The next morning I loaded the Corvette, got gas, checked the oil, tires, knock-offs, and set off for home. It wasn’t long before I crossed the Colorado/Kansas state line. You could do surgery in the back seat of a car on Kansas highways, as the roads are billiard table-smooth. Gas is around $1.50 cheaper than in California, Nevada, and Utah. I had new appreciation for my home state.
The rolling plains were sunny and colorful for the first half of the trip across Kansas on I-70. Then spring storm clouds began to creep in, blocking the sun. I have lived in the Midwest my whole life, and I knew well what was hiding in those clouds: Doom. I thought, “Please, please, please just let me make it home before it dumps on me.” I have no problem driving in rain, even frog-strangling downpours, but the short bit of rain in Utah told me this convertible top wasn’t as watertight as I would have liked.
About fifty miles from home, it began to rain. The soft top dripped at the windshield header of the Chevy Corvette. I had a roll of shop towels with me, and used it to soak up the drips at the top of the windshield. About ten miles from home, the sky opened up and let loose with a torrential downpour. I saw Noah gathering animals in pairs. I was forced to hide under a gas station awning, as the water coming in the car looked like a flooding gutter. Trying to catch it all with the shop towels was like trying to handle toxic waste with an oven mitt. After ten or fifteen minutes, the rain calmed, and I finished the trip home.
Three blocks from home, the brake pedal began feeling mushy. A block from home, at a stoplight, it went to the floor, but still managed to get the Corvette stopped. I tiptoed the final block and got into the garage. My lovely wife had the door open and was waiting with a cold drink. Bless her.
It turned out that the front passenger side wheel bearing had given up the ghost, and the wheel was now resting on the brake caliper. The Corvette got me all the way home before calling it quits. I think she may have a soul.
We unloaded the car, put the top down, and put a big fan in it to dry everything. It took two days.
I have since had the wheel bearing fixed, addressed a few other issues, and have begun detailing the Sting Ray to my standards. The car is still glorious, and I am every bit as smitten as I was before. The Nassau Blue Sting Ray is parked in my garage next to my Roman Red 1960 Corvette. Now I need to find a Classic White C3 for the patriotic Corvette trifecta.
A few lessons learned on my road trip:
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Moving opposite to market trends.
With four model years recommended for purchase.
This example is a former NCRS award winner.
Many automakers oppose right-to-repair laws citing cybersecurity concerns.
Breaking out the spec sheets for a comparison.
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I purchase my 65 Corvette in 68 that looked identical to yours. However, over the past 50 years, there isn't much stock about the car. The list of improvements is endless including Porshe seats.