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just seven miles from having com-
pleted 1,000 miles so far on this trip.
By evening we arrived in Valdez,
which became famous for an oil spill a
couple of decades ago. Cleaned up now,
it’s quite a nice little town surrounded
by water on three sides. We checked
into our hotel and went to sleep early
because we were required to be at the
ferry terminal at 6 a.m. This ferry
would take us on a six-hour trip to the
village of Whittier. It was a spectacu-
lar voyage where we were able to see
mountains, glaciers, eagles and fishing
boats, but sadly, no whales.
Whittier is a quaint fishing village
surrounded by mountains. Literally.
In fact, the only way to leave Whittier
is by ferry (which we just arrived on),
airplane or train. Or by car, but appar-
ently not Cobras. You see, the only way
for cars to drive out of town is through
the single-lane railroad tunnel. Every
30 minutes, trains are stopped and
cars have the opportunity to drive
through the one lane railroad tunnel,
15 minutes in one direction and 15
minutes in the other.
We didn’t know there would be a
problem with our Cobras until we ar-
rived at the tunnel toll booth. “
Sorry,
you can’t drive those cars through the
tunnel,
” said the trooper.
“
Why not?
” I asked.
“
The cars must have a convertible
top, or the driver and passengers must
wear helmets.
” He explained to us
that the tunnel did not have a “fin-
ished” roof, but just rough rock. “
Occa-
sionally rocks
fall down on the
vehicles,
” he said.
Well, David Karpik and I were in
good shape, we both had convertible
tops in our trunks. But Lee and Dave
Wagner were screwed; they both had
left their tops at home. They started to
panic.
“
Well, we don’t have tops or hel-
mets,
” Lee told the trooper. “
How can
we leave?
”
“
Well, you can leave on the ferry
boat that brought you here,
” he said.
What would they do? Being a
quick thinker, Lee asked the trooper if
he could drive back into town, find a
kayak shop and purchase a couple of
recreational helmets. That’s when the
trooper told him, “
No recreational hel-
mets. They must be construction hard
hats or motorcycle helmets.
”
Off he went. Thirty minutes later,
he returned with three hard hats. He
met a construction worker who loaned
Lee the helmets. “
Just leave them at
the ice cream shop on the other side of
the tunnel
,” he told Lee. Lee is quite a
salesman.
After ninety minutes of drama, we
drove through this prehistoric tunnel,
dropped off the helmets at the ice
cream shop, and drove to the condos
that would be our Alieska lodging for
the next two days. Alieska is a world
class ski resort about one hour south
of Anchorage. One of David and Katy’s
optometrist friends owned it and al-
lowed us to stay there for two nights.
My clutch was really beginning to
act up, grinding between gears and
making it almost impossible to shift
from neutral to first-gear without
crunching the gears. It got so bad that
I had to start the car while it was in
gear, bucking and jerking until it got
going under its own power. I needed to
fix this problem in the morning. But
tonight, we would enjoy a wonderful
evening at an amazing restaurant,
then early to bed.
As we walked back to our condo, I
noticed our four Cobras parked side-
by-side in the gravel lot, three with
their tonneau covers installed and my
car with the original soft top still
erected. Life is good when you can
park four dirty Cobras, with values ap-
proaching $1 million each, in a dusty
gravel lot in rural Alaska.
At 7 a.m., while I was still lying in
bed, Lee, an early riser, sent me a text.
“
You awake?
”
“
Yes,
” I responded.
The next text was a photo of my
car with the roof half torn off. I was
dressed and out the door in less than
a minute. I ran down to the parking lot
and up to the car. At first I was con-
fused. “
Why would anyone damage my
car like this?
” I thought to myself.
Then I started to notice the huge,
muddy paw prints on the interior and
exterior of the car, and some long,
black hair.
“
I think a bear got into it
,” Lee
said.
“
But why?
” I asked.
“
Did you have any food in there?
”
Lee asked. That’s when I remembered
The SHELBY AMERICAN
Besides the bear attack (I was asleep when it happened, between 11 pm and 6 am) I
was also struggling with clutch issues. I thought it was a hydraulic problem and had
brought along a spare clutch master and space cylinders that I installed, but only after
getting back home to North Carolina and pulling the engine I discovered the clutch
bracket broken off inside the bellhousing. (
Dave Wagner photo
)
Spring 2019 69