TEMPERAMENTAL BASTARD: The '67 Mustang who refused to Power Tour
JUNE 2026
WASHINGTON STATE — Twelve hours.
We are 12 hours behind schedule. We should have been wheels up; our window of making it to Illinois in time just keeps narrowing.
Stan (short for Stanley) is my 1967 Mustang coupe. My dad and I rescued him from a horse pasture when I was 15 years old, and he has been in a constant state of improvement ever since. In that time, I've learned a very important fact:
Stan is an ornery, temperamental bastard of a car.
We did everything right: swapped out the three on the floor for a five-speed transmission, installed a high-capacity fuel tank for fewer stops, and finally had the fuel injection working seemingly like a dream.
Fast forward to about 48 hours before we needed to leave. That's when Jamieson noticed it. A crack in the exhaust manifold. We weren't talking a hairline fracture; this was a serious fissure needing attention before we tried to drive more than 2,000 miles in one shot.
The auto gods at least smiled down on us by providing next-day delivery (thank you Summit Racing). The install was going smoothly, at least until the final manifold bolt decided to seize, break, and leave behind a stubborn stud in need of extraction.
It wouldn't budge for anything. The sound of the garage was a repeated track of welding, metal twisting, the clang of separation, and the echo of nuts hitting the floor. Wash, rinse, repeat. The growing pile of discarded nuts lying in a defeated mass on the garage floor was the only sign of progress as one after another failed in their mission to extract the stud.
Somehow, painfully, it did finally emerge with only two threads left. Jamieson slapped in the new bolt, and with one last twist of the wrench heard yet another heartbreaking sound.
A crack. A soul crushing, almost sadistic sounding crack.
It was one of the rear ears on the cast iron cylinder head. The exhaust manifold was fixed, but the cylinder head it connects to was now cracked, trading one problem for another.
Most would be defeated; my husband, however, becomes inspired where others become enraged. The next fix involved some spare parts and some safety wire. It looked like something that belonged on aircraft instead of my inline six.
Either way, everything was seemingly back together, and we are finally on our way out the door. It's already after 6:30 p.m. and Jamieson had been up for over 24 hours chasing down each of Stan's latest tantrums. We decide to adjust our goal for a town just under 200 miles away. It would be a good test and put at least one mountain pass behind us and that much closer to our end goal: Hot Rod Power Tour 2026.
Power Tour in itself is a multi-day moving car show comprised of more than 6,000 current and classic cars from across the country. The 2026 Power Tour celebrated the Centennial of Route 66, and included stops in three states: Illinois, Missouri and Oklahoma.
There would be nothing sweeter than driving my '67 Mustang on the roads it was born to be on. A homecoming of sorts. Better yet, if we arrived at the first day's stop before it officially closed at 5 p.m., we would be allowed to pick up our Long Hauler credentials and receive the coveted day's punch. If we collected all five, we would qualify for the commemorative plaque.
We just had to get Stan there.
SUNDAY WOES
The car starts, but that's the end of the good news.
We pull out of the hotel driveway only to take an immediate right turn into the adjoining driveway of the restaurant next door. The mystical gremlin that all classic car enthusiasts know all too well reared its ugly head.
The car was misfiring and running horribly; nothing like it had run the day before.
We tried everything. And I mean everything. We started our journey with a Mustang equipped with fuel injection, a PerTronix electronic ignition, and an in-tank fuel pump. By 5 p.m. we swapped to a four-barrel carburetor, back to the original points, and re-routed to the original fuel pump (which Jamieson had already plumbed just in case this happened).
All of the parts had to be procured via Uber rides to neighboring towns and desperate calls to friends who lived in the area.
Despite our best efforts, Stan absolutely did not want to participate. Instead, he went out with a literal bang and a puff of smoke. Clearly this grumpy old man was in his full “temperamental bastard” mode despite being flawless the year before during Duct Tape Drags in Arizona and Hot August Nights in Reno, Nevada.
Today was the end of that flawless streak. Instead today we get to phone a friend, drive 30 miles to the next town to U-Haul for a truck and trailer, then drive back to pick up a very flawed Stan who positively refuses to move of his own accord.
We feel defeated. Somehow it feels like Stan is snickering.
Jamieson diagnoses what could be wrong with Stan. Chelsea and Jamieson drive Stan back in a U-Haul trailer. Stan the Mustang atop a U-Haul trailer.
TIME TO SHINE
We did the math and if we make as few stops as possible beyond gas and food, we could still make it before the first day ends and pick up our Long Hauler credentials.
Insert Bullet (no relation to Steve McQueen’s dark highland green beauty Bullitt), Stan’s great-great-great-great-grandson: a silver 2014 Mustang GT. Bullet had always been envious of the fun adventures his classic brethren have gotten to have, and now it was his turn to be called up to the plate.
It's midnight and we hit the road, again. This time I'm tailing Jamieson who is driving the U-Haul truck and trailer. It needs to be returned to the town we got it from before we can continue east. Once that errand is out of the way, it's smooth sailing.
Until it's not.
We've covered about 1,500 miles and have just crossed over into Minnesota. We just swapped drivers when we hear what sounds like someone dropping metal into a garbage disposal. The temperature gauge pins into the red and we immediately kill the engine and coast to the shoulder.
It's 1 a.m. We're in the pitch dark. And why is it so dark? Oh yes, because a storm has rolled in and it's starting to rain.
Make that pour.
The Mustang's water pump completely gave out, but thankfully the radiator was not taken out in the process. After about a dozen calls to local tow companies, we finally get a young man to come rescue us from Jim's Towing. Jamieson navigates us to a hotel parking lot within walking distance to an O'Reilly Auto Parts which, at least online, said it had the part we needed.
We're at the door 15 minutes before opening and the staff are kind enough to let us inside. The new water pump is secured and successfully swapped out in the parking lot. The hotel staff are kind enough to let us use a room for a quick shower before we get back on the road free of charge.
Apparently we looked, or at least smelled, that pathetic. It was exactly the pick me up we needed. A thing to "go right" after what now feels like days of things gone wrong.
Back in the rig and pedal to the metal. We were so close, and still yet so far.
HAVE MERCY
We drove 2,256 miles in just over 40 hours. We made it. We parked at the entrance of the Chicagoland Speedway in Joliet, Ill., the first official stop of Power Tour 2026.
The only problem? We were three hours late. The event was over. Everyone was gone.
We missed the first day.
But don't fret. The registration team at Power Tour had followed the updates we made in the Power Tour Facebook group and took pity on us. All we had to do was come to Day Two with a photo proving we had made it to the speedway at least at some point on Day One.
We were relieved as they chose to award us the coveted stamp, or in this case punch, of approval on our credentials so we could continue toward getting our 2026 Power Tour plaque.
Now that we had arrived, the real Power Tour could begin.
But that's a Tale for another day...
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