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Scare Craft

Hey Rngr, the soiled part came after we put the Streamliner back in it's spot in the barn. Shark made these jacks that fit in the front and rear of the car to jack it clear of the ground, kind of like you was at the race track and changin tires. Well, she is sittin there with all of the wonderful smells commin off of her, and still radiatin heat waves, and as I was runnin my hands over the rear tire on the left side, I could feel where the tread was seperating from the tire, a very somber moment was had by all present. I figure I covered that four mile stretch in about one minute and twenty seconds, and the tires on the back was turnin over 2000 rpm. Before the somber moment came up, the Shark was beside hisself with glee and tellin me what it looked and sounded like when I flew past on the straight. He said all four headers on the 702 was glowin yellow about a third of the way back. I told him that I had missed that part probably cause I was desperatly tryin to keep the rear tires from goin up in smoke at over 180mph as I was dancin with both the Streamliner and the throttle. Shark remarked that he felt " That was shore some piece o drivin thet ya was doin, mebe even the fastest A've ever seen er go " I did my best immitation at cavelier offhand bragging and said " Big moves always work. They don't call me Big Jim for nothing ". Shark pursed his lower lip and crossed his arms while nodding his head in agreement. Ace nodded and said " Yep ". Now while close to 190 mph in a vehicle with the aerodynamics of a brick has got to be some kind of record someplace, I can just tell that there is more in there. If my calculations is close, and we can pull 5500 rpm, we are gonna see just shy of 260mph. Problem is, the rear tires is gonna be turnin over 3000 rpm. We got to find some speed rated tires....
 
What size tyres you runnin on there. I got some friends that used to run at Bonneville and jus might have something laying aroung for ya.
 
Hey Rngr, the Streamliner has Goodyear Eagles on it. They are special ' land speed tires', good for 300 mph apparently. When Fast Eddie found out how fast I think I went, he chewed me up and down. When he found out that the tires was speed rated, he let up a little. Turns out them tires is 500 bucks apiece. Funny how goin fast cost money, whether it's a car, boat, or plane. Shark has got a set commin from some Bonneville buddy of his. Were gonna run her next week if the weather improves. Its rainin and blowin around here. The Streamliner is runnin the best it ever has according to the Shark. Starts right up from cold. Seems to idle best at 1000 rpm, but will still idle at around 600 rpm. It's got a 10-71 blower out front with twin 600 Holleys. Aluminum tube feeds to a manifold that bolts to where the carbs used to be. Found some loose connections in the tube where it goes into the bottom of the aluminum manifold, so we are gonna be seein more boost this coming week. Thing is, I don't think we even had the secondarys cracked! You can't take off in this thing and go thru the gears heavy footed, cause the rear tires just spin, even above 100 mph. Shark cant believe that the Streamliner dont leak oil all over the floor of the barn anymore. All three of us been goin thru the Streamliner with the fine tooth comb cause Fast Eddie wants to see it run. Shark is kind of a private type and dont really want nobody hangin around so I'm not to sure how he and Fast Eddie will get on. I would like to make some linkage for the transmission and get rid of a few of them levers....
 
Thank you for the offer Rngr, Them tires are hard to come by, it sounds like. Looks like we're going to be on Pirellis this coming week. They have tread on them, so this may help the traction issue. Sharks got a few sets of rims for the car. One set a tires say Thompson on em and another set looks like Dunlop. Don't know how good they are though. On the Eagles, it looks like the backs are 28 inches tall, while the fronts are around 24 inches tall. They are an interesting looking tire with no tread, seem to be pretty tough, but kinda skinny.
 
Hey Jet, Shark is kinda a private type, but I think I can get a picture of the car on my phone. Shark wants to take it to the salt flats. I think this is a wonderful idea. Lots of OPEN space down there with no other cars, trucks, or motorcycles, or elk, to pass. The thrill of speed and horsepower for me is intoxicating, so much so, that it overcame good judgement for a while. Might even lead to some bragging rights later. Shark did not like Fast Eddie showing up at the four mile mark on the highway, so we only got one run in. Just as well, in my mind, because when I flew by with my foot on the floor of an 82 year old vehicle with an 11 1/2 liter supercharged Truck engine that is, itself, close to 50 years old, I'm pretty sure I got a glimpse of the Grim Reaper standin there with the boys, his jawbone hangin open with a "I can't believe I'm seein this" look on his skull face. Changed out the tires to some Thompson fronts that have tread, and some speed rated Pirellis in the rear. Treaded tires help the lack of traction. Some ballast over the rear axle helped too. Probably rates right at the top on the excitement list. Right up there on the Stupid, ignorant, obsessive, lack of good sense scale too. Seen 4600 rpm on the dail. Don't want to tell anybody what speed that may have been. Darndest thing you ever seen was the way the car was rearin over to the side with the torque from the motor at speed. The scary part came when I let off the throttle to pass a motorcycle that came up from a driveway. My helmit hit the interior fairing so hard, it got a chip in it. Just lettin off the throttle was like slamming the brakes on. Back wash sucked the rider into the other lane. When he caught up at the gas station, he was kinda irate, and told me all about it, but turned out to be a old hot rodder too. Vehicle will need help in the cooling department if it goes to a hotter enviornment. The engine, transmissions, and rear axle get hot enough to burn your hands. I think a coupla back to back runs would result in some parts siezing up. I took a well deserved dressing down from Colonel Fast Eddie, who specifically addressed the triple digit speeds on a public highway, and momentary insanity displayed by all present. It did look like the Shark enjoyed watching me get my just desserts. Fast Eddie give The Shark and Ace some pointers on the car, give me a dirty look, and roared off. Shark is mad at me for invitin someone up without sayin anything to him about it first.
 
I hope your able to figure out some cooling solutions for the car, and get it to the Salt Flats for some runs. I also hope your able to resist the temptation for more highway - speed runs. I don't want to be reading about you in the news for the wrong reasons.
 
Check out cool craft they can custom buikd radiators and shrouds to your liking. Obviously you need to add a trans cooler and may I suggest a smaller trans cooler with some type of electric pump to circulate fluid for the rear diff. That should help your cooling needs.
 
Hey Jet, very cool stuff. That is what I was trying to describe. Now make it a roadster, in light grey primer, shove the motor back about 1/2 way under the cowl, chrome the valve covers, put round flanges where the carbs are and put a 4 inch aluminum tube on top of the flange and run it forward to a big blower that is in front of the radiator with a hole in it that the blower drive snout sticks thru, and put a hand built set of headers, 4 of them on it, and there you go. Apparently they built it in the late sixties. Now imagine runnin the thing at 4600 rpm with what must be 14 lbs of boost[ I'm just sayin], tryin to adjust a water injection system to stop the pinging, and shiftin a six speed world war two non synchronized truck transmission that feeds an overdrive unit, and lookin down the length of the car from the trunk, with your eyes at hood level. Now comes the boastin part. If my calculations are correct, which is sometimes doubtfull, if you turn a 28 to 30 inch tire 2500 rpm, it'll be goin thru the air at about 207 mph. I rate the ride as once in a lifetime with a pucker facter of ten. In the realm of "off the hook", if you could turn that same tire say 3000 rpm, then I think a person might see real close to 250 mph, I'm just sayin....
 
Jimway said:
Hey Jet, very cool stuff. That is what I was trying to describe. Now make it a roadster, in light grey primer, shove the motor back about 1/2 way under the cowl, chrome the valve covers, put round flanges where the carbs are and put a 4 inch aluminum tube on top of the flange and run it forward to a big blower that is in front of the radiator with a hole in it that the blower drive snout sticks thru, and put a hand built set of headers, 4 of them on it, and there you go. Apparently they built it in the late sixties. Now imagine runnin the thing at 4600 rpm with what must be 14 lbs of boost[ I'm just sayin], tryin to adjust a water injection system to stop the pinging, and shiftin a six speed world war two non synchronized truck transmission that feeds an overdrive unit, and lookin down the length of the car from the trunk, with your eyes at hood level. Now comes the boastin part. If my calculations are correct, which is sometimes doubtfull, if you turn a 28 to 30 inch tire 2500 rpm, it'll be goin thru the air at about 207 mph. I rate the ride as once in a lifetime with a pucker facter of ten. In the realm of "off the hook", if you could turn that same tire say 3000 rpm, then I think a person might see real close to 250 mph, I'm just sayin....
Click to expand...

Never ran across that engine before. Knew about the V-6, but not the V-12. Very cool. The torque at 2400 rpm verses horse power is phenomenal.......... And the Pucker Factor would be way higher than 10 !!!
 
Picture This

I know it should be a boat story but... Names have been ommited. The Scene is somewhere in the Eastern part of Washington. A small band of miscreants, all with gray hair, some with no hair, one with little or no sense, has descended on the side of a long flat road out in the open spaces. There is a coupla of nice older motorhomes, and a couple of trucks pulling cargo trailers. This motly crew has come together at this point on the side of a deserted stretch of smooth road in the name of horsepower and speed. Imagine bellowing horsepower. Dynomometor exceeding horsepower with torque off the chart. Axle twisting, driveline shattering amounts of torque available to the rear wheels. It is mid morning and already hot. Old Sol is climbing steadily overhead into a clear blue sky. Road surface temperatures are well above 100 degrees already. Portable generators are humming away in the heat providing power for air conditioners, battery chargers, power tools and the like. There is very little breeze from the Southeast. The heat microwaves are rising from the ground and creating mirages in the distance. If the generators were shut down, it is so quiet, you could almost hear the earth turning, and the sound of heat rising from the gravel mat roadway. Off in the distance to the Southwest, the heatwaves have created what looks like a vast lake of water on the horizon below low rolling hills browned by the sun. Appearing out of the haze of heat and mirage is a old red truck. Running nearly flat out to check out the road course, the old truck is breathing hard and fast, and is nearly out of breath and howls along at tripple digit speed, straddling the yellow lines. It's driver is hoping to soon travel this same stretch of road at double tripple digit speed. As the driver of the truck reaches the stretch of road that is particulurly flat and smooth, he smiles as he realizes that his foot is now flat up against the floor board. The old truck is working flat out. A brief look down reveals the needle buried on the old speedometer, the oil pressure pegged, the temp is climbing but well within limits. After a few miles, the truck roars past the camp. An old guy with a snaggle tooth grin stands by the side of the road with a drink in his hand and waves as the truck passes, and lets out a long laugh. As the truck returns and brakes to a halt the two old guys look at the small specks of gravel and sand stuck to the tires of the truck. The smell of engine oil, transmission oil, brake lining, fuel, and rubber hangs thick in the air in the stiffling heat. They look at a hand held GPS that the driver is carying. The driver says that the road is hot and that he thinks that they are going to get the traction that they are looking for. About 70 yards away sits an 80 some year old vehicle. It's not pretty in a shiny painted chromed sense. It wears a coat of primer gray. It carrys scars from welding and hammering proudly. Every part of the machine that is not necessary has been removed. What is left has been messaged and lightened and shrunk down in the name of speed...
 
At one time the car was a 29 Ford roadster. Now it is several cars and a logging truck and possibly a World War two Italian Army truck. Since the driver has become involved in the project, the car has received four wheel power disc brakes in place of the old juice brakes that were present only on the rear axle. A power rack and pinion steering system from a Saturn fit nicely and has made the beast easy to steer. Heat exchangers from what possibly could have been an aircraft have been installed to help funnel away prodigious amounts of heat from the engine oil, transmission oil, and rear axle. The tube manifold from the low mounted supercharger now has fins welded to it to dissapate heat. The driver heads into a motorhome to don a driving suit that has shrunk somewhat with time. As he steps back out, the outside heat is like a blast furnace in the face. Helping hands buckle down the safety restraints and lower the upper bodywork cover over the driver. Only about from eye level up on his helmit is visible from underneath the rollcage loop. One of the chase trucks leaves for the starting area carrying fuel that must be added before the run. The engine powering the car uses around one gallon per mile and will nearly empty the fuel cell on its warmup run. The driver switches on the master switch, then turns on the ignition while the cars owner, who built most of the vehicle with his own three hands, primes the Gmc v-12 logging truck engine with a squirtcan of fuel and then gives the driver the thumbs up. The starter turns slowly when the button is pushed. The motor turns maybe one revolution and starts to fire. It hits a few times and then roars to life with open headers, four of them. As the driver looks from under sunglasses and faceshield, the people present step back as if from a wild savage beast and look at each other. Another chase truck has left for the recovery area. The driver slowly drives to the enterance of the road and waits for a go ahead. It was hot before but now in a full nomex firesuit, sitting right up against a firebreathing v-12 gasoline engine, the sun beats down mercilously. Sweat begins to roll into the drivers eyes. Not a car in sight is reported from each end of the road and the go ahead is given. The roadster accelerates down the road at a brisk pace. The 11 1/2 liter engines rpm rising to 3000 or so four times. The old car lunges ahead at over 100 mph. The drivers gloved hand moves a lever and engages fifth gear and steps down on the throttle. The Goodyear land speed tires are gripping the road for all of thier worth, and leave dark marks behind the car as it accelerates hard above 160, the car leaning over sideways from the torque of the motor. the driver slows the car some and then tries successive acceleration runs to test for grip. As expected, the hot roadway is providing plenty of grip and near full throttle acceleration is available. It is a heady, pulse quickening experience. In the past, acceleration was extremely limited as the massive torque from the motor would try to vaporize the rear tires. Now the twin Holley carbs can be heard as the big overdriven supercharger huffs air into the intake system. Sweat beads and stings the drivers eyes as the road goes to a point right ahead of the car. The big tachometer climbs to 5000 rpm with throttle left. 'G-sus he's commin in hot' says the chase 1 driver over the radio. The car is on top of the starting area and blows through like a missle. 'My fault, sorry guys' stammers the driver. At around 200 feet per second or better, it takes a ways for the driver to collect up the car and get it stopped and turned around. The roadster rolls up to the chase 1 truck for a splash of fuel. The chase trucks drivers face is pale. The radio had been silent, but now everyone speaks at once. 'Is he okay', 'what's wrong', 'what happened'. 'Overshot the start', says the driver. 'Fueling now and were good to go' adds the driver. Chase 1 replaces the fuel cap and steps ahead of the driver so that the driver can see him and gives a thumbs up. 'Rolling now' says the driver as he lets out the clutch...
 
The aluminum case transmission that may have come out of a Fiat military truck has straight cut gears and no synchros in it so double clutching between gears is necessary. The shift linkage is gone, replaced by small levers with a loop on them for a gloved hand to fit into. Each lever must be returned to the neutral position before moving on to the next one so as not to place the transmission in two gears at once, which would be disasterous. Each gear plays out a distinctive tune as the transmission is subjected to the nearly full torque of the blown v-12. The engine bellows to 4500 rpm four times and sounds like a gut shot grizzly bear. Fifth gear is selected, and the driver feels his right heel lift from the floor as he lines up the centerline of the car with the centerline of the road. The car surges ahead well over 100 mph and the rear end slides somewhat to the right under tremendous power. Awesome. 5000 rpm is passed. Sixth gear, and then overdrive is selected. The road ahead seems to come to a point right in front of the car. The tach climbs steadily past previously reached milestones and enters new territory. The car heals over during hard acceleration, but now, the car is not leaning anymore. The g-force seat of the pants push forward is gone. The engine howls like a beast in the throws of a vicshous, slashing attack. The tach climbs slowly past 5100 rpm. The drivers foot is down hard enough on the throttle that his right heel is lifting off of the floorboard. 5200 rpm goes by. 5300 rpm and more. At over 200 mph the driver reaches for a small knob to adjust the methanol injection. The motor is wound tight. Mechanical limits are being pushed hard. 300 feet of roadway are going past every second or so. Little drops appear on the faceshield of the drivers helmet, is it rain from a clear blue sky? 'We got trouble, he's smokin' suddenly crackles over the radio. 'Don't pull out on the road yet, he's almost on you right now'. The driver can't see much more than forward from his recessed position in what used to be the trunk of the roadster. The motor is pulling strong at full song as he begins to realize that the little drops are hot engine oil. The headers are glowing red hot and the engine oil practically ignites as it sprays onto the hot surface of the headers,but the driver can see none of this. 'Talk to me' says the driver, 'I'm seeing almost 5400rpm' The roadster screams past the campsite on the side of the deserted stretch of road. 'Looks like yer on fire' crackles the radio. 'I'm shuttin her down' says the driver. Lifting off of the throttle ever so slightly causes the rear end of the car to slide almost imperceptably to the left. A desperate dance ensues as the car slides from one side of the road to the other. The driver takes the car up out of overdrive and punches the throttle to help settle the car straight. Smoke is now visible in the car. After what seems like an eternity, the car is back in the center of the road. The driver deploys the parachute while dancing hard on the brakes and downshifting, trying to bleed off speed. The chute snaps open with a soul shattering whump...
 
The smell of burning thermoplastic insulation is thick in the air. The driver flips the master switch for the electrical system off and grabs for the fire suppression system handle. It feels reassuring in his grip. Hard on the brakes and downshifting through the gears, the driver returns his right hand to the fire system handle whenever possible but does not pull it yet. Flames were visible early on but now there is only lots of smoke. As the old roadster grinds to a stop the driver tugs at safety harness release and cockpit cover release handles. The recovery truck approaches from the North, no sound from it yet. The driver removes gloves, liners, the helmet, microphone and earplugs. The only sound is of the car cooling off. Metal tinkling and sizzling. Oil is dripping from the lengthened hood sides. The paint has burned off from the hood sides from the heat of the headers. A trail of oil and soot follows what was the slipstream of air up over the top of the bodywork. The coolant recovery tank bubbles and drips coolant onto the roadway. The drivers hands and legs are shaking and he sits down heavily on the side of the road. For a couple of minutes, while waiting for the recovery truck, he thinks of boyhood dreams of driving a race car. He pictured himself alongside an Andretti, or a Foyt, conquering the Brickyard. Maybe a shaving commercial or lending his name to his favorite motor oil. Shaking hands with Senna, Sharing a joke with Fittipaldi. A life of speed, but not for the notariaty. To take a machine and dissmantle it and improve it and rebuild it then operate it to the edge, that was the thing. Sure it would be fun to get in front of the others once in a while, but in the end it would be man and machine, cheating gravity and the atmosphere and mechanical limits for a few minutes, maybe only moments. Just to see what can be . The driver sniffs and wipes the sweat from his eye.
 
The driver rises slowly and returns to the car and retrieves the hand held GPS, looks at the screen and then at the car, the deployed chute, and then holds the GPS to his chest with both hands. From the North, a truck is approaching fast. From the South, three trucks can just be seen on the horizon, the fourth truck is still out of sight. The truck from the North pulls the trailer for the roadster. Inspection of the engine compartment reveals that the plug for the crankcase vent has come out of the valve cover on the left rear of the motor. Ominously the valve cover gasket on the front cylinder head is pushed out and oil has sprayed out all over the headers on that side. Fire, from burning oil, has burned some of the plastic vent hose that was providing air to the interior of the roadster. There is still quite a lot of smoke rising from the car. It pops and sizzles and drips. It sounds like the coolant is boiling within the engine. It is unbearably hot and the earth begins to spin around a bit. The driver falls to his side, then sits up to take off some clothing. When the recovery truck rolls up, the occupants go to work quickly. They lift the driver to the rear of the truck and open a cooler full of ice and water and let the driver immerse his head in it. Then they pour it over him. Cold water never felt so good. Ice is placed in towels and wrapped around the drivers neck and arms. "You got burns on your neck and chest" hears the driver. "I had to open up the suit some", "it was hot". Fire extinguishers sit on the roadway at the ready. Burn creme from a first aid ready bag is placed on the drivers chest and neck, "It aint bad at all" says the retired medic. "Barely first degree" "You can say it's nothin but a sunburn" The driver is placed into the air conditioned truck. They go about picking up the chute and loading the car on the trailer. The other trucks arrive in quick succession. One by one they cup thier hands to the window of the back door of the crew cab truck to see the driver laying on the back seat, thumb up in the air. The driver hands the Gps to the worried car owner, who has jumped into the front seat. The car owner looks at the screen for a long moment, then out the window toward the roadster being pushed onto the trailer. He hands the GPS back and doesn't say a word. Later, in the afternoon, the driver and car owner bounce ideas on improving the roadster and then roll up to a small tin covered building in the middle of a wheat field in Eastern Washington. Inside the little tin building, covered in dust, is another 702 cubic inch GMC v-12 engine, used to power a backup water pump for irrigation. It is set up for running on lp fuel and reportedly uses higher compression....
 
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