A Boy and His Cars....Part Two

The 68 Plymouth Roadrunner/big block engine and 4 speed.

I'm going to tell this tale in a series of vignettes. Don't confuse that with vinaigrette, which is a yummy salad dressing that is a blend of oil and vinegar, plus a few spices...actually one of my favorites. Sometimes I even use vinaigrette dressing on my baked potatoes. So hopefully we are clear now, I will not be using salad dressing to tell these stories.

Number one...yes the Roadrunner cars had a "Beep Beep" horn like the cartoon roadrunner

I bought my 68 Roadrunner from a guy that I went to high school with. I was eighteen at the time. My dad, having good common sense, tried to talk me out the purchase. He correctly pointed out a few flaws in the car that were going to cost money to fix. Dear old dad also couldn't see the wisdom in having a car that obviously going to drink up gasoline in big thirsty gulps.

I loved that car, the look, the magnificent roar of the engine, and the feel of the Hurst T-handle shifter in my hand.
One evening, I was driving down to see my girlfriend in another town. I saw what I thought were familiar headlights behind me, following fairly close. I let this go on for a bit, thinking that it was one of my buddies goofing with me. I turned off the main highway, on to the steep uphill grade of a side-road. I slowed right down. The headlights drew in closer.
 I revved the motor up and dropped the clutch. The tires let go immediately and started to spin and smoke. I put my foot into it a bit more. Billowing clouds of tire smoke enveloped the back of my car and pretty much buried the car behind me.
 The fun pretty much came to a halt when the red and blue lights came flashing through the cloud of tire smoke. My guess on who was following me was a little off.
I drove ahead a bit and pulled into a driveway  in front of a house, turned the car off and waited. The red and blue lights pulled in behind me. Before too long a policeman showed up at my window. He wasn't much older than I was....just a young guy. His partner stayed in the car. He asked for my drivers license. I handed it over quietly. Finally he got around to it.
"So....what was that all about back there?"

I thought about saying "My foot slipped"

I discarded  that idea and went straight for desperate measures, you know....the truth.

"I thought you were someone else"

"Really?......and just who did you think was behind you ?"

"I thought that you were one of my friends"

The young cop thought about this for a second.

"Is that something that you and your friends normally do to each other?"

That, and worse was the real answer. I went with a simple

"No, not usually."

Then for some odd reason the questions veered away from the obvious subject at hand. Questions about where I had been. Had I seen anybody who looked "like this". Where do I work?...
Everything but "Why were you driving like a fucking fool in front of a police car."
The cop went back several times to confer with his mate in the squad car behind me. Then he asked.

"So...Mr.Pearson, what are your plans for the rest of the night, if I might ask?"

I made up a new plan right on the spot in that instant.

"I'm staying here tonight at my girlfriends place"

"All night then, No driving around. If I come back later, I'll find your car still parked here?"

I had no intention of staying there, and said, "Yes, all night. I'll be here."

"Good enough then." He returned my license, and strolled back to the patrol car. The red and blues died into the night, and they left me to be. Which was really a bitch, because this wasn't my girlfriends house that I was parked at.

Next one....

My Roadrunner had the usual hot rod parts, lumpy cam, bigger carb, headers, trick ignition...this worked out pretty good on a car that came from the factory with a ton of power. My dad used to joke that after I washed it, the car could dry it self off with all the shaking that it did when it was idling.
One day, dad came out of the house and asked if he could take my car for a drive. I was excited that he was interested and tossed him the keys. I got in the passenger side and dad climbed in behind the wheel. He settled in to the seat and adjusted the rear view mirror. I briefed him on the start procedure... ( had to wait for the electric fuel pump to feed the carb )

Then he fired it up and slowly backed out of the driveway and on to Whitaker Road. Quiet, sedate, lined with houses...Whitaker road. The car rolled to a stop. I was going to say something, maybe a bit of advice...I don't remember.
Dad shifted his butt in the seat and gripped the steering wheel. Before I could put two and two together, the throttle went down, and the clutch came up.
The tires went instantly into spin and smoke mode.
It just a sat there with very little forward motion, and lots of noise.
The car started to drift sideways and gain speed.
Just about at half sideways on the road, he let up just a smidge and hit second gear.
Steering out of the sideways position, tires still spinning and smoking, the car virtually launches ahead with a vicious growl.
The voice in my brain is screaming out all kinds of things, but my mouth isn't able to say anything.

( I have a rule about not doing anything idiotic in your own neighborhood, where people know you...I will go on to break that rule many times...but that has nothing to do with this story.)
To continue...

We are at some serious forward speed. Still a bit sideways...expert power-shift into third. The foot goes down.
And then up.
There's only so much road to play on. Peel off some speed with brakes....down-shift one gear.
Exhaust barking back.
Dad says nothing, wears a bit of a smirk. I crouch down in my seat on the drive home to point out that it's not me driving. We go around the block, driving like normal human beings. Back to the house...parks the car. Turns off the motor and tosses me the keys.

"I guess that's alright" he says. and heads inside to open up a beer and find a ball game on TV.

This is the feeling/fun of a muscle car....watch this clip.

Next one....

I was working in construction at this time. The job I was on, was a massive reno and addition in the fat cat part of town. I parked my car in the lane, just off the property that I was working at. One afternoon, the owner of the reno property came to find me and tell me that the neighbor lady had just backed into the side of my car.
Sure enough, when I scooted out there....A big imprint of a bumper was smashed into the side of my black beauty. The neighbor lady took off, and went about her business before I got there. This was the wife of Al Campbell that owned and operated Tyee Airlines...a local celebrity in a small town kind of way. Al's wife as I remember her used to dress up in quite a spectacular fashion, considering that this was Sechelt, BC. It was a kind of 1970's LasVegas casual, or maybe Palm Springs cocktail hour look. Right at home with pick-up trucks and dirt roads. Legend has it,there was a spectacular pair of breasts to go with the outfits also...

I kinda drifted there didn't I?.....

OK...cars.

A meeting was set up for that evening at Al Campbell's house on the hill. I go alone, no back-up, no adviser. Al being an astute business man with thirty or so years on me, has already formulated the plan. It's announced that because I parked out in the street where his "Lovey" needed to turn around....they would not be paying for the damages...have an nice day...and sure you can finish your juice before you leave. Done. Period.

I could have done lots of things but I didn't. No extra dough for a lawyer and no clout, kind of eliminated some of my choices. Eighteen and not so savvy.

Plan B, was to fix it myself in the near future...likely with some help from body shop buddies.That plan was short lived when one night, for unknown reasons...the engine spit a connecting rod out through side of the block. If you don't know that that means...you are likely reading the wrong story. But here...I'll try to illustrate the situation.
Get a four foot long piece of steel pipe.
Now take this steel pipe...and take a run at your new 60" flat screen TV....
and stab the steel pipe right through the flat screen TV.
Now pour motor oil all over your white wall to wall carpet.
This was just like that...only different.
The engine failure may or may not have been related to doing 5500 rpm doughnuts in a parking lot earlier that night...it's a stretch, but possible.

So now, I have a car with the side pushed in...and a broken motor. Unfortunately, I'm not making enough money to be able to fix all this stuff anytime soon. I also don't have the foresight or the budget to just put it away for future times. I sold it to one of my older buddies who had the dough and the talent to put the muscle... back into the muscle car.
The body work got done, an new engine installed with fresh new hi-perf parts. It looked and sounded better than ever. I was just a touch miffed. OH.....but wait it gets better!!...There's more!

My buddy sold the restored beauty to a prick that I couldn't stand...who was dating an ex-girl friend. There we are.....he's driving around in my old car... you know ...the one that is gleaming away in fresh black paint...new engine rumbling ... new wheels and bigger tires ...with my ex-girlfriend sitting in there smiling away with that "cat got the mouse " look.
Gawd....I really miss that car.

More Roadrunner porn.