The High Water Mark

I had already checked the weather four times when the phone rang on Friday afternoon. It was my friend David di Falco. “Pre-Stage? I’ll be going,” he said. “See you there at eight?” I asked him what he thought about the forecast. “They’re cars—they’re made to get wet.”

The next morning, I rolled my roadster out of the garage under slate-colored skies. Donned in my favorite raincoat and some not-so-waterproof shoes, I fired up the four-banger and listened to it idle. As I closed the garage, I took one last look at my car’s hood, which was propped up next to my semi-disassembled flathead V8. I laughed as I thought back to my conversation with my mom a few minutes earlier.

“What do you think,” I asked her. “Hood or no hood?”
“No hood,” she said without hesitation. “Live a little!”

With the garaged locked and the engine warm, I shifted into reverse and backed onto Clement Street. The neighborhood was empty in a peaceful way, like it was slowly awakening from a much-needed slumber.

First. Clutch in. Neutral. Clutch in. Second. I looked at the old storefronts, catching snippets of my roadster’s reflection sliding across the plate glass. Right around the time I passed the Four-Star Theater’s marquee, I felt the first raindrop. Then the second. Soon thereafter, it started to sprinkle.

I knew this was coming. I had my jacket zipped up and microfiber towel-turned-windshield wiper at the ready. But as I picked up speed, I realized I had made a minor mistake: I didn’t pack any glasses. “Maybe I’ll just squint?” I thought, recalling the night I rode my motorcycle across the Bay Bridge without any eye protection years ago (not recommended).

Idling at a red light, I mentally sifted through the contents of my backpack. Sweatshirt, camera, book, hat…then it hit me. I popped open the rumble lid, grabbed my backpack and plunged my hand into the top pocket. There they were: a pair of disco-rific sunglasses left over from the time my girlfriend and I dressed as Sonny and Cher for Halloween. Glasses on. Backpack stashed. Transmission in gear. It was time to go.

The Pre-stage push

Earlier this month, I learned about a new monthly event called Pre-Stage held at the historic Marin County Civic Center. Their tagline? “Cars and coffee for people who don’t dig Cars + Coffees.” Although I do dig Cars + Coffees, I figured it would make for a fun Saturday morning trip. I’m always happy to check out a first-time event; they just have a certain magic to them.

Rolling across the Golden Gate Bridge, I scanned my surroundings. Angel Island, Alcatraz, Yerba Buena and water just about everywhere else. The roadster clipped along, bouncing over bridge grates as the Stromberg sucked in the cool ocean air.

Climbing the big hill is never fun, but I kept on truckin’. As I did, I thought about being at the top. Before I knew it, I was there. In the tunnel. Out of the tunnel. Cruising down with wind whipping, wheels turning and plenty of road ahead.

With each mile I felt better and better, and the car did too. The rain continued to fall, but I loved it. I soaked up every detail of the small towns and the winding roads that led me to them. I could see it and smell it and feel it all from inside my 94-year-old car, a car that came together in my little garage on Turk Street when the world was a very different place.

Approaching the Civic Center, a man in a blue Mazda pulled up next to me at a light. He rolled down both his front and rear windows and started saying something about Model T’s. I pulled out my earplugs. “My friend restores those up in Spokane,” he said. “They’re a lot of fun but, man, you should see the rooster tails coming off your tires!”

Roasters, reunited

The Marin County Civic Center is an awe-inspiring place. Designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in 1958, it was his last major project before his death the following year. His goal was to create a design that worked harmoniously with the surrounding Northern California landscape. “Instead of slicing away the hills with bulldozers, the buildings will bridge the knolls with graceful arches,” he said in the project plan.

Rumbling beneath one of those arches, I thought back to all my trips to the Civic Center. I’ve been here with my family, my friends, my motorcycle, and now, my roadster. I’ve hiked the grounds, toured the library, and even (accidentally) been locked in the stairwell near the courtroom. The Civic Center is a beautiful, dynamic place that takes on new character through the seasons—from the goldenrod days of summer to these gray winter mornings. I took a deep breath and savored that very moment I was in.

With headlights on and hood up, I coasted down into the car show. I was soon greeted by friends from different chapters of my life—my college roommate Cale, my longtime friend and photographer extraordinaire Erik, and David di Falco, who made the trip to San Rafael from Petaluma earlier that morning. After a quick hello, David and I pulled our cars into a prime parking spot with the Civic Center in the background. I shut off the engine, turned off the fuel, and pulled the parking brake. We had arrived.

For the remainder of the morning, I walked around the show, enjoying the cars and talking to the folks who drive them. David pulled off his hood top and one of the hood sides so people could see his Navarro-equipped flathead. When the rain started, I put a Solo cup over my carb and a grocery bag over the distributor. We ate burritos, discussed projects, and caught up on things big and small.

When it was time to leave, Cale asked me a great question, “How wet is too wet to drive your car?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I guess I’ll have to find out.”

By 10 a.m., groups of cars started heading towards the open road. I let David know that I had one picture I would like to take before we left. We drove beneath one of the arches—out of the rain—and I guided him into position. Sitting with my back pressed against a built-in bench, I was able to capture both Model A’s in front of the Civic Center’s ornate gate, beneath the curved mezzanine, basking in the glow of Mr. Wright’s well-placed skylight.

Homeward bound

It rained the entire way home. Water streaked from all four tires, spraying the windshield whenever I turned. I decided to take the long way, stopping by the Silver Peso and eventually rolling through Sausalito. At the marina, I even stumbled upon a 1940 Ford hot rod underneath a tarp.

As I watched the world through my chopped windshield, I thought about a lot of things. I wasn’t worried about my car, simply because I’ve had my hands on so much of it. Out on the road, I didn’t let the lack of hood or fenders or top or heater hinder my fun. Not by a long shot. In many ways, that’s what made this trip a high watermark.

—Joey Ukrop