Simple L ife By Jim Dodson

from October PineStraw 2021

PineNeed ler By Mar t Dickerson

The Last Ride

by Jim DoDsoN I knew this day would eventually come.

In recent years, I’ve pushed the thought to the back of my mind that it might be time to say goodbye and hand her of f to someone who can restore her to her glor y.

But ever y time I take her for a spin, by Jove, T he Pearl works her automotive magic on me, riding like a dream, cr uising the world on eight cylinders and a Cor vette engine. With her roomy leather seats and patented “Dynaride” suspension system, she’s still like driving in your living room. We’ve been together a dozen years, almost half T he Pearl ’s life and almost one-sixth of mine. We sur vived the Great Recession, the end of cassette players and four teenagers. My dog Mulligan has spent most of her long life riding shotg un in T he Pearl. Oh, the places we’ve been together up and down the highway!

T he Pearl is a 1996 Buick Roadmaster estate station wagon, repor tedly the last tr ue production wagon that General Motors made before switching to prissy little SU Vs.

T he might y Roadmaster is an American automotive icon, intro duced in 1936 as the nation began to crawl out f rom under the Great Depression. Its creators had this nutt y idea that Americans getting back on their feet might want to take the family on a road trip to see the land of the f ree and the home of the brave. With its oversized windows, sleek lines, wide chassis, faux wooden siding, “vista roof ” and proverbial third seat facing back wards, the versatile Roadmaster wagon was just the ticket for seeing America f rom ground level.

T he end of the Roadmaster line came in 1996 when 22,989 models rolled of f the assembly line for the last time.

Mine entered the life of a nice gentleman f rom New Jersey who loved the car so much he kept the dashboard covered with protective felt and put only 60,000 miles on its odometer over 12 years.

Fate and quiet desperation brought us together when my children began stealing the Volvos and Subar us to go of f to college. I wrote a newspaper column jok ing that I was shopping for a car like the one my old man drove when I was a k id — a gas-g uzzling monster of the American highway that no enlightened, environmentally-minded Millennial would be caught dead riding in around town. It turns out, that car was a Buick Roadmaster wagon.

Not t wo days af ter the column appeared, a woman phoned to say, “Mr. Dodson, I am here to make you a happy man.”

Her father and mother were residents of a local senior living communit y. T hey owned a 1996 Buick Roadmaster station wagon that the daughter had fooled her father into giving up, lest he injure himself or someone else due to his declining driving habits.

“My father bought the car new and absolutely adores it,” she explained. “We a ll loved it. It took me of f to college and helped me move severa l times. She has a few dings but still r uns like a dream. But it has to go.”

She explained that a vintage car buf f out West was interested in buying it — Roadmasters were apparently big with car collectors — but if I wanted to check it out at a local garage, she would consider selling it to me.

“If you don’t buy t h is c ar,” sa id t he me cha n ic , ha nd ing me t he keys for a test dr ive, “I probably w i l l. T hey don’t ma ke c ars l i ke t h is a ny more.”

I purcha se d it a n hour later. My w ife laug he d when she saw it pu l l into t he dr iveway. “Oh my,” she sa id. “T hat re a l ly is your f at her’s Bu ick .”

No. 1 son — the Subar u thief — asked if he could take the car of f to college. Not a chance, I told him.

No. 2 son pointed out that my Roadmaster model was ranked No. 7 on the “of ficial list of Best Cars to Own in the Event of a Zombie Apocalypse.” He wondered if he could take it for a spin.

A legendar y car, two old dogs and the end of the road in sight

“Maybe after the zombie apocalypse,” I said.

I had, af ter all, my own big plans for this oversized jewel of the 20th Centur y American highway.

For many years — decades, actually — I’d dreamed of finding and traveling the Great Wagon Road of Colonial America, the famous backcountr y highway that brought thousands of Scots-Irish, German and other European immigrants to the American South during the 18th centur y, including my own English and Scottish forebears.

Historians and old road exper ts had recently determined the Great Road ’s original path f rom Philadelphia to Aug usta, Georgia — an 850 -mile land route that passed through some of the most historic battlefields, towns and sacred landscapes of early America.

Dan’l Boone and his family traveled it f rom Pennsylvania to the banks of the Yadk in R iver. T he most pivotal battles of the Revolutionar y War were fought along the highway, including engagements at Cowpens, K ings Mountain and Guilford Cour thouse, leading to the British surrender at Yorktown.

America’s first immigrant highway also bisected the k illing fields of the American Civil War at Antietam and Gett ysburg, where Abraham Lincoln — whose grandfather lived on the Great Road in Virginia — gave the Gett ysburg Address on a hill just above the highway. By my count, in fact, no less than seven U.S. presidents were either born directly on or traveled the Great Wagon Road most of their lives. T he Scots-Irish brought their balladr y, fiddle music and God-given talent for fighting (and mak ing corn whiskey) down the road, giving bir th to Bluegrass in the hollers of Appalachia.

Four summers ago, af ter years of research and planning, my dog Mulligan and I set of f along the road in our own Great Wagon, which a colleag ue at work nicknamed T he Pearl, hoping to travel the entire route in t wo or three weeks.

Silly me. It took a month just to get out of Pennsylvania. T he abundance of great stories and memorable people we met along the road turned an 800 -mile road trip into a three-year, 3,000 -mile odyssey of discover y that recently drew to a close, including a year of travel lost due to COV ID.

T hough she is showing her age and is more dinged up than ever, T he Pearl managed to make the entire journey and then some. She brought us home with an engine that still r uns like a dream.

A long the way, she provided absolute strangers with fond memo ries of their own childhood. “My father had a car just like that,” they would say with a note of pure wonder. “It was my favorite family car.” A man in the park ing lot at Gett ysburg actually of fered to buy T he Pearl. “How much do you want for her?” he asked.

“Not h ing,” I repl ie d. “But I m ig ht some day g ive her to t he r ig ht p erson.”

He handed me a card, which I promptly lost.

Since finishing the road last autumn, T he Pearl has mostly been my gardening car, hauling shr ubs and mulch, though Miss Mulligan and I go out for a spin ever y now and then.

Mu l ly is now 16, T he Pe arl is push ing 25. T he la st r ide c a n’t b e f ar away.

But what a time we’ve had, what a sweet journey it’s been. PS

Jim Dodson can be reached at jwdauthor @gmail.com.