Before graduating college, I was advised to spend the summer driving across the US, to 'see the country', before settling behind a desk. "You'll never get a chance like this again," I was told. But, like many times in life, the opportunity evaporated and major things, like generating an income, took precedence.

Fast-forward thirteen years: I had joined the M-100 Club right after my purchase and attended the 2000 Meet in Woxall, PA. News of the meet in Portland, OR, got my mind thinking back to that admonition: "Drive cross-country!" And I surely now had the perfect vehicle for such an adventure. Once again, though, my plans were thwarted by work, family responsibilities, and the restoration itself. However, by the spring of 2002, the car was mechanically perfect (in my opinion) and ready for a true test of Teutonic engineering.

I had recently moved to New Jersey, so this trip would be about as long as once can make in the continental US. Weeks of planning and reservations took place, and finally, on May 16, I set off with a friend to attend the M-100 Meet in Cambria, CA. I considered a sign for the back window reading "California or Bust," but decided such a poster was a bit beneath the car! The longest that I had driven this car during my ownership was a trip to Maine in the summer of 2001, about a 1000 mile round trip. This journey would be more than six times that distance, and all in less than two weeks!

I had compiled a set of spare parts, including belts and filters, purchased new tires, and had Karl give it a thorough check up. Still, those first few hundred miles on the Pennsylvania Turnpike were filled with trepidation as I slowly increased my speed somewhat above the posted limit. I would never make California in five days at 55 MPH! My choice for accommodations for most of the trip included discount hotels. For some reason, I have no problem paying $2,600 for an accumulator, but spending $100 a night for a bed - heresy!

And so the first night, in Indianapolis, IN, my 600 was nestled between pick-up trucks and Dodge Darts. If a car has a soul, I'm sure this German beast was somewhat humiliated. On our second day, towards Tulsa, OK, we encountered two interesting sites on the highway: a mint, red 190SL on a trailer and a White Castle hamburger truck. Both drivers were all smiles as we passed, and both greeted us with a toot of their horns. We replied in kind, and I got a big surprised look from the trucker when he heard the 600's air horn. Once past St. Louis, the highways open up and the traffic thins out dramatically, compared to driving on the East coast. And speeds increase. By the time we arrived in Tulsa, we were averaging 80 MPH.

The road to Albuquerque, NM, on the third day, was, ahem, boring. We scooted between Route 66 and the Interstate, looking for the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, TX. We found it, and immediately I thought of the 600 relics behind Karl Middelhauve's shop. It was also during this day that I decided to start to push the car nearer to the reported top speed of 127. Yes, I did go over 100 MPH more than a few times and, seriously, if it weren't for the speedo, it would have been hard to tell how fast we were going. It is hard for us born and bred in the East to fathom how big the US is until you make this drive. More than once we could scan the horizon and see no manmade object, other than a few cars and the highway itself. The starkness of the western desert is actually quite beautiful, albeit fairly desolate. However, during our descent into Albuquerque, we were greeted by dozens of hot air balloons, yet another contrast to the brown landscape.

Day four found us in the Grand Canyon. I have been to the Canyon before, but every time I stand at the edge of the rim, I am humbled. I attempted to convince the Park Service to adopt a new marketing slogan, "More than just a big hole," but unfortunately they rejected my idea. Monday morning found us at the airport, awaiting a helicopter tour of the Canyon. Another tourist, driving a 560SEL, was wide-eyed as he parked next to the 600 and asked to take pictures. As I have done many times before, I obliged and gave him the grand tour of the magnificent 6.3L engine, the power rear seat, and the magical hydraulic trunk! Even an SEL owner comes away from the 600 impressed!

We arrived in Cambria around lunchtime and drove down to the Pacific. "Hey, where's the sand," we thought, but were happy just to have finally made it across the country without incident. Besides, you can never get the sand out of the carpet! Other members began arriving at the Cambria Pines Lodge later in the day, including Karl and Neil, both of whom seemed happy (and relieved?) that the 600 had arrived intact. The location and weather in Cambria and environs were spectacular.

Wednesday found us motoring up the Pacific Coast Highway, quite a change from the flat, straight interstate highways of days past. Frankly, the drive south was even a bit scary. Apparently guardrail technology hasn't reached the west coast yet! The 600 looked completely at home on Thursday during our tour of the Hearst Castle and subsequent winery tour. I was reminded of the terrible 80's nighttime soap opera, Falcon Crest, with Jane Wyman and her 600. Why is it that rich villains in television and movies always seem to own a 600?

Friday, our last day at the meet, included the judging contest for best model. I was pleased to have won for best 600 (truth in print: for those not at the meet - I was the only 600, so I won by default) and for furthest distance driven, an award that I definitely earned! And so after lunch we began our trek back to the East coast, this time climbing the continental divide, crossing Colorado and Nebraska, and finally through Chicago, Pittsburgh and then home.

The return trip took five days and was slightly longer than the southern route, but definitely more scenic. As has been reported in other 600 articles, the car got a little oxygen starved when it got close to 11,000 feet above sea level at Vail Pass, but otherwise ran fine. Mechanically, the car ran flawlessly until Pittsburgh, where the power steering pump developed an air leak resulting in the lack of power steering and a nice, fine coating of ATF over most of the front of the car. Fuel mileage was erratic, ranging from 12.8 MPG to 14.5 MPG during the trip. I could not account for the fluctuation based on speed, temperature, terrain, etc. Overall, I averaged 13.5 and used 26 tankfulls of gasoline, about $800 worth of premium octane. Oil consumption was also somewhat of a mystery. Going west, the 600 consumed only two quarts of 10w40; the return trip required five quarts. I can only assume that the strain of climbing the Rockies was the cause. Regardless, the average of one quart every 900 miles surpasses Mercedes own specification, so it does not concern me.

My drive to the 2003 meet in Woxall, PA, will be significantly shorter (about 40 miles!). And by then, I hope to have a car that will rival the many 600s that graced MB Grand Restoration's facility in 2000.