Long Drive: Montana to West Virginia in a Forgotten Mitsubishi Part 1
The V6, 5 speed 1991 Montero, with at least some of its original 140 horsepower left under the hood..
A few summers ago, I was laying across the cargo floor of an old SUV parked next to a Wal-Mart in Billings, Montana, anxiously watching the truck driver parked next to us while he manically scratched his neck, then brushed his teeth, then drank from a Coke bottle, then repeated these steps over and over for about 15 minutes. My friend Will, who was trying to sleep in the front seat, watched wordlessly, a look of horror across his face. Earlier that day, we had flown from Columbus, Ohio to Kalispell, Montana, so I could buy a very high mileage 28-year-old Mitsubishi Montero for the considerable sum of $2,000, then attempt to drive it some 2,000 miles home to West Virginia in one piece. A couple months before this, I had decided that I wanted a cool, old SUV with which to explore trails and maybe camp out of, but probably just rent a cabin instead. I definitely couldn’t afford an FJ60 Land Cruiser, and my wrist isn’t strong enough for all the required waving to other Jeep owners if I were to buy a Wrangler, so I settled upon the Montero as an affordable but probably capable, and most importantly boxy-looking, solution. Plus, Mitsubishi had won the Dakar rally multiple times with the Pajero/Montero, so if it was good enough to cross a desert at 100 mph, it could certainly handle trucking me and a couple of friends down to Monongahela National Forest for a weekend. There was one other four-door Montero for sale a couple hours from home, but the woman selling it didn’t return my messages, and it didn’t have the cool blue interior like the truck in Montana, so we found ourselves standing on the sidewalk outside the Kalispell airport waiting for the previous owner, Cliff, to retrieve us.
Cliff picked us up in the Montero and tossed me the keys, so I drove the three of us to the closest DMV. The woman at the counter was so kind I thought she might offer to pay the title fee for me — in West Virginia, I don't think you're allowed to work at the DMV unless you display social skills similiar to that of a wet blanket. We were there to get a temp tag, assuming I was comfortable buying the truck after a once-over in the parking lot. The Montero was mostly original sans the wheel and tire combo, and it seemed solid. It had a little bit of shoddy body work on the rocker panels and a lot of dust in the interior, but the frame was in great shape, and the cassette deck still worked, so I was smitten.
Will and Cliff checking fluids before the long journey.
We drove Cliff back to his other truck, and he gave us a gallon of water to combat the tiny crack at the top of the Montero’s radiator while I topped off the oil, which I would later learn that the 6G72 V6 burns with glee via leaky valve guides. From Kalispell we immediately drove into Glacier National Park, and I began to remember just how expansive things are out west, even with overcast skies. We climbed through Glacier via the Going to the Sun Road, stopping at turn offs every so often where mountain tops met clouds. Winding back down the sun road, we left the park to head southeast, where I experienced the Montero at highway speeds for the first time. The V6 made about 140 hp in ‘91, and now its acceleration could best be described as, “we’ll get there.” For a vehicle designed for off-road duty, it also seemed to ride rather firm, and the massive rear sway bar looked strong enough to support a backyard tire swing. One of the most endearing and immediately apparent qualities of the vehicle is the visibility: The windshield is enormous and nearly vertical, and the A-pillars are only a couple of inches wide, so the view from the front seat is nearly panoramic. It's like driving in an IMAX theater.
Entering Glacier National Park
Crossing the Continental Divide. Since Montana uses gravel for winter traction, cracked windshields were a common sight, and the Montero’s was no exception. The suction-cup compass was only occasionally accurate.
Montana’s expanse is ocean-like. The 80-mph speed limits do little to make up for how much ground there is to cover. One ranch we passed was several miles long, and some cattle we saw in the distance ahead would take 20 min to reach. As expansive as Montana is, it is also lonely. Despite being on a major highway, we’d go miles without seeing another car, and we made it nearly to Great Falls before seeing a tractor trailer. Day one of the trip was rainy and overcast, and despite it being August, the temperature never reached 70. Though the driving positition is very upright, similar to sitting on a park bench, the Montero was fairly comfortable so far, and the factory driver-side "bouncy seat," which is mounted on an adjustable shock - added a little thrill to hitting large pavement undulations or expansion joints in the road, which would gently boost me up and away from the pedals, a bit like jumping in an elevator just before it begins to descend. The bouncy seat is theoretically supposed to take some of the ride harshness out of an off-road excursion, but like the inclinometer on the dash, it feels more novelty than innovation.
Up to speed across Montana’s vast country..
Around midnight, we made it to Great Falls, and we opted to sleep in the truck since the KOA campground was already closed for the night. We had covered about 200 miles so far, no worse for wear other than maybe some ringing in the ears. Earlier in the trip, I introduced Will to Black Moth Super Rainbow, which is best played loud. So, I parked the Montero next to some trucks on the edge of a Wal-Mart parking lot, brushed my teeth in the field beside us, and I was almost asleep in the back before Will alerted me of our trucker neighbor’s maniac nighttime routine. The following day our goal was to drive 600 miles to Badlands National Park before they closed the gates for the evening, assuming Rusty Nail let us live through the night. -DFA
