Jack Rittenhouse’s drive down Route 66 was a bantam-weight adventure that produced a much-treasured memorabilia.

IN the late 1980s, the dawning of the Route 66 renaissance, a small pocket guide written in 1946 was republished.

Jack Rittenhouse, the original author, noted in the reprint of A Guide Book to Highway 66, that the book was designed to provide the traveler with “A mile by mile complete handbook on how to get the most fun from your trip.” The small pocket guide included, “Full data on towns, historic spots and highway facts, roads, hills, and garages.”

It had sold poorly when first published. But it has developed a cult following in the 21st century as it is in every sense of the word, a time capsule. With painstaking detail Rittenhouse chronicled every gas station, café, garage, or motel that he encountered on several trips along Route 66. And as a bonus he added information about most towns including a bit about its history, its size, industries, and other details.

As an example, in the section on New Mexico, “66 mi. (184 mi) Chief’s Rancho Cafe here, with gas, groceries, curious, and cafe.” Today even the site of this business complex is difficult to locate.

An interesting item in the section about Arizona illustrates the guide’s importance as a time capsule.

“For eastbound cars which cannot make the Gold Hill grade, a filling station in Goldroad offers a tow truck which will haul your car to the summit. At last inquiry their charge was $3.50.” Goldroad is today a complete ghost town with only one operating gold mine giving the site a feeble pulse.

But there is a back story that makes the Rittenhouse’s guidebook and trips along Route 66 even more fascinating. His choice of vehicle for the trip was a small car – the diminutive 544 kilogram, 16kW 1939 American Bantam coupe!

During the infancy of the American auto industry, European imports dominated the market. Even Chevrolet was an import. Louis Chevrolet came to the United States from France via Canada as an employee of Fiat.

But by the 1920s the trend had reversed. American cars were the leading imports in dozens of countries. European cars were a rarity in the United States.

And so, several companies attempted to carve out a section of the market by manufacturing cars in the United States. As an example, Rolls Royce produced cars in Springfield, Massachusetts from 1921 to 1931.

British brand Austin followed a similar course of action in 1929 by incorporating the American Austin Car Company in Delaware. This would lead to development and production of the Bantam driven by Rittenhouse and, through a rather complicated series of transactions, establishment of Datsun (now Nissan) in Japan.

Production under limited license of an Americanized version of the diminutive Austin Seven commenced in a Butler, Pennsylvania, factory with 1930 models. The company envisioned creating a competitor for the Ford Model A.

Management had grossly underestimated the potential American market. Even worse, the car represented an almost complete lack of understanding about the American consumer.

Styling wasn’t the issue as the company retained the services of Count Alexis de Sakhnoffsky. With bodies built by Hayes, the cars were sturdy. The mechanical components were durable and relatively trouble free. The problem was that American consumers wanted larger, more powerful cars.

As the factory was outfitted with all new equipment and boasted of one of the best automotive machine shops in the country, the company confidently proclaimed that initial output would be one hundred cars per day with first year production projected to be 25,000 vehicles. They were overly optimistic by a long shot.

Advertisement that targeted the family in need of a second car fell on deaf ears, even during the depths of the Great Depression. The company proclaimed that using an Austin for local driving would ensure the family sedan had a longer life expectancy.

Anemic sales were magnified during the harsh economic conditions of the Great Depression even though the cars were famously frugal when it came to fuel. To stave off collapse, in 1933, American Austin slashed prices; a business coupe was listed at a mere at $US275 and a stylish Special Coupe was just $US295.

In 1931 the company produced 10,000 cars. And then commenced a precipitous decline. Incredibly the company avoided receivership until 1938. That was the year that Roy Evans, a car salesman, bought American Austin and renamed it American Bantam.

His first move was to add several inches to the wheelbase, update styling, and to modify the engine to avoid paying royalties. In the process he increased output to 16kW.

Sales remained less than anemic. Petrol rationing in WWII gave Bantam, and Crosley, a boost in popularity as these vehicles consistently delivered more than 44 miles on a US gallon (5.3 litres per 100km in today’s figures).

War production board suspended the manufacturing of civilian passenger vehicles in 1942. With cessation of hostilities in 1945 and the booming economy that followed, the popularity for thrifty cars waned.

So, why did Rittenhouse choose an underpowered urban commuter for multiple trips on a highway where in Arizona there was more than a 2300-metre change in elevation within a mere 280 kilometres and a range in temperature even more dramatic? That is a question that may never be answered. He died in 1991.

Rittenhouse’s selection for a vehicle leads to another question. With the popularity of his guidebook to Route 66, and the highway’s centennial in 2026, a moment that is fueling increased interest in the quintessential American road trip, how long will it be before someone tries to recreate his adventuresome trip in a Bantam coupe?

Written by Jim Hinckley of Jim Hinckley’s America