It was a beautiful bright June morning when we left Disneyland but we weren't 50 miles down the road before we ran into problems. The burner was cranky and the fire blew out on several occasions and we had to pull over to the side of the road till the liquid kerosene and the burner evaporated. You cannot run a steam car on liquid fuel: the kerosene has to be vaporized in the gas ignited. Well, for whatever reason the burner blew out every 50 miles for the rest of the day. Most of the time, a blowout is caused by small particles of carbon clogging the jets, but of course that wasn't the case because we cleaned out the jets and the fire still kept going out.
The next day things were a bit better and we were cruising along very nicely and we entered the Mojave Desert. Our water tanker kept up with us and we would pull over to the side of the road and fill up every 50 miles. Somewhere in the middle of the Mojave Desert, Carl Amsley heard an ominous knocking in the engine. We drove into a rest stop along the highway and proceeded to change the engine. That's not an easy job when you're in a garage and have all the necessary equipment but to do it on the black top in the middle of the Mojave Desert with temperatures ranging around 110 to 115° was quite a trek. We got the job done and I think we each lost 15 pounds doing it. To say that it was hot would be a gross understatement. We got back on the road and drove to Yuma Arizona. People were waving banners, handing us buckets of ice water asking "Where's your Sense of Yuma." We had no sense of humor that day.
The next few days were relatively uneventful with only an occasional glitch in the burner. But this time we were Deep in the Heart of Texas and our water supply truck was nowhere in sight. We had to find water every 50 miles and it wasn't easy to do. We were on a lonely road and saw a farmhouse off in the distance. We pulled off the road and went towards what appeared to be the main house. We pulled up and I got out to walk to the door. Just then 20 to 30 very large and angry geese came honking at me from around the corner of the house. The door opened and a little old man with a shotgun in his hand, wearing nothing but a nightshirt, slippers, and a 10 gallon cowboy hat, stood there glaring at me . He took one look at me and then at the car and then back at me and asked in a very distinctive Texas drawl "What the hell are you doing here, what kind of car is that?" I told him about the great race, the car and we needed water. He became absolutely enthralled with the Stanley. He told us to drive around in the back to the well, we hooked up our hose and filled up the tank. He went in the house and put on a pair of overalls and told us he wanted a ride in the car. We drove around for several miles and then back to the house. As long as he was near us the geese were quiet but I wouldn't want to be anywhere near that house at night if he wasn't around.
Another time we were running out of water and again our tanker was nowhere in sight. We were driving on a long stretch of farmland and there were pivots and well lines irrigating the crops. We pulled into one of the fields, hooked up the hose to one of the sprinkler heads and filled up the tank. An extra dividend for us was that we were drenched doing it but the temperature was in the high 90s and it felt good.
Along the road from Lake Charles to Baton Rouge we were pulled over by a police car. The officer walked all around the car to or three times and told us in no uncertain terms that the car was not roadworthy. He was a bit testy with us and it seemed that he was going to give us a citation but the other officer in the patrol car was busy looking at the dashboard of the Stanley. It was an episode of "good cop, bad cop." I quickly took advantage of it and offered to take the officer for spin in a steam car and I even offered to let him drive it for a bit. They were happy and we left them and went on down the highway.
The Race proved to be too much for a steam powered auto. We were unable to keep up with the pack and we could not come close to time required to finish each day. After several days, we were out of competition so we resorted to doing what we could to finish the race. We would just drive the route as best we could in the hope that we would get to the end of the day before dark. We did this for the rest of the race, through city after city and into Disney World amid the waiting throng of people waiting for us in Florida. We received our 'Finishers Medallion' and during the festivities we talked about doing it again next year but only if we could find a sponsor. We found a sponsor and the 'THE CULLIGAN STEAM TEAM' was our next adventure.
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The next day things were a bit better and we were cruising along very nicely and we entered the Mojave Desert. Our water tanker kept up with us and we would pull over to the side of the road and fill up every 50 miles. Somewhere in the middle of the Mojave Desert, Carl Amsley heard an ominous knocking in the engine. We drove into a rest stop along the highway and proceeded to change the engine. That's not an easy job when you're in a garage and have all the necessary equipment but to do it on the black top in the middle of the Mojave Desert with temperatures ranging around 110 to 115° was quite a trek. We got the job done and I think we each lost 15 pounds doing it. To say that it was hot would be a gross understatement. We got back on the road and drove to Yuma Arizona. People were waving banners, handing us buckets of ice water asking "Where's your Sense of Yuma." We had no sense of humor that day.
The next few days were relatively uneventful with only an occasional glitch in the burner. But this time we were Deep in the Heart of Texas and our water supply truck was nowhere in sight. We had to find water every 50 miles and it wasn't easy to do. We were on a lonely road and saw a farmhouse off in the distance. We pulled off the road and went towards what appeared to be the main house. We pulled up and I got out to walk to the door. Just then 20 to 30 very large and angry geese came honking at me from around the corner of the house. The door opened and a little old man with a shotgun in his hand, wearing nothing but a nightshirt, slippers, and a 10 gallon cowboy hat, stood there glaring at me . He took one look at me and then at the car and then back at me and asked in a very distinctive Texas drawl "What the hell are you doing here, what kind of car is that?" I told him about the great race, the car and we needed water. He became absolutely enthralled with the Stanley. He told us to drive around in the back to the well, we hooked up our hose and filled up the tank. He went in the house and put on a pair of overalls and told us he wanted a ride in the car. We drove around for several miles and then back to the house. As long as he was near us the geese were quiet but I wouldn't want to be anywhere near that house at night if he wasn't around.
Another time we were running out of water and again our tanker was nowhere in sight. We were driving on a long stretch of farmland and there were pivots and well lines irrigating the crops. We pulled into one of the fields, hooked up the hose to one of the sprinkler heads and filled up the tank. An extra dividend for us was that we were drenched doing it but the temperature was in the high 90s and it felt good.
Along the road from Lake Charles to Baton Rouge we were pulled over by a police car. The officer walked all around the car to or three times and told us in no uncertain terms that the car was not roadworthy. He was a bit testy with us and it seemed that he was going to give us a citation but the other officer in the patrol car was busy looking at the dashboard of the Stanley. It was an episode of "good cop, bad cop." I quickly took advantage of it and offered to take the officer for spin in a steam car and I even offered to let him drive it for a bit. They were happy and we left them and went on down the highway.
The Race proved to be too much for a steam powered auto. We were unable to keep up with the pack and we could not come close to time required to finish each day. After several days, we were out of competition so we resorted to doing what we could to finish the race. We would just drive the route as best we could in the hope that we would get to the end of the day before dark. We did this for the rest of the race, through city after city and into Disney World amid the waiting throng of people waiting for us in Florida. We received our 'Finishers Medallion' and during the festivities we talked about doing it again next year but only if we could find a sponsor. We found a sponsor and the 'THE CULLIGAN STEAM TEAM' was our next adventure.
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The Great American Race '87 Page 2
Engine Change in the Mojave Desert
On The The Road Again