The story of the only 1960 Renault Dauphine in Daytona Beach

An April issue of UK’s Autocar featured the Renault Dauphine in its list of "22 Totally Charming Cars." It showed a still life photo of a powder blue Dauphine parked by the ocean. The car looked as if it had just left the 1960s showroom. I contrasted it with the sad photo of a derelict Dauphine in another issue of Autocar and the article "The Haunting Abandoned Wrecks of Rural France.," It showed a rusty shell of a Dauphine being swallowed up by undergrowth in "a remote field in the French Alps."

This tells the story of our family's 1960 Dauphine. I first saw it parked in our Wichita driveway in 1962. My father needed a car to commute to his job as a civilian accountant at the local air force base. That left our 1960 Ford Falcon station wagon at home with my mother who needed it to get us to school, haul us to doctor appointments and run off to the grocery store. I still can see the look of horror on the faces of grocery clerks as Mom hauled her eight children, two of them babies, into the store. My father went to the Totally Charming Yet Obscure Cars dealership and returned with Renault. It was an oddity in a world of Olds Cutlass Supremes and GTOs. Big powerful rides were the thing. The Dauphine was tiny looked almost the same from the front as it did from behind. The engine was in the rear and looked like something that might power a lawnmower. If it didn’t start, you could wake up the engine with a hand crank.

My father’s not around to ask but I do wonder why he chose such an impractical car when he headed a family of 10. He might have seen Renaults on the streets of Paris on leave during the war. He might have liked the two-tone horn (loud for city, soft for country) and the fact you could wind it up like a toy car if it refused to go. He never said. But they are some of the Dauphine traits I admired when I was gifted the car in 1967. 

The previous year, I had learned how to drive in it on Daytona's deserted winter beaches. I failed my first driving test in it when I arrived at city hall on Dec. 18, 1966, with a bum fuse. The DMV man asked if I wanted to take the test using hand signals or return on another day, fuse replaced. It was my birthday. I had a date that night with a girl I fancied as my girlfriend. I took the test and failed. I did OK with left and right turns but forgot to gesture down for stop. I was devastated. It was a long slow ride home with my father and am embarrassing phone call to my date. 

My father was transferred from Daytona to Cincinnati early in '67. The Dauphine had many miles and he didn't want to drive it north so he put it in my hands. The idea was to take my brothers and sisters to school and anywhere else they wanted to go. My mother still had toddlers and a baby (No. 9) to care for. We would finish the school year, sell the house, and then join our father in Cincy. My brother Dan and I had been most resistant to the move. We were surfers, for God's sake, and there was precious little surf in Ohio. I played JV basketball for the Father Lopez Green Wave and had high hopes of making the varsity in my junior year. And I had a girlfriend, sort of. 

I did OK bossing around my siblings. I was also OK with having a car. It was no prize after seven years of hard use and three years of assaults by rust spawned by the salt air. It had really earned its rusty-red color. My classmates began to know me as the guy with the French car which sounds pretty romantic until you got a look at it, especially after I ripped off a rear door backing out of the garage and could only find a powder-blue replacement at the junkyard. It looked like a high school kid's car but that was OK as I was a high school kid with a car.

I revel in all of the fun we had. We crammed into the car and rode The Loop around Tomoka State Park, turning off the headlights to admire the darkness and tempt fate. I bought a surf rack and we wandered up and down A1A searching for surf. Girls thought my car was cute and liked to ride. Meanwhile, I tried to find a girlfriend with a muscle car so I could feel like what it was like to drive American. I dated Darlene for a year and got to drive her canary yellow Chevy Chevelle SS 396 and later her canary yellow Pontiac GTO. She had a thing for yellow. Her father bought her a new car every year. She didn’t mind riding in my car and but liked it better when my father returned from Cincy and bought a white Plymouth Barracuda that he occasionally let me drive.

During high school graduation summer of 1969, my Dauphine died. Kind of a drag as I worked two jobs getting ready for college and had to bum rides. I sold my car cheap to a guy who planned to turn it into a dune buggy. I imagine my car’s stripped chassis blasting through the beachside sand dunes before they were replaced by condos. I can also imagine my two-toned car with the two-toned horn abandoned in a “remote field” somewhere in the Florida scrubland.

I am 70 now. I am always 16 driving my Renault down The Loop’s dark road. Sometimes the headlights are on and sometimes they are off. I am happy.

Agnes McDermott: The open road in an open car

A recommendation letter written on official stationery from United States Post-Office No. 18859, Mason, Ohio:

July 27, 1914

To Whom It May Concern:

            This letter will introduce you to Miss Agnes McDermott, who was employed by me for three and one half years, as Assistant Post Mistress, at this office. This work consisted of general office work, together with some bookkeeping.

            As to her integrity, honesty, capability and Christian character, I have the highest respect, only words of praise to offer in her behalf.

            It is a pleasure for me to recommend her, and I do so knowing from personal observation, that she is worthy of any position she may seek.

            Very Truly,

            Orville L. Girton, Postmaster

Nice rec letter. It came to me with other family documents. It was in two pieces, paper brown with age, frayed edges. I had to tape it together to read it.

I see my 25-year-old grandmother leaving her job with the fresh letter in hand intent on seeking a new and worthy position in Warren County, Ohio, only 22 miles away from downtown Cincinnati. Mason had but 737 residents when Agnes joined the P.O.

I don’t know what Agnes did after leaving the P.O. I do know that she lived with relatives, her sister Julia and brother Leo. I know that she took a road trip with chums to Colorado sometime between 1918-1920. Or maybe she and her pals set off for Colorado the summer after she left the P.O. Whenever she went, it was no mean feat. Motorcars were such a new addition to the landscape that highways were almost nonexistent.

I have no “On the Road” journal entries from Agnes but I do have plenty from Lieutenant Colonel Dwight Eisenhower’s First Transcontinental Motor Convoy in the summer of 1919. Army cars and trucks drove 3,251 miles from D.C. to San Francisco in 62 days. You can read the convoy’s daily log online. The log reported that the roads that my grandmother and friends drove from Ohio to Colorado were chucky, pine brick, fair but very dusty, gumbo mud, sandy with some quicksand, soft sand gumbo and, intermittently, good gravel roads. West of North Platte, Neb., many of the convoy's vehicles had to be rescued from a 200-yard stretch of quicksand. Dust was a constant problem, clogging carburetors and fuel lines. Cars and Army trucks broke down and slid off of bad roads. 

Agnes didn’t get to travel across Wyoming as she and her pals detoured south to Colorado. Eisenhower & Company encountered lots of Wyoming wind (no surprise) and rickety bridges built for travel by horse and wagon. It was good that engineer unit was part of the convoy as they had to strengthen some bridges and rebuild others.

Eisenhower was late to cross-country travel. Between 1913-16, suffragists made at least three long-distance automobile trips to promote the suffrage amendment. The earliest, according to the Smithsonian National Museum of American History, was in 1913 when women drivers from all 48 states took turns driving cross-country collecting signatures on petitions calling for a national suffrage amendment. These women crusaders confronted some of the same problems as Eisenhower’s expedition although they didn’t have a platoon of engineers to help them over the rough spots. Sara Bard Field’s and Marie Kindberg’s 1915 tour in an open-air Oldsmobile included a “machinist” and she saw plenty of action. In 1916, Nell Richardson, Alice Burke and their kitten Saxon drove their “Golden Flier” 10,000 miles visiting cities coast-to-coast.

Grandma was not a suffragist. Somehow, she and her friends made it the 1,194 miles to Denver and explored the Rocky Mountains by automobile along dirt roads, some little more than one tracks cut into a steep mountainside that probably got its start as a mule trail or even a trail blazed by Arapaho and Cheyenne tribes. Grandma loved the mountains and returned to stay. 

Agnes may have used her post office reference while job hunting. She worked as a domestic when she met my grandfather, Martin Hett, at a Hibernian Club function. Cities with largest Irish immigrant populations boasted at least one chapter of the Ancient Order of Hibernians, named after references to ancient Ireland by the Greeks and Romans. Denver had three AOH clubs.

My grandparents were an odd match, this tiny ex-postmistress from Ohio a decade older than my tall, lanky and uneducated Irish grandfather. They were married in 1922 and had three children. The middle one became my mother, Anna Marie Hett.

I knew my grandmother as a nice lady who treated us kids to ginger ale and cookies. By the time I moved back to Denver in 1978, she had been dead for four years from complications of arteriosclerosis. In those days, it was called “hardening of the arteries” or that is how it was referred to by my mother the nurse. I was 23 when grandma passed, too busy at school to travel from Daytona Beach to Denver for the funeral. I couldn’t imagine her younger and pregnant, someone who gave birth to my statuesque mother and her sister and their 6-foot-5 baby brother who played college basketball. Whatever was in my mother’s DNA cocktail added to her husband’s Shay-Green mix, brought me to six-feet-tall by the seventh grade and my short but memorable stint as a high school b-baller.

I have nothing written in Agnes’s hand. I can find plenty of official documents online through ancestry.com. Birth certificate, death certificate, census records. Some blank spaces in her personal life cry out to be filled in but, it many cases, there’s nobody around to do that.

I imagine my grandmother tootling along with her pals in an open-top Model T. The road is rough, the way, dusty. She leaves behind her dreary old Ohio burg. She looks ahead, ready for new adventures in a new place. The wind riffles her hair. She can’t imagine that one day it will turn gray and she will be betrayed by the arteries bearing oxygenated blood to a brain trusted by the U.S. Post Office in Mason, Ohio.

But that is exactly what happens.

Car-centric or people-friendly?

I have traveled to Fort Collins a lot lately, mostly to visit our daughter Annie. She lives a block from the university. She can walk or ride her bike almost anywhere. This summer she took the shuttle bus to concerts at the Mishawaka up the Poudre Canyon. The city has great bus service, including the north-south MAX line. Uber and Lyft are Ubiquitous. Uberiquitous!

FOOTNOTE: Writers might find this interesting. I first learned ubiquitous from a title of a Philip K. Dick strange novel, "Ubik." This illustrates the instructional side of sci-fi.

Our daughter had a car but it met the fate of so many vehicles in a college town after dark -- driving after partying. It now rests in a Denver junkyard, a totalled 10-year-old car with what seemed like so many more miles to go. Alas.

So as I visit and help her with errands, I notice that Fort Collins is much less a car town than when I lived here from 1988-91. That's no surprise to its residents. It is a surprise to someone from Cheyenne, a decidedly car-centric city in a very car-and-truck-centric state. Rapid transit is still exotic in the Capital City. We do have taxis and Uber and car-pooling. We have a superb greenway, although street bike paths are still a work-in-progress. You see pedestrians downtown during the day, most of whom are state employees looking for a double caramel macchiato to get them through the long afternoon. The crowds thin out at night as there just aren't that many businesses worth visiting. We have three craft breweries, all three worth a visit. And there are bars. A few coffee shops. Some restaurants.

If you look for pedestrians along the Dell Range shopping district, you won't find many. You will find a mall and lots of chain restaurants. But people don't walk on Dell Range. It's a place for cars.

One thing I notice about Fort Collins 30 years after my grad school days -- it's a car environment gradually morphing into something else. It's funny, too, since most of the older residential streets were built along Utah's Mormon model -- wide enough to easily turn around an ox cart. Ox carts are rare these days. Most of what you see are young people on bikes and skateboards. Pedestrians of all stripes. All the major streets are lined with bike paths. Some through streets have been mined with those annoyingly huge speed bumps, the kind you see in neighborhoods that include city council reps with kids. Not a bad idea -- you still see plenty of cars in FoCo, many of them going too fast. Many in this one-time cowtown still drive pick-ups, whether they use it for ranch work or just want to look like they do. The CSU Rams used to be the Aggies, which accounts for the big white A on the hill above town. Still a lot of ag and geology and veterinary students here, which differentiates it from its rival university in Boulder. The CU Buffs probably still refer to the CSU bunch as "the Aggies," especially in the lead-up to the annual Rocky Mountain Showdown on the gridiron.

Fort Collins actively discourages cars. It's every wingnut's nightmare. Walkable downtown and neighborhoods. Limited parking. Wide sidewalks. Very rare to see a coal roller. I heard an announcement on FM 105.5 that talked about a city program that closes streets on a rotating basis so people can eat and drink and listen to live music. What's the world coming to?

Not sure what the next few years will bring. Driverless cars. A light rail. A Hyperloop connection is in the works, if Colorado's entry into the project is picked as the one to be actually built. Who knows what that portends for Fort Collins, even Cheyenne.

Meanwhile, my goal in Fort Collins is to slow down and  beware of cyclists. It could be someone's millennial, maybe even mine.

Oregon tests "solar highways"

So Oregon, which has about half of the average annual sunlight as Wyoming, is turning one stretch of interstate into a "solar highway." You might wonder why Wyoming can't do something that Oregon can. For one thing, Wyoming produces most of its and the nation's energy the old-fashioned way, by burning coal. The coal and oil and gas lobbies would never stand for it. Second, Wyoming is running out of highway funds, so it is concentrating its road efforts more on patching the holes than on rebuilding infrastructure or trying new things. Third, Oregon's a blue state with progressive environmental policies and Wyoming isn't. Maybe Colorado, another sun-drenched Rocky Mountain state, will pick up on this idea.

From Grist:

Okay, we know YOU ride your bike everywhere. But the country’s 4 million miles of roads, and 50,000 miles of interstate highway, probably aren’t going anywhere any time soon. Isn’t there anything productive we can do with this giant car playground? Well, we can cover it with solar photovoltaic panels, so it’s at least providing some energy.

Oregon's already testing the idea, installing panel arrays along highway shoulders. Others want to embed the solar panels directly into the road surface, and have already received funding to test the idea. California wants to try it along parts of Route 101. 

 If you think about it, roads are a perfect place to put solar: They're already public land, they've already been cleared and graded, they're adjacent to infrastructure like towns and power lines, and they're super accessible for repair and upgrades. Also, they’re already sitting out in the sun all day. 

Study shows that highway stimulus funding does not reduce unemployment

Federal highway stimulus funding has been very, very good to Wyoming --

Nice map, courtesy of the WYDOT web site. Fetching color scheme.

Face it -- everyone likes good roads and bridges that don't fall down. So the Obama administration's highway stimulus funding efforts have been wildly popular among politicians, construction workers and -- once the construction is completed -- motorists.

But a new study shows that it hasn't made a dent in unemployment. The Seattle Times wrote about it today:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/businesstechnology/2010762109_apusstimulusunemployment.html
Researchers from five universities compared unemployment stats in 700 U.S. counties that received these funds with 700 counties that did not.

No difference in the numbers.

What about Wyoming?

Between November 2008 and November 2009, Wyoming's unemployment rate rose from 3.1 to 7.2 percent, an increased of 4.1 percent. That's according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. Most of that increase probably was in the oil and gas fields. But who knows? I'll keep looking for more stats.

The latest highway stimulus bill has already passed the House and will come up in the Senate later in January. I'm all for stimulus, but researchers say we need bigger and more expensive projects to move the employment numbers. High speed rail, for instance.

More later...

No clunker for "cash for clunkers"

I was holding out for "cash for clunkers," which launched yesterday.

But the van didn't make it.

A few weeks ago, my son Kevin totalled my 2000 Dodge Caravan. The wreck wasn't serious -- a rear-ender at a stop light. But Kevin mashed into a Ford Expedition with its big rear bumper and trailer hitch. Punctured Caravan's grill and radiator, engine knocked off its moorings. Kevin was hauled off to the E.R. as a precaution. He's been limping with a sore hip -- not bad, considering. I was sad watching the wrecker tow away the van. Lots of family trips in that Yuppie minivan. Lots of miles. The transmission needed work. And now, no clunker to trade in for a low-mileage vehicle.

I'd done all the figuring. The van had a combined EPA gas mileage rating of 18. That qualified it for CFC. However, the EPA revised the way it determines gas mileage, so i wasn't sure if I would qualify. I was going to trade the van for a Prius, if I could find and afford one, or maybe one of the Ford hybrids.

But the best-laid plans, right? Insurance company paid me off and I bought used this time -- a 2007 Ford Fusion. Decent mileage at a combined 25 mpg under the old system and 23 mpg under the new system. Still good enough to get a CFC check (the smaller one) if the van had survived.

I looked at a Nissan Altima and a Honda Civic. I read the stats. These cars have higher resale values than the Ford. They hold up better and need less maintenance. Or so they say. Never one to let logic get in the way of righteousness, I bought the Ford. Made in the U.S.A. in May 2007 by union labor. Wonder if the men and women who made the car have since been laid off along with thousands of other Americans who actually make things?

Maybe the Fusion is not made in the U.S.A. I started googling the question "Where is the Ford Fusion made?" and came up with all kinds of answers. One reference said that all VINs that start with a "3" are made in the U.S.A. Another said that the Fusion is made in plants in India, Mexico and Brazil. Whom to believe?

I'll have to do more research, maybe even call Ford HQ. More later....

E85 returns to my Cheyenne minivan

Driving down Lincolnway in Cheyenne last week, I spied an E85 sign. "Whoa, minivan," I said, whipping a U-turn and coming to rest at the ethanol pumps at Smoker Friendly Gas and Cigarette Shop. I was surprised to see an E85 pump after a long dry spell for my flex-fuel Dodge Caravan.

Some of the first blogging I did was about my search for an alternative to regular unleaded. Alternative fuels were all the rage back in 2005-2006. Corn seemed to be the answer to importing oil from desert sheikdoms and the newly liberated land of Mesopotamia. The Corner Stop station in Cheyenne opened a couple ethanol pumps and that's where I filled up. No war for oil, I would say to nobody in particular. And then I would pump my Nebraska-grown corn-based fuel, not realizing that it had its own drawbacks. But it made me feel good, which is an American right and privilege. It was cheaper than gasoline, too, by about 20 cents.

But then reality came crashing in. The prices went up, and then Corner Stop ceased carrying E85. I looked high and low for flex-fuel stations. There was (and is) one up in Buford along I-80 between Cheyenne and Laramie. But it's a good 30 miles away any benefit I would get from gasing up there would be lost in the 60-mile round trip. During travels in Colorado to Fort Collins and Greeley I saw E85 pumps but, again, unless they were on my way, it made little sense to make those stops a destination.

The E85 prices at Smoker Friendly were a lot lower than gas -- $1.90 per gallon to $2.33. I topped off the tank and felt pretty good paying with most of a $20 bill. If I was a smoker, I would have enough change to buy a couple cigarettes, but nowhere near an entire pack. Did you know that you can fill a minivan with E85 for a lot less than it costs to buy a carton of cigs? Glad I quit smoking 25 years ago.

When I went inside to pay, I asked the proprietor how long she'd been stocking E85. About six months, she said. I told her that I'd been loooking all over for it and and guessed that hers was the only store in town that stocked it. That's kind of the idea, she said with a smile, adding that she sells quite a bit but didn't know how much exactly.

Meanwhile, I save about 40 cents per gallon and get to feel superior -- for a brief while -- over my gasoline-loving brethren and sistren.

Can't you smell that smell? It's a clunker!

One-time Denverite David von Drehle writes a funny piece in Friday's Time mag about the government's proposed "cash for clunkers" program. He considers all the angles in trading in his much-used minivan (i.e., "clunker") for cash. I won't give away the ending, but along the way, David lists some great resources for his fellow clunker owners. Read the entire article at http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1896663,00.html.

As always, I turned to the Tire Business web site for info about anything automotive (actually it was my first Google-inspired visit but I'll be back). The Tire Business article snagged the following info from government sources:

According to an Energy and Commerce fact sheet, the Cash for Clunkers program in the compromise bill would be authorized for up to one year and provide for some 1 million new car and truck purchases. Under the program, old passenger cars and light trucks must get less than 18 mpg. Motorists would be eligible for vouchers of $3,500 each if their new vehicles improve on the old vehicles’ gas mileage by at least 4 mpg (for passenger cars) or 2 mpg (for light trucks). For improvements of up to 10 mpg for cars or 5 mpg for trucks, the voucher would be $4,500.

I'm not certain if my minivan qualifies. It's a 2000 Dodge Caravan, which makes it more than eight years old. But it's a flex-fuel vehicle. It's rated for 16 mpg in the city and 23 highway for gas, for an average of 19. For E85, it's rated 12 city and 17 highway for a total of 13. If you add those together, I more than qualify. If you just consider the gasoline stats, I don't. More Googling may be in order.

If approved, I will accept a voucher for $4,500. I plan to buy an extremely fuel-efficient passenger car that's not a minivan. We don't need one anymore. Our son lives in Tucson and we don't expect him to return to Wyoming. Our daughter has plans to move in two years (after high school graduation) to attend college in a big city. My wife has her own Saturn, and refuses to ride in the minivan until I remove the "smell" from it. I don't smell the smell, but she does. She describes it as part McDonald's wrappers, part mildew, part Armor-All and part Fat Tire Amber Ale. I have to explain that last one. I do not drink and drive. However, I'm charged with recycling and sometimes have kept containers of empty beer bottles in the van for a couple weeks. During the summer, minivan parked in the hot sun, the tiny bit of beer left in the bottom of the bottles begins to re-ferment and adds a bouquet to the interior. I won't say it's an unpleasant smell, but my wife will.

For that reason alone I should get a voucher.

With the $4,500, I will attempt to buy a Chevy Malibu hybrid or possibly a Ford Fusion, both high-mileage alternatives. I'll stick to American-made cars, so that my stimulus will stimulate the correct places. I will have to say sayonara to my Canadian-made Dodge, which has served our family well on cross-country jaunts and camping trips since we bought it used in 2001.

Not yet sure how I'm going to get all those recyclables to the big blue bins at our local grocery store parking lot. I won't be able to save up two weeks worth since they all won't fit in the little trunk I'm sure to get with an efficient vehicle. I'll think of something.