by Moline Nelson-Schrader

Editors Note: This adventure is in a 1969 Mustang Coupe.

Soon, we’ll be headed out on a long, summer road trip. Before that though, we keep doing test drives, just so that we can adjust anything that may need a final tune up.

Our latest adventure was to Balboa Island near Newport Beach. We had only one goal for this little day-trip: to put the car on the ferry.

We left home around ten in the morning on a Tuesday. It’s a ninety-minute drive, and were hoping to skip around the L.A. traffic—hoping. We didn’t, though honestly, the drive wasn’t too bad. That said, the price of gas was much higher than what we pay in San Diego: five dollars a gallon—or more—at some places.

We brought a picnic lunch with the hope that it would to be easy to find a park. Boy, were we wrong! Sure, we found three city parks once we were off the freeway, but every one of them was behind a fence or a brick wall and was only accessible from inside a private community.  Eventually though, we found a beach at Corona DelMar. That would do.

Unlike in San Diego, all the beaches in Orange County require a fee to park. It’s no big deal though, they have very nice facilities, so off to the payment kiosk we go.

$8.50 an hour!

Huntington Beach is less than half that! Now, you might ask how we would know that: well, every time we go to Classic Industries for Mustang parts, we take our bikes and pedal the beach bike path.

Anyway, back at Corona DelMar, we made sure to get our money’s worth. We made our sandwiches on the trunk of Stang, then took a walk on the jetty. Balboa Island was in sight! Now we just had to get there.

It’s a seven mile drive via the streets and bridge. We decided to drive over onto Balboa Island, where we shopped, visited the museum, and ate a little ice cream. Once that was done, it was time for the main event: the ferry!

The Balboa Island Ferry doesn’t go far. It only crosses the channel and that’s maybe a thousand feet. It’s really more the charm that makes it worth it. The ferry attendants only take cash. It’s three dollars for a car and driver with two more for a passenger. Large electric vehicles are not allowed.

We were the second car on the ferry, and it only holds three. Once everyone has boarded, an attendant walks around to collect the toll.

“Turn off your engines!” shouted another.

I managed to snap a few pictures before the attendant again shouted: 

“Start your engines!”

Let’s say, it’s a short ride—but still fun. After a bit more sightseeing, we started to head home.  Thankfully we’re heading out near the tail-end of the evening commute.

It was a good little outing, and Stang made it even more fun and interesting.

As we drove around the ritzy areas of Newport Beach, Corona Del Mar, and Balboa Island it was like we had a celebrity in the car. The Mustang got so much attention, and thankfully we’d had the presence of mind to look nice enough to match.

On the freeway, people were pacing us and waving. We even spotted a young influencer taking pictures of the Mustang: it was like we were being followed by the paparazzi!

Wait, let me clarify: Stang had paparazzi following her. It was really weird.

We planned on eating dinner in San Juan Capistrano, but by the time we got there neither one of us wanted anything the restaurants had to offer, so we ended up at Denny’s enjoying a Grand Slam. Then it was straight home from there.

My fifty-six year-old 302 Stang performed well:

– 218 miles traveled

– 17.6 mpg on the way up

– 18.25 mpg on the way back

Her best-ever freeway mileage was twenty-eight: from San Jose to San Diego. On that drive, I cruised into northern San Diego county on empty, just past midnight. I’m amazed we didn’t stall out. Oh, those odd-and-even gas days of the late ‘70s.

Now in 2025, we’ll be wandering to Northern California and then beyond.