A release, you bet. Every morning when I fire up Howard in his ba*****t sanctuary, back him out and start the morning routine drive it just plain makes me feel young again. At 81 I need all the help I can get. Therapy, Dam Straight
I get it completely. I just retired, now I have more time for hot rod fun. Like I posted earlier, getting in her and hitting the road just makes me feel great. Enjoy my friend.
Yep, I totally get it. My move is finally final, after 10 long months. Months of work is waiting to get the new shop usable and mountains of boxes sorted and emptied. So, jump in the 40, now that you have it, and cruise some hills. Oh, so the battery won’t hold a charge and will leave you stranded? My body and mind are physically and emotionally drained, and something as simple as that has me pulling the door down and going inside to the recliner and the AC. Not now! I think that I could better attack the plumbing with you rather than having to fix the means to even try for some self enjoyment. Remember to wash your hands.
Austin to Boulder? I agree with others on here. You should fly-in and drive it. Of course it's kinda far. Stop, get out of it, and walk around. You will get there. I can tell you this- if you don't do it now, you never will. It just gets harder with more excuses. If it breaks, fix it.
They are absolutely right. There is no way the roadster is leaving on a trailer. Make this departure a truly exceptional moment. Hit the road, Ryan! Danger is the point, isn't it?
Seems to be an unfinished story here Poppy. Did you have flip flops on when you fixed the pipes ? You know, real danger. Hahaw . Just given you ****. Let's drive down and get it. "And we ****in Rodded Man "
I ran from Orygun to M***ivetwo****s... then to Illinois... ran from Illinois to Crazyfornia... ran from Crazyfornia to Aridzona... ran from Aridzona back to Orygun... Y' know what? I'm done. Moving ****s. Period. There are problems everywhere, no place is perfect, ya just gotta pick yer fight, y' know? If you walk outside and the air smells right, the scenery looks right and you've got a good road to get lost on... you found it. Don't sweat the cracked pipes and the rest of the ******** the world hands out. Get in your rod and go enjoy it and life... even for just 45 minutes.
Update: The ****ter repair appears to have taken hold. It's been 48 hours since I replaced the line and I haven't seen a single drop of poo water anywhere. I'm hesitant to declare victory in a hundred-year-old house, because that's exactly when the walls start laughing at you, but I think I'm in the clear. Thankfully, I am a card-carrying member of the Cochran Family Workers' Union, and according to Bylaw 13, Section 4, Paragraph Two: "No member of the Cochran family shall engage in, undertake, ***ist with, or otherwise participate in any flattening, leveling, smoothing, or surface-finishing operation wherein an abrasive material or device is applied to a soft, malleable, or otherwise dust-producing substrate. Such prohibited activities shall include, but are not limited to, automotive bodywork, drywall finishing, plaster repair, and any substantially similar operation. No exceptions shall be granted." Thank God. Rules are rules. Somebody else can do the drywall and plaster. I also made a deal with myself yesterday. If I could get shipping and receiving at least 80% operational and get all the Alliance tags and stampers unpacked and ready to go, I was allowed to pull the race car out of the shop for the first time since moving here. I made it. And then I pointed the thing toward the mountains and disappeared at speeds that are probably better left out of the permanent record. Holy ****, y'all. I'm still sweating. The roads. The elevation. The corners. The sheer *******ed lunacy of having this stuff right outside my door. After weeks of boxes, broken plumbing, drywall dust, moving trucks, and all the other civilized misery that comes with uprooting your life, I finally got forty-five minutes where none of it existed. Just noise, mountains.... bad decisions.... and break neck ****ing speeds. I. CAN. NOT. WAIT. to get my hot rod here.
I'm terrible with directions. Absolutely hopeless. At some point I just gave up on that entire section of my brain and outsourced the responsibility to my phone. Without GPS, there's a decent chance I'd leave the house for groceries and eventually turn up in Wyoming. But for whatever reason, I was blessed with one completely useless navigational superpower: I can find a driver's road almost anywhere. And last night, I found one of the best I've ever driven. Sincerely. Short straights feeding into tight switchbacks. Fast sweepers that reward commitment. Dramatic elevation changes that keep the car loaded and moving underneath you. Just enough danger to demand your attention and just enough rhythm to make you forget everything else. And the views? Good God. Apparently I can't find my way home without a satellite, but I can find trouble just fine.
Hello, The after math of our 671 supercharged SBC Willys Coupe left a big dent in our psyche. My brother was unrecognizable although his first question to me was… “How is the Willys Coupe?” My mom was in the room worrying about her first born laying in the hospital bed with tubes running all sorts of ways. So, my answer was it is on a trailer at Atts Ono’s house. We had two choices, the body/frame was in perfect condition. The front fenders were also in great shape. The hood was not fitting correctly and the grille was slightly dented as it sat in the chain link fence. We had to cut the links to get the grill away from the fence. My brother’s idea was still racing the Willys Coupe when he gets out of the hospital. Not knowing he had a couple of years of recovery in the road ahead. So, if our mom walked out of the room for a moment, then a racing item or information on the condition of the Willys Coupe was discussed. My brother was still anxious for me to get started on the repairs, minimal, other than the burned out seats and inside of the cab. The motor was in perfect shape as it ran itself out of gas, as the outside flames were being put out by the many racers using the giant red bottles to spray out the flames. So, the touchy moments of discussions were headed for me to take the remaining body and get it put back together. I only needed one new tire and it would become a rolling hot rod, again. But, in a moment of discussion on the next day, my brother told me to take the whole thing apart and save the parts that were still good. Then he said the hardest thing I heard from under the bandages… take it apart, then take the whole car left over parts to the s**** yard. What??? What about our rebuild? What he saw in our mom’s eyes and gentle voice in conversations would put anyone in a fine mellow state of mind. My brother could see the burns and bandages were playing a toll on her. So, he made an executive decision to get rid of the Willys Coupe. When our mom heard that bit of news, she was happier than in a previous moment. (she was probably thinking the thing that caused her son the burns was now gone) Within a year, the idea of a rebuild or new race car was out of the window… new adventures lay ahead… Jnaki So, as a teenager with a direction in hot rods moving along, what was I supposed to do with the left over parts from the Willys Coupe? A nice 292 c.i. SBC blower spec motor + a 671 supercharger would fit perfectly in our 58 Impala sedan. Hooked up to the C&O stick hydro, would put is in the C/Gas Cl*** again and would make a powerful hot rod for the drags. Even installing it in a my friend’s 57 Chevy Bel Air Hardtop would have been a good diversion for our situation. He was all for it… But, as my situation in cruising, hot rods, high school all began to form an at***ude of moving on to something else, like being the fastest car in our whole So Cal area with modifying the Impala for more power. Cam, lifters, port/polished heads headers, etc. They would be a part of the new at***ude towards the “go fast” at***ude I was searching for during this time. High school antics played a part of the movement to a better feeling of enjoyment during our teenage time period. It was only going to last for 3 years… YRMV
The Jalopy Journal
