My Badass Lawnmower

This is what happens when there's nothing to do on the car and you have a welder. The looks I get when I mow the lawn are priceless.....





Here's the mower before:



Pretty plain, huh? That's what I was thinking too. then I realized that I had a welder and some spare time on my hands. Everything else was planned on the way back from getting the parts. A few hours later, the Hot Rod Mower was born:




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2 Wheeled Addiction - A brief history of motorcycles and me.....

I have been 2 wheel free for a month now. This is difficult, especially with the weather being so nice. It's been a downward spiral for me as far as motorcycling goes. My last effort was even an American air-cooled v-twin. It wasn't a frickin' Harley, either. I hate Harley's. I wouldn't piss on one if it were on fire. I know it's American, but to me they represent everything wrong with our society.... more ranting about them later in another posting.

I grew up near Deal's Gap. This is a section of highway 129 that lies between Tennessee and North Carolina. They advertise 318 curves in 11 miles, and I can tell you it's one of the best rides on a motorcycle in the U.S. Well, it used to be. Now it's a victim of it's own success. Fortunately for me I no longer live anywhere near the place, otherwise I would be tempted to ride up there when I had time - which would be on a weekend. There once was a time when the locals (us) pretty much had it to ourselves and could make a few passes through there and only have to contend with local traffic. Now the "Dragon" is famous and everybody on 2 wheels shows up all weekend long just to ride it. We're talking about people from states with 3 curves and these guys are treating this place like it's their own personal track day. Unfortunately when they crash it's not always a single vehicle wreck.

This is a public road. That being said, there are a few types of people who ride through there. We have the Cruisers who just want to putt their bikes through there and enjoy the curves at their own pace. There are also the sport bike riders who want to challenge themselves and their skills. This place can be the ultimate challenge - mainly because mistakes result in crashes that either go into the side of the mountain, or clean off of it. Yes, people get hurt and even killed on a very regular basis. There are other types of riders, car clubs, and normal traffic that hits the Gap on weekends. I gave up when the ratio of idiots exceeded my tolerance threshold. You can only deal with almost being killed by a "flatlander" who can't keep his bike in his own lane so many times. Oh, and the Harley parades. These behemoths are not made for curves of any type, and the "Me too" Harley crowd travels like a pack of lumbering wildebeasts through the mountains, clogging up the road for hours. The funniest part is when they "show" the sportbikers how fast their Hog can be - usually ending up in pieces in a ditch. I have even watched them crash in the parking lot of the gas station at the "end" of the Gap. You can expect this type of behaviour from 400,000 people per year buying into this brand, ironically to be different (just like everyone else).

It's not only them though, idiocy is an equal opportunity employer. Young and old, sportbike and cruiser. Trikes (3 wheeled abortions of machinery) are ALWAYS in this category. Especially on this highway. You can see the multiple websites dedicated to this once great riding highway by searching for "Deal's Gap" or "Dragon's Tail", etc. Anyway, growing up and living in this area almost dictated that I ride a motorcycle. The terrain dictated that it be a decent bike that could go around a corner.

This place has a learning curve. No one goes through fast at first. There's a lot to learn - curves of all kinds, elevation changes, and mistakes to recover from. If you ride through there enough times, you will crash. Fortunately for me, my older brother gave me a lot to learn without the bodily damage. He was not only one of the fastest people I have ever seen up there, he was an excellent teacher. My first pass through there was on a Yamaha V-Max. This bike is NOT the right tool for the job. It's only good for one thing - embarrassing bikes of all makes in a straight line. Harley Davidson is making such a huge stink about it's V-rod model, and the funny thing is Yamaha built a bike that will still leave a new V-rod crying like a baby, and they did it in 1985. Can you tell I love H-D? Harley creates thousands of marketing victims daily.

So I spent pass after pass learning how to coax this overweight behemoth through the curves and eventually go pretty good. This started me on a string of bikes that were gradually more and more adapted for this type of riding.

Outside of the Gap was a different story for me. I loved going fast. My brother has the ability to confine the aggressive driving to the Gap, while I was likely to push the envelope in all types of traffic situations. Before I go any further, let me tell you that I don't stunt. Sure, it's great to watch, and I respect the abilities that go into wheelies and stoppies and standing burnouts, etc. In my book, if you are riding on the back wheel with the front hoisted up in the air, I'm busy blowing by you accelerating. The only stoppies I ever executed were purely accidental, but saved me from going off of the mountain after a huge mistake.

I did make my mistakes too. My first was in Florida. I was on my way to my separation physical to get out of the Navy. These things took months to schedule and if you missed it, you didn't get out. After almost 10 years, I was ready to get out. Well, it was 5:30 am and I found myself racing down the mind-numbingly straight roads of Florida - at about 110 mph. Yawn. I had done this soooo many times. I knew my braking points, local cop hangouts, etc. What I didn't know was the precise piece of road that I decided to begin to slow down at was covered by farmer Bill's hydraulic fluid from his tractor. Splash. Hello pavement at an estimated 100 mph. I woke up on the other side of the intersection in a barbed wire fence and I felt pain all over. I realized that the pain wasn't all due to the crash, a good portion was due to the fact that I had landed in a fire ant colony. What good luck. The bike was off of the road and I was eventually found and whisked away to the nearest hospital - a full hour away.

Well, the bike was rebuilt, I recovered and continued to ride like an idiot. I forced myself to take a break after my road rage incident. You see, it was the first day of spring and I was on my way to get new tires on the ol' V-max over my lunch break. Traffic was lunchtime heavy, and I got irritated when some cell phone talking soccer mom tried to kill me by changing lanes with no signals and right on top of me. How nice. Payback time.

I pulled into the left lane (where she just came from) and dropped it down 2 gears and prepared to assault her eardrums with the race exhaust on my bike. This thing was LOUD, and it always brought a smile to my face to interrupt cell phone talking drivers whenever I could. Well, just as I was going to further clear up any misunderstandings by extending my middle finger, I looked up and saw a car that was broken down in my lane. I got exactly 2 feet of braking done when I slammed into the center of the non-moving car at about 50 mph. I remember watching my hand slam into the trunk before everything went blurry as I catapulted over the car. The spinning suddenly stopped when I hit the asphalt (face first) and found myself sliding along the road face down - but acutely aware of the cars sliding all around me. I just waited for that inevitable tire to hit me. Fortunately it never came. Apparently this happened right in front of 2 police officers who both felt that I had suffered enough and didn't ticket me. The hospital was right around the corner and the 1/4 mile ambulance ride was only $575. The bike and car were demolished. Thank goodness for a full faced helmet and riding gloves and jacket. That was the end of my riding forever.

Well, until the next year anyway. I figured that some self-help in anger management were due and that lessons learned this way are definitely ones that stick with you. The next summer I found myself on a Suzuki TL1000S. This bike was made to be fast through the curves and it was pretty nimble. Many a poser felt surprise as I passed their "superior" race replica sportbike in the winding mountain roads. Now, before you get the idea that I am getting a little full of myself - I had a friend and my brother that were fast riders. Professional fast. We even talked about getting an endurance team together and trying our hand at racing. I was the #3 rider among the group, by quite a margin. There's always someone faster, and fortunately I could learn from them.

But the TL was a piece of shit. That's the nicest way I can put it. It had a problem with the fuel injection that made corner exits tricky. The engine was an an on/off switch and it tried to throw me off a few times coming out of corners. I had to relearn the meaning of throttle control, but eventually I could keep up with my insane brother on his Ducati 998. Barely.

This is what to do before you put on your new rear tire.....

The need for change was inevitable. The mountains were getting more and more clogged by people trying their hand at curves, and it was getting more and more dangerous. We used to hit the Gap during the week when there were no people (or cops) and just have a blast. Having a job tends to take away those weekday afternoons, and after dealing with the WORST DEALERSHIP EVER over repairs, I got rid of the TL. You see, it had major engine problems too. Apparently the worker who assembled the pistons put the rings on upside down. This means that the engine loses power the longer it runs. After 6000 miles, it was terrible. Fortunately for me, it was under warranty. Unfortunately for me, it took them 11 months to finally get it fixed, and it was never right. Not once, but twice I left the dealership on my fixed bike, only to have it oil down my rear tire the instant I got it on the interstate. 11 months of waiting and finally it at least held oil in the engine - just long enough for me to sell it. If you ever find yourself in Knoxville, TN, let's just say you'd be better by avoiding Alcoa Highway for ANY motorcycle purchases or maintenance.

Here we are, pre-crash. I knew it was bad luck to take a picture before we went!

Next was the Hayabusa. Suzuki decided that they needed to build a motorcycle that would do the better part of 200 mph. When I first saw one at the dealer display at Road Atlanta, I mocked it and laughed at it's ugliness. Little did I know that 2 years of reading about how fast this thing was would lead me into a dealership and buy one. Solid black paint with black wheels. Fast it was. The factory decided to limit the top speed to 186 mph after the over protected people of Europe's governments threatened to outlaw the bikes. Thanks EU! I can clearly see why the events of 1776 happened. You have to love a government that takes most of your money away from you so it can protect you from yourself, citizen. Enough politics - we're talking motorcycles here!

After 3 years of having this bike, I realized that a steady diet of 150+ mph blasts were going to eventually shorten either my life or driving privileges dramatically. Enough was enough, and the Hayabusa and I parted ways. It was, and will probably always will be, the bike that matched my riding style the most. Fast and an okay handling machine. It was capable of knee dragging (after setting it up better than factory) and I hit the limiter more than once - at 186 mph on public roadways. Unfortunately the speed and acceleration were addictive - and my passing of a local cop at 170 mph helped my decision to sell it. This was accompanied by my brother's spectacular crash off of the side of the mountain. How he lived through it I'll never know, but thanks to Angelle Sampey (The pro-stock motorcycle drag racer who stopped with her "posse" and helped pull the bike back) we got him and the Ducati back home. The picture below was all that was left of the bike after the crash. This is what happens when you ride the Dragon after being up all night working. Thankfully there is a camaraderie among bikers, usually divided between the sportbikers and the cruiser types. We later helped Angelle find her husband after he wiped out - keep on the good side of Karma!

I decided to go the route of the cruiser. Big, heavy, slow, and cool looking was the new way for me. My absolute hate of all things Harley prevented me from getting one of the mass produced bikes for the individual - so I got a Victory Hammer.

Victory is a new player on the block, but in 2005 they started to get things right by designing a bike that looked like a true custom with a fat tire on the back and a 100 cubic inch engine. It's a shame that they lose 50% of their value in the first year and a half. If you are going to buy American, buy Harley. I hate everything about HD except the fact that they don't decrease in value nearly as bad as anything from Victory. Don't believe the Kelley Blue book or NADA values - I just found out first hand that a 2 year old $20k "out the door" bike will sit for sale for a year at $12k - even with 3000 miles and a full warranty. Heavily advertised. If you go to the Victory forum and mention this, your email seems to "magically" end up on the worst lists for spam. Apparently the truth will get you spammed over there. They even accused me of being a Harley person. ME!

Now, for those of you who don't know motorcycles, these bikes are slugs. They look cool, sound mean, and most are loud. But they are usually as slow (or slower) as a fast car (which for motorcycles is slow) and they handle like boats. In an effort to control myself with the speed thing, I thought that this was the way to go. I will admit that I enjoyed the bike immensely, but the local traffic here near Atlanta is beyond the pale.... There are 20 idiots out of 100 cars that you encounter. Everyone is more important than you and will pass, cut you off, and slam on their brakes as they realize that they have to exit right now - all without a second thought. If they focus on anything outside of their cell phone conversation, it had better be imminent danger to themselves for it to even get noticed. Unfortunately, motorcycles don't even appear as a blip on their radar. If the woman in the BMW doesn't plow into you from behind because she's too busy texting her boyfriend to tell him that her husband is out of town, then the minivan with no mirrors along side of you might take you out. Oh yes, and the ladders, mattresses, sofas, paint cans, roofing nails, and road gators (blown truck tires) are certainly a threat to your existence when you are on a bike. As an added bonus, we are flooded with illegal aliens who can't seem to keep the construction materials on top of their van (with no tags or insurance). As a matter of fact, a family member was almost impaled by the 2X4 that flew out of a construction truck and went through their windshield. The truck was stopped and yep, it was illegals with no insurance that couldn't speak English. They were let go.

There's also: angry ethnic minority person who "deserves" to be in front of you at any cost, the man compensating for having a small penis by driving a truck jacked up 4 feet in the air and who likes to intimidate people by following way too closely, Dr. "more important than you" in his Lexus/7 Series/Benz, Granny, Anybody in a Hummer, The liberal who can't see out of their rear window of their electric car because it's so full of stickers declaring war on war (and fur, and thinking), the conservative who has the same series of stickers countering the liberals points, Big rigs.... the list is endless. My point is that each and every one of the idiots will live to reproduce if they tangle with a motorcycle. I (being on the motorcycle) will not.

So I am giving up for now. It lasted for a year the last time it happened, even with the dragbike. Who knows how long it'll go this time. Motorcycling is something that gets in you soul and just doesn't go away. I bought a street legal Honda 100cc bike to run around the yard with.... maybe it'll keep the urges at bay.

Hot Rod Part 2

Okay, I left you hanging with the story of getting the car back to Tennessee. So now I have this car... It gets registered... titled....insured and driven around.

The engine was a mostly stock small block Chevrolet 350. It was spectactulary stock (It had a slightly larger than stock cam, but the car clearly deserved a meaner idle). Any car that looks like this needs an idle that commands attention. It should make babies instantly cry and inject primal fear into anyone that scares easily. I can't tell you how many times I have "cammed" and engine just so it sounds right. I have learned over the years to approach the engine as a system, but rest assured it's going to have a cam that is on the extreme side of lift and duration that still allows the car to work. Smooth idles flat out suck. This is easy when you have a manual transmission - they are much more forgiving than the automatics when it comes to cam size. Anyway, let's just say that the engine didn't set me on fire. Sure, it was fast, but I needed to be thrilled when I hit the loud pedal..... 300 horsepower wasn't even close to enough. There's another reason for my next step too. There are tons and tons of street rods out there and I would say that a full 90% of them have the same orange Small Block Chevy 350 powering them. Some go for the old school look and try to hide it under a fake set of "Oldsmobile Rocket" valve covers, while others are buried under a mountain of billet aluminum parts. No judgement here (at this time anyway), but a person doesn't get a car like this to blend in. It's such a yawn-fest to see row after row of the same engine wrapped up by different car bodies. These engines are cheap and easy to make power.....

Only one cure for this.... I neede a bigger engine. It just so happens that I used to have a 1969 Chevelle Malibu that I bought in California. It was the real deal as far as muscle cars go.... Plain steel wheels, 4 speed, the interior was unchanged since 1969... as a matter of fact the only changes the car had seen in 30 years was the drivetrain. The engine was a 6-71 blown aluminum headed 454 that came with a dyno sheet of an honest-to-goodness 1000hp. One thousand horspower on tap is a mind blowing amount of horsepower for a stock chassis car to absorb.... especially considering the lack of handling that these things had to begin with. Wow, this is getting long winded, so I'll summarize. Engine didn't live long, rebuilt it, detuned it to a mere 750 HP (pump gas friendly), still too much power for the car, pulled it and built a 406 cubic inch small block, sold the car (with 58,000 original miles on it), traded the small block engine to my brother who traded it to my father... who let it sit for 8 years.

Whew. I need to get some pictures scanned so I can keep this semi-interesting. There are alot more facets to the story.... but this is about the Coupe..... so I digress....

Let's see... needed a bigger engine... oh yes. It just so happens that my Dad had this 406 inch small block sitting around. Now this engine is a very pump gas friendly aluminum headed 450 horsepower engine. In a car like the coupe there are things that just can't be hidden. It's not an engine that can be disguised as a stocker that surprises someone only after the gas pedal is floored. Nope, this thing advertises it's intentions from the very beginning. Aluminum heads, aluminum water pump, single plane high rise intake, Barry Grant emblems on the carburetor, Fluidamper. Once the engine is started, there are no questions about speed.

After a quick and insanely good deal (My Dad doesn't even own a Chevrolet) I put it in the car - it's a direct swap (external dimensions are identical). To the uninitiated it can still pass as a 350... or 305 if they don't know Chevy motors.

Out came the 350 and it was whisked off by a coworker for very little money. Now the fun began...

What started off as a minor project immediately got a nasty start. A little background: When I first looked at the car (back in AZ) I noticed a few things that were not exactly confidence builders. The rear end was suspended by springs that were bolted on the rear housing with generic aftermarket perches. Now, what this means (to the uninitiated) is that someone put a 12 bolt rear (nice strong piece) in the car and got cheap (and maybe unsafe) with how they did it. There were a few things that were questionable.... funky welds, homemade brackets, etc, but hey, this wasn't a race car or even anything close to show quality. Plus this stuff was well hidden and what did show (as far as the frame and suspension) was top notch.
Now for the nastiness..... the car would shake and the frame would pop and emit strange noises when it was pushed semi-hard. After I pulled the engine out, I saw what I thought was the reason. The crossmember that the engine bolted to was not only homemade, but it was cracked completely through. This can't be good. This piece was shabby looking at best (damn I need to figure out this picture thing). It was a rough piecve of metal that was thankfully hidden by the installed engine. Time to buy a welder. This was the excuse I was looking for to get one! I couldn't expect to have a 74 year old car and not have the capabilities to stick metal back together, could I? Luckily one of my coworkers welded for years and years and I conned him into coming over and welding the crossmember back together under the guise of teaching me. His welding (partially mine too) was by far the best looking part of the crossmember).

Now, when I put the new engine in place, there was an immediately noticeable problem. The engine was crooked. Very crooked. If this was a car with a hood and fenders to hide the engine, I may have been tempted to let it go. But with the sidepipe exhaust and open engine compartment... it was painfully obvious that the crossmember we just repaired had probably been broken on purpose to keep the engine level. I was now on my own to remove a motor mount and fabricate a motor mount that would align the engine correctly. The friend that helped me weld inspired me to go on by telling me that any mistake I made welding could be easily undone with a grinder. I kept repeating this to myself and in the end the mount was another visual improvement. To me anyway. I would proudly point it out to anyone looking at the car and get the same glazed over look back. It was just a motor mount after all.

The engine went in with minimal fuss and after a quick head gasket change (after all it had been sitting for 8 years) it was off and running. I think it was the second or third time I took the car out I realized the error of my ways. The car had a 4 speed automatic and the tires were 15.5 inches wide each. If I dared stomp the gas in 1st gear (and I did dare), I was rewarded with one rear tire screaming in protest as it went up in smoke. Shift to second and I get more of the same with limited forward motion. The sound of the engine was intoxicating, either idling or at full chat. It was all fun and games until it got traction. This car was capable of speeds it could never stop from, and keep in mind that it still shook and rattled it's way down the road. It was seriously over powered and I loved it. This is the form it would stay in for the next couple of years. I had heard about making race cars stiffer, and suddenly I understood why. Until you have felt a chassis flex and twist under the loads an engine like this can generate, well, you just haven't lived.



I pushed the car to over 100 mph once. Now before you get ready to tell me that your Grandma's minivan can do that, let me explain a few things. Harley Davidson riders think their bikes are fast. Why is that? Because the sensation of speed is a lot different. Those bikes shudder and thud their way up to speed and the wind noise, engine noise, and riding position generate a sensation that tells the rider that indeed they are going fast. If it's a Harley, chances are they aren't. I used to have a Suzuki Hayabusa. For those of you that know, enough said. This thing was real world capable of a factory limited (thanks Europe!) 186 mph (Which I did hit - and I did know that I was going very, very fast). Anyway, 110 mph was a cruising speed on this bike. 70 mph felt like I could get off of the motorcycle and walk next to it. Different perspectives of speed. Back to the Coupe....

The sensation of speed was insane in the car. It was loud, lots of wind noise and the feeling of stability just wasn't there. This really lent itself to feeling like you are about to break a world speed record at 60 mph... not to mention that 60 came in around 3 or 4 seconds.... Most cars feel comfortable even when you're a little "out of shape" and lost traction or drift, etc. This car was like an on/off switch when it comes to control. Get it slightly out of shape and you stand a good chance of barrel rolling to an ugly ending. At 95 on a straight section of interstate I knew I was a wind gust, tire pop, idiotic lane change away from ugliness, but I had to get to THE TON (100 mph). Mission accomplished, not to be voluntarily repeated.


Obviously, this had to change. It was fun to have that kind of power on tap, but I'd like to live to tell the tale. I was browsing the internet looking at these old cars and I was sent down a path of inevitable change by a car for sale. Another 1934 Coupe (This time a 3 window Chevy). It was yellow and had a supercharged Big block Chevy motor in it. Former "World's Fastest 1934 Chevy Coupe" according to the owner. It was wicked for sure. I was at a crossroads.... do I sell my car and buy this one? It's exactly what I wanted.... This kind of thing can keep a man awake at night. I need some serious chassis work on my coupe, but we're talking thousands and thousands of dollars and more work that I have ever done to a car before. Sure, I have swapped engines, transmissions, rear ends, etc. I've even tackled manual/automatic conversions. Hmmmmmm, what to do? Well, step 1 was to sell my motorcycle. Not only would this buy me time, but the wallet limits the amount of toys we can have at the same time, right? This process started me down an unexped path once again. The best laid plans of hot rodders NEVER work out the way we expect.

More to come... I am going to try and load some pictures....

Hot Rod part 1 - My Dream Car Realized

My heart was pounding. I just got off of the phone with a very nice gentleman in Phoenix who just spent an hour telling me about the details on a 1934 Plymouth coupe Ratrod. I had just made up my mind that I was going to buy this car (after some wrangling at the credit union for a loan). This was my dream car, and it was looking like it was going to happen.

Fast forward a week later, and I have successfully conned my brother into flying out to Phoenix to get this car with me. We planned on taking a week to slowly saunter from Phoenix back to East Tennessee in the newly purchased ride. The owner had offered to drive it out to TN - a vote of confidence in the car's roadworthiness that convinced me it was a worthy purchase. It was going to be one of those trips that would inspire a movie if it went well. I bought us one-way tickets and we were off to Arizona on a Friday night.

It was 90 degrees out at 9:00 pm when we landed. We were met by a nice couple in their newer Caddy and were whisked off to their home. These people were absolutely some of the nicest people that I have had the pleasure of meeting. We looked at his 1965 El Camino and he went around the house and fired up the coupe. It rumbled it's way around the side of the house and I knew that it was going to be mine the instant I saw it. Here is this black primered 1934 5 window coupe - complete with 15 inch wide rubber on the rear, flames shooting down the side, and no hood. It looked mean. We took a brief test ride around the neighborhood (I drove it like an old lady - this was my first experience in a car like this). Gingerly driving is not like me at all. The ergonomics were cramped at best. This thing had been channeled 8 inches (That's where they cut the floor out and lower the body down on to the frame to give it that wicked stance - all at the expense of the comfort of it's inhabitants). After dinner (home cooked, by the way) we headed out to the great adventure of a cross country trip in a genuine Hot Rod.

Let me explain the car a little bit. It looked cool. It roared down the road with sidepipes and open wheels. It had a 10 gallon fuel tank behind the cardboard divider that seperated us from the trunk. The turn signals were 2 toggle switches that were hanging down above the driver's side door. Along with an indian blanket over the seats there were vintage stickers all over the dash. The suicide doors had little manual pins to keep them from flying open and sucking the occupants out into the great beyond. This was ol' skool all the way. I had to adopt the posture of a cocktail shrimp to fit in the thing, resting my elbow on top of my left knee to fit. The gas and brake pedals were seperated by the steering column which meant that I had to learn to drive two footed. This only took a little bit of time to get used to, but there were a couple of incidents that had me panic accelerating instead of braking.

I am 6'2" when I stand up straight, and my brother is pushing 6'5". Both of us are safely in the 200 pounder club, and it took pure choreography for us to get settled in the seats and tangle ourselves into some form of comfort. Ahh, the sacrifices we make to look cool. I just added a picture at the top so you can see how cramped it was - the guy is my brother....

After about 2 miles of interstate driving, I had a flash of dread about everything. The purchase, the decision to drive it across the country, you name it. I guess after the adrenaline dies off, you start to wonder about what put you in your current situation. You see, my current situation was shaking violently down the interstate (and weaving horribly at any attempts at a lane change) at any speeds from 60mph up to 75mph. It felt like the car was going to weave out of control if I turned too fast or hit a bad pot hole. This ride had my undivided driving attention. It was a strain to keep it in one lane. I can only imagine the terror in my brothers head as he experienced this without being in control. If I was nervous, he had to be nearly terrified.

We made it to the closest gas station and started manipulating the rear tire pressure in hopes of stabilizing the car. After 5 stops we settled on 11 psi in each rear tire. This minimized the shaking, but the weaving was here to stay. Onward we went. Our first destination was going to be Albequerque, NM. We had an old high school friend who was going to let us crash for a few hours (the adventure started at 11pm).

Not being from Arizona, and only having driven through the state a couple of times, we seriously underestimated the climate change. As the elevation kept creeping up, the temperature started dropping. It kept dropping and we assesed the current wardrobe situation. It wasn't good. Both of us packed plenty of shorts and tee shirts, but not the first jacket or sweatshirt. When the temperature hit 40 degrees, I was no longer sure if it was the car or me shaking. The Indian blanket was ripped off of the seats and kept the frostbite at bay. At least I didn't have to worry about falling asleep at the wheel. In case you haven't figured it out, the car had no heater and it isn't even remotely airtight. There was a constant breeze - even after cramming the surplus blanket ends between the seats and the doors. This is exactly why you pick a brother to do this kind of thing with you. Even the best of friends would feel the strain on their friendship with all this going on. But brothers can push the envelope just a little further.... thankfully.

We made it to Albequerque and after some conversation, we crashed at our friends house. After waking up, we hit the local shop and had the tires re-balanced in the hopes of a smoother ride. No such luck. I brought my digital camera (side note: When do I get to stop saying digital? Does anyone use film anymore?) We took a few pictures of the landscape and headed out. these would be our only pictures of the entire trip. Luckily the small gas tank kept us stopping about every 100 miles for a refill. It was a chance to stand upright and let my brain relax from the brutal concentration of not barrel rolling this thing down the interstate and keeping an eye on the gauges of a newly purchased heap. I would occasionally nervously let go of the steering wheel to wave back at the many thumbs ups the car was getting.

I forget exactly what part of the country we made it to when my brother got THE CALL. I could tell by the fevered pitch in his voice and the string of cursing that took me back to my Navy days that something was very wrong. Apparently the water main at his house in Atlanta had ruptured. His girlfriend went on to tell him that the utility people wouldn't tell her where the water cutoff valve was located, because she wasn't on the utility bill and they weren't married. You want to talk about feeling helpless. These people put the "F" in utility, that's for sure.

Suddenly the trip becomes a cannonball run to save his homes foundation. We were on a mission. I think it was around Oklahoma... which by the way, is NOT okay. I40 couldn't get in any worse shape. Along with being cramped, the car has no suspension travel to speak of. I think the rear can move 2" and the front straight axle feels solidly linked to the chassis. Every bump and pothole sent us travelling upward in the car only to be stopped by the wooden frame that is the interior roof. A couple of times I found myself looking at my hands for signs of blood as the sting on my scalp slowly faded away. All this while trying to keep this thing in our own lane at 80 mph. At 80, the car's ride smoothed out, plus it was fun buzzing by the beige import sedans and minivans as kids pointed and mothers scowled as we roared by. This car brings out your inner rebel, for sure.

We only had one "moment" the entire trip. You never realize how far it can be in between filling stations until you have to stop every 100 miles. Here we were with 120 on the mileage (which the speedometer would occaisionally go into epileptic fits and bounce from 40-100, so accuracy wasn't a factor) and we needed petrol. I remember it clearly - it was in a construction zone. You know, the kind with lanes closed, orange barrels, but no sign of work. The orange barrels were whizzing by at 80 when I realized that there was an exit, and we were still in the fast lane. The tiny mirrors didn't give me a great deal of rear view, but I saw a gas station sign and had to take my chance. We exited with the front passenger tire locked up and the car leaning hard in protest to the sudden maneuver. My brother applied his imaginary brake pedal and could only sqeak out my name and grip the dash as we barely threaded the makeshift exit ramp between the barrels. To me, it all happened in slow motion, but my heart was still pounding while I pumped the 9 gallons that we needed.

Well, we finally made it back to Tennessee (My brother drove from Memphis to the Knoxville area). Knowing what was involved in driving this beast, I couldn't sleep - even though my body was trying to do just that while driving despite the 105dB constant roar from the engine and wind noise. We made the entire trip in exactly 24 hours. After a good night's sleep at my house in TN, I drove him back down to Atlanta, in my other car, of course.

When I finally got home for good, I enjoyed watching my garage door slowly open and reveal my dream car sitting in it. There it was in all of it's primered, flamed, fat-tired glory. It was the kind of car that you go down to the garage and just stare at, just to make sure it's real. As any gearhead know, this just gets the wheels in your head turning about what to do next. And there is a next, actually, quite a few of them.

Stay tuned......