Dirigo's maiden voyage
Jan 08
|20:29
People who have been following the Dirigo project have asked to have this story on the site. It was the first big outing and was a success beyond our wildest hopes.
Just as Spencer Tracy's character in "Captains Courageous" had to die in the end so the boy could fly into his new life, it was the Saab's destiny to break down while towing Dirigo to the Green Grand Prix in Watkins Glen, NY. The Grand Prix is a competition for high mileage vehicles, and we had been working like mad to make it there on time. The little car was only put on the road a few days before and had minimal testing. But even as the crippled Saab coasted to the side of the New York Throughway both Evan, co-pilot and navigator, and I were thinking the same thing: "the mother ship is going down: launch the life boat!" By the time the tow truck arrived we had him off the trailer and ready to go. The tow truck had to take us back the way we came, to Amsterdam, and was able to make a u turn through one of those openings in the center median guard rails but Dirigo had to run down to the next exit and make his u-turn before the toll booths. I took a deep breath and plunged into the stream of trucks and cars. Once up to speed he held his own and except for the long uphill grades was fairly comfortable on the freeway cruising at 65mph.
I followed the tow truck to a garage that works on foreign cars. They were still open at five on Friday afternoon and after admiring Dirigo for a few minutes we pushed the Saab inside and loaded our bags and tools into Dirigo. Not far to the south of I-90 there is the old US 20, which used to run from Boston to Chicago, the east coast's version of Route 66. Well, we got our kicks. The road is virtually unused, passing through small towns and farmland. We were heading west into the proverbial sunset living the open road American Dream and until the rain began had one of the most pleasant drives ever. Dirigo felt more like a 40's MG than an eco car with his low power and stiff suspension. The windows were off and stowed in the back and the vistas were from a different time. All this made the fact that we had two hundred miles to go a bit easier to digest. Dirigo was handling extremely well, topping out at 72mph, and I still haven't discovered the limits of his cornering ability. Another amazing characteristic is the complete lack of wind in the open window. One's hair doesn't move and there is no noise or buffeting, yet you are virtually in the window and the view is expansive, not unlike being on a motorcycle.
We saw the dark clouds before the downpour began and with every turn in the road away from them we though we would get around the storm, but then the road would curve slowly back and the storm was dead ahead. We stopped to put the windows in and wax the windshield. There are no wipers, yet, but the wax causes the rain to bead up and blow away. That worked well, but there was no way we could stop breathing and fogging the inside of the windshield. Evan became the full time window wiper while I felt for the road which I knew was out there somewhere.
Thankfully the days are long this time of year and the long twilight penetrated the storm well into the evening. We stopped for gas and to find dunnage to plug some holes in the body that didn't get finished; my left leg and Evan's right were well soaked by now, and learned that we were only two and a half hours away! We were lucky to fall behind a cautious driver late that night who's tail lights we followed like a beacon. When he turned off, the only option was to stick the head out the window to confirm that we were still on asphalt for the last few miles to our host's, and director of the Green Grand Prix, Bob Gillespie.
One wouldn't think so, but I couldn't wait to get back in the little car the next morning get to the event. This, after all, was what it was all about: high mileage. Initial tests in Maine were disappointing and we were concerned that we would be all wow and no umph. How embarrassing to have what looks like a super high mileage car and get beaten by an sweet old lady in a Prius.
Driving through the night we had measured about 45mpg with our bags, tools, and two of us, so I was nervous. The race is a timed course, 80 miles around Lake Seneca, and the sun was shining. The car has to complete it in two hours with a mandatory ten minute stop in Geneva, about half way around. This is the heart of New York's wine country. On one side of the road is the lake, and the other were terraced vines and tasting rooms. There was motion brought before the race committee during the drivers meeting that tasting stops not be counted against one's time, but it was denied.
Most of the cars have real time mpg computers that allow the driver to judge his time and speed against his mpg. When one of the competitors asked what we had for electronics, I showed him my hand held gps. That was a real conversation stopper. I had to drive by feel, trying to sense where the sweet spot was in the engine. Is it better to be revving a bit higher in a low gear or lugging a bit in a higher one? Its all instinct and guesswork. We averaged in the high forties on the first half, and got to the rest stop ahead of schedule. This allowed me to slow down a bit on the second half. The rest of the fleet was soon behind me, all going at my steady 35mph. Behind them I saw a truck. If I could get behind the truck, who would still be behind the others, I might be able to draft him. I slowed down more and one by on they all passed me, including the truck. But before I could get back up to speed and slip in behind the truck, a non-competitor passed me and pulled in behind the truck. Now, Dirigo isn't a powerful car, but he summoned enough juice to pull out in front of the car and slip in right behind the truck and get the free ride in the slip stream. Just as I was complimenting myself on a brilliant bit of strategy his left blinker lit up, and we were back on our own. The timer gave me twenty minutes to complete the final ten miles so we eased down into the low thirties for the home stretch.
Before the cars start out, the fuel tanks are topped up at a local gas station by monitors, who then note the exact level and seal the tank. The finish is the same station, where they refill the tank to the same level, recording both the amount of fuel and the miles driven. When the fuel fill nozzle clicked off and .8 gallons I though it must be deep into the tank, but we pulled it out and there it was: fresh fuel licking at the edge of the spout. Evan, who met us there, and I began calculating in our heads immediately but the enormity of what the numbers meant overwhelmed all capacity to calculate. I resorted to pen, paper, and round numbers coming up with 87mpg. We were weak in the knees. We were even more bowled over when we heard the it was officially 89mpg and we got second overall by three mpg. First place went to a modified Geo Metro with 99mpg.
There was still the issue of the broke down Saab, and the next day being Sunday it looked like we might be in this beautiful part of New York for a while. But Guillermo called late in the day, said he had found a used fuel pump and after ranting a bit in Spanglish abut the outrageous cost for a new one, told me the car was good to go and that he would be at the garage in the morning. We took an even more scenic route east with twistier roads, smellier farms, and a much more relaxed Evan as he realized by now that the the threads he had cut on the aluminum steering arms were not after all, going to come off in one of my hard turns and send us both into a dunghill.
We treated ourselves to a lovely room the Brea Loch Inn, a bit of Scotland in the charming town of Cazanovia. We were treated to a complimentary Very Old single malt at check-in and so began our slow decompression.
Two more hours the next morning in our little cruiser and we were back to the Saab, twenty first century technology and the long cold world of the closed window interstate.
