When classic cars break down in the wilderness, creativity and community can lead to unexpected solutions, as shown by a memorable Appalachian road trip.
A retired executive and avid car enthusiast organizes bi-annual road tours through the Appalachian Mountains for a select group. This tradition, now ongoing for years, has drawn together a tight-knit community fueled by a shared love for classic cars. I joined this group six years ago, and as the rules have evolved, I found my 1991 BRG Miata qualified as a “classic,” even if it feels just a few years old to me.
Expecting that not all these vintage vehicles would complete the loop home is a part of the thrill. Many of the British and Italian classics often display a touch of unreliability, so there's always a risk. While engine components like crankshafts are robust, supporting systems such as coolant and electrical setups are more temperamental. Yet, that only adds to the adventure as we take them out for a proverbial trial-by-fire. Our membership in the Hagerty Driver’s Club, which provides towing privileges, provides an extra layer of reassurance as we embark on our trips.
One memorable tour included a mix of classic vehicles: two first-generation Miatas, a Porsche 993, a BMW 3 Series coupe, an old Alfa Romeo Spider, a '71 Porsche 911S, and a 1958 Austin Healey Bugeye Sprite—all characters in our automotive journey. Just like in middle school dodgeball, we had a mix of strong and weak players. Our route involved winding two-lane roads through the Appalachian peaks, where cell phone reception was often a luxury.
To mitigate potential breakdowns, each member carried a variety of spare parts and tools. The motto was simple—"if you bring it, you won't need it." With that in mind, we armed ourselves with high-quality parts and contingencies for critical systems, hoping they would remain untouched.
The first hiccup arrived before we could even leave the hotel parking lot. The Alfa Romeo Spider suffered a cracked oil pump, resulting in a stream of oil on the pavement. Despite our attempts to mend it with JB Weld, the damage was too severe to continue. Embracing practicality over politeness, we scavenged the Alfa's trunk for any necessary repair items, ensuring that we remained equipped for our remaining vehicles.
As we journeyed onward, our once-complete lineup was reduced by one, with the Alfa driver now sharing a seat in another car. With clear skies and smooth roads ahead, we began our ride. The remnants of spring began to litter the roads, presenting another metric for ground clearance among our varied vehicles. Each had its own thresholds: the Bugeye could easily skirt a squirrel, while the BMW could handle a possum but faltered at the sight of a fawn.
Our group developed a system of regrouping at every turn, contrasting speed with safety as we aimed to keep everyone in sight. However, one of our members driving a 911 was delayed. Concern grew when we waited for a fifteen-minute stretch without any sign of his sleek vehicle—a scenario that could spell trouble. With no cell connections in sight, we initiated our own rescue operation, doubling back in separate cars to find him.
The 911 was known to be finicky; it could surprise even experienced drivers with unexpected dynamics. Upon locating him, our worry shifted to relief as it turned out the car had suffered a minor electrical catastrophe. The alternator light had flickered, prompting him to pull over. It was clear that the car's cooling system and alternator were linked, and failure to address the issue could result in greater consequences for the high-compression engine.
Upon further investigation, it became apparent that the alternator's upper pulley was missing. The intact section remained attached to the alternator's common shaft, while the external part had become separated. Fortunately, the Porsche engine's design helped contain the mishap—though the shattered pulley had to be carefully diagnosed to proceed with repairs.
Understanding that we were miles away from any repair shop, we formulated a plan to transport the 911 to a nearby motel, where we could safely work on fixing it. Finding a secluded rest stop in the wilderness was ideal; thus, we parked the car, bought ourselves some time to sort out our options, and gathered as a group to devise our next steps.
With a couple of engineers among us, the challenge transformed into a thrilling problem-solving task. Towing the car back home was not considered an option either, as we viewed securing a fast fix as a badge of honor. Finding a replacement for the aluminum pulley would be difficult in the remote area, leading us to seek inventive solutions.
A bright idea from a non-engineer hinted at a ski resort nearby that might have a maintenance shop, hopefully equipped with necessary tools. As the sun set, we drove there, optimistic that our misfortune would attract the right kind of attention. Upon arriving, we encountered a large security guard who seemed like an approachable asset in our search for mechanical assistance.
This well-built guard led us to a mechanic within the resort maintenance area. Listening to our query about repairing the broken pulley, he evaluated the fragments we brought with us. However, he didn’t have the right TIG welder for aluminum repair; he suggested trying brazing instead, which would prove to be a less effective solution than we had hoped.
We brainstormed other strategies for bridging the repair gap. It was during this dialogue that the security guard unexpectedly chimed in, discussing a couple of junk Karmann Ghias he believed were stored in his uncle's barn. With shared smiles of realization, we recognized this might just be our golden ticket.
With the understanding that Porsches and Volkswagens share parts due to their shared heritage, there was a good chance the Karmann Ghia alternator pulley would fit the 911. The guard drove to fetch the pulley while we waited in anticipation. When he returned with a dusty pulley from the mid-seventies, our hopes were confirmed as it lined up perfectly with the Porsche alternator.
However, the original belt needed adjustment to fit the new pulley. A quick trip the next day to a local Tractor Supply store led us to a John Deere belt that suited our needs perfectly. With all components aligned, we secured the final assembly and returned the 911 to the road—a victory crafted from teamwork and resourcefulness.
The 911 completed the tour and made the three-hour journey back home without any further incidents. Orderly replacements were soon planned to restore the vehicle to its original reliability levels. Meandering through ancient mountain roads in classic car company can yield unexpected trials, yet it’s this very unpredictability that nurtures camaraderie and creativity in automotive culture.
So, if you find yourself stranded on a remote road with a classic you cherish, remember the experience we encountered—it’s often the most unusual solutions that pave the way to success. The answers often come from the quietest corners of your journey.
Norman Garrett is a concept engineer and a former Mazda designer, now teaching automotive engineering. He enjoys restoring and teaching about classic cars while sharing the stories behind them.
