There’s nothing quite like sunset in the desert, cruising along in a super cool vintage car, the wind blowing through the windows and cooling down skin cooked by the blazing sun all day, bonding with a couple good pals, feeling pride in a job well done…

Oh, but how quickly that can all change.

Let me back up a little.

A couple of months ago, Gasoline Girl co-founder Kristin Martin drove her ’55 Studebaker out to Gene Winfield’s Rod and Custom for a metal workshop. (Go here if you want to read the full adventure). While there, one of Gene’s guys (Bart, or as we call him “Big Daddy”) taught Kristin the art of doing burn-outs. After some coaching, she succeeded in leaving tread on the asphalt. Problem was, she also left a bit of her transmission out there as well. Stude wasn’t going to make it home.

Fast-forward a couple of months. With a new transmission in hand, Kristin and I headed back out to Winfield’s to do the swap (with help from Bart, the burn-out instigator). We loaded into the Lincoln and were on the road by five a.m.—a wise and necessary choice considering the temps in the desert. By eight, we had Stude up on the lift, dropped the drive-train, loosened the exhaust, and began the task of pulling out the old tranny.

I won’t bore you with the details. It all went swimmingly. We got good

and greasy.

We were proud and happy beasts and headed out for lunch—sure we’d complete the job with ease by day’s end.

Which we did! New tranny went in without incident.

Then came the test drive. First leg went great. Stude shifted. We celebrated. I sat in the backseat, the cool wind flowing over me, and stared out at the sky, full of textures and color and beautiful silhouettes of the mountains and Joshua Trees. Kristin pulled to the side of the road to give the car another run at shifting. She accelerated hard from a stop. Stude stayed in first. She accelerated harder. Bam! The car shifted… hard. Fortunately, it was just a simple TV cable adjustment, but because it was so dark, we decided to stay the night and deal with it in the morning. Besides, it was already nine o’clock and with a three-hour drive, that wouldn’t put me home until midnight and I was darned dirty and greasy and tired.

In the morning we adjusted the cable and gave Stude a tune-up (new plugs, air filter). Big Daddy Bart then suggested we check the valves. He didn’t like the knocking he heard under the covers.

When we pulled the covers,

he was in fact right. The rockers

were rockin’ way too much.

After the adjustment, we took

Stude for test drive #3, filled her up with gas, and headed back to the bunker. That’s when the problems really started to fly. The tranny worked great… but now with significantly more weight (the gas) a hellacious grinding sound came from underneath when accelerating, almost like a drive shaft draggin’ on asphalt. We got out and checked. Nope. Drive shaft firmly in place. Looked under the hood. Uh oh. Valve covers leaking. Got back to the shop. Hmmm… water dripping from the radiator. Poor Stude needed a bit more fine tunin’ before hittin’ the road again. But I had to work the next morning, early, so about eight o’clock, we headed back to L.A., sad to be leaving Stude behind.

When the idea first came up about joining

a car club, I wasn’t too sure about it.

I’m not one to dive into a subculture.

I’m not a scenester. And many

clubs out there are all  about that.

This group of girls is different.

In the short time we’ve been together,  we’ve accomplished stuff. We’re making progress toward improving our cars and our knowledge base. That’s the kind of club I can seriously get in to.

That’s a true Motor Doll kinda club.

Next up? Strippin’ my ’48 and another weekend in Mojave!