Well, I had a totally excellent post that I just lost. But, I'll write you a new one. Hey HAMB'ers, My name is Mark, and I'm from San Diego, Ca. You guys may not like me, but I like you. I'm finishing my Bachelor's degree in History at San Diego State in a couple weeks (****ing finally). I apply for my Master's program in fall. I guess I'm subjecting myself to another three years of brokeness. Sometimes, I wish I had rich parents.... **** that, I'm going to make myself. Anyway, how did I get into cars? My dad. Now, a little story for you all. Growing up, I heard stories of a mythical beast that lay injured and dormant many hundreds of miles northeast in a land of snow (what's that stuff?). It had originally been a 1965 Corvair, but a bit of magical trickery involving a crate LT-1 and the removal of the back seats had transformed the mild mannered cruiser into a fuel-hungry monster that consumed tires and spider gears on a regular basis. Upon its release into the wild in the early seventies, it had struck fear into the established local drag racing community. "What? Isn't that thing a dinky air cooled commuter-mobile."-"Man, look in the back seat"-"Jesus Christ! look at it go!" etc. According to family lore, the one who held the beast's leash had constructed it without the knowledge of most of the local car community. On it's release, it was tested, and seen to be seriously scary fast. After a bit, it was revealed to the public on a lonely road outside town, where the local racing usually occurred. After wiping the floor with many of the faster local guys on its first outing, the current top dog emerged the next weekend. Big block Chevy power rumbled alongside the Puny Corvair. Murals on the trunk lid, and the entire catalog of available performance parts adorned the blue 1971 Chevy Malibu. The car had stood undefeated since its build. Upon the challenge, skepticism reigned a**** the crowd. "Man, NOBODY has ever beaten that guy. EVER." At the arm drop, the Corvair LEAPED from the starting line. The early lead was never lost by the Corvair. The stunned crowd stood motionless. A rematch was called for. It resulted in a dead heat. A second rematch was called for, but the underdog had given all it had to give. Upon launch, the transmission case blew into a number of pieces, disabling the beast. It was dragged back into its cave for repair, not to see the road for the next three decades. Fast forward to the mid-nineties: The death of my grandmother, and the sale of her property resulted in the relocation of the beast to the other side of town. The beast's heart and entrails found their way to San Diego in the back of a pickup where they pined for a reunion with their body. Fast forward to 2008: The eviscerated shell of the beast finally rejoined its guts in San Diego. But they were only to sit within feet of eachother. Sorry for the story, it came out a bit long, but I figured you guys may have enjoyed it. Now for the bad stuff, why you guys may not like me. I own a 1971 Datsun 240z and a 1990 Civic Hatchback-slow, ****y, and bone stock. I stumbled upon this place while searching for air ratchet reviews, via garage journal. I like you guys. You like to build your own ****, you're innovative, you have a respect and love for history, you value craftsmanship, and you don't ****. Can we be friends?
Mark, Hello & Welcome to the HAMB from South Texas. Get to work on the beast, soon, before it's too late. Keep us posted. Lucky667
The Jalopy Journal
