Hank had been up early. He packed his clothes in a pillowcase and rushed outside, eager to get the Tin Lizzie on the road. Scout had barked a welcome and followed him as he ran around the car. The tools and extra gas in the trunk got a passing glance. There was a funny smell that Hank assumed was how gas smelled. He climbed in the driver’s seat. His hand rubbed across the leather seat, and he sniffed the smell of new leather. When he turned the steering wheel, it moved back and forth, but his legs were too short to reach any of the three pedals on the floor. Scout sat beside the car and whined softly. “Sorry Scout. Dogs aren’t allowed in cars.”
Hank climbed out of the car when his father came out of the house. “You’ll ride in back,” His father said as he handed Hank an oversize pair of goggles. Hank put them on, and his father adjusted the strap so they fit snugly against Hank’s face.
Scout barked frantically. He seemed confused when he saw Hank wearing goggles. Hank lifted the goggles. “Don’t get excited Scout. It’s just me.”
Hank looked at his father and stifled a giggle. His father was sitting behind the wheel, and he was wearing a coat and goggles. Hank set his goggles down on the back seat and picked up the Ford crank handle. “Can I crank the engine? Please?”
“She’s hard to crank,” his father said. “But you can try.”
The crank hole was on the front of the grill near the bottom. Hank put the crank in and tried to turn it. The crank handle moved very slowly, and the engine did not respond. Hank pushed harder. Nothing.
Thomas Bingham, one of his father’s employees, stepped up behind Hank and took the crank. “You get in. I’ll get her going.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bingham.”
Hank climbed into the car, pushing aside his father’s valise, his pillowcase and all of the “just in case” tools that wouldn’t fit in the trunk, Scout yipped softly and looked up at Hank. “Stay. Dogs don’t get to ride in cars.” Hank put on his goggles and adjusted them.
Leaning forward, Hank watched Mr. Bingham turn the crank handle to the right. Lizzie seemed to shudder and then the engine started. First there was a buzzing sound and then a putt putt as the engine started. The car rocked from side to side. Hank’s father looked over his shoulder. “Keep your goggles on. You’ll need them.”
Thomas placed the crank handle on the floor of the car and climbed in. When the car began to move forward, Hank waved good-bye to his mother who was standing on the steps in front of the house.. “Hank, mind your father now. William, be careful.”
Hank sat tall in the seat. A never-ending grin spread from ear to ear. He waved at the people who had lined up to watch them leave Vernal. Hank knelt on the seat and looked at the road behind them. Scout was following, but he was getting farther and farther behind. “Go home, Scout. I’ll be back soon.” Hank watched until he could no longer see his dog.
“Don’t worry about that mutt,” his father said. “He knows his way home. He won’t get lost.”
“I know.” Hank turned and settled back down on the seat. The wind blew across his face. “How fast are we going?”
I am currently writing The Outlaw Trail. The setting for this middle-grade novel is Vernal, Utah, in 1917. The Internet is my writing friend. I can Google my questions and find all kinds of information. I wanted this scene about a young kid getting to ride in a Model T Ford to be interesting and accurate. Researching this trip to Salt Lake became a trip back in time for me. I contemplated what it was like for my parents as they moved from the horse and buggy years to owning their first car. By the time I was born, my family had a car. We didn’t own a buggy or a wagon and the horse in the pasture was there for recreation. I found more than I expected when I typed Model T Ford 1917 into the search bar.
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