A couple of years ago, as I was working at home, I received a phone call from my father. He had just bought another BMW in San Francisco and wanted to know if I’d fly up and drive it back for him. Of course, he already had several BMW’s, all 2002′s in various states of disrepair from 1968-1975, some fully restored, one race ready, and others for parts. Now, he couldn’t go get it himself because he had to entertain my mother all weekend, and she could not know a new car had been added to the collection. I accepted the top secret mission and enlisted my friend, I’ll call him Hodad for privacy, to help out with the drive. Hodad and I often embarked on outrageous missions, sometimes for our dad’s, sometimes on our own. A year or two before we have driven from San Diego to the Bay Area and back in one day to pick up a race trailer we needed right away. We often drove to Santa Barbara just to get the perfect burrito that was not available anywhere else.

As I said, this mission seemed simple, fly to San Francisco, pick up the car, and crash with Hodad’s twin brother in Berkeley for the night and have a nice Sunday drive to San Diego in one of the rarest BMW’s in North America. The car was an all original, very clean 1973 BMW 2002 Touring tii, there might be 100 runners on this side of the pond. The seller was a friend of my dads and had just gone through everything, no rust, the car ran strong and a clean California registration. We had no idea the toil and trouble the weekend would bring us in what became the most ridiculous trip through California’s central valley. Literally experienced planes, trains and automobiles, spent an hour with Governor Gerry Brown, met the friendliest tow truck driver one could imagine and our new friend Taz the pitbull. What should have been a simple 9 hour drive turned into a 20 hour journey of epic proportions and one for the records.

Saturday around noon, I drove to Hodad’s and we headed to the airport. We had our overnight bags, cash for the car and the excitement of a road trip in our heads. Nothing could stop us, not even the warning signs that this was a BAD PLAN at every step of the journey. Between checking our flight times leaving for the airport and arriving, our flight had been delayed several hours due to fog in SF. Southwest has tons of flights everyday so we managed to beat the crowd and switched to an Oakland flight. Cancelled. San Jose it is, and somehow we managed to board and take off before our original, yet now delayed flight, was supposed to had it been on time. The plane was empty, excellent, plenty of room to stretch out and no crying children. As the flight attendants prepared for take-off, they made an announcement we were waiting for a VIP guest who would arrive any minute. A black car pulled up to the plane on the ground and two men in suits got out and walked up the steps. California Gov. Gerry Brown and his aide ended up sitting adjacent to us on an empty plane. Hodad, a seasoned media veteran, and myself, a political junkie throughly enjoyed chatting with them throughout the flight while they read newspapers and discussed press strategy.

When our flight landed in San Jose, Hodad’s twin picked us up and we went to get the Bimmer. Jan is super nice, one of the friendliest people in the trade and invited us into his house where we examined his personal collection, the other cars for sale and filled out the paperwork. He had several rare vintage BMW’s that would make any enthusiast drool. All in all there were a couple E30 M3′s, the original boy racer and several different 2002′s as well as vintage 5 series in excellent condition. Cash was counted, dotted lines were signed, hands shook and we were on our way.

The drive to Berkeley took about 25 or 30 minutes and we parked the car for the night satisfied it was in good enough shape to drive back to San Diego. After the grand tour of my friends new place and a quick freshen up we headed to BART to enjoy a night in San Francisco. After a beer at one place we wandered looking for a great restaurant that still had an available table at 8pm on saturday night. Eventually we found something and I’m sure it was delicious. Ice cream and a second round of beers were procured before we headed back to Berkeley for the night. The night proved a little uncomfortable. Hodad’s brother, the wonderful bachelor he is, had one tiny couch and a completely disassembled Honda motorcycle in his living room. The engine block was his coffee table and the hardwood floor served as resting areas for the night in sleeping bags. Starbucks quickly became the first thing on my agenda for the morning.

I woke up early, took a quick shower and found a coffee shop about a block away while everyone else was still sleeping. I brought back coffee and pastries for the brothers and we enjoyed a few last minutes before our journey began. As we drove off, we decided to wait to fill up with gas since we had over a half tank and would need more coffee soon enough anyways. About an hour outside the city while heading for Interstate 5, we decided we needed a restroom, gas and more caffeine. The car had been running strong and we were surprised at how zippy the little thing was. Old BMW’s are tricky to fill up and usually require you hold the fuel nozzle the entire time and slowly dispense gas. This avoids a serious mess and hands covered in fuel, Hodad and I had definitely learned this trick the hard way in years past. There was a Starbucks at the travel plaza so we entered and emptied and filled back up again. As we got on the highway and pulled up and down the rolling hills, I could start to feel a bit of lag in the throttle response. Of course, we thought it was just a 40 year old engine, eased off a bit and continued on our way. About 45 minutes after the travel plaza the car would not accelerate at all so we pulled over to let it cool down for a few minutes. After a ten minute break the car started right up, purring like a kitten so I dropped the clutch and we were cursing nicely along at 65 again. Enter the point of no return.

As we drove on, the same feeling came back in the throttle, however we were no longer in the rolling hills, and on relatively flat highway. This time the car lasted about 35 or 40 minutes before we finally sputtered to a stop. Feelings of WTF and FML went through our heads and I called my dad to explain the situation. Slight problem, he was hosting a party for my mother and her friends and was supposed to be cooking and entertaining all day. Every time we called, he had to run to a secluded part of the house to call us back. We called Jan and explained the problem, he felt horrible and offered what advice he could over the phone and to come pick us up and buy the car back. We told him we still wanted the car and were not mad, just perplexed as to what could be wrong. Another 30 minute jaunt to a gas station and we started pulling the fuel system apart. The fuel pump was working and the filter was not clogged. We filled up the gas tank and put the fuel system back together with a cheap gas station crescent wrench and screwdriver we bought. A couple phone calls with various other BMW master techs we knew confirmed our worst fears. Either the gas tank was contaminated, clogging up or the entire fuel injection system was shot. We got in the car and kept driving.

After several more times of stopping, resting, starting and going, each trip lasting less and less, Hodad called AAA to see how far of a tow we could get. Luckily he had the gold plan. We finally threw in the white flag somewhere north of Bakersfield around 3 in the afternoon and cashed in a 200 mile tow to take us 198 miles to my dad’s friends garage in Fullerton. It was a 30 minute wait, but proved worthwhile when a brand new, crew cab, flatbed tow truck arrived with a smiling driver. He got us loaded up and took extra precautions with the vintage vehicle. As we finally relaxed in the spacious cab, told the driver about our journey, he laughed and commiserated with us. We got over the grapevine before dark and headed into LA. Luckily it was a Sunday so traffic was light and made it to Fullerton in no time. A few trips around the block to find a mechanic we didn’t know in a dark alley and at last we arrived. Taz, a rescued pitbull greeted us with a wagging tail and drooling mouth. Matt, who owned the garage, helped us unload the car and we pushed it into one of his work bays. We thanked the tow truck driver, who refused a tip and said our goodbyes. Matt rushed us to Fullerton train station to try and make an 8pm train back to San Diego that we missed literally by a minute. The next train left at 10:00pm. We thanked Matt and decided to get dinner and a beer a few blocks from the train station.

At this point, lack of sleep, gasoline fumes from the day and a few beers had made us both very woozy, tired and ready to get home. The whole time we were constantly updating my father and Hodad’s girlfriend with our lack of progress. We decided we’d wait the last hour at the train station so we didn’t miss it again. Amtrak announced our train was late. At first 30 minutes, then 45, of course it turned into an hour and a half delay. At this point all we could do is laugh. How could the day get any longer and we just prayed there was more beer in the cafe car once we got on board. Sometime around 1:30am, we arrived at the Solana Beach train station in San Diego, found a cab stand and headed our separate ways home. Of course the car didn’t make it back for another month or so, but that suited my dad just fine.

Eventually we agreed to go get the car and finish the trip, which after some minor repairs proved uneventful. I parked it at my parents house and we laughed at how fun the first trip had been. The fuel pickup had been clogged with debris from the gas tank. Every time we added fuel, the crap in the tank would stir up and slowly close off the intake of the fuel system. Jan had never driven it more than 20 or 30 minutes at a time or far from his house so it was a problem completely unknown to him. All in all everything worked out and we had made it home safe, very late, but safe. They car is currently undergoing a minor re-fresh to keep it all original yet fix the minor details.