V8 Staff

Jim and I flew to LA, and stayed with Jim’s buddy in Manhattan Beach, CA.   (The big side note here is how that trip ruined me…  the weather was perfect, the beach towns were outstanding, the nightlife was fantastic… it was just the ticket for a midwestern dude in his early 20s looking for a good life.  That would eventually come true, but not for quite some time.)

We looked at the car, and elected to make the deal.  Dean was hot-to-trot to deposit the cashier’s check at his local bank.  Understandably, he wanted the funds to clear before releasing the car, but I could sense he wanted to be down the road before the ink dried on the bill of sale.

Jim and I hit the 10 freeway headed west back to the beach.    Man, I was on cloud 9… a bright sunny morning in SoCal, gliding down the freeway in a bright red 60s ragtop.   “Bad and Nationwide” as Rev. Gibbons would say.   But that moment of bliss was soon interrupted by a queasy feeling from down below.  Not 10 miles down the road, the Galaxie’s transmission starts to slipping and sliding, with a cool smoke show for added effect.     It’s hard to look cool in a smoking car that can’t maintain speed on the L.A. Freeway, but I think I pulled it off.

The ‘62 was on the hook truck on day one.   Dean mentioned that the transmission was slippery in reverse and probably needed a band adjustment… like that is ever the case.  It was shot.  Our trip was extended by a week as we had to wait for a random transmission shop in East L.A. – I think it was United Transmissions – to return the Cruise-No-Matic back to functioning state.   Truth be told, I didn’t complain much, because Jim and I had some great times at the beach while it was getting fixed, but we weren’t happy with the transmission situation.