(an oldie, re-posted for Toyota Week) For me, driving bliss is all about the setting. Give me an empty road, spectacular scenery, good company and the freedom to explore without an itinerary or time constraints, and I’m in heaven. Sure, a nice set of wheels enhances the pleasure. But if it came down to it, I’d take an inexpensive reliable car and an endless open road over a garage full of under-used, over-priced toys that never really get off their leash. I knew the basic formula intuitively in my youth, but at least once, I needed a reminder.
As previously chronicled, I rambled around the eastern side of the Continental Divide for years in my (free) 1962 Corvair Monza and (cheap) VW Beetles. But at twenty-two, I almost lost it. Driving a transit bus in Iowa City paid a pretty good living wage, and there were times I was sorely tempted to follow my cohorts to the car dealers and sign my next 36 months of freedom away. Luckily, I instinctively knew that I needed a different role model. And I found it in a perhaps unlikely source: my then-girlfriend’s mother.
After her divorce from John, who drove a 1971 Toyota Mark II, Elinor sold the farm, the thoroughbreds and the big ’69 Plymouth Fury that pulled the horse trailer. The former Studebaker dealer – who’d started selling Toyotas out of desperation – had just what she was looking for: a 1974 Corolla 1200 sedan. It served her well around town, but it wasn’t exactly a long-legged road warrior. As fate would have it, she swapped cars with some friends so that she could use their Travelall to facilitate the move into town, and someone creamed the Corolla.
So a 1975 replacement was drafted, the new E30 version, which was a tad bigger and, and had the optional 1600cc engine. Good call, as that tough hemi-head 2T engine was pretty hot for the times, making 102 hp. That engine would play a big role in cementing the Corolla’s reputation.
Elinor and the little Toyota hit the road. The wide-open spaces of the southwest beckoned them, and they rambled through the deserts and canyons, eventually settling in San Diego.
When she was ready to reclaim her furniture, we offered to move it out for her in a U-haul truck. And when she rolled-out the welcome mat, I quit my job and we made it a one-way trip, towing my ’68 Dodge A100 van behind the truck. San Diego in the winter was like paradise, and the first months was spent at the beach, almost every day.
Blacks Beach, as a matter of fact, famous at the time for being pretty much the first public nude beach in a major American city. It was strategically located at the base of a giant cliff, so it took some serious commitment to get down there. The dirty old men stayed way up at the top, with binoculars, or even telescopes. Sad.
1975-1976 was the warmest (and driest) winter on record in California, which gave me the false impression it was like this every winter. But the timing was perfect: a lifetime of cold winters bundled up in parkas and gloves was ready to be melted away. But eventually I longed to see more than surf and skin.
I hadn’t yet seen any of the interior of California properly. Then one day, out of the blue, Elinor said, “Let’s go for a drive up north”. Near the end of a long day, which was supposed to be a day trip to Redlands that included a hike on Mt. San Jacinto, she said “Let’s just keep going, to Death Valley.” What?
It was some 250 miles away, and the three of us hadn’t even brought toothbrushes. But why not? What was keeping us, other than clean clothes and toiletries? And there, on that impulsive drive to Death Valley, in the early evening twilight somewhere north of Shoshone, I found driving nirvana.
California Highway 127 runs straight as a draftsman’s line for twenty, thirty or more miles at a time, in the broad desert valley between the hulking backbones of the Greenwater and Nopah Ranges.
The endless ribbon of road was utterly deserted on this weekday evening in October.
As we rolled northwards alone on the high seas of the Mojave, the usual cues to gauge time– distance and speed– began to melt away. We sat gazing, mesmerized by the Technicolor sunset unfolding all around us; the naked mountains turning obscene shades of scarlet, ruby and purple.
Imperceptibly, the little Toyota’s speed increased: eighty, eighty-five, ninety and still it crept up. I wondered if Elinor thought I was pushing it, but she was as entranced in the scenery as I was.
Somewhere north of ninety-five, the Corolla entered warp speed; simultaneously, we were hurtling down the road and yet not moving at all.
Everything associated with driving a car was now transcended, and the Corolla became a space probe, guided by the stars that appeared with surreal intensity through the last fading purple glow.
Who knows how long did we floated, all thoughts utterly suspended, until a curve finally brought me back to the reality at hand? And when conscious thinking resumed (a sudden curve at high speed in a Corolla will do that), my only thoughts were this: I will never live more than a few hours away from the deserts, mountains and canyons of the West. I will always heed the call of the road. And I will always keep a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a change of underwear in the trunk.
We pulled into Death Valley Junction, and got a room at the Amargosa Hotel, built in 1925 by the Pacific Coast Borax Company. And we saw Marta Becket do her one-person performance at the Amargosa Opera House across the square. Now that was unexpected, out in the middle of nowhere. She moved there and started performing there in 1967, often to an empty theater, until she was “discovered”. And she kept it up until 2012.
For the next couple of days, we roamed through Death Valley, a sensory nirvana in the daytime too, and then then headed west.
And where Highway 190 crests the Panamint Range, one of the all-time mind-blowing views suddenly appears: the whole Sierra Nevada range, rising like a wall 10,000 feet straight up from the floor of Owens Valley. It’s much more dramatic than any photograph; one of the most impressive mountain vistas this side of the Himalayas. And having only read and seen pictures of the Sierras, my first exposure to them couldn’t have been more dramatic or better orchestrated.
We drove across the valley and took the steep road up into the high country to Whitney Portals, where the trail starts to Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the continental US. Given the time of year, going up was out of the question.
Well, I’ve made good on my promise. Even when we had kids, a demanding job, and a shiny Mercedes, more than once a day trip turned into two or three (“I won’t be coming in the office today”). The stash of diapers and dirty underwear I found in the 300E’s spare tire compartment as I was cleaning it out for the last time was the smelly proof, and brought back a flood of memories.
And when the paycheck suddenly ended, I never considered the job offers from Dallas and Chicago. I just moved on to the next level of driving nirvana: Oregon. These days, I’m driving a Corolla in boxy disguise. And I’m still ready to answer the call of the open road.
(Note: all the beautiful pictures (except for the Corollas) are not mine. They were found on the web, and over time I’ve lost the original sources. Thanks to you all!)
Great pastime just cruising about Ive got a whole country to explore with 10yr old daughter bought a car to blast down twisty roads and it does so just need fuel and time oh and prepaid fuel tax road user charges thats a pain
I once owned a 77 Corolla that was a duplicate of the 75 in the first picture. Bought it about 1980 for $1600 just as it came in on trade at a Cleveland dealer on a lucky chance. 5th gear was making a grinding noise that eventually required a new transmission but it was a fine little car for a winter beater for several years. My favorite beater Corolla though was a 79 4 door that had a wonderfully smooth hydraulic clutch and a more powerful engine. I found it on a Chevrolet lot in Stow, Ohio in a line of cars that was due to go to the junk yard. It looked awful; canary yellow that hadn’t been washed in years, dents everywhere including the roof, and a smashed in front right fender. The salesman said they wanted $995 for it so I said let’s see how it drives. It really astounded me as I drove it around a few blocks. Back at the dealership I said to the salesman; “I’ll give you $400 for it if you want to sell it right now.” They tried for an hour to get me to give more but I stuck to my line and got the car for $400. It was a real blast driving that car, especially because people gave me wide berth with such an ugly and dented little car. It was a 5 speed and more fun to drive than almost any other car I have owned. I would make an exception for my 1990 Audi 80. The Audi was fantastic even though it was automatic.
From Studebaker to nude beach in three short paragraphs. Where else but Curbside Classics?
Think of where that car took the dealer – from desperation to a waiting list (around the time of the first gas crisis), most likely.
Agreed – has there ever been a better desperation play? Likely not.
I do wonder if the ex-Studebaker dealership signing up to sell Toyotas was something of a common occurrence, particularly on the west coast; I’ve seen it mentioned elsewhere in another context that several dealers had that happen, and of course there’s “Back To The Future”.
Well, the ex-Studebaker dealer in Auburn eventually picked up a Toyota franchise in Tacoma, but that was well after he’d become a rich Tacoma Mercedes dealer.
My first car was a 77 toyota corolla. It was also the car I used to teach myself how to drive a stick.
Gorgeous pictures! Brings back memories of my own Road Trips of the Illustrious Past. 🙂
Extended travels in everything from a ’64 Caddy Coupe to a Chevette over the years, plus of course RVs ranging from a converted ’56 Grumman-Olsen StepVan to my current Revcon. Good times, and it’s true it was as good in the Chevette as in the Caddy. 🙂
Ah yes, the Corolla. I made my first solo cross country trip (South to North) in a 1995 Corolla Deluxe. I learned how to winter drive in that car too. I rather liked it, but toward the end of the lease it began to be a bit problematic. I blame most of it though on the less-than-stellar dealer service, they never wanted to fix anything!
But I digress…I got to explore several states in that car, so it has a special place in my heart. I would mind owning another one, but used ones these days that are decently priced and not worn out are few and far between up here in my neck of the woods.
Oh, and great pics BTW!!!
seeing this reminds me of the sad state of the modern japanese compact sedan.
my dad had 3 corollas, starting back in the 70s and ending with a 97 that he just now replaced….
with a ford focus. one drive of the new corolla and all he could say is “this is it?” the chevy cruze was much better, but the focus blew everything else away.
so paul, i think we’re at a historic time now. has there ever been a time since the 70s when both chevrolet and ford were making hands down better compacts than honda and toyota? i can’t think of one.
I was single and running all over the place during the same time frame. Didn’t have the sense to buy a Corolla. My first Corollalike vehicle was a 81 Datsun truck. It was then that I knew I had wasted valuable time. Ran good, didn’t use a lot of gas, and didn’t break often. All that you can ask for.
I recognize this post, but anyway I had a new 76 Corolla rental the BMC Mini I was hiring split the harmonic balancer at 5000kms so I was upgraded to a new Corolla only problem in drivability it was a downgrade from the tossable mini. No 2T over here the K series was installed into kiwi or Aussie corollas we got both local assembly only did 3 door wagons and sedans, I did own a 82 Corolla with 3T 1800 engine illegal mind you but it went really well but it didnt stop that good maybe your Celica engined Corollas had a brake upgrade too.
Billy was my high school best friend and his sister Dee Dee had a ’74 Corolla in the same yellow as the ’75 above. As Designated Driver during our college years, I occasionally would shuttle it back home for her (when we weren’t in Billy’s ’65 Mustang notch or my ’71 Vega).
So Billy and I had returned from a fishing trip one afternoon and decided to run up to the nearest corner store for sodas. On a whim, he said “Let’s take Dee Dee’s car,” so I folded up into the passenger seat and off we went.
Now Billy and I were both known (at this time) to take advantage of any opportunity for a little hoonery, and it’s quite possible some occurred on this run – who knows?
All I remember at this point more than three decades later is that steam and a glycol odor began emanating from under the perky little hood about six miles from home. Exhibiting greater prudence than normal, we pulled over and quickly discovered the upper radiator hose had rotted out and split just past the fitting at the top of the radiator.
After a few moment’s reflection, Billy suggested removing our socks, and he tied them off in a hasty temporary repair, which was enough to get us the last few miles home.
Dee Dee wasn’t too happy, but I presume a new upper hose set things to right, at least until the next escapade, which may have been when Billy’s Mustang burst a brake line in downtown Spartanburg, SC.
The Corolla was also the main vehicule of Red and Kitty Forman in “That 70s Show” when Eric got the old Vista-Cruiser.
http://www.imcdb.org/vehicle_47107-Toyota-Corolla-TE31-1976.html
The one thing that irked me about that show – the nearest other town was Kenosha, there were only a couple of AMCs in a very few episodes…
Ah, the old High Speed Blast Through The Desert. First Hunter S. Thompson, then you, then me. (I’m sure I’m missing a few others.) Your pics remind me of my own in Nevada; similar topography and all. At least you didn’t grenade your engine the way I did.
For sale right now in the Los Angeles Craigslist is the rare fastback SR5 version of the yellow Corolla pictured above. It’s complete except for the missing transmission, and has the 2TC engine. It’s another unfinished project. The previous owner partially stripped the interior and sanded the body down to bare metal before stopping cold. He only wants $600.
I can picture that thing in light pastel blue with black Minilite wheels and a 1-inch lowering job.
Should I???
I kept hearing “Kashmir” inside my head during that desert drive narrative, did anyone else?
I used to work for Hertz during college as a transporter (taking cars back to home location that were rented one-way)..and though back then Hertz rented mostly Ford (probably still do?) they were starting to get imports, and one of the cars I drove was a ’77 Corolla.
Fast forward about 6 years, and a co-worker had a very similar ’77 Corolla, but with manual transmission (I’ve only had opportunity to rent one car in US that had standard transmission, but that was 30 years ago)…the Hertz Corolla was automatic. I asked him if there was a little light that shined down from the “brow” of the instrument panel (which on automatic cars illuminated the shift quadrant between the seats)…kind of like the nightime keyboard illuminator on my Thinkpad laptop…he said yes, he always
wondered what the light was for (since on a manual, you rarely look at the shift lever of a car you drive often, since you mostly rely on feel…maybe some people also do this with automatics?)…it shined on the boot of his manual shift lever. Though this was almost 40 years ago, it seems to be a rare example of inattention to detail (back then I’d think they probably sold more manual transmission Corollas than automatics, though undoubtedly it is way opposite now)
The E30 Corolla wagon was the de-facto young family car here in Southern California. Most every married couple I knew back then had one. I was still single and drove a VW, not yet trusting Japanese cars, though I had already gone through a succession of Japanese bikes.
Great road-trip reminiscence! …and as Corollas go, the mustard-colored one shown is identical to the one my carpool driver would borrow from her father now and then. It was a 5-speed car too, and had the magnetic choke that’s the same as the one on my RX7. It also had a cheapo cassette deck that someone had installed – when she pushed the eject button it would spit the tape onto the floor.
Paul and his then girlfriend took me to Black’s Beach in ’76 and I promptly sunburnt the hell out of ass!! Swimming naked amongst the kelp was a bit disconcerting as well.
Fiance brought the ’76 model into the family, with the 1200 cc engine and 5-speed. At first I looked down on it with my Volkswagen Rabbit prejudice, but each time I borrowed it (when my car was in the shop, there is a lesson there) I came more and more to appreciate its virtues. For one, though its driving and handling limits were relatively low, it gave you what it had cheerfully-cornering limits were set, for example, by the inside rear wheel’s reliable tendency to lift and spin as you rounded the corner. But it didn’t bite you or put you in any sort of danger, it just hung up there spinning until you slowed down or straightened the steering wheel and came back to your motoring senses. And, looking back, what I enjoyed most about it was the way it responded so directly and immediately to your attention. Change the spark plugs, it ran a little better. Adjust the valves, same thing. Adjust the carburetor, re-set the timing, same thing. Relieve the catalytic converter of its congestion, it revved a little higher, with a nice little snarl. And, with the front-engine-rear-solid-axle and that tiny motor, you could reach in and fix anything. Once I replaced the water pump-sitting right there in the front next to the valve cover-with hand tools and some gasket sealer, in the parking lot of the auto parts store in less than half an hour. Try that with my ’89 Accord. Cheerful little car. With newer cars and their computer controls, you fix or replace something, the car may even run a little worse at first while the computer tries to figure out what just happened and adjust, but not with the Corolla. We traded it for an ’84 Corolla that we liked as much, but even it wasn’t as loyal and immediately responsive to your attentions as that ’76 model.
Great story, it’s been too long since I’ve done a proper trip but I have one planned.
Great story Paul,
My wife and I love to makes trips to the desert southwest for exactly what you describe. We just drive. Usually to see parks or other national monuments, but it’s not about the destination. It’s about the drive. It is the polar opposite of driving here on the east coast.
I’m getting all wistful. I’ve got a memory of borrowing my older brother’s ’64 Polara and driving Southeast in the early ’70s, during the summer after graduating from college. It was near sunset, and yellow flooded in, set the car’s red interior on fire and transcended the importance of where I was going.
It’s still possible to get that feeling here in the East, Carl. It can’t be relied on like a drive in the wide open spaces, but it’s out there, and accessible to those who take a day now and then to motor off with a full tank of gas and little else in mind.
Yep. Mothers and Corollas. Know that feeling.
The 75 Corolla did not make 102 hp….If I recall it was 75 or 76 hp….I learned to drive a standard transmission on a 75 Corolla Deluxe with 1.6 liter engine and 4 speed transmission….Very reliable car although the carburetor would tend to ice up in extremly cold weather
You’re right, by 1975 it was lower, due to the switch to net hp ratings. But before the change to net ratings, it was advertised with 102 hp (gross).
it is really cool to see this story paul. it was a link to this that allowed me to discover the world of curbside classics!
so your story of a Toyota and driving nirvana led me to a wonderful world of written automotive nirvana!
In the late 70s-early 80s I was stationed near Mountain View, California and my sister lived in Las Vegas. I probably drove through/near Death Valley at least a dozen times, but never at twilight or near sundown…..beautiful pictures.
I heard about Blacks Beach, but after visiting the beach at San Jose in early May, I pretty much “wrote-off” the beaches in California….too cold, and that was before you tried the water.
Oops, should say the beach at Santa Cruz.
That’s because you came at the wrong time of year; it was foggy, right?
The whole west coast has a summer fog season, roughly from May into mid August, although it can vary. Upwelling of cold water makes the moist ocean air coming off the Pacific condense and create fog.
Also, the Pacific is a cold-cool ocean. In May, it’s pretty doable in SoCal, but not in the Bay Area. The best time is September on. Water temps peak in Sept-Oct. But it’s never really warm water.
In terms of weather, it’s often nicer on the coast in the middle of winter than in summer. As Mark twain wrote: “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco”. The fog and wind can be miserable.
I spent the years from 1967-78 living in San Diego and the summers of 79-81 during break from grad school. From Ocean Beach, to Mission Beach, to PB, to Marine Street, to La Jolla Shores, to Black’s Beach, to Del Mar I know them all from body surfing.
I will tell you not to listen to everything said about Black’s Beach. As typical of nude beaches there really wasn’t anyone to look at that I would call sexy and attractive most of the time. Reflecting back on it the beach didn’t exactly do your hidden areas skin any good what with basal and squamous cell carcinoma today.
there really wasn’t anyone to look at that I would call sexy and attractive most of the time.
I’m insulted. 🙂
But you’re mostly right; folks often have the wrong idea about nude beaches; they don’t attract the kind of folks the gawkers would like to see more of. It’s mostly healthy, outdoor loving folks, not show-off types.
Oh, you are too generous as I would replace the word healthy with somewhat overweight.
_VERY_ nice Paul ~
Everyone who like to drive and sightsee , -needs- to treat themselves to at least one Death Valley trip .
” Artists Canyon ” at sunset is breathtaking .
The V.J.L.A. goes to Death Valley every Spring , I can no longer ride a Moto that far/long but i still tag along and love it .
I grew up in the North East , driving always driving , back then there was plenty of open (if twisty and full of freeze bumps) roads but the imagery of the Open West always called to me and in 1969 I toured North America including Canada , the Desert got a hold of my imagination and has never let go .
I still jump in whatever ride I have and go off for a few days of driving around and never , _ever_ get tired .
Nevada too has lots of wide open , empty roads and long forgotten towns that make for memorable touring on two or four wheels .
-Nate
If any of you guys ever get the chance, you should read the non-fiction book “Blue Highways” by William Least Heat Moon, written in the 1970s. After his stormy marriage implodes, he quits his teaching job, buys a used Ford Econoline cargo van, and leaves both the Indian reservation and all traces of his old life behind.
He spends the next year touring the United States, deliberately avoiding major routes and sticking to the nations “blue highways”- old, forgotten routes that take him to tiny, isolated boroughs where, in many cases, time really does stand still.