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I had done something like this a few years before, buying a rare 2002ti and driving it cross-country on a mid-winter interstate zoom to get home. Nicknamed Ol' One Eye because it's left headlight had been aimed by a tree, the car had been in terrible shape, basically a rolling, smoking basket case held together with rusty wire, duct tape and a minimal number of bolts.

The idea was simple and familiar; close the deal on a 1972 BMW 2002tii for a friend of mine in New York, then drive the car from San Francisco to Chicago so another friend of ours could work on it for him. Afterwards, I would visit my parents for a couple of days, then drive to St. Louis for the BMW CCA's annual Gateway Tech event, a meeting of serious gearheads and BMW nuts in general.

This car, a white '72 2002 tii that had lived in California all its life, was in nice shape, ran well, and just needed a few repairs here and there. It was pretty much rust free, which is rare, even in sunny California.

After checking the car over thoroughly, I had gotten all the lights working, changed the oil, and did some work on the loose and sagging driver's seat. Left untouched was the clutch throwout bearing that was not long for this world and the left rear wheel cylinder that was dripping brake fluid. Of lesser concern was the fuel gauge that was unreliable and the odometer that didn't work. Either way, I didn't have the time to fix anything else before I left.

Looking out at the Pacific Ocean from my home base above Highway One.

With the gas tank full of $2.20 per gallon 92 octane premium gas, I left my apartment by the ocean about 4:30 pm on a beautiful California Sunday. The fact that this car with fresh New York license plates was looking out at the Pacific Ocean seemed strangely out of place.

After the usual stop and go traffic through San Francisco and over the Bay Bridge, I was home free on the open road for the first time in over two years, and it felt great.

The rolling hills and farm lands of California's central valley were a bright, verdant green in the springtime before the scorching summer sun turned everything brown. The highway undulated gently through the hills, with a beautiful view for my city-weakened eyes out every window.

Springtime green comes early in California.

Towards Sacramento, a blue round taillight 2002 tii went past. We waved at each other, and it disappeared up an exit ramp after a few miles. It would be the only 2002 I would see on the entire trip.

That night, I wound my way through the Tahoe National Forest under a full moon so bright one could drive without headlights. Cruising high in the Sierras, I saw snow for the first time in a long time. It seemed eerie and ghostlike, being high in the snowcapped mountains on a night with a bright full moon. Traffic was nonexistent. Eventually I stopped at a rest area near Truckee, and was greeted with typical cold weather and walls of snow.

Nevada was not only flat, but cold, empty and dark. I often found myself gazing off into the inky darkness, blissfully unable to see another light in any direction except the stars above, shimmering so brightly far from the ozone of the big cities.

By now, it was becoming fairly obvious that the heater in the car wasn't going to be of much use, just like the last time I crossed the country in winter. Once the incoming air turned cold, the heat pretty much became lukewarm at best. Add this to the general draftiness of a 28 year old 2002, and it was almost deja vu with memories of the initial drive with Ol' One Eye all over again.

We're ready for the 2002 Olympics!

Once in Reno, I stopped at a gas station. Surprisingly enough, their rest room was superheated to about 90 degrees and felt like a nice dry sauna. I took my time cleaning up, and added a few more clothes. When I emerged I was wearing four shirts and a coat, plus long underwear. I felt like a skinnier relative of the Michelin Man. It was simply too cold outside for duct tape to stick on the car's window seals to make the old car airtight.

Crossing into Utah, there was a big, colorful welcome sign touting the 2002 Olympics, so I stopped for a picture with red rock canyons in the background.

Cold and gray, Old Man Winter looms ahead.

The fabled Bonneville Salt Flats are indeed very flat, and the highway is arrow-straight, just like the map shows. The Great Salt Lake smelled less than great as I was driving by. By now, the roadway was wet, but there was still no problem with snow.

East of Salt Lake City, the clouds began to unload, snowing lightly, but not enough to cover the roadway. Just as well, because a wide and smooth I-80 wound through some beautiful red stone canyons in an eye-pleasing scenic break from what was becoming the normal landscape of flat roads and distant jagged mountain ranges. The gray clouds and white snow only added to the effect, with the snow highlighting the reddish color of the mountains. I pulled over to try my hand at taking a picture to capture the beauty of the area.

The little white 2002 takes a scenic break in the red canyons of Eastern Utah.

Everything changed for the worst a few miles after I crossed into Wyoming. I found myself literally being greeted by heavy snow and a couple of big plow trucks blocking the road. I-80 was closed. This was what I had dreaded, being stuck due to a closed highway. With few other choices, I turned around in the snowy median and headed back to the nearest exit. I filled up on gas, talked to the locals, and took a good nap for a few hours.