Cole fancied having period vehicles to compliment the flying machines. There was barely time to keep the planes in tip top shape, and the earthbound players were generally in less than prime condition.  Still, they ran and gave the “young types” something to pilot prior to achieving a majority allowing them to fly.  He theorized the cars provided an outlet discouraging teenage mayhem.  That did not always translate into practice.

Among the early saloons were a 1908 Sears and 1917 (I think) Willys-Overland.  The Sears was the archetype “horseless carriage,” a buggy, with an underslung motor of 10 horsepower, and a steering bar.  Produced by the Lincoln Motor Car Works, Sears retailed them for around $400, shipped with the wheels and fenders to be attached, and allegedly capable of 25 mph. The Willys was a more conventional Coupe. Fully enclosed, it featured an actual steering wheel, more modern transmission – an entry level steed. The Willys was built in Elyria, Ohio, with a Knight sleeve valve engine, in 4, 6 and 8 cylinder versions from 40-65 horsepower and base price of $2500.

With “flight demonstrations” trending toward “airshows,” there was a need for acts to fill the time.  Cole posited an antique auto race would give the youngsters something to do, keeping them from under foot, at least part of the time.  It also provided a breather between the last ground loop and coaxing the next rotary engine to life.

The course for this petite prix embodied early Aerodrome naiveté. Starting on the runway, it breeched the airshow snow fence, ran through the crowd (what could possibly go wrong?) over the bridge fording the stream between the hangars and back through the snow fence. To my knowledge we maimed no innocent bystanders.

However, Aerodrome stalwart Paul Richards did come to grief. (See, “Rosemary Loses Her Place,” for background on Richards.  Despite the title, it really is about airplanes.)  Richards, a bona fide race car driver, owned of an immaculate Model T Ford which, he entered into the festivities.  Bracketed by scruffy youth in the disreputable Sears and Willys, he aimed to show the boys a thing or two.  Bolting from the starting pistol the three contenders passed safely through the fence and were three abreast into the second turn.  The estimable Richards may have had the edge in proficiency, but failed to reckon with the determination of youth. The three ramblers approached the single lane bridge.  The Sears faltered, but the Willys and Model T were tooth and jowl, the driver of the former, staring dead ahead, brooking no challenge, and not about yield to the latter.  Richards considered his investment, protected it, and splashed splendidly into the rivulet, sinking the whole front end.

The Willys took the checkered flag. The victor surveyed the scene and made himself scarce. But, not before waving to the crowd.

Personification is tricky and ascribing human traits to inanimate objects can be a stretch. In the event, the 1915 Maxwell flatbed did seem to hold a long standing grudge against Cole Palen. and managed to invent unique and sneaky ways of getting at him.

Founded in 1904 in nearby Tarrytown, NY, by 1915 Maxwell had been sold, landed in Highland Park, Michigan and would eventually be acquired by Walter Chrysler.

Our Maxwell was an open cockpit conveyance, accommodating two or three on a bench, with a planked bed to the rear.  She led a pedestrian life, hauling what need to be moved until Cole converted her to a boom truck.  The modification included a 6” x 6” boom of about ten feet in length, hinged behind the seat and held in position by cables, running to cast, hardware store hooks mounted on either side of the bed. A come-along dangling from the boom provided the lift.

One afternoon a Hispano-Suiza engine dangled from the boom, as Cole aimed to reinstall it in the SPAD XIII. With accessories, the Hisso weighs in at just over 400 pounds.  As Cole prepared the engine for transfer, that turned out to be at least a pound too much and one of the hooks gave way.  Game to protect his treasures, Cole managed to at least slow the descent of the Hisso.  He did not manage to dodge the boom, which arrived squarely on the Palen pate.  How he managed to escape with only some stitches and a splitting headache remains a mystery.  The Maxwell bided its time.

At least a decade later, she struck again.  By the she had been gussied up with a plywood makeover, representing a comically convincing armored car for the Black Baron.  Palen had tired of running all over the runway dodging projectiles during the Bombing Raid.  The armored car allowed him to ride, mugging for the crowd, while constantly reminding whomever was driving (usually one of the kids) never to shift, risking a stall, while on the runway. The old girl could be cranky to start and you never knew when a forced landing might be necessary, what with up to four bombers circling.  With the bombers buzzing by, Trudy Truelove screaming, and the armored car running serpentine all over runway, it was the typical, chaotic nonsense Palen loved.  He decided to up the ante.  He discovered that he could turn the wheel, jump out, and the Maxwell would continue in a circle, chasing him.  It was hilarious and he got very good at being pursued, then clambering back in to complete the act.  Until the inevitable happened.  The Aerodrome runway is basically rocks with some grass on top.  The Baron, blinded by a near miss bomb, tripped on a cobble, went down, and the Maxwell nailed his foot.  She was corralled before wrecking anymore destruction, the show completed, and the hospital once again patched up the indestructible Palen.  Subsequently, he gave the Maxwell a wider berth.