I had been planning the trip for over a year. A long road trip out West to visit several of our National Parks and the State of California. I had made a similar trip just after I graduated from college, when I had some time but not much money. Twenty years later, my career has resulted in my having neither the time nor the money, but what the heck! My son is starting college in the fall and it might be the last time for the entire family to go on one last road trip.

Our family has a tradition of long road trips. I'm from Virginia and currently reside in North Carolina. Conversely, my wife was raised on a cattle ranch in Washington State and has many friends and relatives in Washington. As a consequence, we have made several long trips out West from the East Coast. Our original Volvo, an '82 240 wagon, has made the round trip to Washington at least three times. My '83 240 sedan carried us on a memorable trip to Wyoming. And our '87 240 wagon carried us to visit my wife's brother in San Antonio, Texas, several years ago. We are now a six Volvo family. My wife and son drive matching '87 240 wagons. My twin daughters have inherited the '83 240 sedan. My mother-in-law, who lives with us, drives an '88 240 wagon. I drive the original '82 240 wagon and I recently purchased a '64 PV544, which drives nowhere, but looks good up on jack stands. We have over a million total miles on these cars.

I do practically all of the maintenance on the cars, unless it's a rush job, in which case P & A Smith Automotive of Cary, North Carolina, gets the call. If there was a Hall of Fame for independent Volvo repair shops, P & A Smith would get my hands-down nomination (but that's another story).

When planning for the trip got down to car selection, I looked at the fleet and announced that this time we were going to get away from three kids in the backseat, which must be some small form of hell for both the kids and the parents, and take two cars this time. Up to eight seats could be filled, allowing my teenagers to invite a few friends along. All three of the teenagers have their driver's licenses, allowing all of us to share the driving load. The matching '87 wagons seemed like a good choice. At some point, my wife pointed out that neither of these cars were spring chickens and maybe we should rent a nice van.

"Wife dearest," I said, "a van rental for a month and 8000 miles would cost as much as any of these cars are worth. Also, we will be travelling together, so we can render roadside assistance to each other if required. Finally, I plan to take a full set of tools and some spare parts. I can handle shredded timing belts, split hoses, and electrical problems if they come up." I guess I forgot to factor in transmission problems, but more on that later.

Trip planning began in earnest during February. A main feature of the trip for me would be an extended stay in Yosemite National Park in California. I have been there several times, but never for more than a day. I wanted to get out of the Yosemite Valley, away from the crowds, and experience the backcountry. I was able to obtain reservations for campsites and a backcountry permit to go on an extended hike out of the Yosemite Valley. Little did I know that getting to the point were we could walk out of the Yosemite Valley with full packs was going to involve a little more adventure than I had imagined.

I proceeded to lay out the rest of the trip. We planned our itinerary around a week's stay in Yosemite. It would include hard driving until we slowed down for stops at the Grand Canyon, Zion National Park, Las Vegas and Lake Tahoe, the staging area for the Yosemite trip. My niece would fly in from Washington state and meet us there.

It turned out that my wife had a must-attend conference in Chicago that first week, so we agreed that she would fly from Chicago and meet us. My wife doesn't backpack, so she planned to chill out in Lake Tahoe, then meet us at our Yosemite base camp in a week. We would all drive on to San Francisco, then proceed down the Pacific coast along the Big Sur and wind up in San Diego. At that point, I would fly back to North Carolina. My boss made it clear that if he could do without me for more than three weeks, then maybe he might decide that he really didn't need me at all. My wife and the kids would spend several days sightseeing in San Diego and then drive home, with a stop in San Antonio to visit her brother.

So the plan was set; a month of travelling for the teenagers and three weeks for my wife and myself. As the departure date came closer, I started privately to worry about the cars. I replaced some belts and hoses. My son's car had been a little squirrelly in the handling department. I decided to spring for new Boge Turbogas shocks on both cars. This solved my son's handling problem. It also stiffened up my wife's car to the point where she complained about the increased noise level in the passenger compartment associated with every bump in the road. Well, you win some and you loose some. Next time I'll put old lady mushmobile shocks on her car. I loaded up the wheel wells with every tool and part I could cram in, plus my trusty multi-meter. It's been my experience that about 75% of the problems on 240s are electrical. I've had my share of electrical problems with these cars, but true mechanical breakdowns have been rare. This trip would change that trend!

Two days before we were scheduled to leave, my daughters called on the cell phone. "The temperature gauge on Brian's car is in the red. We're shut down on the side of the road, just a mile from the house." Bless their hearts; if they've learned nothing else, they've learned to watch the temp gauge. I quickly determined that one of the S-shaped heater hoses had sprung a leak. Since the screws on the hose clamps were pointing in the right direction, this time I didn't have to remove the entire intake manifold to get the hoses out. "Well," I thought, "isn't it great that this failure didn't occur 500 miles out!"

The big day arrived. We loaded up the two cars with gear for my three kids, one daughter's friend and myself. Seats were left for my wife and our niece with room to spare. We had suitcases with summer gear, as well as our backpacks stuffed with cold weather gear, because we knew that nights could be cold at higher elevations. A 240 wagon can really pack a load.

Off we went on the first of our long days, arriving at Memphis that night after an 800 mile run. The two cars performed flawlessly over the next two days and we arrived in Arizona on the afternoon of the third day. We kept in touch using little FM walkie-talkies. I drove drag (that means bringing up the rear in cowboy talk) so I could keep an eye on the lead car, which was by default being driven by a teenager. When we reached Arizona, we spent a few hours driving through the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest National Park, which was our first taste of really dramatic western scenery.

The next few days were more relaxed. We headed out for the Grand Canyon. We chose the North Rim, as it was on our way to Zion National Park and was purported to be much less crowded. We got to the overlook and guess what? It looks just like the pictures! It was beautiful all the same.

That night we camped out 50 miles north of the Canyon. By morning, there was frost on the tents and the water jug was trying to freeze up. Reports were showing 100 degree temperatures in North Carolina. What a difference!

We proceeded on to Zion N.P. Zion is a must-see park; it is magnificent. My wife holds Zion as being the most beautiful national park of all. I don't like to get into "most beautiful" arguments, but it's also one of my favorites. We spent the day hiking around the main canyon. I actually ran into a fellow I work with on one of the trails. It seems that everybody has the same idea about how to spend their summer vacations.

I started to notice a disturbing feature of summer travel in the '90s. We saw numerous small motorhomes with "Call 1-800-RENTME" and other advertising logos on them. They are obviously rental vehicles and the drivers are either painfully cautious, especially in stretches where you can't pass them, or they are pretty damn reckless, like when you meet them coming the other way on a tight turn. Look out for these guys. It also seems that the really big motorhomes are in a contest to see who can tow the most extravagant destination vehicle. I saw some really nice cars being towed, but award the prize to the guy who was towing a new full-size Ford pickup with a $20,000 Harley Davidson in the bed.

That night we stopped in Las Vegas. I warn you that Las Vegas is not my cup of tea, so rather than offend the Las Vegas Convention bureau, I will just say that it lived up to all of my expectations. But it was a good experience for the teens and the motel room was cheap.

We drove out the next day and headed for South Lake Tahoe, where we had a timeshare condominium reserved. In the dictionary under "desolate," they have a picture of Nevada. We stopped in one small town with a picturesque Indian name for some of the $1.85 a gallon gas. I asked the gas pump attendant, a teenage boy, how one would pronounce the name of the town. "It's pronounced shithole," he said. I had to ask!

When the Nevada Department of Highways works on a road, the concept of impeding through traffic is apparently not an issue. We learned to dread the sign on the side of the road that said "Road construction ahead. Half hour delays may be possible." Possible? I'd say probable! It gave us a chance to stop and stretch our legs.

At one of these impromptu rest stops, my daughter said that the oil light had flickered as she was braking to stop. I threw open the hood on my son's car, and sure enough, nothing showed on the dipstick and the engine compartment was bathed in oil. Two quarts later it was still a half a quart low. It appeared that the camshaft oil seal was giving up. Nothing to do but drive on and keep an eye on it. I stopped in one small town at a NAPA store and inquired about an oil seal. "Sir, we can get that out of Reno in a couple of days." I told him "Never mind, I'm headed that way myself."

We arrived in Lake Tahoe and checked into the condo. I found a secluded parking spot, knowing that shortly I would be doing a little parking lot R&R. The next morning I made a few calls and found an oil seal just a few miles away. I guess Volvos are a little more common in resort areas. I snagged a seal and also got a few other things to do an oil change on both cars. I am physically incapable of going into an auto parts store without spending at least $50.

Fortunately, the oil seal replacement went off without a hitch and I changed the oil in both cars to boot. I patted myself on the back. "See, you can handle these little annoying repair issues that would have the average Joe going nuts." My optimism was a bit premature.

We spent all day Sunday apportioning food supplies and checking our backpacking gear one last time. We put all the backpacks in my son's car, planning to have my wife meet us with the rest of the gear at the base camp in one week. As a result, my son's Volvo was severely overloaded. We had six passengers and six packs. We raised the child's seat for the sixth passenger to use and piled backpacks in and on the car. Any place you go to from South Lake Tahoe immediately involves a severe, uphill climb, but we pulled over the first pass with no problems and were on our way.

It's about a 240 mile drive from Lake Tahoe to Yosemite N.P. The culmination of the trip is a 4000 foot climb from the Nevada side of the Park up to the entrance station at Tioga Pass. My son's car has a M47 5-speed transmission. It's always had a problem with popping out of second gear, but I had given its reliability little thought during the trip. As we climbed up toward the pass, I found that second gear and a speed of about 25 mph was a good choice. I was courteous and used the slow vehicle turnouts when the string of cars behind me got too long. Near the pass the engine started to bog and I was forced to go to first gear for the last mile. I had to come to a full stop and fuss with it to get it to go into first, but we finally made it to the top and the entrance station. I flashed my Golden Eagle pass and prepared to enter the park.

At that point, I realized that the transmission did not want to shift into first. Second gear was no good either. There was no grinding; it just refused to engage either gear. Great! The employee at the entrance gate told me there was a Ranger Station about 8 miles down the road. Fortunately, it was level and I was able to coax the car into motion using third gear and judicious use of the clutch. We rolled downhill to the Ranger station with all sorts of scenarios running through my head. First and foremost was my knowledge that my wilderness permit was good for the next day, and only for the next day. We were still an hour and a half drive from the trailhead, with terrain and traffic remaining that would undoubtedly require use of first and second gear.

I explained my dilemma to the ranger. He was a young summer hire and obviously working there because he loved the outdoors in general and Yosemite in particular. Ranger Jesse reassured me that he would help. He said, "Here's the plan. First, I can issue your wilderness permit right now perfectly legally. Second, I get off at 4:00 and will be glad to drive you and your gang down into the valley to your trailhead." That sounded great to me. True to his words, a little after 4:00 he showed up in a Toyota 4Runner. "I guess its going to be a tight squeeze," he said. That was an understatement. With packs hanging everywhere, the seven of us all found a space. After a wild ride (Ranger Jesse was a little too familiar with the road for my taste) we arrived at the backpacker camp in the Yosemite valley. We all thanked Jesse profusely and I gave him a substantial gratuity. He had literally saved the cornerstone of my trip with his generous help.

The transmission situation weighed on my mind all night. I'm an engineer. I do project management. I couldn't just walk into the woods for seven days with the specter of a broken transmission hanging over my head. I didn't have any spare transmissions in my parts cache. So, the next morning, I got on the phone in Curry Village and called IPD. "What's the number for that guy in Berkeley that sells Volvo parts?" "You mean Rusty at RPR?" "Yeah, that's the one."

Next, I called Rusty. Rusty was out, so I discussed my problem with his assistant. He recommended a couple of independent Volvo garages in the Berkeley area. I called his first choice, DH Walsh Automotive. I told my sad story to the proprietor, Dave Walsh, and we agreed that he would locate a used M47 for me and have it waiting. This much being decided, I was able to start off on my backpacking trip with some peace of mind. If I could get the car to Berkeley from Yosemite, a solution to my tranny woes would be waiting.

The backpacking trip was wonderful! Of course the first day, which was straight uphill with full packs, had our tongues dragging. The scenery is great in the valley and it only gets better as you walk up the Merced River into the backcountry. We spent six days in the backcountry. But all good things must come to an end, and so did our trip. We rolled downhill to the valley floor with much lighter packs and gravity working in our favor. We had been eating trail food for a week and were primed for some home cooking. My wife is not a backpacker, but working out of the back of a car, she can prepare a gourmet spread that would make Martha Stewart envious -- so it was with great anticipation that we relaxed in our valley base camp waiting for her to arrive.

Six o'clock came and still no wife. I went to call our answering machine back home to see if any emergency messages had come in. Unfortunately, they had. The first message from my wife wasn't too bad. She had been delayed in her departure from Lake Tahoe due to smoke from controlled burns in the surrounding forest. The next message was more ominous. She reported that she had had mechanical problems but that everything was resolved. She was solidly behind schedule.

My wife arrived at the base camp around eight o'clock. She looked like she had had a bad day. She explained that there had been a "minor" delay leaving Lake Tahoe waiting for the smoke to clear, and another delay at the California agricultural check point to make sure the overloaded car didn't include fruit or houseplants. The real trouble started as she was proceeding up a long uphill grade headed towards yet another extreme mountain pass. Following a pickup towing a trailer with several kayaks on it, suddenly one of the kayaks fell off the trailer. Traffic was coming from the other direction and she had little choice but to run directly over the kayak. The kayak owners never saw it happen and kept on going.

My wife pulled over, as her engine died, to inspect the damage. Fortunately, some helpful pipefitters from Oakland riding Harley Davidson motorcycles pulled over to help. The engine compartment was full of kayak shards, which had succeeded in disconnecting several critical wires and vacuum hoses. The pipefitters seemed to know their way around an engine compartment and, encouraged by a donation of a six pack of beer originally destined for the Yosemite base camp, they showed themselves to be very adept in putting the various wires and hoses back together. But they came to the realization that there was one big problem: one of the shards of fiberglass has popped off the brake master cylinder fluid reservoir and drained out the brake fluid. A quick test of the brakes revealed the worst. The brake pedal went to the floor.

The pipefitters and my wife puzzled over this dilemma, as it was about 3000 feet straight downhill in any direction. They agreed to put the automatic transmission into 1st gear and hope for the best. With the pipefitters following, my wife proceeded down the steep grade at a very slow pace. At one point, the following traffic got backed up and someone got a little vocal. One of the pipefitters dropped back and said something to the driver of the vehicle that's probably not printable. No more complaints were heard.

They got to the bottom of the grade and made it to the next small town, Bridgeport, CA. The local mechanic spent an hour with the car, refilled the brake reservoir and bled the brakes. All of this cost only $38!

My wife was again on her way, but had yet to negotiate the Tioga Pass grade. The climb extracted a further toll from the car. About halfway up the alternator light started to glow dimly. My wife had visions of spending the night on the side of the mountain. Quite possibly, the car might quit next to the other disabled car and she could also meet Ranger Jesse. Fortunately, the car remained operational all the way to our base camp in Yosemite Valley, although not without causing my wife additional apprehension.

We were all very glad to see her, especially because she had all the food. More importantly, she hadn't given the pipefitters my bottle of Merlot! I must point out that my wife is very resourceful and can handle almost anything, but she always seems to meet with some of the most bizarre circumstances known to man. In spite of a rough day, she whipped up a great dinner under lantern light. It smelled so good that one of the local bears came by to pay us a visit. After a week of dealing with bears I knew exactly what to do: wait for the mob of tourists that were following him around with flashlights and cameras to chase him on his way!

While I was waiting for my wife, I had called Dave Walsh and confirmed that a used M47 was awaiting my arrival. All I had to do was get the car to Berkeley. The next morning, my son and I drove my wife's car up to the location of the disabled car. We saw Ranger Jesse, gave him a brief description of our adventures in Yosemite and thanked him once again. My son then pushed me up a slight grade out of the Ranger Station parking lot and I proceeded to drive 50 miles to a point near the park exit. We transferred all of the gear in the good car to the M47 "3 speed" vehicle. I then drove back into the valley for the rest of the gang and more gear. We drove back out to my son's location and my fun day with no first or second gear was under way.

Actually, in retrospect, it wasn't too bad. Brian would get me moving with a push from the chase vehicle if I got caught having to stop on an uphill grade. From a level start, I could get moving on my own with careful use of the clutch. There was a lot of anxiety on my part since the road was all new to me and I had no idea what I might encounter. Probably the worst part of the trip was the last five miles in Berkeley, but at that point I could have had the car towed in if necessary.

We found DH Walsh Automotive and met Dave. Dave was very cordial and sympathetic to our situation. He helped us get to the local rental car agency and I rented a Chevy Blazer. They had a new Volvo sedan in the parking lot, but it was already spoken for. Too bad; it would have been a novel experience driving a Volvo with less than a 100,000 miles on it.

We had campground reservations at a state park north of San Francisco in Marin County. We transferred the important gear to the two vehicles and drove off, leaving Dave in charge of the repair effort. We toured the city the next day. I drove off late in the afternoon to drop off the rental car and retrieve the Volvo. True to his word, Dave had everything ready to go.

By the way, the alternator problem strangely resolved itself when I hit a large pothole in Yosemite park. As a precaution, I decided to visit RPR and meet Rusty, where I would get a new voltage regulator/brush assembly. I walked in and said "Hi Rusty, I'm Harvey Ferris." He looked at me and said, "I recognize the name but not the face." I said "Does Swedishbricks.net and bad transmissions in Yosemite park help?" "Sure, now I remember," Rusty said. We proceeded to swap a few Volvo stories as I bought my part. Rusty also helped me box the defective M47 for shipping back home, where I planned to do a post-mortem. He gave me packing materials and did the transfer into the UPS system. My hat goes off to both Dave Walsh and Rusty. They really helped me out and were great examples of the Volvo community spirit.

The Volvo content of my story drops off significantly from here and that's a good thing! We had a scenic drive down the Pacific Coast Highway over the next two days. Amazingly enough, the fog cleared just south of San Francisco and we had clear views the whole way. I don't believe that is always the case. We drove right through the heart of Los Angeles on a Saturday without incident. I'm really glad we didn't have to make that part of the trip on a weekday.

We arrived in San Diego on a Saturday for our first night in a hotel room since Lake Tahoe. We stayed at the U. S. Grant in downtown San Diego. My wife pulled some strings to get us a suite at a rate that wouldn't break the bank and it was really worth it. It's a grand old hotel that has been immaculately restored, which is what I plan to do with the PV544 someday.

My part of the vacation concluded the next day. I flew Southwest Airlines from San Diego back to North Carolina so I could be back at work the next day. The family toured the sights in San Diego and, by all reports, had a great time. It was a hot, long, two-day drive from San Diego to San Antonio, but the trip was made without incident. They visited relatives for two days and then made the final two-day push back to North Carolina with no further trouble. Of course I didn't worry. We had two cars, so one of them could render roadside assistance if the other one broke down, right? Right!

All photos courtesy of the Ferris family.

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