I did buy the Seven in Washington, and tried to get it shipped and even thought about taking my race trailer up there and retrieving it, but finally decided I needed a little adventure. Since God protects drunks and fools, after several beers I made a one-way reservation and flew up to Seattle on Saturday September 2nd. My daughter, Rebecca, who lives there, met me at the airport and drove me to Snohomish and the waiting seller. After an hour spent with Bob familiarizing me with the things he knew and giving Rebecca a short ride, I headed for Colorado. I stopped in "downtown" Snohomish at a Quick Lube where they changed oil and filter and checked all fluids, and hit the lube points, and at about 4:00 I started off on highway 2 to Wenatchee. I drove through evergreen hills and winding road next to a stream, and over a small pass, and through a light shower, and the effect was refreshing. So I continued on to Moses Lake where I sopped for the night. In the morning, I headed across eastern Washington, specifically through the town of Kahlotus, requiring a stop at the "general store" for a soft drink in celebration of the name, and then over the Snake River gorgeand into Lewiston Idaho. There I picked up US 12 across the hump of Idaho, on 200 of the most beautiful miles of road I've ever driven. US 12 follows the river up to the top of a pass and another river down the other side, weaving and bobbing like the river adjacent, but with smooth asphalt instead of water. And with almost no traffic to break the rhythm of the curves, I was just grinning the whole way. At Lolo Montana, I stopped for gas and noticed oil coating the rear of the car. Checking underneath, I found an axle seal leaking, and with no seal or bearing, I just topped up the diff, and kept going. By the time I reached Denver I'd used more than 2 quarts of 90 wt. As I drove south through the Bitterroot Valley, two things awed me. The valley is one of the most spectacular places I've ever seen and it was burned beyond belief. Hundreds of firefighters were visible just a 1/4-mile off the road. Fire trucks and equipment were the only vehicles coming northbound for over 90 minutes. I was told that they had only just opened the highway south two hours earlier. Onward I went to my evening destination, Salmon, Idaho, the largest town from Montana to Twin Falls near Wyoming, but only about 6,000 people. When I arrived about nightfall, I discovered that there were no rooms left within 60 miles. All were taken by firefighters. So I filled my gas tank, my diff, and my stomach, and headed south. A fire Captain in the gas station said there were rooms in Challis Idaho about 63 miles away because he had just sent two of his men there. My target became Challis. As I left, he warned me not to take the left fork onto Idaho 28 because there was nothing for 122 miles that way. So off I blasted, air temperature dropping into the 40's and the clear sky clouding over from the Southwest. As I drove, it got darker and colder, even with the heat coming off the engine filling the footwell. The stars were magnificent since there was no, and I mean NO, ambient light. Well, that made the line of clouds even more distinct driving south. After about 45 minutes, and having seen no other cars going either way, I was concerned about where I was in relation to Challis. I finally saw a route marker: Idaho 28. I had taken the wrong fork! There would be nothing for another 80 miles ahead, or I could go back 40 miles and then south 60 more. Nothing to do but proceed. About then I felt so tiny and insignificant, I was glad that God protects fools, too. Another car's headlights became visible in my mirror and that was reassuring. After a long time he finally caught up to me and passed, cutting back into the right lane so sharply that it startled me and I lifted off the gas pedal abruptly. When I resumed my previous throttle setting, the car ran roughly and seemed to have lost power. The revs began falling slowly as the taillights of the car that had passed, the only one I'd seen in 45 minutes, disappeared over a low rise. I could picture the headline: "Idiot found frozen in Lotus position, half eaten by Bear". As I struggled over the rise I saw a mercury vapor light a mile or so ahead. A farm or ranch with kindhearted people, I surmised. It was, in fact, a crossroads with a tavern and a closed general store and several dark buildings. As I coasted to a stop and untangled myself from the bowels of the Seven, I was startled by the presence of people behind me. Since I was wearing earplugs, (not a complete fool) they were quite close before I heard them. It was four teenagers. Again, my mind fashioned a headline"Rural gang dismembers fool driving an ancient Lotus with Lucas electrics well after dark" It turns out they were great kids who had heard the car struggling and saw it under the light, and now wanted to see it. I explained my predicament, and one suggested I check at the Motel in "town". Where, asked I.? Right there said he, as he pointed to a dark house. So I went up and dutifully knocked on the door. A light came on inside, illuminating a man who clearly fallen asleep in front of the TV, who then staggered to the door turning on the porch light. This illuminated the "No Vacancy" sign. I was about to request the porch floor when I remarked on the sign and he said, Oh, Mother always forgets that. I think we have one left." Thinking of Norman Bates, I was relieved when "Mother" turned out to be his wife who ran the business. She sent me to a cabin out behind the house with a propane wall heater that got the temp in the cabin up to almost 60 degrees. I'd deal with car problems in the morning. I was exhausted. Morning dawned clear and bright with a new blanket of snow on the mountains ringing this long valley. There was frost on the car, but the sun was warming things so I took off the bonnet to have a look see. The first thing that jumped out at me was a hose from the block up to the intake manifold had popped out of the block. Well, it could be I thought, and as I looked around for other possible problems. I put the hose back in and noted that it went into the manifold below the carburetor. It was the PCV hose, and as I taped it to the block, I realized the intake manifold would have been sucking air in after the fuel mix in the carb, resulting in a very lean mixture. No wonder it wouldn't run right! As I fired it and it ran great I breathed a sigh of relief and headed south. The engine ran beautifully the rest of the trip. Down through Idaho, into Wyoming, the scenery was spectacular. The snow capped peaks, evergreen forests and rolling foothills up and through Driggs, Idaho. The two lane roads were lightly traveled and the weather was a perfect 65 degrees and sunny. From the Grand Tetons, Jackson Hole and down through Pindale, and out of the beauty onto the high prairie to (ugh) Rock Springs. For the next 300 miles the Wyoming wind tried to rip my head right off my neck. This was the worst part of the trip and one for which the Seven is ill suited. To get from Rock Springs to a southerly road into Colorado, required 175 miles on Interstate 80 with the big trucks. I stayed in the right lane at about 65-mph, and hugged the right line as the big semis went by, trying to suck me into their wake. Ironically, I could have driven under most of the trailers and hooked on for a free ride! A Wyoming Trooper finally stopped me just before I was to turn off the Interstate onto the two lane highway 130. He hadn't seen a license plate from the westbound lane in his mirror, so he turned around and gave chase. After checking turn signals and brake lights, he admitted that he just wanted to see "what in the hell that little car was, anyway". He wished me well and told me "to be careful next to those big trucks", as if I needed to be reminded. The rest of the trip was delightful as I crossed into Colorado, went over the Continental Divide at 11,500 feet and ran solid and true right on into Denver. Everywhere I stopped people expressed delight with the car and encouragement for the journey. I almost got a sense of wistfulness that they didn't have the chutzpah to give it a go. I wasn't sure at first either, but, in retrospect, it was very worthwhile. Now I have to replace the rear axle bearings and clean, clean, clean, and hopefully have more adventures next year in it. Ross Robbins 1957 Westfield Eleven 1960 Elite S-2 EB1420 1966 Elan S-2 26-5565 1968 Seven S-3 SB2352 1974 Europa Special 74-4617 1991 Elan M100 2002 5/8 scale Seven