Spontaneous road trips are a like a treasure hunt without the clues. The prizes always appear unexpectedly. Like Goldendale’s night-shift police officer. “No, Mr. Niedermeyer, your speed was just fine. But you seem to have your high-beams on. That’s against the law within city limits. But… you’re free to go.” With those words of affirmation, our road trip to Wenatchee resumed. Adrenalin flowing, we were alert to the next roadside attraction.
The next morning, stumbling out of our dark motel room into the brilliant sunshine, my eye was dazzled by the chrome portholes on a red Buick Lucerne in front of our door. Wait a minute… whoa! Am I still dreaming? I took a step back and realized I was looking at a 2008 Honda Accord with Buick portholes proudly affixed to its upper front fenders.
Initially, this moment of auto-Zen discombobulated me. For the first time in a very long while, I failed to recognize a car instantly, succumbing to the power of an over-wrought styling cue. But then the pregnancy of this symbol consumed me, to the bewilderment of my wife, eager for her morning coffee.
During the seventies and eighties, Americans (owners and manufacturers alike) decorated their domestic cars with the trappings of upscale imports. It wasn’t unusual to see fake Mercedes and Rolls-Royce grilles, “Euro” Chevys, etc. But this Honda Lucerne played a different game.
That Accords have become so Americanized in size to carry off the Buick charade was strange. That incentivized Lucernes go for less than an Accord even more so. My guess: the driver wanted everyone to know that he “Wouldn’t you really rather have a” Buick, but had been burnt on the genuine article.
The Honda Lucerne was an encapsulated nugget of the changing cultural landscape of small-town America. Downtowns in this part of the country are a time warp of 1950’s Main Street: Sullivan’s Haberdashery, Monica’s Women’s Wear, Betty’s Bakery, “Meet Your Friends at the Igloo Café.”
While we relished the chance to step back in time, I wondered and worried. The proprietors (as well as some of the goods on display) showed signs of advanced age. What will replace them? The kids have long moved on to Seattle.
Downtown Wenatchee felt like a living history museum with a short-term lease. The future is either shuttered doors or… Californication.
The automotive landscape was still rich in (genuine) domestics. The Toyota dealers didn’t carry Scions. Our xB generated stares. “What’s that? Is it from China?” But like the new Target on the edge of town, Hondas and Toyotas have infiltrated the last frontier.
Meanwhile, the old symbols have reincarnated. The former Sportsman Outdoor Store’s giant rotating hunter marquee, whose rifle goes off every revolution in a blast of red neon, overlooked a trendy bar. And Buick portholes graced the flanks of an Accord.
Our morning drive carried us up the Yakima Canyon, by a perfect fly-fishing river flanked by cliffs weathered to the colors of a fifteenth century Venetian tapestry. A dusting of fresh snow in the cracks of the basalt columns highlighted the textures– as if someone had sneezed powdered sugar on the ancient wall-hanging.
The empty winding road was a perfect wake-up drive in the morning sun. But our legs were ready for a stretch. A barely-marked pull-out suddenly appeared (screech). It turned out to be a trail-head into a side canyon. We reveled in the crystal morning air. The silence was punctuated only by hundreds of birds setting up housekeeping in the alders.
After several miles of hiking, the narrow canyon widened slightly, and signs of former human habitation appeared. Old gnarled apple trees straight out of The Wizard of Oz called out for a haircut. A set of concrete front steps signed by children and dated 1933 lead to… exceptionally thin air. I sat down and imagined the house, living there, isolated in every way.
For the first time on a road trip, I felt twinges of web-withdrawal. In Mexico, internet cafes are everywhere. Here, not even truck stops have web terminals anymore. Once again, I’m falling behind; it was time to buy a laptop. Or not. Maybe these homesteaders kept a Ford at the head of the canyon. The Model T was the internet of its time.
Highway 97 heads up into the rugged Wenatchee Mountains. Passing trucks in the 1.5-liter xB was a game of cat and mouse, evoking memories of 40hp VW Beetles. Since the trucks and the Scion have about triple the power today, the odds are still about the same.
After cresting Blewett Pass, it was a long coast down through endless apple orchards into Wenatchee. For dinner, we followed our noses that picked-up the scent of burning applewood and searing meat. That night I dreamed of transplanted portholes on shiny red apples.
I’d really like to see more of that accord. Do you have a shot from further back ?
Beautifully writtten.
Dynamic88: I’d really like to see more of that accord. Do you have a shot from further back ?
In the rush of packing, the camera was left behind. The image above is from a real Lucerne. BTW, the Accord had the six portholes of a V6 Lucerne, not the eight as above.
Hint for any driver going between Yakima & Ellensburg, WA: Never, ever take I-82, as there is a perfect alternative running parallel, namely SR 821 through the canyon, what locals call “Canyon Road.” Far more enjoyable.
Paul, another STRONGLY recommended fun drive in the region is (paved!) Forest Service Road 25, which twists and turns north from the Columbia River between Mt Adams and Mt. St. Helens. It is only open in Summer… likely closed until mid-June. Be prepared to have a blast tugging the wheel back and forth endlessly as the road climbs and falls, while also going left and right. This is an awesome driver’s road. It has some frost heaves that lie in the altitude zone where the freezing level rises and falls all winter (1000′ to 2500′) so be prepared to lose some metal off the lowest portion of your car (see my latest post on my website for pics of my shaved off parts from my last trip in this road!) Don’t forget the side trip up to the viewpoint on Windy Ridge to see the blast zone from the 1980 eruption. Don’t drive this road without a stick shift, or you will be missing all the fun.
I could (should!) write a book about the great roads of the Pacific Northwest.
–chuck
http://chuck.goolsbee.org
Chuck: That’s the road we took and described above(“Yakima Canyon Road”), or SR 821. Perfection. And the hike up the side canyon is highly recommended.
I saw 50s style Buick portholes in a strange place. Driving through Chestnut Hill the other day, I spied them on a sleek coupe. What a neat looking Buick, I mused. Then I saw the inverted trident of Mesarati on the grill.
I see BMW Z3 portholes (which are faux anyhow, they don’t go through the sheet metal) on lots of Honda and Toyota “rollerskate” cars. Some look like the BMW portholes, and others look like badly-made imitations. Bit in every case that I’ve seen, it’s always made to look like a Z3, not any other car.
Rollerskate cars are what I call the cars with the widened axles and widened tires that stick out from the fenders as much as six inches. Often accompanied by a high-pitched high RPM engine whine, the low profile and out-of-balance tires sticking out look like trick rollerskates (before inline skates), hence the name…
The porthole’d Accord reminds me of finding this beauty in Beijing.
This has nothing to do with Buick. These stick-on holes are the latest bling thing with the Urban crowd. You can buy them at any of the auto parts stores, in the section with the stick on flames and the fake bullet holes.
There are many of these stick on vent holes on old beater cars around here. The morons who do this have no idea that it’s a Buick styling cue.
rodster205: thanks for clueing me in.
Chuck, I would purchase such a book. I recently (well, about a year ago) moved to the Pacific northwest, but I almost never drive since I live in Downtown Portland…
Great article, as always Paul.
Here in Austin, if you see a beater drive past chances are better than 50-50 it will have faux portholes. Ridiculous.
Edward, whoever owns the one you posted needs to be taken behind the woodshed and shot. Yesterday.
Hint for any driver going between Yakima & Ellensburg, WA: Never, ever take I-82, as there is a perfect alternative running parallel, namely SR 821 through the canyon, what locals call “Canyon Road.” Far more enjoyable.
Now, That’s a road!! I am keeping a folder of great driving roads for a future cross country trip. Thanks for the added road!
Those portholes are called cruiserline ventiports (as I’m sure Paul knows). For me, they harken back to the big beautiful buicks of the ’40s, ’50s and ’60s, which had 3 on a side for a six, and 4 for an eight. It was with that in mind that I made myself a set of small ovals out of this magnetized white material I got at a craft store, and stuck ’em on my Accord. I’ve told people that I had the only Accord with Cruiserline ventiports, but I see that isn’t true anymore.
Speaking of bullet holes, I had a real one in the door of my ’77 Corolla after there was a police chase through my old neighborhood in DC many years ago. I loved having it, but after several years the safety inspection people decided to flex their bureaucratic muscles and made me get it fixed. My body shop guy felt my pain.
We’ll know that the Accord has well and truly woven itself into the midwest culture when someone spots one with an aftermarket fabric roof. Paul, keep your eye out for that.
Captain Tungsten :
We’ll know that the Accord has well and truly woven itself into the midwest culture when someone spots one with an aftermarket fabric roof. Paul, keep your eye out for that.
Apropos of nothing much, I saw a Mercury Montego with a fabric roof and a gold badge on the C-pillar yesterday. Driven by a woman of a certain age. I too wait for the day when Landau-ism blights an Accord.
My guess: the driver wanted everyone to know that he “Would really rather have a” Buick, but had been burnt on the genuine article. I always have said that the imports are “default winners” and this is a perfect example. Everyone, EVERYONE I know with an Asian-branded car has it because of a bad experience with a domestic. If GM can stop blundering and pull off some more great cars they will bury the Asians.
Ok, I am 38 years old and like most folks my age we do not associated “side fender ports” or whatever you want to call them with Buick. If anything it was the last generation BMW M3 and the Z3 that re-invigirated this silly styling trend.
In and around NYC the prime candidate car to recieve this treatment believe it or not is an MB CLS, and BTW I have also seen a CLS or two with a landau “ragtop”
Now I know what that stupid looking thin rectanglar 4 box strip was on the fenders of 1970s & 80s Buicks. My friends “Duce and a Quarter” Electra had these things on it. We would have never guessed that they were supposed to represent exhaust ports.
Last week I saw portholes on a white Ford Aerostar minivan. These things are everywhere in the suburbs of Chicago.
Remember the old VW commercial (circa 1973 or so) depicting the 1949 Auto Show, with the Beetle off in the corner while the flashier marques (Studebaker, Packard, DeSoto, Hudson) got all the attention? IIRC, there was a version in which one of the pitchmen had the line: “The car of the future will have holes in the side.“
Fake Buick portholes on a Honda take me back to the late ’50s, when older cars sprouted not only the screw-on ports, but imitation ’54 Cadillac tail fins. Another fad of the time was stick-on blue plastic dots that turned taillights purple. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?
If we are going to write the wiki for portholes, we can’t forget the late lamented Trans Am, with the more recent callback on the Grand Prix GTP. I thought they kinda worked on that car, though if pressed, I’ll admit to being a Camaro man (where the styling peaked with the 70-1/2 model).
I guess one has to remember that when ventiports first appeared on Buicks, it was just after the war and a lot of people thought that their cars should evoke the fabled war machines that had made victory (and new cars) possible. The original Cadillac tailfins were modelled after the twin tails of the P-38.
My dad had a black ’53 Buick Special coupe with a red interior and chrome that went on forever. It had four ventiports on each flank as it was equipped with the stright-eight. As an eight-year-old boy, I cried when he sold it in 1963.