Vladimir Kagan's Blog

A Model T tour through the back-woods of Connecticut - part 2

Survival in a Model T

The annual Ocean to Ocean Reunion - part 2

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, July 17, 2014

 

“The Mashantucket Pequot is a federally recognized Native American nation in the state of Connecticut. They are descended from the Pequot people. Within their Reservation in Ledyard, Connecticut, the Mashantucket Pequot operate Foxwoods Resort Casino. It is the world's largest resort casino in terms of gambling space and number of slot machines, and one of the most economically successful.”… Wikipedia

…To achieve certification as a Native American, ancestral lineage can consists of as little as 1/16 Indian blood... I could not tell if there were any Indians around...VK

 

Now let me tell you about Foxwoods....When driving westward on Ct Route 2 into a forested wilderness, there suddenly loom three huge towers, soaring above miles of rolling hills and treetops: colossal structures, reminiscent of the biblical Tower of Babel. Their groteske architecture is pure Las Vegas. The garish interiors of the Casino are pompous; they are Sodom and Gomorrah on steroids. Old ladies, wizened gents, oversized men and women perched on raised swivel chairs, engrossed in the act of feeding hundreds of slot-machines with millions of dollars, 24 hours a day, seven days a week…Once, many, many years ago, slots swallowed pennies, quarters and for the big spenders: silver dollars. The occasional winner was rewarded with the satisfactory sound of coins dropping out of the hopper and overflowing into the laps of the lucky winner. There was the satisfaction of pulling a lever that gave a sense of skill; you controlled the speed and somehow held Lady Luck in your hand. That’s gone; today you must buy slugs from the cashier, insert a five-dollar bill to activate the machine and push a button to watch the three cylinders spin. On rare occasion three picture images will align and you have won… An electronic noise will simulate the sound of falling coins. Instead of a pocket full of cash, a slip of paper pops out that is the record of your winning… That is the pleasure of the modern slot machine!

I arrived with a pocket full of silver dollars that a friend gave me…. and returned home with the same amount…. Gambling was not on my agenda.

 

 

unspoiled forrest's as far as the eye can see until you come upon two "Towers of Babel" piercing through the landscape

 

the electronic key to my room on the 21st floor

 

Las Vegas in the Connecticut Woods

Willard Revaz and Bob Osborn, our congenial Connecticut hosts chose Foxwoods as a convenient location to fan out from. The rooms were luxurious, the group rates reasonable and the food plentiful. We were provided with designated safe parking for our gaggle of antique cars… What more could we ask for!

 

 
Our "toys" safely tucked away in the garage

 

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GILLETTE'S PALACE

 

The second day’s excursion was a mere fifty miles roundtrip to the Gillette Palace; a pile of stones built into a twenty eight-room mansion by an eccentric actor. Back at the turn of the century, William Gillette’s major claim to fame was interpreting Sherlock Holmes in thousands of performances around the USA… It also made him a multi-millionaire. The palace was interesting for its bizarre interior features and the magnificent view of the Connecticut River.

 

Lunchtime: with our stomachs grourling for food, we found a Subway sandwich shop to fill the empty cavities in our tummies. I must confess that a fully loaded baget is my favorite sin-food. But you never know who you will meet where! A model T is a crowd magnet. A delightful man sauntered up to our cars and proceeds to tell us of his collection just a few miles away... and off we scoot in search of a zany model T collectors in the backwoods of Connecticut.

our new friend, Richard Beckwith, showing us his collection of antique cars

Richard's calling card reads "Cluttered Barn" and that is what T collectors look like

 

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MYSTIC SEAPORT

Mystic Seaport

the training vessel Joseph Conrad moored alongside the restoration shipyard

No visit to this part of Connecticut is complete without a day at Mystic Seaport: the destination for our third day of touring. Seaport is a beautifully preserved fishing village and home to the only fully restored, commercial Whaling ship still afloat, the Charles W. Morgan. Unfortunately, it had set sail up the coast of New England the day before we arrived.

 

The only existing operative steamboat with its original engines ticking away down below

 

 

The salvaged keel of a sunken whaling ship

The working lumberyard used for the Museum's ship restoration program

and finally a horse and buggy ride through the streets of the little fishing village of Mystic

+++++++++++++

 

SUBMARINE MUSEUM

Entrance to the Submarine Museum at Groton Connecticut... the two rings represent the smallest and largest submarine every built

On our final day was another “boy’s adventures” visit to the Submarine Museum at Groton. The showpiece of the Museum was The Nautilus, the first atomic submarine built over sixty years ago. In spite of my limitations, I climbed down its narrow steep steps into the bowls of the ship. A claustrophobic chamber of gages tubes, pipes, and crew quarters that are not everyone’s vision of comfort.

 
me, an unlikely submariner on the Nautilus - Bushnells one man sub from the revolutionary war designed to attach explosives to enemy ships... it did not work


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CHAOS 

Retuning home from this pleasant visit, the “fun” began. Chuckling up the steep three floors to the hotel’s parking garage, my car sputtered, spat fumes, and finally DIED ten feet from the top! …. At first it stood still…. My heart jumped into my throat… moments later we began the perilous roll backwards… NO BRAKES! (It is a notorious fact that Henry Ford’s clever Rocky Mountain brakes work extremely well rolling forward but NOT backwards!

It was a moment of pure terror… Memories flashed back to four years ago when Erica and I started to slide backwards on a hairpin turn on Smuggler’s Notch, the steepest mountain pass in Vermont….

 Just before we were about to start a roller-coaster ride down the three floors of the garage and almost certain disaster, my daughter Jessica, who was the designated map-reader for the day, had the instantaneous reflex to grab my airplane chuck, jump out of the car and plant it under the back wheel, stopping the car’s free-fall roll… Saved one more time!

Again, Doug came to the rescue and crawled under the car to determine that I had worn out the driving band, a mysterious strap of Teflon that propels the car forward in low gear. This was serious. He managed to tighten it enough to drive the last ten feet up to our designated parking area… that was it. The “Lizzie” could go no further.

 

Almost at the top --- Doug's car is waiting

Doug to the rescue once again - note the chuck behind the back wheel... it stopped our roller-coaster ride down the garage ramp

Doug adjusting his tools - note the roller-coaster ramp to the bottom

 

 

"Gray's Anatomy" of my Model T

When things get desperate, there is always a guardian angel! This time he came in the form of Adam Hubacz… a dedicated Model T mechanic, who lived some eighty miles north near the New Hampshire border. Adam had worked on my car before and I persuaded him to drive down to Foxwoods and replace the worn-out band. He arrived at 10 PM and started to take the engine apart. Chris stood by and took gory photos of the process reminiscent of Gray’s Anatomy. Hours past midnight the final blow fell: I had burned out the internal drive-drum… No repair could be affected without the complete removal of the engine. The only solution was to tow the car to Adam’s farm in North Brookfield, Massachusetts, where it now rests and awaits his patient skill on “T” time.

Unloading the car at Adam's Farm in Massachusetts

 

POST SCRIPT

 

Doug's dog could care less - She just enjoyed the ride!

A Model T Tour through the back-woods of Connecticut

 

 

 

 

Survival in a Model T

The annual Ocean to Ocean Reunion - part 1

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, July 6, 2014

 

This article is a memorial tribute to my departed friend, Dolph Cramer. who introduced me to Model T Fords back in the seventies. He wanted so desperately to participate in this rally, but sadly, Dolph passed away this January... Last weekend, we finally said goodbye to Dolph at a memorial service in his enchanting garden in South Hampton.

 
Dolph'd flower filled garden and the arbor where he and his adoring wife Beatty would sit, enjoying an afternoon tea or cocktail

"The Boys" Peter McAllister, Ian Evans, both here from England and David Steinman, who organized the Vermont reunion four years ago. All three drove with Dolph across the country in the Ocean to Ocean Rally in 2009.

 

 

 

The annual Ocean to Ocean rally is a celebration of the 2009 Ocean to Ocean Centennial Road Race from New York to Seattle. As a native New Yorker, Dolph Cramer helped to organize the New York portion of this amazing month-long event.

 This year the tour took us through the back-woods of Connecticut. Our week was a roller coaster adventure. I drove over 300 miles in five days and traveled an equal distance in the cab of a tow truck, with my little “Tin Lizzie” riding on the back of flatbed trucks.

 

The bottom line: I survived… just barely!

 

Arriving by ferry from Nantucket, we waited over three hours for a tow truck to take us from Hyannis to Foxwoods.

Loading the car onto the Flatbed in Hyannis with the Nantucket ferry in the background

Halfway to Connecticut, we decided the car was self-destructing from the wind and decided to reload it facing backwards

 

Within minutes of arrival my car stalled as we drove into the parking garage of the Foxwoods Hotel. My heart jumped into my mouth when I found a huge puddle of gasoline under the car… obviously a broken fuel line. We are now three hours late for the tour briefing… all familiar faces had long retired to their rooms, only my faithful friend Ian Evans from England and Willard and Barbara Revaz, who were hosting this event, waited for us. A cheerful welcome was followed by “not to worry, tomorrow someone will come down to help,” and help did arrive at 7 am in the guise of Doug Hauge, a dyed-in-the-wool Model T buff, which means he owns at least a dozen other cars and lives and breathes ‘T’s. Doug is a retired firefighter who has seen his share of horrors in the 20 odd years he’s been on the firing line as a first-responder. He looks tough; a walrus mustache, a muscular six foot plus lank body - but Doug turned out to be a gentle lamb, patient and helpful. He’s a bachelor who lives alone with his rescue dog. Doug brought his 1914 touring car, which he built from scrap parts into a dazzling tomato-red gem. The car has all the bells and whistles commensurate with a tinkerer’s whims. He kept us entertained with anecdotal wisdom including one that I will pass on to you: he will not stay in a hotel or anywhere else above the 7th floor as that is the highest a fire truck’s ladders will reach! (How’s that for inside wisdom!)

 

Doug, his dog and the Model T

 

Doug Hauge to the rescue!

He jumped to the rescue and slithered under the car. Within minutes he determined that it was not serious; only a stuck float-ball in the carburetor which was dislocated while bouncing along on the trip from Hyannis. A magical hit with a small mallet dislodged it and we were happily on our way. With Doug’s assurance that all was O.K., I gingery embarked on the longest drive of the weeklong rally; 150 miles round trip to Bradley International Airport and the nearby Aviation museum. Obviously a must for any red-blooded airplane fan.

 

Turns out that Doug needed a map-reader and Chris Eitel, my wingman, was volunteered for the job. I inherited my friend Ian as my navigator … and so we set out on our first day’s adventure. For me, transitioning from a five mile a day driver to doing 150 miles took a bit of going, but as we got going, the going got easier and I fell into the rhythm of acrobatic driving - using both hands and feet to manipulate the car. (No use in telling you how these cars function… unless you are a “T” driver, you wouldn't understand.)

  

Chris at the controls of a WW-2 fighter

 

The aviation museum was a huge success and I survived the first day with flying colors!

++++++++++ 

 

To navigate the back roads of Connecticut, you need a route-finder to read the intricate turn-by-turn driving instructions prepared for us by our hosts Bob Osborn and Will Revas. When your navigator is not calling out directions and obstacles, he becomes the cheerful tour guide drawing your attention to the dazzling sights on the left and right as we merrily bounce along. There are little hamlets scattered down the road with unrecognizable names, which were settled back in the 18th century and now are home to fewer than a dozen families. There are railroad crossings without gates or warning lights and you wonder when the last train crossed there. There are brooks and streams that feed into the Connecticut River… each with its Indian name… there is the occasional “whroom” of a motorcycle barreling down the road or overtaking from behind. The road is mostly empty but when you look into the rearview mirror you see that you are leading a gaggle of a dozen cars patiently flowing in your track, eager to pass you… you search for a place to pull over to allow them to drive through.

    

Driving through Connecticut’s North Country on back roads is a tonic for the passengers and a joyride for the driver. Hairpin turns – steep hills to climb – sharp descending turns over narrow bridges – unexpected oncoming traffic – four way stop signs – three way stop signs – single stop signs looming up without warning. Traffic lights that turns yellow to red with little warning, menacing crossings forcing screeching stops - lest you shoot ahead into the oncoming traffic, (which I did one harrowing moment). Model T brakes are notorious for their sluggish response and are virtually non-existence. Narrow rural roads are laced with potholes. Driving them is a challenge. Dense forests turn day into night until suddenly you emerge into blinding sunshine.

 
 

Connecticut is a small State, but cruising through its Northern territory is a far cry from the polished estates and gracious lanes of Greenwich and New Canaan. This area of Connecticut is a beautiful wilderness largely covered with forests and small farms. The Connecticut River valley is bucolic with ancient iron bridges crossing its wide span and a toy ferry that miraculously carries eight cars at a time crossing a wide stretch of the river, which is navigateable for miles up stream. The river served as an important industrial waterway with barges and tug boats carrying freight back and forth. Today its primary use is by pleasure boats. The towns along its shore bear witness to a once thriving water based economy. Massive abandoned mill buildings stand vacant along its shores waiting to be renovated into condos or torn down by the wrecking ball… which ever comes first. Victorian Mansions bear witness to the bygone wealth of these towns.

 

 

Our rally consisted of 11 Model T's ranging from 1914 to 1927, (mine is from 1922). All the cars are lovingly maintained. Their owners come in all shapes and ages; they’re a different lot from say - Bugatti owners.

 

Owners come from all over including Larry the Limey, who keeps his car here permanently for these rallies

These folks function on “T” time… that means flexible and totally unpredictable. Some guys are up at 5 am tinkering with their engines, brakes, and lubrication and then there is me. I don’t fit the mold. I love my car - I've owned it for over forty years, but unlike my cohorts, I know virtually nothing about the mechanics. As a result I have been coasting on a wing and a prayer.... My luck finally ran out. 

 

Look for the next instalment... coming soon!