The houpdy was originally from James Spitzley
Mayela and I were finally through. It had been a hell of a summer let me tell you! I sold everything I own for about $1400 and the three microscopes I got out of the garbage at Leica for about $3500. Left Eugene with my most prized possessions in the van and the houpdy on a tow-bar behind it. The van made it about 80 miles and died on the road going into the mountains outside Medford, Oregon. I was able to nurse the van to a junk yard, loaded everything that would fit in the houpdy and left the rest. With the car I continued on to my Dad's house in California. Got a flat tire in the mountains. Nearly died because the car was so overloaded. Fixed the car at my dads and threw more stuff away. After going to Baja, Mexico with my friend Larry Newsum for a week, I jumped back in the houpdy and headed East. In Clovis, Utah, I stopped for gas and noticed that there was a lot more noise than usual coming from the engine compartment. Adjusting the valves didn't help so I called my brother and told him that I was going to try to get as far as possible. There is a stretch of road where it is 185 miles with no gas stations. The houpdy had made some 300 mile stretches on a tank, so I went for it. This area is extreme desert. The signs were counting down: 15 miles to the next service station, 10 miles, 5 miles. I thought the houpdy was going to make it. Then just as I crested a hill, it died -- bone dry. The houpdy coasted for a couple of miles and I started pushing it. This is how white people die in the desert. Finally a guy stopped and towed me with a strap to the exit. There was a gas can in the car, so I hiked to the station and got some fuel. While priming the fuel pump, I must have bumped the distributor, because it just didn't run right. After some fiddling the car was able to make it over to the station but she was running really badly. "Fuck it, I'm going to run this thing till it dies completely." It was really unhappy sounding, but managed to get up the ramp and moving fast enough to be legal. About 10 miles later, another cylinder cut out. Then it would only go about 45 on the shoulder in 3rd gear; then 30; then 20; The engine finally blew and the houpdy rolled to a stop. It was only two miles to a rest area, so I pushed it and used the starter to get to a rest area. I sat there for two days overlooking the desert vista and waited for my brother to rescue me and bring me to Colorado. You get to do a lot of thinking waiting for two days at a rest area and sleeping on a concrete bench. Travis finally showed up with a tow dolly and we made the rest of the trip to my brother's house in Avon. He was planning to go back to New York in a week to help my mom with a roof. We enjoyed the beautiful summer days at Beaver Creek mountian biking and building the loveshack. We parked the houpdy in the garage and made the trip back east with his on son. After 5 days of working with and being assaulted by my drunk of a mother and drunker brother, I got thrown out of the house because of a comment that they didn't like. At 1AM in the morning. Just a skateboard and a bag of clothes were all that was left. I walked 18 miles in the pouring rain --- all night till the sun came up Fortunately my portacabin was still safe and sound. Got into school a week later and rented an apartment in Rochester.
I had some time off school for Thanksgiving to go back out to Colorado and retrieve the houpdy. Jamie Spitzley had been there in the fall for his son's wedding and dropped off another motor he had lying around the shop. What amazing luck. Not only did he have a motor, but just happened to be going to the exact town where the houpdy was. I flew out to Colorado and did some snowboarding and put the engine in the car. A week later, we drove it around the parking lot twice dumped the old motor and parts in the dumpster and I headed east.