to the Holiday Isle Resort by a very nice lady from the Hampton Inn. She dropped me off around 7:30 AM, just outside of the Corvette parking area, which was now fairly full of all years of Corvettes. The sky was overcast, with low-hanging, fast-moving gray clouds, and the stiff breeze of the day before had turned to a gusting wind that had a nasty tendency to kick up and carry beach sand. And, yes, that sand was being deposited on everyone's freshly cleaned Corvettes. Instead of being located outdoors under a tropical, thatched-roof Tiki hut as it had in year's past, the show's registration area (and all of the trophies) had been moved indoors to a second floor meeting room that overlooked the beach and ocean. As the show's participants raced the weather to register, set up their areas and repeatedly clean their cars, the weather seemed to be winning. It drizzled three times between 7:30 and 9:30 AM, and more than a few owners gave up after the second rain and stopped cleaning their cars. For a while, the show organizers were unsure whether the show could actually still take place; more rumors were trickling in that there had been a mandatory evacuation announcement issued for Marathon Key, the next Key south of Islamorada (this proved to be false). Then it was announced that the big, off-shore power boat race in Key West this weekend had been cancelled and the boats were being trailer-evacuated out of Key West up US 1 (this proved to be true, and we later saw the boats "parade" by Holiday Isle on their way north). Then it was announced that there was a voluntary evacuation notice issued for all visitors and tourists for all of the Keys (true), which caused the show organizers to almost cancel the show. This would have resulted in Plan "B" going into effect, where actual judging of the entrants' cars would have been cancelled, but the registration numbers of all of the cars being judged would be placed in a hat for each class with the three "winners" in each class being drawn at random.

Fortunately, the weather broke first. The clouds thinned and whitened. The sun began to slowly pop out every now and then, and eventually stayed out in a partly cloudy sky. Even the wind died down a tad. To everyone's surprise, the weather began to resemble a normal fall day in the Keys. And, to the relief of everyone, the show went on as scheduled, however, in a faster-paced, foreshortened version. Eight judges failed to show up, due to their having to board up homes and businesses south of Islamorada. But the Florida Keys Corvette Club managed a minor miracle and was able to put together enough on-site replacements that a full compliment of judging still took place.

The cleaning period was shortened by one hour to end at 9:30 AM, and, as it was winding down, the subject of discussion amongst the CFCA members was whether to cancel our hotel reservations in Key West for Sunday and Monday nights. In a very short time it was unanimously agreed that this was the smart thing to do, and we all called the Key West Hilton (and other resorts) to cancel our rooms and confirm that we would not be charged for the nights (the now confirmed mandatory evacuation of all visitors and tourists to Key Wet guaranteed that we would not be). A little later in the day, another rumor surfaced that the hurricane had made a strong easterly turn, had veered away from Cuba, and was heading out to the Atlantic. This meant that it would not even pass by the Keys; our weekend was saved! There was even talk of reinstating our reservation in Key West. However, this rumor proved to be short lived, and it was soon confirmed that "Michelle" was not only still bearing down on Cuba and the Keys, but that it had strengthened even more and had picked up some forward speed. This clinched the club's decision to not only leave Key West cancelled, but to also cancel our second night in Islamorada, and to hit the road as soon as the awards were handed out.

As the day sped by, so did the rest of the normally expected events and activities usually associated with a Corvette show in the Keys. They just happened a whole lot faster. Free Jello-shots were passed out and instantly disappeared; the eating of lunch, which could languidly drag on for several hours, was over in less than an hour, mostly due to their being only a couple of the normally many Holiday Isle eating establishments being open for business; and the usually slow and almost unnoticeable attrition of non-judged cars was replaced with a very noticeable dispersion rate of all classes of cars, including "display" and "judged" cars looking to get a head start on what was feared to be a major, north-bound traffic jam. Bob and Ann Ellis, and Jon and Pat Gardner were amongst those making an early departure; others were not far behind. Judging was concluded nearly three hours earlier than normal at 1:30 PM. By 2:00 PM those that were left (still a considerable number) had assembled in the normally spacious, but now cramped meeting room for the awards ceremony.

Although Patti Hutchinson believed he would be there, Jim McLellan was not able to make it. However, his (good-natured) twin brother Dave was, and he shared with the group some teaser tid-bits from his upcoming new book on Corvettes, including a hint that it "will contain some information on the C6 and beyond . . ." The trophies were handed out at a near break-neck speed, with Mr. McLellan barely able to move fast enough to be photographed with each winner.

Our club did fairly well, with several members garnering trophies in their respective classes, and the club, as a whole, winning the "most representation in the Display class" trophy. Unfortunately, there was no time to take the traditional, trophies-in-hand, group photograph with the Conch mermaid, as our entire group left the awards ceremony, en masse, to reassemble in the parking lot. After a quick pack-up, we cranked up our cars and, at 3:00 PM sharp, proceeded to fall into line for a single-file fall-out of the Holiday Isle parking lot. For those of you wondering whether my '59 started, it did. I had received a jump start from Tony CuCulino, one of the chief organizers of the show, upon arriving that morning, and throughout the day I had occasionally restarted the car to make sure that the charge had held, which it had.

We hit US 1 and headed north, expecting but not hitting any serious traffic. Due to the evacuation notices (there was now a confirmed mandatory evacuation of all visitors and tourists [including visiting Corvette owners] of ALL Keys), all tolls had been lifted. This allowed the group to take a detour up Card Sound Road (normally a toll road), which proved to be quite scenic and reasonably light on traffic. When we hit Florida City, we all stopped at the Mobil station for fuel and supplies. And that's where things started to go badly for me and my '59.

After fueling up, my car would not restart. Crap! Dead battery again. To my rescue came Duane and Arlene in their beautiful Carmine Red C5 convertible. A quick jump start and I was able to pull away from the gas pumps and get in line to leave. As I was waiting, with the car idling, wouldn't you know, she stalled . . . and would not restart. To my rescue this time came Gary and Joan in their richly appointed Dark Navy Blue C5 convertible. Squeezing in between my car and two other parked cars; they pulled along side and offered up their battery. A quick charge and, once again, I was up and running, but this was getting worrisome. As she prepared to climb into her rare Dark Bowling Green C5 convertible, Lisa noted that at least I was traveling with lots of extra 12-volt batteries; they just happened to be in other people's Corvettes!

We hit the highway and jumped on the northbound Turnpike, taking off like our tails were on fire. It was about 5:00 PM and we were passing through southern Broward County as the skies began to darken again and the wind picked up once more. We were cruising along at a steady clip in moderate traffic and making excellent time when it began to drizzle. As my car had been running perfectly since Florida City, I thought nothing of turning on the headlights. As soon as I pulled out the headlight switch, the engine shuttered violently and the RPMs dropped nearly in half. I instantly pushed the light switch back in and the engine returned to normal. A little later, as our caravan switched lanes, I engaged the turn signal lever, but no blinking green light came on. Uh-oh. A few minutes later I realized that I had no horn. And right after that, just as the rain started coming down steadily, I turned on my windshield wipers. They managed to make half a pass across the windshield when they and the engine died. At 65 mph. In traffic. On the Turnpike. In the rain. Maybe Zora himself was smiling down on me at that moment, but as I stuck my left arm out of my open window in the old fashioned hand signal for right turn (no, not that hand signal), we somehow managed to coast over to the right hand shoulder and just made it under a narrow overpass. Miraculously, Kim and Donna were able to pull up behind me in their "Fear This" Red '81 C3, and Jerome and Janice were able to pass us in their Stealth Black '79 C3, pull over, and back up on the shoulder to join us. We radioed ahead to everyone else to let them know what had happened, and that we would try another jump start. That's when we remembered why we couldn't conveniently use either of the C3s back at Florida City; through a stroke of engineering genius (and better weight distribution), the batteries in C3s are located inside the passenger compartment, behind the driver's seat under a floor storage panel.

As I was talking to Joan on our cell phones (the group ahead had quickly passed out of radio-phone range) and frantically wondering whether I would have to have my car towed all the way back to Longwood, Kim was unpacking half of his and Donna's things from the rear of their '81 to get to the battery. After rearranging his car to be snug up beside mine, and draping the battery cables out of his driver's side window, we were able to make a good connection and jump my dead battery for the fourth time that day. And, once again, we were off and running! We let Joan and company know that we were on our way again; she said that they had pulled over as a group just south of the Pompano Beach toll plaza, and would wait for us. By now I knew not to use anything electrical in the car-no headlights, no horn, no turn signals, no wipers, no power windows, nothing. Obviously, this would make driving in the dark and/or rain extremely difficult. I told the group that I would pull off the Turnpike and look for a Sears to buy a new battery, and that they should continue on without me. But they would have nothing of that. It was suggested that, if I could make it that far, we should stop at the next Service Plaza and try to buy a battery there. And that became the plan.

As Kim and Donna, Jerome and Janice, and I approached the toll plaza, everything was going fine. That is until I stepped on the brakes. The tiny amount of electrical current necessary to light up the brake lights killed the battery again. As I coasted by the C4 and C5s waiting for us, and through the toll plaza, I came to rest on the north side shoulder . . . again. Once again, it was Kim and Donna to the rescue, with some added help (and fireworks) from Duane on the jumper cables. My tired '59 roared back to life one more time, and we all sped off to the Pompano Beach Service Plaza, two miles up the road. As we all pulled in, an old Chevy van pulled out in front of me and cut across my direct path to the service garage. As I circled around the gas pumps like some drunken moth, desperately trying to not step on the brakes and kill the engine again, the car stalled and I was forced to coast into the service bay, letting my forward momentum carry me the last 100 feet. The seven cars that were still with us parked alongside and we all proceeded to set about solving the problem, in true team spirit.

Using a magazine and a radio-phone as measuring devices, Hutch and I scaled the length and width of the old, dead battery while it was still in my car, and went inside to compare these scientifically taken measurements against the various batteries for sale. And that's when we all met Mr. Helpful. Never let it be said that all humans have some worth. We met one that, at that moment in time, did not. After ten solid minutes of disclaimers, hold-harmless pronouncements, and reasons why I should not buy a battery from him, I finally purchased a new Interstate battery that was the spitting image of my old battery. Just to be absolutely and doubly safe, we placed the new, fully charged battery on the plaza's battery charger to let it trickle charge a little more while we all went next door to scarf down some greasy Popeye's chicken. While everyone was finishing up their gourmet dinners, I hurried back to my beauty-that-had-turned-into-a-beast and installed the new battery. In less time than it took to "discuss" the sale with Mr. Helpful, the new battery was in, hooked up and powering everything on the car. She started up the first time, with a healthy crank-over, and everything worked! And with the slam of the hood, we were off yet again.

After gassing up one last time at the Pompano Beach plaza, we roared northward towards our next to last stop, the Ft. Drum Service Plaza. There we took potty and coffee breaks, a healthy walking stretch around the parking lot, let Bob and Karen catch up with us (they had dropped back after Pompano Beach), and hit the road for the last push home. As we closed in on Orange County and our eight-car caravan began to shed participants as their exits on the Turnpike began to appear, the speedometer on Kim and Donna's '81 gave up the ghost. So for the 25 miles or so, from the juncture of the Turnpike and I-4 to my exit in Longwood, my '59 lead the way for the Cole's '81 and Jerome and Janice's '79, after which they sped on home to Orange City.

It was both a short and a long trip, filled with equal parts fun, adventure and frustration. I got to know several club members that I had only really known in passing at club meetings and a few events in a much more personal way, and will be forever grateful to them for their help and their patience. Perhaps, one day, I will be able to return the favor to them and we will all be able to look back on our adventures and experiences with a fond and friendly smile. We never did get to have dinner at Kelly McGillis's Caribbean Bar, Grill & Brewery in Key West this year, but there's always next year. Till then, make your reservations early (there was a rumor that all of the first floor rooms were already booked at Holiday Isle for next year's Corvettes in Paradise), and remember to "save the wave," and enjoy those Vettes.