I was sorry I had to leave Phil’s house after only an hour, but I had to go if I was going to catch the earlier ferry – the ferry after the 2:45 was 4:30 or so. I was back on the road and moving along quickly. The GPS said that I would arrive at the CMLF by 2:14 pm – AWESOME. Right on schedule. halfway to Maryland I think, I realized I needed gas AGAIN. This damn UHAUL completely sucked – figuratively time and cash-wise as well as literally gas-wise.

Between that stop and a few slow drivers through Maryland, my arrival time was bleeding later towards 2:30. JEEZ folks drive slow here – and there were dozens of traffic lights. I was speaking to a friend on the phone to keep calm, and he suggested that I call the CMLF to reserve a spot on the ferry. I did, and the gentleman who took my reservation said that 2:30 should be fine.

Then I got to the smallest, one-light town I’ve ever seen. It had one two-lane road going through it, the speed limit was 15 mph and I was tempted to ignore that by speeding through this sleepy old town when the thought of spending the night in an East Bumblefuk jail slowed me down.

“I’ll get there,” I thought, and I meandered through the winding streets.

What town was this?? The buildings looked old as dirt, the post office was falling apart and I was driving so slow I could see the peeling paint falling from the building – and then it happened.

As I was approaching an intersection and I saw a Honda CRV stopped there. I was already risking it by driving 20 mph in a 15 zone, but I knew what was coming next and I sped up a bit. I was too late. The car pulled out in front of me which forced me to nearly a complete stop. To make matters worse, the person proceeded to drive 10 mph through the rest of this sleepy town. The speed limit was 15, “is this really happening?” I asked myself.

I glanced at the ETA on the GPS – 2:27 – CRAP.

“We’ll get on the highway and they’ll speed up,” I hoped, “PLEASE, speed up…”

We got to the highway after we moseyed through town, and they never did over 45 in a 55 mph zone.

“OK, no problem,” I tried to self assure myself, “they’ll turn off soon,” and when she didn’t I said, “No problem, the lanes will double up and I will pass them then,” and 10 miles later the GPS ETA read 2:38, I started looking for a place to haul ass by her with my tank pulling a howitzer.

No dice – every time I thought I could, a car came the other way or the passing lane just wasn’t long enough for my taste. I started to plan for the possibility that I wasn’t going to make the 2:45 ferry, and called my Dad. Then the car pulled to the side of the road to turn and I saw the woman driving – she looked like she was 100 years old. I felt bad for all of the evil thoughts I had about her for the last half hour as I was trapped behind her – but then I had to get down to business. I still had a chance, right?

In the back of my mind, I kept thinking that things have gone right till now – I am gonna make this ferry.

But then it was 2:15 real time and the ETA was 2:45, “So close,” I was thinking, “Maybe the ferry will leave late.”

No way – and I surrendered. I told Dad that I wouldn’t be to his house until two hours later, “I could have driven around to I-95,” I thought, but then I thought how cool it was gonna be to go on the Ferry. I thought about the Mustang on the boat and smiled.

I continued to talk to my Dad and was about to tell him how I got emotional with Phil, and I saw a big sign for the ferry. It was 2:27 and the ETA was 2:45, but the entrance to the ferry was staring at me.

“It’s meant to be!” I thought – “Again, it’s all working out!”

“Pop – I gotta go, I will talk to you in a bit,” I said quickly as I approached the ferry, “I can’t believe I am going to make it!!”

I hung up with my Dad and drove up to an empty toll booth. The woman there greeted me with a smile.

“Did I make it?” I asked.

“You made it,” she grinned.

Her name was Norma. I gave her my card and started explaining that I didn’t think I had a chance to make it on time. I told her I had a reservation and that I was pulling my Uncle’s Mustang. She asked me about it and when I explained what I was doing, she said, “My husband would love that story.”

“Visit myunclesmustang.com,” I said.

“Wait, what was that?” she asked.

“I am documenting the whole journey and restoration on a blog – www.myunclesmustang.com.”

“Let me write this down,” she fumbled for some paper and a pen, “my husband loves this kind of thing.”

We completed the transaction, “Thanks,” I said, “Nice talking with you!”

“And you too, sir,” she grinned, “Lane 9 please.”

The Mustang in lane 9 waiting to get on the Ferry!

I caught the ferry. I still can’t believe it. Was I catching destiny? I’m not gonna go that far, yet, but one thing I know – everything fell right into place, again.

To be continued…

Yesterday the Mustang and I crossed the New Jersey state line on a boat somewhere in the middle of the Delaware Bay. I love traveling by boat, and I often dream about cruises, small boats, jetskis…. Admittedly, I have been known to get sea sick a bit sometimes, but it hasn’t diminished my love for traveling by sea, and when I was mapping how long it would take to drive from my cousin Philly’s (Phil’s) house in Virginia Beach, VA to my Mom and Dad’s house in Little Egg Harbor, NJ, I wasn’t even thinking about taking Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel let alone the Cape May-Lewes Ferry. Actually, I didn’t think I could do either with the trailer.

I was wrong, it turns out. After seeing how much longer it would take to get home via backtracking to I-95 versus the CBBT and CMLF, I checked into taking the ferry. The bridge was easy – I checked online for restrictions and I was fine. I called the boat next, and found out that they based their pricing on length of the vehicle. Pricing is available online, and since I didn’t have a tape measure, I walked the yards out next to the truck and trailer and “guesstimated” it to be about 40 feet long. Cool! Well, not so cool given the price, but it was going to be worth it to save about 2 hours of travel time (no brainer) AND I was going to be traveling on a boat for about an hour – an added benefit.

The problem was I was going to have to make it by 2:15 or so for a 2:45 departure. That meant I had little time to spend with Phil. We had planned to have some coffee together and catch up on stuff, but that wasn’t gonna work. To have at least some quality time, I got up early the following morning and out on the road. If I wanted time to talk to Philly at least a little bit, I needed to hoof it – no stopping for breakfast, no stopping for coffee, gas – I couldn’t even argue for a partial refund for the stinky hotel room at the Comfort Inn I stayed at. I asked, but the desk clerk gave me a meek “no” and I reluctantly retreated without argument.

I was on the road again and speeding down route 58 towards Virginia Beach.

I made it to Philly’s in a bit more than an hour, right on schedule – he and I discussed me being there around 10 am. That would give me an hour to hang out – but Phil wasn’t there. I met his wife for the first time along with their newborn son Peter (after my Uncle) and she invited me in. Phil showed up after a few minutes. Another great moment in my travels – seeing my younger cousin and his family. He looks just like his Dad.

He really wanted to see the Mustang and as we walked over to it he gave me a big smile and said “You know how much I wanted this car?”

“I think we all did,” I agreed.

He opened the driver’s door “All of the soccer practices that Grandpa drove me to in this thing,” he recalled. The smile on his face spoke volumes. Phil grabbed his camera and started snapping quickly. We put his son Cosmo in the driver’s seat and he looked like a natural.

Phil's son Philip Cosmo - Uncle Pete's Great Grandson

“You gonna keep it the way it is?” he asked.

“All original, Phil. I’ll need to replace stuff – but I want it looking like it did when Uncle Pete, your Grandpa, drove it out of the dealer lot.”

He smiled and nodded his approval, “Well I am glad this isn’t ending up in the hands of someone who wants to make it a hot rod or something like that.”

“No way,” I said, “All original.”

I mentioned I might put Ford factory magnum wheels on it but I’d keep the original wheels and caps.

“This is a Sunday driving car,” he asserted, “Just a cruising car.”

I couldn’t agree more.

At one point we had a moment alone next to the car. We were talking about Uncle Pete and the car and I started to explain how I felt about it all, and I got emotional for the very first time on this whole trip.

“After all that my wife and I have been through over the past few years,” I explained, “No real joy, no easy going of it,” and I felt eyes moistening, “I was looking for something, anything pull me up, and it’s like Uncle Pete, your Grandpa is helping me – rescuing me, even.” My words sounded cheap. I couldn’t explain what this meant to me and how strongly I felt that it was truly him guiding me – helping me along the way.

I held back bawling like a baby, but I felt protected; safe with Phil – and safe with the emotion. All of this felt right. I apologized for getting emotional.

“No problem, I would think something was wrong if you didn’t.”

He snapped a few more pics and then asked his wife, Christy, to take a picture of he and I next to the car. Phil – send me the pic, PLEASE!! He gave me a tour of the house (awesome!) and after some more conversation about the reunion plans, I had to go. The hour went by fast – too fast – and I regretted not being able to spend more time with him and his family.

We’ll get together again, soon, I hope. One of the things that I discovered is that most of the cousins (if not all) share my desire to get the family together. Phil took it a step further recently and started putting some real thought into organizing a family reunion. Maybe the car will be done by then? Something to shoot for….

To be continued….

I was going to try to make it to my cousin’s house in Virginia Beach – but it was just running too late and I stopped about an hour out of town at some Comfort Inn – which are usually no frills – and this one is too. I have no complaints – same deal, the truck and car are parked within eyeshot of my window just like last night.

The trip today was great. Before I started on my way, I put some stickers on the car that just said “Visit www.MYUNCLESMUSTANG.com.” I’d like as many people to know the story about the car as are interested, and it seems that there are a few – especially on the road home. Right in the hotel parking lot this morning, the woman at the desk had a look at the car and then pointed across the lot to her red 2004 Mustang Convertible. Along the way, I stopped a few times and each time someone approached me asking about the car.

Next, a gentleman in the Cracker Barrel parking lot asked me if it was a ’65. I told him it was a ’66 – they have a different grille. He told me he had a ’68 fastback – a gorgeous car in its own right – and wished me luck in my travels. He got a kick out of the fact that I was pulling it from south FL to NJ.

Later in the day, right over the South Carolina/North Carolina border at the rest stop, a guy named Billy from right in North Carolina approached and asked after seeing the sign, “I guess that’s your Uncle’s Mustang then?” We both laughed and he started ask questions about the car. The Q & A is usually the same – where’d you get it? Florida… what year is it? ’66…. And then I usually offer up that it was my Uncle’s and he was the original owner, it’s been sitting in his garage since he passed away in late 1998, and I am bringing it back to Jersey to restore it.

Billy told me he has a restored big block SS Chevelle – I think he said it was a ’65 – a true SS. Impressive vehicle. I wish I remember the year for sure. He examined the interior with an impressed look and I told him that I couldn’t open the door at the moment – the keys were packed away – but I could open hood and show him the motor. While looking at it I explained that it hadn’t been run in at least a decade, and I figured I wouldn’t try to start it. He gave me some advice on what to do to turn the engine over. Pull the coil wire and crank it to get the oil pressure up – “it’ll be alright then” he said. I’ll give it a try – and also pour some oil over the valves before I do – that suggested by my friend David.

While Bill and I were talking, Dwayne from Georgia walked up with a big smile on his face. The older gentleman asked me if it was a ’65 just like the guy at Cracker Barrel did earlier in the day. I told him it was a ’66, and about this time Billy was looking under the car at the floors – Mustangs are notorious for rusted out floors and I knew that this one has some early rot but aren’t through and through bad.

Dwayne examined the car, the engine, and had a smile on his face like a kid in a candy store. He told me a story, and if I recall from then till now (I have to start keeping notes when I talk to these folks) a friend or relative of his had a relative that owned a Ford dealer. When she graduated, that relative gave her a Mustang convertible – and he drove in it.  With a satisfied smile, he said with that it was quite a memorable ride. It was then that his wife Linda came over and said, “I see he found his car,” smiling. She asked me if I bought the car, and I explained that it was my Uncle’s. She asked about my Uncle and I gave the abridged story.

Billy, Dwayne, and his wife Linda all went on their way, as did I – but not before a biker named David came up and we talked a bit about it. He was riding from Myrtle Beach and expressed some dissatisfaction about how commercialized the place had gotten.

So tomorrow I visit my cousin and then I ride home. Right now, I am here somewhere outside of Norfolk and Virginia Beach in a Comfort Inn that is adequate, but nothing to write home about. I am ready for bed – and yes, I have already checked on the car, at least 3 times from my window.

I was sad to leave Doug and Mary this morning. Unbeknownst to them (I hope) I again had mixed feelings about what I am doing. I need to just move on and get over it. We had breakfast at Bob Evans again (go for the bacon, it’s better than the sausage) and I finished packing up after a brief lost cellphone panic. I would lose my hand if I was able to pull it off my wrist.

Like I was saying, though – it was sad to leave Doug and Mary. If not for Doug, we would never have been able to move the car. Doug was the “idea man” the whole day yesterday and for the most part was the mastermind behind getting the car on the trailer. Mary was my encouragement. Her sweet demeanor and caring nature brought all of the cousins together yesterday which I can’t say enough how cool that was. This morning, she and I had a nice moment when we took a picture together in front of the Mustang before I hit the road. Doug and Mary – if you are reading this, please send me the pic!

My plan was to get to Savannah, and the good news is I made it. I stopped twice along the way to get gas – not only does the truck come stripped down, it drinks like a fish. Oh well….

The first time I stopped for gas, a kid came out from the garage and started to tell me about his ’67 Mustang. He had a look inside my Uncle’s and just like everyone else, he could not believe the condition it’s in. It makes me smile because it is another affirmation as to how well my Uncle and cousin took care of it.

I stopped one more time but drove straight through for the most part. The car is in one piece and the trailer held up like a champ. As we speak, I have the trailer backed up hard to a curb longways across about 6 parking spots in the Baymont Inn and Suites parking lot off of I 95 just outside Savannah. Of course, it’s parked within eyeshot of my room window. My paranoia will have me up every few hours to check on it from my hotel window. I can see the truck fine, but it’s hard to see the Mustang. It’s taking every bit of self control I have not to go out and readjust my parking job so I can see the whole car. If I could, I would put a remote IP camera in my window pointing down towards the car eyeing the area around it for any suspicious movement. The fact that three sheriff’s cars are parked in the lot gives me a bit of comfort – but I assure you I have already checked out the window on the car twice while writing this blog.

Every time I see it I am relieved – and maybe I even crack a smile. I’ll be smiling more tomorrow when I am sitting in Cracker Barrel across the street eating my eggs, bacon and grits! What? Didn’t you read the fifth scenario of what could possibly go wrong with this whole thing? I already scoped out the parking lot. Plenty of good room there for the truck and trailer – but I don’t think there are any windows in the dining room that I can sit by to keep an eye out. I guess I’ll have to deal. It’s either that or skip the grits, and how can that even be a viable option?