Featured Projects What Drives Us? (Not What Do We Drive)

At almost 80 years old I sometimes catch myself pulling up and asking “Why am I doing this?” Continuing to chase some foggy Valhalla of hot rod holiness. Living in a dream that has no end, except when death comes.

When I allow myself to look back at my meager start at this seemingly unattainable goal, I have to honestly ask myself, “Why?”

Why did I start reading and hoarding all of those little pages car mags, and model cars?
Why did I buy that first old Model A coupe that was destined to be sold off from a lack of progress?
Why, with a new family responsibility and zero money, would I drag home a POS coupe shell that got traded off for a pickup body?
Why, with that new family, would I buy an Austin Healey 3000 with barely enough room for a kid? That ‘67 VW was good enough.
Why did I haunt swap meets looking for cheap junk, and go to car meets with no car to drive?
Why did I finally buy a finished, running 40 Ford sedan with a family member’s benevolence when I lacked the funds?
Then there was the 36 cabriolet, followed by the 33 coupe! Why?
There was room for that 56 Chevy parts hauler pickup, so why not. A great deal!
Why did I sell that nice 40 in the quest of the almost impossible dream of a real roadster?

Too many projects, languishing due to a lack of funds and or the skills required to finish them.
Sell something, buy something.
Some new, disguised temptress with imagined promises. Living in some rust influenced dream land that they would get on the road someday. Refusing to turn loose of any of those hoped for dreams, for years.
Keeping cars instead of funds to settle the crisis and heartache of a long marriage ending, after thirty years.

Retirement from a corporate career, and a long distance move with a new spouse, made it a little easier to face reality.
But building that retirement dream shop just made it easier to fill the beckoning empty square footage. A Model A pickup was pieced together, “just to drive to town”. Then it got traded for the ultimate hauler, a 40 pickup.
Like a hound chasing a pork chop being pulled on a string,
Then the 56 pickup got sold to buy and build a 32 sedan, one that was a beater but went down the road. My first ‘32.
But just another temporary pleasure, whose body was traded off for a 32 Brookville roadster when the roadster fever relapsed.

Relapsed, because the one faithful HotrodA roadster was sold off after 30 years of life together. Soon to be replaced by another 40, this time a coupe. It was/is a vicious cycle. Always trying to grab the golden ring in my imagination.

So here I am today, another long distance move completed, just to be closer to family, facing building a shop addition, and unpacking 100’s of moving boxes filled with years of ac***ulation. Even after selling and s****ping tons. Why?

Is it an addiction? Is it a mental abnormality that few others understand? Is it some inherited gene from a long gone forefather who was a millwright and blacksmith, years before cars were even thought of? Is it just a weakness and a refuge to run to in order to escape the burdens in life? Is it enjoying a sense of pride and accomplishment when that part or objective is finally finished to the best of your ability. Yes to all of these.

Is it fueled and perpetuated by the like minded folks on this daily adventure called the HAMB? Yes, thankfully.

If you can answer yes, or even comprehend any or all of this, welcome to my world.
Thanks for the 23 years of refuge in this place, and for fueling the p***ion.

 

I admire your at***ude…although at 73 I’ve done the opposite this year. I’ve sold our home and property, only keeping two cars and most of my tools and equipment. But extending my shop is out of the question now. Not that I wouldn’t like it but I just don’t want to go through the construction effort.
Anymore. Just give me a running old ford and a boat with plenty of fishing gear and I’m happy.

 

An addiction/obsession? Yes. A refuge from the world at large? Oh, Hell yes. And it’s the mechanism through which one can feel a sense of accomplishment each and every day with or without an abundance of money.
Will it ever get finished or even running? Will it be sold and replaced with another one? Who cares? It’s often worth it to just close the door, sit down and simply enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by essence of old cars, old parts and old tools. But to walk out and close the door after accomplishing something is personal and very satisfying. I hope it never stops.
So, yes, you have company in your thoughts…..

 

Addiction or obsession are not strong enough words, I can't articulate what it means to me. All I can say is that it's life, shelter and focus.

I'll never get tired of the sound of rain hitting the roof of my panel as a drive without traffic to pick up some parts.

 

I'm pushing 82, working on old '''stuff" gives me a reason to get up out of the chair and go do something. I guess I've see. a few folks retire and sit...and they are dead in a year or two. Although during the Studebaker build and this Unibody F100 there are times I have asked my self "WHY"???

I am luckier than some folks in that my wife doesn't balk on dollars spent on old iron but she is in the shop shaping metal into works of art, far more artistic than I but it's working. She knows that I don't handle sitting around and if I croak there is no one to keep all of the shop equipment running

 

P***ion drives me. Old cars are not a hobby for me they are a p***ion.

 

It's just who I am.I don't drink alcohol,smoke cigarettes or weed.It's my p***ion and addiction!And I love it!!

 

For me, it was just the idea of having fun with cars. I became hooked ( addicted that is) when I was 10 years old and after 43 years of enjoying cars I haven’t stopped.

 

Just face it. We aren't as smart as we should be even though we are old enough to know better.

 

I can't work out what you're whining about. Sounds to me like you've been living the life of Riley.......

 

“ HI “ my name is Larry and I’m a autoholic , I hope i have friends here ???

 

To put it in the most simple form: "This is my LIFE".

 

It's what we do. It's who we are.
I don't overthink it.

 

I just don’t know what else I might do to be honest. As I commented in Roothawg’s thread, I considered getting out of the hobby maybe 20 years or so ago. But, nothing else appealed to me. My whole life has been in this hobby from the time I was a little kid riding in the back of dad’s vettes heading to Bloomington until now. All my friends are also from this hobby. I think I’ll just keep messing with this old junk until the point that I can’t. But, to that point, my friend’s dad will be 100 this year and he is still messing with it…. Pic was from the Gathering at the Roc right before he turned 98.

 

Well done my friend, Bill I'm afraid we all relate.

"Hi, I'm Danny and I'm obsessed with this ****."

There is a bright side, think of all the amazing people you have met with your love for hot rods & customs. HRP

 

Its hereditary, I blame my dad for my dysfunction.

 

It's all I've ever done! Started when I was still in grade school. Helping dad as the official light holder, wrench runner, parts washer and peddle pumper. Now I'm 74 and still doing the same thing. I keep thinking I should start thinning the herd but that's as far as I get.

 

My obsession started as a kid when my mom bought me a hot rod magazine, she also kept me reading with the Henry Gregor Felsen series.

I dreamed and talked hot rods to anyone that would listen when I was growing up and I still do! HRP

 

I have the same illness , been buying a 413 Mopar , better heads, better crankshaft , a complete 383 , all while i have a perfectly good 360 in my '64 Dodge wagon !

 

Pushing 81 here and I was bringing pointed 1x2 stakes shaped like boats and painted with watercolors to show and tell at school when I was five years old. I have just always made stuff. I welded up a mini bike from EMT when I was 14 and then built a '40 Ford with a 394 inch Olds when I was 18. I was blowing off the rich kids with their GTOs and 427 Fords, but didn't know how to drive very well and wrecked it.
In 1997 I was looking for something to do with my foundry skills and settled on "1/3 scale Chevy smallblock in cast iron". That's the heading in my journal. Seven years later it ran and has been running for 22 years now.
Then built an '81 CJ5 with a 2006 Colorado engine and transmission, a turbine powered helicopter and learned to fly it, the 1950 A40 Austin converted from a 4 door to a 2 door, and now the 1933 Ruby. Somewhere in there I started on my avatar which was my first attempt at metal shaping and built a buck and an English wheel to construct the '41 Willys in 1/4 scale.
Windy response hotrodA but that's my story. I just have to make stuff, but my career was in Demolition.

 

Been obsessed with cars all my adult life and most of my childhood. My Dad built a gas station in 1959 when I was 9. I spent every waking moment I could there with him, learning how to service cars, fix tires, all the stuff he did. But he wasn’t a car guy. He was a provider, a worker. He indulged me, tried to teach me how to work, what he knew about mechanics, and he accomplished that.

The car obsession has never left me, and never will totally. The last couple of years I have noticed the p***ion I used to have has waned somewhat, but I still enjoy thrill of getting behind the wheel of one of my cars and going for a nice cruise, or doing a maintenance project. And my 60 Ranchero project is finally getting its turn in the shop.

It’s just time now to sell some of the **** I’ve been collecting for those future projects that I now know I’ll never get to.

 

A rare form of masochism... But I have no intention of seeking treatment anytime soon.

 

I blame this whole hotrod hobby on my teacher in grade school. I am dyslexic and couldn't read or write at the same level as others my age. In first grade I didn't even understand the difference between letters and numbers! My issues never got any better, but they pushed me forward to the next grade where I floundered even more!
A male teacher who wasn't even my teacher suggested to my parents that they needed to sit and read with me in the evening, and added that I should only read things that interested me so I had more desire to figure out what the words said.
My dad took me to the local Goodwill store where they had thousands of used comics, car magazines, etc. and they were a penny a piece. He bought me 10 copies of car magazines I picked out, and that's how I learned to read! By the end of the school year I went from a failing student to a solid B student, and read better than most of my cl***mates. I also had a stack of car magazines all along one of my bedroom walls, and spent numerous nights with a flashlight up late reading car articles.
By the time I was 13 yrs. I was working after school and summers and bought my first vehicle; a 1947 International panel truck. I worked on it every night and weekend and got it running and driving in about 6 months. Of course all I could do was drive it around my uncle's farm for 2.5 yrs. until I got my license.
When I got drafted in 1969 I left all my car magazines in the bedroom intending to someday move out and take them with me. I came home to a freshly repainted bedroom and no magazines! My parents had given them all back to the Goodwill! But the bug had already bitten me long before, and I've never recovered from that bug.

 

^^^^ Now that’s a great story.
My Dad was always active and tinkering with something. I was always right there. He didn’t have the money to do hot rods but we went to many events together to see them. He built an inboard ski boat for us, kind of his water-bound family hot rod I guess. My metal shop teacher taught me how to weld and machine stuff. I worked automotive related jobs until I was 30. I always had a hot rod, usually an old Ford. I used to play in a band and also did some sketching. When I retired I told myself that I was going to really work on my guitar playing and do some painting - easel and canvas type painting. But my endless car projects have kept me from pursuing any of that stuff. So I guess I know where my true p***ion lies.

 

WE are the Lucky ones, to have a p***ion for something you enjoy is a key to some happiness in your life IMO. Most of the car guys/ racing guys, successful people in general I've known are driven by their p***ions. In my case the racing p***ion was always there, I was born into it. Children grow with their parents, fish, hunt, camp, sports events, etc. Dad, Mom and I went to the race track, my Dad had a Midget racer, 1947 till his p***ing 1987. a 40+ year p***ion for him. I was reading Speed Sport racing news, Hot Rod magazine very early, Car craft etc. the little car magazines. I was so lucky, introduced to cruising, motorcycles, hot rods/kustoms before most kids even know what that stuff was. I was saving money for my first car, my first business, 10 years old shoveling snow, cutting gr***, then a paper route till 16. I worked hard, always successful. I got myself into the trade Tool & Die, then Pattern maker, journeyman cards. I started my shop in 1976 and ran it till 2010, when I retired. My parents were depression era people, honest, hard working, I never was hungry, a roof over my head, clothes etc. They encouraged me, instilled some guidelines in me that I've p***ed onto my children. Nobody owes you anything, Work hard, Try your Best, Think/Be Smart, If you want something, Figure it out and Go get it, There are no excuses, Make it happen, Never give up. I never thought about any of this until I reached senior citizenship, Thankful and A Lucky man I am.

 

I think I was probably hit in the head too often as a kid.

 

I think it has something to do with the caveman who drew pictures on his cave wall to stand out from the other caves.

 

I can tell you it's not hereditary in any way....... and before you ask, yes he is my real father, but we are very different animals.

 

It's probably not directly heredity but some combination. My dad was an electrical engineer and mathematically inclined. His dad , my grandfather, told me that rather than counting sheep to go to sleep he squared numbers 1 to 1000 in his head once and then cubed 1 to 1000 once. He had started back on squaring the numbers when he p***ed at 96. I didn't get any of those math skills in the same way but my brothers did. My mother's dad was a lumberjack and county blaster so he had a practical bent. I never knew him as he died before my parents were married.
Yeah twenty8 I was not like my father at all, except for looking like him.

 

Genetics for sure. Had the obsession all my life.
One of the first pictures taken of me I had a truck in my hands.