In the mid 60s a buddy and I once left DC for Nags Head, NC (280 miles away)at 5:00am in my 55 Ford Custom with a much-modifed 312. The speedo didn't work, but I kept the throttle on the floor virtually the entire time. Two stops for gas later, when I was passing through Coinjock, NC (about 240 miles down the road), the
oil pump shaft found a piece of cork gasket from somewhere or other, one end locked up, and it spun itself into a Twizler shape until it snapped off.
Naturally, my
oil pressure light was not hooked up, so I had no indication anything was wrong until the generator light came on, (signaling that the motor was no longer running) and the rear tires stopped rotating. At whatever triple-digit speed we were going, that was truly exciting.
After I wrestled the car to a stop, we both observed a moment of silence. Then my friend looked at his watch and said," Well, I guess it's time for breakfast." It was 7:30.
