I had never driven a Ford Model T before making a transcontinental trip in a 1926 Speedster. Thanks to its unconventional controls, operating it would require my full concentration: “Left pedal makes it go forward, middle pedal makes it go backward, right pedal is the brake,” I’d have to keep telling myself as we traced the route of the historic Lincoln Highway.

Thankfully my co-driver, the racer, Porsche aficionado and Model T buff Dave Coleman, was comfortable driving the 92-year-old car. Coleman owned it before selling it to his friend Nathan Edwards, who lent it to us for the trip.

Why drive the Lincoln Highway? Because it’s the nation’s first notable transcontinental automobile highway, pieced together in 1913 thanks largely to the backing of auto industry pioneers.

Tracing its length seemed like hiking the Appalachian Trail—one of those bucket-list items that would likely never happen. But come May 2017, about 12 months after a chance conversation with Coleman at West Virginia’s Summit Point Raceway, we’re casting off at the Lincoln Highway’s beginning: on Broadway and 42nd in New York’s Times Square.

After a mile in Manhattan, we’re through the Lincoln Tunnel. In minutes, we’re southbound in New Jersey. About 3,500 miles lie ahead before we reach the road’s Western Terminus near San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge.

When it was dedicated on Oct. 31, 1913, the word “highway” applied only loosely; during its first two decades, the route was mostly mud and rocks. Now fully paved, we still have to dodge New Jersey’s numerous potholes.

“Where are you going?” we’re asked constantly by other motorists.

“California,” we answer.

“Can I come too?”

Completed in 1913 and spanning over 3,000 miles, the Lincoln Highway was America's first notable transcontinental highway.

We drive 324 miles the first day, lodging at the Lincoln Motor Court in Manns Choice, Pennsylvania. We’d decided to seek vintage lodging when possible, and these primitive cabins, built around 1940, are perfect time capsules.

Driving an open car means encountering any number of unusual sights and smells that drivers in modern closed cars don’t get to experience, of course. And it’s pretty cold! The first morning is 36 degrees, but the Model T fires right up and runs like a champ.

We limit top speed to 52 mph—with so far to go, blowing the engine would not be good. Heading west on Highway 30 (as much of the Lincoln Highway is called), our confidence grows. We drive faster.

Full disclosure: This Model T is not stock. The L-head engine is balanced and blueprinted and has been converted to overhead valves with a Rajo cylinder head (a period accessory) installed. A Fish carburetor, headers, an alternator and electronic ignition were also installed.

This Ford L-head I4 received several upgrades over its life, including a Rajo cylinder head, a Fish carburetor, an alternator and a modern ignition system.

Keeping the engine true to its heritage, though, the crankshaft and connecting rods still spin on the original, poured babbitt bearings installed on Ford’s 1926 assembly line. All in all, horsepower is up from 20 … to about 40.

Eventually the Eastern time zone becomes the Central time zone. We make a pit stop at the Studebaker Museum in South Bend, Indiana. The city rolls out the red carpet for us. Later, I sleep in a Volkswagen camper thanks to a couple who had been following our adventure. That night’s thunder, lightning and rain storm is a highlight. I channel my inner flower child. The next morning, South Bend’s sheriff’s department escorts us from town with lights flashing and sirens blaring. We don’t stop once. Saying goodbye to the sheriffs in Indiana, we’re advised to avoid Illinois at all costs.

“If you have to drive 600 miles out of the way, do it,” a sheriff warns. “The boredom will kill you.” Tough crowd. The Midwest behind us, the scenery does eventually become mountainous. Since I’d never been to the Bonneville Salt Flats, it’s a must, but sadly there’s no racing in May—just a flooded salt lake.

No matter where we drive the T, people react. A busload of Japanese tourists corner us in Bonneville and won’t let us leave, taking selfies with the car. They want to pose with Coleman while he tries to lubricate the car’s engine, transmission and suspension.

On Highway 50 west of Ely, Nevada, aka the Loneliest Road in America, we hit a speed record. On a slight downhill with the wind behind us, we manage 63 mph!

Other records? The coldest temperature: 28 in Montana. Three days later, west of Sacramento: 100 degrees. Approaching the Golden Gate Bridge, our finish line, clouds and fog drop the temperature to a moist, bone-chilling 50 degrees.

When we reach the Lincoln Highway’s Western Terminus, we’ve gone 3,707 miles. Except for running out of gas a couple times, we never experienced a mechanical failure.

Henry Ford would be proud.

"The Long Way West" originally appeared in the 5/21/18 issue of Autoweek; subscribe here.

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