Duece and a quarter expo vehicle

[JackW]

Buick Electra 225 that is....



Found this old slide from 1974 of the Buick 225 Electra we drove to Panama in 1974 for my Dad’s thirty year high school reunion ( Class of 1944 Balboa High School, Panama Canal Zone)

This was in northern Nicaragua in front of a field of the biggest cotton plants I’ve ever seen anywhere – volcanic soil (yes that’s a volcano in the background) is extremely rich and fertile.

That’s the famous Pan American Highway we’re parked next to – one of the smoother stretches. We carried spare fuel, water and other supplies in the roof rack.

It took us about two and a half weeks to drive the length of Central America dodging crazy drivers, livestock, washed out bridges, drunken natives (big festival in Atitlan, Guatemala) and other hazards. We also had numerous breakdowns including an episode of complete brake fade coming down a steep mountain, overheating, bad gas, and the drive shaft falling completely out of the car thirty miles down a dirt road in Costa Rica.

When we eventually reached the relative safety of Panama we had to get the car stamp off Dad’s passport to allow him to leave the country. The Buick was on a one-way trip – we never planned to bring it back. Import duties would have to be paid unless you “knew somebody”. We thought one of Dad’s classmates who still lived in Panama might be able to make some “arrangements” but that wasn’t working out so well. Our local cab driver that we had been using (you didn’t want to do too much driving around in Panama unescorted at that time due to the presence of the Guardia – lean, mean, machine gun toting Panamanians just looking for an excuse to hassle gringos) said he could get the car off Dad’s passport as he had a contact in the government who could fix things.

Dad and our new friend (we were going to give him the car if he could get the passport stamp cleared) took off for downtown the morning before we were scheduled to leave and when they came back a few hours later Dad had a clear passport but the cab driver didn’t have the Buick. It turns out that the government official was a Major Noriega who decided it would be better if we “donated the Buick to the government of Panama” and the poor cab driver was completely shut out. Yes it’s the same Noreiga who we later had to go down and remove from power in Panama.

 

[David Harris]

Wow. What a story, especially the ending. Big contrast to the vehicles we prepare to go on trips like that today.

Thanks,

David

 

[Mr. Leary]

I don't see a snorkel, a fridge, or an RTT. You guys were not "ExPo!"

Obviously anyone who doesn't have these things is not really going on an expedition after all, are they!

:coffeedrink:


Neat story. Thanks for sharing. Those old land yachts were awesome!

 

[Christian P.]

Great story! I have been wanting to drive down in an old classic...

maybe it's time to get another one and do it again! What year was yours?

http://cgi.ebay.com/ebaymotors/1964...8806853?pt=US_Cars_Trucks&hash=item3362ac8a45

http://cgi.ebay.com/ebaymotors/Buick-Electra-225-Four-Door-Pillarless-Sedan-/160507957811?pt=US_Cars_Trucks&hash=item255f051233

 

[JackW]

I think it was a 1966 model (could have been a '65) - I remember Dad paid about $600 for it. Most of the trouble started soon after we left Atlanta - mid-afternoon somewhere in Mississippi we blew a radiator hose due to a faulty water pump and the car overheated. We limped the car overnight to the Texas/Mexico border at Laredo where we had to wait for an auto parts store to open so we could get a new water pump. We changed that in the parking lot and crossed the border into Mexico that morning.

We had to get to Mexico City in two days to pick up my mother and sister who were flying that leg (for some reason they declined the opportunity to enjoy the three day blast we had scheduled for the first leg of the trip). Several side of the road stops later to deal with resetting the timing by ear (Buicks didn't seem to like the Mexican Pemex gas) we made it to the Mexico city airport with an hour to spare. Thankfully after that the pace of the trip slowed down. We stayed in Mexico city for a few days sightseeing and enjoying the food - and the VW Beetle Grand Prix that seemed to start every time a light went green. Four marked lanes on the road became at least six with an additional parking lane on either side with everyone jockeying for position - entertaining to watch - terrifying to drive in. At that time Mexico City only had 9 million people - I can't imagine what traffic is like there today.

From Mexico City we wandered south - visiting Taxco (where we saw Elizabeth Taylor in one of the many silversmith shops) , Cuernavaca (one of the absolute best meals I've ever eaten was at Las Mananitas) and Oaxaca (fabulous pyramids). In southern Mexico we ate iguana and rice and shared our table with the little chameleons that were running all over the open sided restaurant. Every once in a while one of them would lose his grip on the tin roof overhead and land in the middle of the table with a dazed look before he scampered off in search of some more bugs (very effective mosquito control).

In Guatemala we visited Lake Atitlan where there was some kind of feast day celebration just winding up. Everybody was dressed in traditional native garb and they all appeared to be under 5 feet 3 inches tall. We saw one old woman leading her obviously intoxicated husband home by his ear - she had a firm grip and wasn't letting go no matter how much he protested. As we descended the crater the drum brakes of the heavily overloaded Buick got spongier and less effective. Just as we reached the bottom of a very long hill (with very precipitous drop-offs) the brakes faded all together and the car would not stop. I was driving and there was a one lane steel truss bridge just ahead with oncoming traffic - I saw an ascending driveway to the left and quickly yanked the wheel and shot up the hill until the car rolled to a stop. I threw the car into park, jumped out, grabbed a rock to chock the wheels and then proceeded to throw a hissy fit at my Dad for leading us down this road in a car best referred to a a less than optimal choice for these adventures. After the brakes and I cooled down we proceeded on to Guatemala city for the night.

 

[JackW]

After Guatemala border crossings got more interesting (and expensive) - El Salvador struck us as being the most impoverished country we traveled through. At the border with Honduras we saw evidence of the "1969 Soccer War" from five years earlier when the two neighboring countries started shooting at each other over escalating tensions that peaked during the World Cup preliminaries. The original border crossing buildings that had been a few hundred yard apart were shot full of holes and the "new" border stations were about a mile apart on the back sides of hills facing the actual border. We visited Tegucigalpa and I remember seeing more accidents in Honduras than any other country.

I think it was Honduras where the customs officer questioned us on the three five gallon cans we were carrying in the roof box - two of gasoline and one of water. You're not allowed to bring full cans of gas across the border (the country wants you to pay their taxes after all). We had about 3/4 of a tank at that time and when the official asked what was in the can (pointing at one of them) Dad answered "gasolina". Well this was a problem for the officer so Dad asked if it would be okay if we poured it into the gas tank of the Buick. The official said that would be fine but we knew that there was no room for the other 5 gallons. After we had emptied the first can under the scrutiny of the official he turned to Dad and asked what about those two cans? Dad slipped him twenty bucks and answered "agua" and we were allowed to proceed.

After Honduras came Nicaragua - the government wasn't really welcoming Americans at that time but the northern part of the country was beautiful with sweeping cotton fields and a live volcano steaming away. There had been a major earthquake in the capital city of Managua only a year before and the USA had provided a massive relief effort so the people seemed to accept us. As we reached the edges of where we thought Managua should be it was like entering a giant industrial park that about to be completely rebuilt. There wasn't a building standing for miles and then suddenly we were at the Zocalo - the town square at the center of Managua with the old church showing huge cracks in the face and one of the towers completely collapsed. The only high rise building in town had the entire face of it sheared off and the open rooms exposed to the elements. The destruction was incredible and very sobering as you realized all of those mounds of rubble we had been driving by for miles was all that remained of the shops and homes of hundreds of thousands of Nicaraguans.

 

[JackW]

After driving past Lake Nicaragua (where fresh water sharks live - no swimming for us) crossing into Costa Rica was a pure joy. Instead of being greeted by machine gun toting soldiers and the inevitable mordida we were welcomed by an efficient, pleasant representative of the Costa Rican government who was glad to welcome visiting Americans to their country. They said that many of our countrymen were choosing to retire to Costa Rica in one of the first great waves of folks choosing to live a simpler, less expensive lifestyle in a tropical paradise. We really liked Costa Rica, a beautiful country where a freshly cut fence post would sprout and grow into a tree and a varied climate that could be adjusted by altitude.

Somewhere about San Isidro Dad decided that we needed to take a thirty mile detour down a dirt road to a supposed motel right on the Pacific Ocean. As a side note I might add that our main navigational aid at this point was a Rand Mcnally Road Atlas. Now the drive shaft of the Buick had been making some ominous noises as the Pan American Highway had deteriorated somewhat over the last few countries. Large sections were not even paved at this time and we'd had to ford a number of streams as the bridges were washed out or undergoing repairs. Ignoring my prediction that this was not one of my Dad's better ideas we turned off the main highway and headed out into the jungle.

Banana trees were everywhere bearing huge bunches of fruit and we had to watch for logging trucks hauling huge sections of mahogany trees out of the jungle. Some of these logs were nine feet in diameter and the most we ever saw on a truck was two or three logs. The u-joint objected to the dirt road in ever increasing clunks and rattles as Dad kept insisting we're almost there.
Just as we saw that the land was flattening out in the coastal plain and we could smell the ocean we took a left fork, rounded a turn and there was a river ford. It was running about 18" deep and littered with rocks the size of basketballs. There was no way that the Buick was going to cross that river. Dad seemed to think that there might be another ford a little closer to the beach so we turned around, went back to the main road and made it about a hundred yards before we heard a loud clunk and the Buick stopped moving. I climbed out of the back seat, looked under the car and saw the whole drive shaft was lying on the ground. the rear universal joint had sheared, we're twenty-five miles down a dirt road in the jungles of Costa Rica, its getting dark and the Buick wasn't going anywhere.

 

[JackW]

With no other alternative we locked up the car, went back to the ford and waded across, and hiked the final mile to the beach. There we found a few old deserted fishing shacks, a beautiful remote beach, and no sign whatsoever of the supposed motel. With a complete lack of other options we hiked back to the car and got there just as darkness fell. A quick dinner of Ritz crackers and bananas was consumed as we worked out the sleeping arrangements for the five of us. Dad got the front seat, Mom and my little sister got the back seat, Ken (a family friend who had tagged along to help with the driving) got the trunk lid and I got the hood. None of us particularly wanted to sleep on the ground in the jungle.

The next morning I awoke to the sound of an engine laboring along the road in front of us. Climbing down from the hood and trying to relieve the welt that the chrome strip down the middle of the hood had left in my rib cage, I flagged down the Bluebird bus that had appeared like a big yellow angel of hope. As Dad explained the situation to the driver in his broken Spanish I grabbed the drive shaft and Ken and I boarded the bus. Dad gave me some cash and said the bus driver was headed for town (25 miles back up the road we'd come down the day before) and I was to try to get the U-joint repaired and come back down on the afternoon bus. Anywhere in Central America where there is a road there will be a bus sooner or later. Sometimes its one bus a day (or less) - in this case it was the morning bus that heads towards town and the afternoon bus heads back to the end of the route with a several hour turnaround time in San Isidro.

We rode the bus back to San Isidro with me standing in the aisle holding the drive shaft and jamming my head against the roof of the bus (I'm not that tall - the buses are shorter in Central America). It took four hours to climb the 25 miles back to town with the bus stopping at every trail coming out of the jungle and the bus filled up with locals, chickens, goats and bananas. When we pulled up in the town square everyone started to file off the bus, Ken and I included, but the bus driver waved for us to sit down. Since he had a three hour layover before he headed back home the bus driver drove us around town stopping at every place that might have a replacement U-joint.

We quickly learned that "Buick" did not compute in Costa Rica - no one had ever even heard of one - so we'd point at the broken U-joint and say "GM". After many tries and with my extremely limited Spanish we were beginning to think that we weren't going to find a replacement U-joint. Finally we pulled up in front of a shop that specialized in rewinding electric motors. As we walked in the front door the owner looked up and took in the situation in a glance. Telling us - in English!- to lean the drive shaft in the corner and to follow him he led us across the street to a cantina, guided us to booth, ordered a round of Cerveza Imperial and then asked how he could help us. We explained that the rest of my family was stranded down near the coast in the broken Buick (again we had to explain the whole GM thing) and we needed a U-joint to get the car running again. After finishing our beers he led us back across the street to his shop and spent a half hour on the phone trying to locate a spare U-joint. We watched his employees hand winding electric armatures until he announced that there wasn't a replacement to be had in town but he would have one delivered by the overnight bus from San Jose in the morning. Leaving the drive shaft with him we said we'd be back the next day and quickly ran to get a few supplies to take back to the rest of the folks who were stranded back in the jungle.

After another four hour ride back to the broken Buick we arrived with some drinks, bread and fruit to supplement the Ritz crackers and bananas. I filled Dad in and they said they had spent the day wading in the river, visiting the beach and reading. After another uncomfortable night on the car (this time I got the trunk lid) we rode the bus back into town again and there was the drive shaft - all fixed with a new U-joint installed. We picked it up - paid the bill (around $20 - we gave the guy $30) and hung around the town square waiting for the afternoon bus. It occurred to Ken and I that we should have stayed in town the night before and just sent a note back with the bus driver - but it was better that we checked in personally. By late that afternoon we'd reinstalled the drive shaft rejoined the Pan American Highway and were once again headed south to Panama.

 

[David Harris]

I don't see a snorkel, a fridge, or an RTT. You guys were not "ExPo!"

I don't know, he does have the high-performance after market plywood box up there, complete with spare tire carrier.

 

[AmericaOverland]

My question is, how did you get back home with the Buick stolen?

 

[JackW]

My question is, how did you get back home with the Buick stolen?

Remember - this was a $600 Buick and we had planned all along to fly back home - the Buick would never have survived the trip home with all of the mechanical issues it was developing after several thousand miles of less than optimal roads. We had originally planned to see if we could sell the car once it made it to Panama but the restrictive import duty rules made that nearly impossible in the time we had available. We were only in Panama for four days at the end of the trip. We were going to leave it with one of Dad's classmates but they had stamped his passport at the northern border when we came across and he had to get the stamp cleared before they would let him board a plane. Apparently leaving Dad behind in Panama was not an option my mother would consider either.

As time grew short we were willing to give the car away if Dad could get his passport stamp cleared - the Buick (big black shiny car with a black interior and lots of chrome) was an impressive looking beast. A local cab driver we had befriended said he knew a "high ranking government official" who could take care of the problem and transfer the Buick over to the cab driver without our having to pay the duty. The Buick had done its job and transported the five of us the length of Central America for less than what airfare would have cost us. As it turned out Noriega took one look at the car and decided it was far too grand an automobile for a mere cabdriver so he decided to "allow" dad to donate it to the Government of Panama in exchange for clearing the car off Dad's passport. The poor cab driver was cut out of the deal but I think Dad gave him some money for helping us out.