What You Get When a Model T Dream Is Embellished by Artificial Intelligence
The invitation arrived on crisp, embossed stationery bearing the seal of the United States Navy—a letter of astonishing surprise and honor. The Model T Ford Club of Southern California had been formally asked to bring their vintage machines aboard a U.S. aircraft carrier and accompany the US Navy on an all expense paid 88-day public relations voyage across the world’s oceans. Only a handful of members at first believed it was real, so the response was lackluster. Nevertheless, 16 Ts signed up for this exceptional opportunity.
So, on a clear morning last June, we left our trucks and trailers in a massive military supply house and cranked our little engines so that our little Model T’s could parade past the nuclear submarines and down, then up, the ramps of San Diego Naval Base’s North Island Dock. Sailors in dress whites stood to salute as each Ford was carefully directed through the ship’s massive hangar bay doors and secured gently but firmly. The crews had constructed custom parking bays, alongside the sheltered aircraft, each striped and marked as if waiting for these exact automobiles for decades.
We were soon off and as the ship steamed westward into the Pacific, our drivers and their navigators were welcomed not as tourists, but as dignitaries. The Captain hosted us at his table, where the group dined on crab-stuffed sole and fresh fruit from Hawaii. Curious aviators asked questions about planetary transmissions, wood wheels, and dripping oil. In the afternoons, the group joined flight deck briefings, feeling the ocean wind as jets launched overhead. Two lucky members at a time were even strapped into the backseat of F/A-18 Super Hornets for heart-stopping orientation rides—pulling tight turns over the sapphire-blue sea. On calm days, the entire club used the aft ladder to swim alongside the ship in warm equatorial water, carefully watched by Navy rescue divers.
We stopped for a long day in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico where we were “overserved” at the Giggling Marlin and then, after crossing the tranquil seas of the eastern Pacific, our gargantuan ship glided smoothly through the Panama Canal. Midday, after being lifted by the second series of locks, the Model T owners sipped coffee on the bridge as jungle hills slid by on either side. Once in the Caribbean, we drove our old cars down mobile ramps onto the pier and into St. Thomas in the American Virgin Islands where we rumbled along the cobbled Spanish colonial streets. The residents waved flag handkerchiefs from balconies, delighted to see so many running century-old automobiles under the shadow of a modern carrier.
From there, the ship crossed the Atlantic and entered the Mediterranean, where daily excursions driving our Ts began to feel like scenes from old movies. When ports lacked suitable docks, helicopters lifted us without our Ts to medieval villages perched on windswept cliffs—places where narrow stone lanes climbed between olive terraces and ruined castles. But in Marseille, the Model T’s got off to roll through seaside markets scented with lavender. In Sicily they purred past lemon groves and historic cathedrals. Sailors helped load them back onboard each night, carefully wiping salt spray from every nook and cranny before lashing them down again.
The farther north we traveled—through Gibraltar and into the Atlantic once more—the days grew long and pale. In Estonia and Latvia, the cars rolled past colorful medieval city walls still echoing the footsteps of ancient traders. We were again put off ship and toured the emerald hills of Ireland, ferried crossed into Scotland, and later threaded the wild Norwegian coast where fjords broke like fingers into mountain ranges testing our Rucksells and external breaks.
Turning back toward North America, the carrier crossed cold northern seas calmer than expected, mists curling around the bow. Greenland’s massive ice cliffs glowed pink under midnight sun, while in Iceland, the drivers were led to volcanic fields with moss-green and black ash clinging to our tires. The out of this world northern lights kept us up at night feeling like adventurers on another planet.
At last, the carrier arrived in Nova Scotia. The Model T’s descended from the ship, this time blessed one last time by the aviation mechanics who now benefited from nearly 3 months of daily Model T Maintenance experience, who eagerly cleaned carburetors, adjusted transmissions, and aligned wheels using their high tech aircraft tools and precision. Riding in our freshened up cars, we meandered through historic Halifax streets and explored fishing villages tucked into pine-lined coves.
After eight weeks of US Navy hospitality, the cars were gently transferred onto Canadian Pacific rail freight cars and we reclined in first-class compartments with special private carriages fitted with observation domes as the train wound westward across the gentle plains and deep forests of Ontario. Crossing the Continental Divide, we gazed out our giant windows at the snow-streaked Rocky Mountains and the turquoise lakes below.
At Lake Louise, we stayed two extraordinary nights. The glass-calm lake mirrored distant glaciers like polished jade, and rocky peaks rose straight from pine forests like ancient stone cathedrals. We toured our Ts though wildflowers lined alpine paths and along clear rivers glinted with melting snowmelt. Everyone agreed they could stay here forever.
But the road still called. The Model T’s fired up once more for a final two-week drive south along the Pacific Coast. We followed Highway 1 and lesser lanes through misty redwood groves of northern California, paused at windswept viewpoints where seals sunbathed on offshore rocks, and spent long dinners eating fresh-caught salmon in cliffside towns. In Big Sur, the ocean thundered against sheer ridge lines scented with eucalyptus and salt. We all missed that we now no longer had the crew of seamen to maintain our cars' luster.
Finally, after 88 unforgettable days, the convoy rumbled back into San Diego, where our trailers waited like silent friends. The warehouse crew waved farewell, the provisions for their next Pacific tour bustling to and fro behind them. And as the sun set over the harbor and our Ts were strapped down to their trailers, each driver and navigator realized something remarkable—this wasn’t just a trip. …It was a legend.
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