Our heathen Ford that never converted

My husband, George, and I loved rodeos and were pleased when the Red Bluff Round-Up started up again at the end of World War II.

We sold our beautiful blue and grey Buick coupe to finance buying a Chevrolet logging truck, so we hunted a cheap car to use.

It was October during the war. Cheap cars were rare, but we found a Ford sedan belonging to a young fellow headed for the army.

The top had been cut off. It was under-slung and the rear doors were welded shut. The edges had been neatly rolled and filled so it looked like a convertible.

Winter was close, so nobody wanted it. We got it cheap and called it our heathen Ford because it wouldn't convert.

It was bright moonlight when we started for Weaverville. We had just passed the Whiskeytown store when "thump," the back of the car went down. We stopped and the right rear wheel rolled up beside my door and lay down.

That was the beginning of many adventures with that Ford. We drove through rain, snow, frost and blazing sun. Our son, Irvin, rode between us in cold weather, wrapped in a big wool army coat. We drove one-handed with the other hand tucked under us for warmth.

I hung my toes on the heater under the dash whenever George drove.

We tried to drive fast enough so rain blew over the top. We took the back seats out and carried a tarp for when we stopped. The rear seats were left in during the summer when we took carloads of kids fishing or swimming.

That Ford was a real fun car. We didn't worry about scratches, dents or even smells like the time George's bulldog, Butch, took on a skunk.

One trip to the Red Bluff Round-Up, we were heading up the Buckhorn Summit road when a herd of cattle suddenly appeared on a curve. In those days, they walked cattle to summer pasture on public roads. George tromped on the brakes and a brake rod promptly broke. There were no hydraulic brakes back then. That left us with brakes on just one wheel.

"Where is your advance rider?" I demanded of the driver.

"I don't have to have an advance rider," he responded.

"Yes, you do," I insisted.

We then drove slowly through the herd.

For the remainder of our trip we drove carefully and enjoyed the round-up. As we left, traffic was bumper to bumper.

A fellow stopped short right in front of us and our bumpers clashed. The fellow boiled out, looked at his bumper and yelled something nasty. A little later, we were bumped from behind. We looked back. The fellow in back of us was laughing and waving, so we joined in the laughter.