The Rambler & The Surge

I'm a car guy. Not like a nut that invests lots of dough into buying or building bad ass cars, but more someone who really wants to get into the car that I own, or that I want to buy. This hasn't always worked out really well (like the '83 Camaro Z28 that I owned when the boy was born), but sometimes it has. This is a story of one of those times.

In early 1989 my buddy Marco and I decided we were going to move to Seattle to play music and such. We would need a vehicle, and we decided it would be a 1969 Rambler American station wagon – I don't really know why, but that's what it was going to be. After a surprisingly short search, we found a baby blue example of this very vehicle for a paltry 600 bucks! I don't have a picture of ours, but here's a pretty decent facsimile:

Ours had the same blue paint color, although much more faded, and this weird blue velour type upholstery that kind of looked like a beat up old bathrobe, no radio (that worked anyway), and passable tires. It also had a bad head gasket, though we didn't figure that out until after we bought it. We bought it and had a great time hauling folks around during our last summer in Sac, after we installed a shitty Audiovox tape deck in the glove box, which pretty much played an endless loop of Go, Dog! Go and Junkyard tapes. Marco and I even did a valve job on it, with the help of a friendly mechanic and the use of our friend's garage.

So in September of 1989 we loaded all of our remaining stuff into it and headed to Seattle, to the great unknown. We were terrified that the head would blow right out of the fucking hood the whole drive…we never exceeded 55 miles per hour and we pulled off at pretty much every rest stop to give it a breather for 15 or 20 minutes. We would also have beers, because we deserved a rest too, right? But you know what? We made it! The Rambler, valve job and all, held out and delivered us to the Pacific Northwest to begin our new lives.

Sure, the heater never did work, and the engine smelled funny pretty much every time you drove it for more than 10 miles, but that goddamn Rambler drove us and our band gear all over Seattle, as well as to and from work for quite some time. That's right, Marco and I worked together for quite a while, which is a story of shared incompetence and lousy work ethic, but for another time.

So it's 1992, and the mighty Sacramento Surge is dominating the World League of American Football! Yeah, you remember that… We were flying the flags of this exciting brand of spring football, which was, of course, a great reason to hang out in bars and watch TV, but also a perfect excuse for a ROAD TRIP! The Rambler was heading back to Sac, and we were going with it. Our friend Glen, who shared a love of football, Kiss, and beer with us was in on the trip as well…We picked up a few cases of Rainier and we were on our way…

We were shooting for a one day trip, and things were going well until we hit Red Bluff, CA, specifically just a few miles past the city center. A loud "Pow" was heard, then an impressive plume of black smoke combined with a consistent knocking. This, of course, was followed by a complete loss of power. The black smoke was actually oil that was blowing out the giant hole in the side of the engine block and fender…a rod shot out that way and was eventually located on the other side of the freeway quite a ways back. The engine was gone.

While it would be a great loss, surely this classic had some value, right? Well, the tow truck driver cheerfully informed us that our beloved Rambler was going to make a great…trailer (because of the spindles, you know)! After that he dropped us off in downtown Red Bluff at the bus station that had closed about 2 hours earlier. We checked in to a lovely motel after a fucking sketchy walk down the main drag, where the glares of the local populace informed us that longhairs with rad bell-bottomed pants were not necessarily appreciated, much to our surprise.

The next morning my dad picked us up in his truck, with my brother driving. We sat in the back polishing off what was left of the Rainiers and getting psyched about the game, when the Surge would take on the woeful Ohio Glory (don't worry, they at least had a fan in Glen). A stop at the fabulous Louis Cairo's in Williams was in order, of course, which was highlighted by my dad convincing everyone there that we were a kickboxing team from Seattle on our way to a match…we received a hearty "Good luck in your match!" from the whole bar on our way out!

Well, the game was great for us (Surge 21, Glory 7!) and probably pretty crappy for anyone within about 15 feet of where we were sitting. The subsequent evening was fun, of course, and the next day was spent floating in my mom's pool. We rented a car for the return trip (though I'm not sure how we pulled this off, as I doubt there was a credit card between us) and moved on, without the Rambler. But if you're ever in Red Bluff, please take a minute to drive by Hess Brothers auto wrecking and salute the Rambler, which is probably a flatbed by now, and your own ride as well. And maybe tell me about it while you're at it…