Motoring the Coast in the TR6

You don’t drive an old British car; you go “motoring” in them. It’s a lot like flying in that you have an underlying paranoia about not IF, but WHEN the engine is going to quit. You are always on the alert for the sounds of impending catastrophe. The driving process is involved too. No power steering, temperamental shifting, and questionable brakes require a level of attention that precludes any modern day luxuries (distractions) like texting, phoning, radio, or even nursing a cup of coffee – the cup holder was back at the local pub. The lack of an overdrive gear makes freeway cruising an auditory hell of wind, vibration, and engine noise. British Motoring demands you be involved in the driving process. It’s a good thing because driving a tiny vehicle with virtually no safety equipment in a sea of distracted drivers careening about in overweight ballistic missiles is a downright dangerous endeavor.

Motoring in the TR6

It’s been a busy year so far. I’ve been working in San Diego on the TR6 Trade and Jo as been up to her neck in nursing school bookwork. In fact she is so busy she could only take one day off from studying over spring break. We hatched a plan for a speed run to San Diego and in typical McCulloch fashion planned on cramming a week’s worth of fun in our one day adventure. We would land the night before and leave first thing two days later for a total of 36 hours on the ground. After battling and winning the grind of standby travel during spring break Jacque was kind enough to put us up and run us to and from the airport.

I woke up early and made a few small repairs to the TR6. It’s running good, but has a few unaddressed mechanical issues that could ruin our plans. A little uncertainty would add to the adventure, but I decided to spare Jo the added anxiety. Ignorance is bliss! Our plan was to drive the Pacific Coast Highway from Carlsbad to San Diego. We put the top down and hit the coast south of Oceanside just as the morning marine layer burned off. The first glimpse of the Pacific rewarded us with a veil of blue that engulfed the horizon merging sea with sky. Our first stop was on a sandy cliff sharing the morning sun with ridge soaring pelicans occasionally passing by.

First Stop on the Coast

The next stop was north of Del Mar where we walked in the surf and I talked up a 1971 VW bus owner who’s ride was reminiscent of my own ’73.

British European Motors just happened to be on the way, so I pulled off for a quick pit stop. They had done front wheel bearing replacements, a new timing chain, and a general tune up the week prior, but an ominous sound was coming from the block. A stethoscope confirmed that the main bearings are howling, but the bulk of the noise was a bad water pump bearing resonating through the block. The main bearings will probably make it back to Colorado, but the water pump could strand us if it went. I decided the old girl needed to be run and we pressed on.

Ferrari F355GTS at British European Automotive

We lumbered south over the rolling coastal cliffs enjoying the smiles and waves of onlookers. The TR6 has striking lines in its long hood, tall wheel arches, and square back that always attracts waves and thumbs ups. It’s too bad its engineering isn’t quite as graceful! A deep exhaust note tells passer-bys of a strong torque curve that I put to good use in a 3rd gear climb up to Torrey Pines. We pulled into the lot at Torrey Pines Glider Port with a promise to Jo that we were just here for the view and not for me to fly. I had a great surprise when I rocked into the pilot shop and saw myself on the cover of a back issue of Hang Gliding and Paragliding Magazine next to some of hang gliding’s greats, young and old. I wanted to tell everyone it was me, but humility prevailed allowing me to enjoy a satisfying coincidence.

The Classic Lines of the TR6

Headed for Torrey Pines

Torrey Pines Glider Port

Walked into the Pilot Shop and Saw Myself on an Old Mag Cover Shot

Back in the lot when the engine rumbled to life the water pump continued to pronounce its demise in metallic barking dog sound. I pretended that’s what it was and drove off. The twisty descent down to La Jolla put my “motoring” skills to the test, always being ready to downshift and divert into a runoff if the brakes failed. In La Jolla the marine layer crept in overhead, meaning our kayaking would be cloudy and cold. I really wanted to explore the La Jolla Caves, but could not stomach being part of a tour group – the only way to do so in a rental boat.

Going it Alone in a Rental

We set out on our own into the surf of the La Jolla Underwater Park. Jo took a four-foot wave over the bow making an already cold situation much colder. The marine layer had metastasized into a solid overcast dropping the air temperature significantly. We kept ourselves warm Bayer Grills-style by paddling hard to keep our heart rates up. On the way to the caves we saw a lone dolphin about 30 yards off the bow. From there we did our best to avoid the tour groups, take in the seal colonies, and enjoy the squadrons of pelicans buzzing us from all directions inches off the water. I found a reef and hopped out for a snorkel, but the 60-degree water overwhelmed my usually high misery tolerance cutting my snorkel short.

Kayaking the La Jolla Underwater Park

The La Jolla Caves

Pelicans Dive Bombing Off the Cliffs

Sea Lions

Looking North to Torrey Pines

Back on land the sun reappeared so we stopped for some seal watching, a crack jump for me, and a hair washing for Jo.

Looking Down at the Seal Colonies

Crack Jump

When we reached Mission Beach Jo spotted the Giant Dipper Roller Coaster and ordered me to pull over. I was happy to oblige. The wooden roller coaster, originally opened in 1925, is only one of two left on the West Coast. It has a bone-jarring ride that’s almost as bad as the 38 year-old suspension on the TR6 – almost! We completed the stop with ice cream and a stroll on the boardwalk.

The Giant Dipper Roller Coaster

A Full Scale Model

The Ride was Almost as Stiff as the TR6

Mission Beach

From there we met up with Ben for a sunset walk on the Ocean Beach Pier, the longest on the West Coast. After sunset we met up with Zippy and Erin for sushi at The Joint in OB.

Another '70's Vintage

Ocean Beach

Dinner with Ben, Zippy, and Erin

It was a hell of a day, but we felt satisfied we accomplished our mission. Jo got a brief, but much needed break from the books. Driving the coast in a classic British Roadster is an experience to be remembered. The TR6 pulled it off without a hitch, even with a noisy water pump.

Fall Flying at Wolcott

As human beings we weave a web of expectations of what today, tomorrow, and the next day will be like. It's a trait that allows us to get through the mundane happenstance of our lives without much thought to the rare occurance of the unexpected. Then once in a blue moon life reminds us that our web of expectations is just that, a fragile web shattered by some surprise we had no clue was coming. It reminds us that we are at the mercy of fate or coincidence. That we are just along for the ride on this rock hurling through space and time.

I had a day like this last September. I woke up to our dog Diogee coughing. It was abnormal enough for us to take him to the vet. They said it could be something bad, but he was probably okay. I needed to pick up my glider in Vail and had plans to fly Wolcott. The vet told Jo that Diogee would be okay. She was going to be home most of the day so I headed up the hill.

Beautiful Sky and Aspens

On launch the thermal cycles were light and inconsistent. I picked a bad cycle and had to scratch for a few tenuous moments before I got up. Within the first five minutes I was so low that I though I was going to be landing or sure. Over a rocky fin south of launch I clung to 50fpm lift and clawed my way back into the sky.

Surfing the Ridge to the North

From there I surfed light ridge lift north up the ridge so low that it felt like my feet were dragging in the trees, which were ablaze in the brilliant colors of fall. The aspens were awash in rich yellows and greens, just premature of peak. After making a few laps in ridge lift I caught a climb to 16,000 feet. On the way up I saw a SkyWest RJ go under me. It was well below on base to Eagle Airport.

Dragging my Feet in the Aspens

Turning in 800FPM Lift

The Upper Ridge

Taking in the View

Looking Down on an RJ Going into Eagle

At 16,000 feet I committed to going XC and heading down wind into the mountains north of Vail. I had no expectation of going XC that day, but life had handed me an opportunity so choose to take advantage of it. So much of hang gliding is like that. The deeper into the mountains to the east that I got, the less landing options there were.

Passing North of Vail

By the time I reached the Gore Range the only LZ I had was the soccer field at the bottom of Vail Pass. Physically was a great LZ, but I knew it would be unfriendly territory. I was in broken lift and being blown deeper into the rocky peaks unable to put together an organized climb. As I did climb bit by bit my glide to the soccer field stayed the same because as I gained altitude I drifted farther downwind. Finally I had to make a decision. I was in a no mans land of rugged terrain and low, like 2000 feet below the peaks. The choices were to turn around and fly down a side canyon to I-70 then follow the highway to the soccer field or head for the lowest saddle in the Gore Range and use my tailwind to for the extra glide needed to clear it. The latter option opened up LZ's in the valley east of the Gore Range. I went for it. On the way I found 1500fpm lift and got up to 15000 feet.

Soccer Field LZ at the Bottom of the Vail Pass

(it's the tiny green patch where the highway turns into the vail valley)

Into the Gore Range

Looking Back at the Vail Valley

Over Red Peak I spotted two bald eagles circling and hooked up with them. That climb took me to 17,500 feet. The world was at my finger tips. The tailwind had increased significantly which gave me the glide to cross the valley north of Silverthorne and get up on the Continental Divde. If I could do that landing in Golden might be possible. It would be the stuff of legend, at least in my mind.

Topping Out Over 17,000 Feet

Lake Dillon, Silverthorne, Frisco, and Keystone

Looking East at the Continental Divide, Winter Park, and The Front Range

I was also super cold and could feel a hint of hxpoia setting in. And I had a potentially sick dog at home that Jo needed help with. It was agonizing, but I decided not to be greedy and do the right thing. I broke hard right and headed for Copper Mountain where I could land on the golf course and walk to I-70 for an easy retrieve.

Headed to Copper Mountain

(Frisco below)

On the way I dragged my feet on the peaks of Breckenridge and made a pass over the top of the J Bar lift at Copper. That set me up for a perfect speed glide down the big blue runs below the Super Bee lift. The lift coming up face was surprisingly strong and made getting down below the treetops for a proper speed glide hard.

Peak 4 at Breckenridge

The Town of Breckenridge

Headed to Copper Mountain

Looking Back at Lake Dillon

Over the "SKY" Avalanche Chutes

Upper Copper Mountain

After a few wing overs I landed on the golf course. I was nervous about the surface winds in the confluence of the three valleys that drain into Copper. I decided to throw my drogue and make a conservative landing. A long ground swoop would have made for great footage, but I think it was the right call. OB came to the rescue when I discovered my truck keys in my pocket.

Golf Course LZ

Wing Over's Above the LZ

Landed

I made it home just in time for both Jo and I to discover Diogee's condition was more dire than a cough. We spent all night in the hospital and he left this world in our arms the next day. My comfortable web of expectations was shattered. I never would have met Jo if it wasn't for him, and now he was gone. Jo took it even harder. I decided the best way to honor him was continuing to live my life by pursuing an enlightened existence. By seeking experiences like the flight I had the day before. By not taking the gifts and moments I am offered in this world for granted. Diogee was just such a gift, mischievous one at times, but that was all part of it. I'm glad we gave him a good life and didn't take him for granted.

This One's for You Diogee