"You bought WHAT on eBay?" my wife asked incredulously.

"A Cobra," I answered "I’ve always wanted one."

That was Sunday afternoon, September 15th, 2002. I had just stopped the bidding for a West Coast 427 Cobra replica with a 460 and a Doug Nash 5 speed, by agreeing to the "Buy it Now" price on eBay. The bidding had been hot and heavy and was rapidly approaching that price anyway, so I bought it. I had checked on similar cars and it appeared to be a fair price. However, there was a slight problem. The car was in Spokane, Washington and my home is near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. That’s like 2500 miles away!

I checked into having her (like boats, I refer to cars as being of the female gender) shipped back East. The prices came in between $1200 and $1500. "Heck," I thought "I can fly out there and drive her back for the same or less and have a lot of fun doing it." So, the decision was made then and there to fly to Spokane and drive the Cobra home.

"It doesn’t have a top?" my wife asked in disbelief. "No windows?" "No way!"

I tried to explain how weather goes from West to East and if you start out in a fair weather "bubble" you can ride it all the way home. Nothing doing! She absolutely refused to go with me on the trip. But, after 40+ years of marriage, she knew she wouldn’t be able to dissuade me from going. Per usual, she was right. She would have been miserable, but I had a ball!

The flights from Philadelphia to Chicago, Chicago to Seattle and Seattle to Spokane on September 19th were uneventful. I had pictures of my new toy which I would take out and study on each leg of the trip, hoping my fellow passengers would notice and ask questions.

The main picture from eBay.

It worked like a charm. They swarmed like bees to honey and our discussions made the time zip by so fast, I was in Spokane before I knew it.

I was met at the airport by the "broker" who placed the ad on eBay for the owner because the latter was not all that familiar with the workings of the Internet. The broker drove me to my first meeting with "Xena".

As previously mentioned, it is my belief that all vehicles, both aquatic and terrestrial, should be of the female gender. "Xena the Warrior Princess" was a beautiful and powerful, dark haired, female warrior of a TV series. This car was painted a dark, dark blue, was longer, wider and had more horsepower than the original. What could be a better name? Xena it was!

The seller led me around back to his garage and there she was, just as gorgeous as her pictures. He fired her up. Oooh, that sound! After a quick walk around, he handed me the keys and said "Take her for a spin." Trusting soul! I was so nervous I almost sideswiped a wall backing out. Boy, those rear fenders are wide!

"Xena", the Broker, the Seller (l to r)

Immediately, the only negative characteristic of a Doug Nash 5 speed transmission made itself obvious. It really did not want to shift from 1st to 2nd or 2nd to 3rd. Until they get warmed up, these transmissions are notorious for being very stiff. I wonder what was in the seller’s mind as he watched me lurch down the street and out of sight. Up to this point, he hadn’t been paid a nickel.

After a very brief test ride, I returned the car, grinning from ear to ear. She was awesome and she fit me like a glove! However, I did notice that she was beginning to show her age. Although she only had 3,005 miles on the odometer, she was 12 years old. The original builder had put her together in 1989 & 1990 while working on the Exxon Valdez oil spill in Alaska.

"Xena" as purchased

The shift knob had to go! It was a purple and black ball with silver glitter. The steering wheel was ugly and the instrument panel had a black crinkle finish that was loaded with embedded dust, as was the heater and air conditioner(?) panel. However, these were minor cosmetic imperfections that could be Winter projects, so I paid for her and left for Pennsylvania, 2500 miles to the East. It was 3:00 and I wanted to get as far as Montana before stopping for the night.

Driving through Spokane to reach I 90 was a near-disaster. Twice, I stalled in traffic. Like the transmission, the clutch pedal was very stiff and the travel was more downward than forward. Much to my embarrassment, I drove like a teenage girl driving her first stick shift. It would be quite a few miles before I really got the hang of it.

Once on the interstate, things did improve. But, I learned that you have to drive this car all the time. The power rack and pinion steering is so precise that any unnecessary movement of the steering wheel sends you all over the highway, yet you can take your hands off at any speed and go straight as an arrow. It’s like riding a thoroughbred; and that’s exactly how I felt. Xena was a skittish thoroughbred I had to learn to ride.

Now I could start to relax and be aware of what was going on around me. I could appreciate the stares, smiles, waves and thumbs up we (Xena and I) were getting from the passing cars, trucks and motorcycles. By "passing" I mean that they were passing us, not vice versa. I knew we would stick out like a sore thumb to the Highway Patrol and I didn’t need any speeding tickets on the way home.

There was one problem that the seller had told me about early in the bidding process and it plagued me the whole trip. He had put bigger wheels and tires on the Cobra, to improve her handling and looks. However, that left too little clearance between the front tires and the fenders. When you hit a bump, there was a screech, a puff of blue smoke and the unmistakable smell of burning rubber, all coming from the front wheel wells. It seems that the difference in elevation between the roadway and all bridges was exactly the right height to cause this scenario. I winced every time I saw an approaching bridge or an unavoidable bump of any kind. It was nerve-wracking to say the least. Fortunately, although it happened many times, the trip did no permanent damage to the car or tires. Longer springs have since cured the problem.

Spokane is only about 25 miles from Washington’s eastern border, so we were in Idaho quickly. A stop for gas in Coeur D’Alene and we were off for Montana, driving through the breathtakingly beautiful St. Joe Mountains and Bitterroot Range. The upgrades, downgrades and curves let me change the exhaust music with my right foot. What a symphony! I was in my glory.

"Xena" in Western Montana

The Idaho panhandle is only about 70 miles wide at that point, so we were in Montana before we knew it and pulled into Missoula for the night. Fortunately, Missoula has a Wal-Mart as Xena had done a job on the only pants I brought. When we pulled into the motel and I stood up, I felt a draft on my derriere. When I reached back with my left hand, I felt a 6 inch piece of pants flapping in the breeze. Only then did I notice the door catch protruding from the post just far enough to grab you if you didn’t clear it before plopping into the seat when getting in. I learned Lesson #1: Clear the catch before you plop.

When I came out of Wal-Mart carrying my new khakis, I found a young man standing by my car. He said he’d been waiting for 20 minutes to talk with me. He wants to build a Cobra replica and wanted to see what I would recommend. We must have talked for another 20 minutes while I tried to hold my flap closed in a stiff breeze. That is part of the benefits of driving an exotic car, you get to meet a lot of nice people.

The next morning it was cold; close to freezing. I had brought a hooded sweatshirt, a medium-weight jacket and a rain jacket with a hood. I put on all of them. We were driving through the Rockies and I could really feel the temperature changes with different altitudes.

At the next gas stop, I learned Lesson #2. If I said it was a lesson all Cobra drivers learn sooner or later, you’d probably guess correctly. Yep, the infamous snakebite. I wasn’t wearing socks and while talking with someone at the gas pump I backed into a header. I heard a "ssstt" and knew immediately what I had done. It didn’t really hurt (yet), but I got a second degree burn on my left ankle. The scar’s still there and a twinge of pain every once and a while, reminds me to remember Lesson #2: Keep away from side pipes!

Later, we stopped for gas and some aspirin at a truck stop (my ankle was beginning to throb). Inside, they had beautiful black leather motorcycle jackets for $49 and they had XXL’s! Of course I scoffed one up. It sure helped the rest of the trip. While there I asked a truck driver which was the better route East, stay on I 90 (the southern route) or I 94 (the northern route). They split just the other side of Billings. He said the southern route might be a mile or two shorter, but the northern route is smoother. It was a no-brainer. The northern route would be kinder to Xena’s front end and my nerves.

The eastern part of Montana is pretty flat and there were a few straight stretches with little or no traffic. I was starting to feel pretty comfortable with Xena by now, so I decided to see what she could do. With no traffic in sight, I "put the pedal to the metal". The acceleration was smooth and powerful. 80, 100, 120, 140, I backed off. She still had plenty left, but that was fast enough for me, especially on an interstate highway.

Just over the North Dakota line I remembered my camera. Gee, I should have been taking more pictures. So, I pulled over.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park, North Dakota

If you look closely at the pictures, you might notice two abnormalities; the previously mentioned lack of tire clearance in the front and the apparently retractable roll bar in the "down" position. Longer springs cured the first problem and replacing the bolts securing the roll bar to the frame in the correct position cured the second.

We had a scare in Bismarck. I needed to call one of my sons on my cell phone, so I pulled off on the shoulder to make the call. During the call, I glanced in the rearview mirror and there was a black and white sitting behind me advertising. However, the two officers inside just sat there chatting. When I finished my call, I gave them a wave and drove off. They were making sure someone didn’t rear end me, but I’ll bet every single car that passed us thought I was getting a ticket.

That day we made it all the way to Dilworth, Minnesota (just across the Bois de Sioux river from Fargo, North Dakota). The Seller, back in Spokane, had given me a car cover to cover Xena at night. In Dilworth, during the night, someone lifted the cover to see what was underneath. Whoever it was didn’t replace the cover fully, which is the only reason I knew anyone disturbed her. The trunk wasn’t locked. I didn’t have a key. Nothing was ever taken.

Sunday, September 22nd was a beautiful day. It warmed up to the point I shed my leather jacket. Here it was one week to the day since I decided to buy my Cobra. Here I was in Minnesota and I had already put 1200 miles on her. I was almost half way home. I didn’t know if that was good news or bad news. I was having fun.

Gas stops were frequent, about every 120 miles or around 2 hours. Quite often they turned into events. A couple of times I even had to wait until someone went to get some somebody who had to see this car. Well, I didn’t really have to wait, but I did. It was fun. The usual questions were "What is it?" or "Is that a real Cobra?", "What’s under the hood?", "How fast will that go?", "What does a car like that cost?" But, my favorite question came from a farmer in Montana, "Looks purty, but how much wood can it haul?"

Black River Falls, Wisconsin

We only made it as far as Black River Falls, Wisconsin that day. My ankle was hurting and I was in no hurry. I asked a local where to find a good place to eat. I was in the mood for a nice juicy steak. He recommended an Inn in the neighboring town, so that’s where we went.

"Is that your car?" the waitress asked as I cut into my nice rare porterhouse.

"If you mean the blue Cobra outside, yes." I replied.

"We heard you drive up." she said "We thought it was a motorcycle gang."

When I left, the whole restaurant and the bar, customers and employees, came out to see (and hear) me go. I didn’t disappoint them.

The trip between there and Chicago was uneventful. The scenery got more boring and I started to notice something strange, The farther East we got, the fewer beeps, waves and thumbs up we got. Was it my imagination? Were cars like this more commonplace in this part of the country. No, I really believe the people are friendlier out West.

Chicago was a mess. I couldn’t believe they had the guts to charge a toll to ride on some of those roads. Little puffs of blue smoke were constantly coming from up front. Between that and my ankle, I was doing a lot of wincing.

Just outside downtown Chicago we ran into construction. It was hot and the traffic was stop-and-go for miles. This was going to be a good test of the cooling system. That was the first question I had asked when bidding on the Cobra. Did she have any cooling problems? That is a common problem with Cobras, especially big-block ones. I was assured that with the 7 core radiator and two 14" fans the temperature never exceeded 200°. It was no lie, Xena’s temperature never got over 190°.

After a restful night in Ohio, we started the final leg. My travel planning software routed us across Pennsylvania via I 80, but I know that is one bumpy ride. It was a little longer, but we took the Turnpike in deference to Xena’s front end. Even then I cringed with each bump. It turned out that the front coil springs were from a Mustang II with one turn cut off. The first upgrade I made was to install new springs of full length. What a difference! I haven’t winced since.

Finally, we pulled into our driveway. The whole trip was 2,682 miles and took just under 5 days. We averaged a respectable 13.9 miles per gallon.

Since then, Xena has had a little cosmetic surgery; a wood-rimmed steering wheel with matching shift knob, refinished instrument panel, some more chrome under the hood and "Stoneguard" on her hind legs "oops", I mean rear fenders. These little touches have paid off.

Ship Bottom, NJ - July 2003

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat!

John maybe contacted at: jrigg@voicenet.com