One summer in the early seventies Ree and I were driving our twin Austin-Healy Bug-eye Sprites across the country on a motoring tour. I was on my way to school back east, and Ree was traveling with me for a tour of the country. Along the way, we had a number of adventures, in many of which Ree's sometimes delightful, sometimes infuriating, always interesting, way of traveling through life played a part.

Buy-eyes are tiny convertibles: I could wrap my arm around the back wheel of the car from the driver's seat; before the trip Ree carried one end by hand and I used a wheel barrow at the other, as we carried his gutted Sprite out of his garage and flipped it over on the lawn so he could paint the bottom. Our pair of Sprites were part toys, part racing machines, part teenage companions -- almost like friends, and of course transportation.

Late in August, after a tour through British Columbia, we were traveling through a huge expanse of high Nevada desert, when at about 10 A.M. Ree waved me over and told me that he thought his Sprite was not running correctly. Since I had considerably more mechanical knowledge, I drove it for about 100 feet and immediately diagnosed it as running on only one of its twin SU-1 carburetors. Upon inspection we saw that this was correct, that a retaining clip had failed, and that the jet had fallen out of the bottom of his lead carburetor.

Because we were driving esoteric, 1959, British automobiles in the middle of rural America the chances were slim of finding a spare SU-1 carburetor jet at the local auto parts store. Instead we decided to look for his the lost one. There was little traffic so we drove backwards down the apron of the intersate (two lanes and a wide apron in each direction) peering at every deviation from the flat smooth blacktop in the bright Nevada sun, and also scanning the sandy desert soil just beyond the pavement.

For the record, an SU-1 jet is about half the size of a cigarette. Looking for it on a four-lane highway might seem like a hopeless task, but after talking it over it seemed to be our best option. We estimated the time that Ree's Bug-eye started to malfunction and calculated that we had six miles of interstate to search.

After four trips back and forth searching in what was becoming the hot sun, we gave up. The next option was for us to tow Ree's car back to civilization, and a telephone, and see what we could scare up. Running Ree's Bug-eye with one carburetor sucking only air risked burning up his exhaust valves which would mean rebuilding the top half of his engine, and consequently the end of our trip. I had enough lashing holding my belongings on the external rack (Bug-eye's have only a boot, no real trunk), to pull Ree's Sprite about fifteen feet behind me, and this is how we effected the fifty miles to the next decent rallying point.

There are two, possibly unclear, reasons why this posed some interesting problems. First, because of our long search, the day was rapidly progressing. Because it was Friday, we knew that even if we were able to locate a British Motors Company supplier they would likely close at five or six for the weekend. This, plus the fact that trucks on the interstate, in Nevada, passed us at about eighty MPH, meant that we had to drive reasonably fast. Fifteen feet of towing space meant that we were going fifty MPH with Ree 1/2 car length behind me at the end of the umbilical cord. This was nervewracking for both of us. Second, Sprites come with 1000cc engines -- roughly the size of a medium-sized highway motorcycle. Although I had made race modifications, and had a slightly larger 1275cc engine, this is not the ideal equipment for towing another car. On some long inclines I had to keep the engine just below 6,000 RPM (above which it might well disintegrate), and, in the thin air, was able to keep it below the boiling point only by running the heater full blast (this puts on line an extra small radiator which coincidentally helps to cool the engine). With my precious Sprite's engine screaming away in my ear, the smell of hot oil in my nose, the heat radiating like a blast furnace on my legs, and Ree close enough in my mirror for me to see the fuzz on his chin, I initially counted the miles seemingly a foot at a time.

After a while though, because of the oddness of the situation, and the sensory overload, the whole scene took on an element of humor and romance. My Sprite did not blow up. No huge trucks blew us off the road. Ree did not get wrapped around the rear of my Sprite. Hope took over from desolation: we were still headed across the country, and life was good. It was in this state of elation (which turned out to be true for both of us), we finally pulled into a large interstate service station.

Here we had a talk with their mechanic, who was at least clear in his absolute knowledge of the situation: if we wanted a jet for the SU-1 carburetor the closest place was the BMC dealer in Salt Lake City! Oh no -- this was terrible. Salt Lake City was hundreds of miles away, and to make matters worse BMC parts departments ALWAYS closed for the weekend. Before facing these problems we decided to call them first. In one way it would have been a relief if they had just told us that we were crazy to think the Salt Lake City BMC would have a jet for a carburetor that went out of style fifteen years earlier. It was with mixed emotions that I received the news that yes they still had one lying around the shop, and that they would be there if we arrived before five o'clock.

We just had time to make it, if we could work out a way to get there. Option one was to leave Ree's Sprite and drive down together to get the part. We soon vetoed this because Sprites have no locks (and in fact do not really even have door handles -- you just reach inside and release a lever). Leaving Ree's car, and belongings, behind presented unacceptable risks. The next option was for us to tow Ree's car to Salt Lake City with my Sprite. Although my car had been valiant in its efforts so far, this too was vetoed as too risky for both our health and for the health of my Sprite.

Necessity being the mother of invention, we experimented with plugging up the defective carburetor, so that the two lead cylinders sucked cross-wise through the manifold, and were fed from the rear carburetor. Although his Sprite had little power, ran very rich this way, and had to travel VERY slowly up some of the inclines, it went well enough for us to limp along in tandem off to Salt Lake City.

Now the battle with the clock began. We counted the miles, and watched the minutes tick by. The agony of crawling up the inclines was replaced by the exhilaration of speeding down the other side of mountains at top speed. I had plenty of time to both curse Ree for not immediately stopping when his car had so obviously malfunctioned, and to feel pity him for the worry he must feel about being stuck in the middle of the country with his treasured Sprite missing a crucial part.

Our one stop for fuel was a race to the gas pumps, and a grab for candy.

At ten minutes to five, with bladders bursting, we arrived at the BMC dealership. Just in time! This time elation turned rage as we discovered that no, the parts guy had made a mistake after all, the jet he had was for a later model SU-2 carburetor (the kind that I had on my engine). Rage became mixed with embarrassment as we realized the great amusement that the BMC staff took in our predicament. They said they could order the part for us, and that it would arrive in three weeks or so! Now real discouragement set in.

They closed up the dealership, and Ree and I went out to sit on the curb next to our Sprites. I had no clue how to proceed. All our great romantic plans for this "guy" trip across the country seemed to have come to a final, irrevocable, halt. I remember being chagrinned that we ever thought we could make such a bold statement. Maybe we were just two losers, destined to lead humdrum lives.

I still recall with great clarity the next interchange between us when I turned to Ree in the midst of my ruminations and said, "You remember how I thought it would be a lot better if you had used those SU-2 carburetors I gave you before the trip -- what a difference that would have made now, hey? Your Sprite would have run a lot better too."

After a few minutes, in no great hurry, or with any particular enthusiasm, Ree said, "Hmmm. Well I suppose we could put them on now. I brought them along. They are in the boot of my Sprite."

At first I was just blank. Then I remember thinking, "Let's see. I have my tools in the back of my car. I can put the SU-2's on in about ten minutes. If Ree had mentioned this at 10 A.M. this morning I could have avoided searching six miles of interstate for an SU-1 jet, towing him for thirty miles like a madman with my Sprite about to explode and my legs cooking from the heater, racing two hundred miles with a sick Sprite to try and beat a clock while my bladder is about to explode, and adding gray hairs to my young head with grief about this. On the other hand if I use the REALLY big wrench I could just kill him right now. One good blow in the forehead ought to be enough. Then I wouldn't even have to change the carburetors."

In fact, it took me only about eight minutes to install the SU-2's, even in a daze. And yes, Ree's Sprite did run better than it ever had before.

It did not seem to occur to Ree that it was odd he had not mentioned the spare carburetors when first we started on our misadventures. I know that I criticized him for his omission, and I am not sure if he resented it, or felt remorse, but mostly we both just seemed puzzled about the way his mind worked. On the one hand, here was a guy with whom I could not hope to keep pace in many intellectual pursuits (few could! -- for example, later I knew him once to do zero work in a semester calculus class at a good school, crack his book three days before the final, and finish with the top grade). On the other hand, although he did not forget that he had the extra carburetors, it just did not occur to him to mention them.

Ah well, with a score more adventures like this one, we did finish our 5,000 mile trip (8,000 for Ree who drove back alone). Life is rich. People are interesting. Ree is still, and will always be, my lifelong friend.