It was thirty-seven easy miles into Kentland, where the directions required us to make a left to exit from US-41 onto US-52. Every one of these deviations on the route sheet is accompanied with a mileage total, and for old school guys like me, that's how I know when to gas up.
"How far are we in?" I asked Aaron when he told me our turn was forthcoming.
"107", he informed me.
I made a left at the intersection, then an immediate right into a Marathon gas station, and pulled up to a pump. John and Opal followed us in, as did Darren and Robert. We were out of the car and walking around when the Belvedere went straight through the intersection at 50 mph, still headed down US-41, with the Gremlin following suit about 200 feet off their bumper. Boone and Dad made the left and entered the gas station, shaking their heads in laughter as I pulled my phone out to call Rachael.
"I know, I know", She said before I even spoke, "We're turning around!"
I filled up the Valiant, then instructed Aaron to move it out of the way, so Rachael could pull up to the same pump and I could get both in one shot. He gave me a strange look, but hopped inside and had it fired up with no difficulty, so I could tell he had been paying attention to the process. He moved it out just as Rachael brought the Belvedere in the parking lot from the opposite direction.

Dale, and Darren decided to get the jump on me out of the Marathon, and were out on the road first, with Rachael only a few minutes behind them. John and Opal headed out after them, and I pulled out with Robert following me, and Boone, who likes to be the caboose, catch-all guy, leaving last.
The fading sun was barely over the trees, John was a good quarter of a mile down the road ahead of me, and I surveyed a nice straight piece of asphalt in front of me. Aaron was already concentrating on the phone screen in front of his face, but gave a barely perceptible sidelong glance as the tach trickled up to 3K, and we were still in low gear. That was the cue I was looking for, and I hammered the 428 to full throttle. The Valiant jumped up on the tires, and the tach marched from 5K to 6K faster than Aaron could brace himself and say "Holy..."!
I popped second at 6400, third at 6200, and lifted a second later.
"That's way better than an energy drink", Aaron smiled and laughed, "instant adrenaline rush!"
"Yeah", I agreed, "This thing is so much fun on the street...I struggle to behave myself!"
"I see what you mean about the wide, flat torque curve...it's instantly there, then just pulls hard and steady all the way through! Robert's Barracuda pushes you back harder in the seat as the rpm climbs." He added.
We had been riding together for ten hours plus on this trip at this point, and had discussed the philosophies I have come to depend on when building a combination, so I had told him the reasoning behind each component on the Valiant.
"Yeah, I've rode in Robert's car, that thing has way more cylinder head, and cubic inches, and horsepower, than I do!"

I had lost sight of the others, and we drove into the little town of Sheldon, made a right to continue on US 52, and were greeted by orange signs which proclaimed "Road Closed, local traffic only!" We drove around, and immediately started looking for the county road short cut described in Rachael's scribbles on the sheet. The first one we came to was barely more than a one-and-a-half lane dirt road, and I made the instant decision that we weren't trusting any county roads to complete this trip. I was about to turn around and head back into Sheldon, when I saw Rick Prospero's green BB turbo RX7 on the side of the road talking with a local in a Ford truck. I pulled over a few hundred yards behind him and just waited, figuring that after the local gave him directions, I'd just follow the RX7 through this mess.
Surprisingly, the guy in the Ford pulled up to my window, as soon as he pulled away from Prospero. "Are you guys with him?" He asked, leaning his head out of the window.
"Yeah, pretty much!"
"Ok, I'll tell you the same thing I told him! Go back to that intersection where the sign was and take a right on twenty-four, you'll run into the town of Watseka, take a right on highway one, and it will take you back to 52. Basically, it's just the opposite two legs of a square", he held thumbs to index fingers to illustrate, "it's eight miles, either way, so it's not costing you any more miles from that sheet he had!"
We thanked him, and flipped directions as the RX7 rumbled by with a honk and a wave.

We made it a mile down US-24, when Rachael and Skippy drove past us going the opposite direction in the Belvedere.
"She's lost again!" I told Aaron, and reached for my phone.
"They are turning around," he informed me as he turned to look out the back glass.
We drove into Watseka, and immediately noticed an inordinate amount of street rods and old cars cruising the main drag. We drove by a Steak and Shake, where a couple of guys sitting in lawn chairs out front waved us towards the large grocery store parking lot directly behind the restaurant. We could see a large car show in progress, which seemed odd for a Tuesday evening, but many of these mid-western small farming towns have week long festivals right at the end of summer.
"There's some muscle here tonight, we just have to rope one out!" I breathed as we idled on by, I really wanted to stop, but I knew everyone was hammered, and we needed all the sleep we could get tonight.
"Huh? What did you say?" Aaron asked.
Apparently he doesn't know Two Lane Blacktop line for line, while I find that disappointing, he is only twenty-seven, so I'll have to give him a pass.