I remember seeing the call-out in Hot Rod magazine: how would you like to take your street machine, 4×4, whatever you’ve got that’s cool, and join the magazine staff on a trip from California to Norwalk, Ohio? Are you kidding me? As I stared out the window at the engine-less shell of my ’76 Camaro, I wondered what it would be like to peer over the hood as the miles ticked by, listening to the sound of a stout small-block purring away, nothing to bother me but the sound of wind noise pouring in.

As the Pacific Northwest mist dripped off of the forlorn Camaro’s bumper, I vowed that I would make that trip. The first few years were hindered by a lack of a driver’s license or a useable car. Then there were the years where I had a car and license, but was poor enough that I was counting pennies to make sure I had dinner for the week. Then there were the military years, where I had the car and the money, but no free time to hit the road. Then school… then work… you know the story.

This year, I bit the bullet. Hot Rod’s Power Tour happened for the 30th round. I’m 41 now. With my ’76 Charger up and running with fresh gears and an Interstate-friendly transmission, there was no reasonable excuse why I couldn’t go. Haley was willing to co-pilot, I had nothing scheduled on the calendar. And for an added bonus, this year’s route was very close to home: Bowling Green, Nashville, Louisville, Columbus and Indy. PERFECT. Even the weather was looking great, with no rain in the forecast and temperatures in the upper-80s.

The icing on the cake was that Matt at American Powertrain hooked us up with sponsor parking passes, which meant that (A) I spent money on multi-day passes that weren’t required, and (B) I had guaranteed parking at the American Powertrain display on the midway so I could show off the TKX swap. We packed a cooler for drinks, some chairs, sunscreen and on Monday morning, parked up.

Monday and Tuesday were awesome. I was pleasantly surprised to see the reaction to the car and had the pleasure of talking with many people. Some had questions regarding the swap, others wanted to share the memories of cars like mine from the past. I was all about it. Every now and then we’d stretch our legs and go see what interesting rides had been brought to the Tour. We’d arrive early and leave before the traffic jam became insurmountable. We planned to return home until Wednesday, then we’d leave early Friday as we had a family event to attend on Saturday.

Things unraveled pretty fast after leaving Nashville Super Speedway. After exiting Interstate 40 to the country highways, it was clear that the Charger was seriously down on power. Hills that shouldn’t have been a blip on my radar were requiring more throttle to surmount. I suspected that the car was getting hot, so we stopped for dinner in Portland, Tennessee to give the 360 a chance to cool. It seemed to help a little, but by the time we were through Franklin, Kentucky it was evident that the issue was back. I hadn’t messed with anything, so what gives?

I got my answer on the last turn before my driveway: at a complete stop the oil pressure gauge dove to nearly zero and the engine was shaking the car like an earthquake. Sure enough, once I pulled in my driveway I checked the oil and got my answer: nearly none. We had topped off the fluids that morning before driving to Nashville. Not continuing on the Tour wasn’t an option, so the Charger was stuffed into the garage and our truck was employed for the remaining distance.

Aside from the one fly in the ointment, however, the Tour was great. We caught up with many friends throughout the week and got to tour some quieter parts of the middle of the country that we normally would just blast past on the Interstate. I will say that next time I drive the tour, I’m linking up with a group of friends to run with, because driving it on your own leaves something to be desired. Finding the local eateries is a must. Making a 1-2 pull in the tunnel leading into Nashville is a must. Hanging out in the bed of a truck sipping something cold while watching UPS jets taking off from from the airport in Louisville is a must.

Fixing my wounded Mopar for the next adventure isn’t a must. It’s a vow.