Scare Craft

[Jimway]

The small band of outlaws goes to work on the roadster as soon as they return to camp. Close inspection of the valve covers reveals that , for some reason, the lip of the valve cover that was bent down around the outer parameter of the cover to help hold the gasket in place, has been ground off. Another set of valve covers are going to be needed. Four of them. The cars owner and driver argue, fuss, and fume over the rear axle ratio. The cars owner thinks that he has a set of 2.3 gears for the 9 inch Ford rear axle that is under the roadster. The driver wants to lower the engine rpm to keep from blowing it up, but feels that there may be more 'speed in her'. All present are concerned about pressure buildup within the big motor at speed. A restart of the engine reveals no problems as it roars to life under a pop up canopy shade. Everyone is relieved as the motor fires back up and idles at about 1000 rpm with the blower whining even at idle. The whole car leans over noticably as the throttle is blipped, impressive. The car will be back soon to this spot on the side of the road. Proper valve covers will be on it and it will also be sporting a 2.33 rear axle ratio. The men work with a special comradery. They take pride in thier job and equipment, and in being part of a special team. The respect that they have for each other is remakable and friendships have developed. Disagreements occur from time to time. Loud voices and the occasional thrown tool indicate human nature, but altercations are soon forgotten as its back to business.

 

[karzrus]

Hey

No fair, keeping the gps speed a secret.

 

[Jimway]

Hey Kars, the driver is hoping to get one of those Discovery Channel or History Channel TV show gigs. Might be his best chance. Maybe a beer commercial or shaving add or even a mens fragrance contract. Maybe just a book deal. I wonder if Southern Comfort needs a front man? The driver is concerned also about posting video proof of flagrant speed violations and is consulting statute of limitations. Besides, this thing is not the kind of thing you just throw out there. You must experience in person, or as the focal point of the evening after a good dinner with drinks and excellent food with some narrative. There may be video proof. There was a camera on the top of the roll bar looking forward and backward. The camera looking aft, recording the car leaving dark marks on the roadway and scooting sideways above 100 mph produces chills. The camera on the side of the roadway at the entrance of the campsite shows the car approaching at full song with this big heat wave all over it and right before the camera is blown over by the backwash, you can see the headers glowing and flames comming out of the collectors if you stop and pause. The really observant will be able to detect the throttle arms fully open on the carburators. The camera looking forward records the violence of over 200mph on a county road on both driver and car. Lucky there is foam all over the roll cage loop. The vehicle all over the road under deceleration with smoke and flame blossom from the drivers side is a heart stopping moment. The driver heaving and shaking from heatstroke on the side of the road is also poignant moment, thinking they might edit that out. I can tell you this, the output at the second overdrive unit turns almost 1 1/2 times for every engine revolution. The rear axle ratio was about 2.7 to one and the rear tires, or what is left of them, stand about 30 inches tall. Nearly emptied the fuel cell over a several mile run. The driver saw nearly 5400 rpm on the dail and doesn't think it can be twisted any further without re-kitting itself. The cars owner has a 2.3 gear ratio third member that has already been installed and road tested. Be interesting to see what happens. All are concerned with breaking something, particularly any of the running gear South of the motor, which so far appears to be bulletproof, exception being the valve cover gaskets, or the elaborate belt drive system for the backwards facing blower. The driver is concerned about being transformed into a grease spot in the middle of the roadway...

 

[Jimway]

After returning from looking at a possible future powerplant, the small recon team of the driver and car owner have returned to the camp at the side of the road. To keep the troops happy, the recon team has brought back some coolers full of more ice to help win the fight against the fierce heat. Stories about logging, firefighting, aerial combat, years of business experiences and the like are humerously shared by the diverse group. The sun sets, the grills are fired up, meals are savoured, and drink is drank. Eventually all have turned in to fall into a bunk. In the early morning, the driver, awakened in the silence of the night by a far off cry, steps outside into the cool late night air. It is refreshing. The stars in the night sky seem to number in the zillions and are brighter than in town. In the moonlight, under the pop up canopy sits the roadster, her rear higher than the front. The cover built of wood and aircraft fabric, that closes over what used to be the interior of the car is still open on its hinges on the passenger side of the car. From the curve of the trunklid up to the rollbar hoop, under which the drivers helmit is hanging upon, across the open hatch cover to the firewall, then down the lengthened hood with opening for the tube that feeds the motor from the supercharger, which faces backwards and is fed by a belt driven jackshaft and reversing gearbox worthy of a trophy in itself, the car is a thing of beauty to the driver. The sound of a coyote, rather close, pierces the night. 'Sounds close", says the cars owner, stepping out of the motorhome. "Real close" says the driver as another yip pierces the night. The cries get uncomfortably closer and the driver and car owner begin to have a discussion that is quickly cut short. Suddenly from just on the other side of the motorhome, approaching at what sounds like light speed, something scuffles in the gravel. The driver says "What the", and hears the motorhome door quickly open and close. The driver looks to where the owner had been standing but he is no longer there. The driver has been left alone by the cars owner who has managed to reach the motorhome door in one giant step. In the past, the driver and also the cars owner have been known to pull a prank or two. The drivers toes extend themselves out and lift the driver up several feet into the air and deposit him directly in front of the motorhome door, which opens and closes like an eye lid blink. The driver is lifted into the silence inside. The smell of adrenalin and maybe even somthin else hangs thick in the air inside the motorhome. Two or three ominous growls waft up from under the motorhome and the gravel scuffles again. There are the sounds of what appear to the ears to be many big clawed feet approaching the motorhome....

 

[Jimway]

Questions are raised about the possible species of critters outside, possibly even otherworldly species. Suggestion is made concerning the whereabouts of the rest of the crew in the other motorhome, and the possibility of a trick being played upon us. A quick check of the other motorhome by flashlight beam, reveals concerned faces in the windows of the other motorhome, looking questioningly worried in our direction. Something flits by in between the motorhomes in the beam of the flashlight. Several adjectives are uttered by some of those present, as everyone ducks down. "Did ya see thet"? says the cars owner. "What did you see"? says the driver of the car. "Wall, it wus big, fast, and had brown fur" says the car owner. "I thank I seen some teeth too" adds the cars owner. None of these atributes sound very pleasing at that moment to anyone. Almost in unison, a clip slides into an old 45 while the handle of a Browning autoloading 12 gauge jacks a shell into the chamber. "Gosh darn right" says a voice in the dark in not quite those words. 'Now hold up just a minute", says a considerate member of the team, "You almost killed whats his name last time you started shootin at shadows" "Yah, he's right" says another member. Now right as this discussion is taking place, the most drunk member of the team who was asleep in the back, thinking that he is at home, walks over to the door and opens it up and says "Come on in kitty kat" before anyone can stop him. A small brown furry beast explodes head long through the open door and runs into the wall on the opposite side of the motorhome, under the table. All present attain higher ground and prepare for hand to hand combat, all the while commenting in colorful descriptive language. Feet are no longer on the floor but in fact have found various foot holds on the table, furniture, and counters, and in one instance, the wall. Suddenly all is quiet except for the sound of rapid breathing. A Zippo lighter lights and there in the flickering light from the lighter , under the table, is a red eye looking back. Everyone inhales. "Wall shoot, taint nuthin cept a big ole Jack Bungie rabbit" says the car owner. Everyone exhales. It should be noted here that the cars owner fancys himself to be somewhat of an expert on the outdoors and native wildlife, and has developed his own names and descriptions for most animals found in the woods, and some animals not found anywhere on earth. As the comforting beam of the flashlight illuminates the poor frightened jackrabbit, he puts his little scared face down between his front legs and, chest heaving, faces the wall, not looking back at all. A couple of small dark looking pellets appear on the carpet behind the rabbit. "Looks like he's scared spitless" says a member. "That aint spit" says another. "Wonder what was chasin em" says the driver ominously. "Why don't ya go take a look" says the cars owner, mockingly, while pointing toward the door with his 12 gauge...

 

[Jimway]

Now the driver has begun to suspect that all of the noise outdoors has been caused by a gang of coyotes engaged in the preperation of rabbit stew. The shape that flitted past earlier in the flashlight beam had the look of a coyote. The driver suspects that the rabbits have run under the motorhome in an attempt to elude the pursuing gang of hungry coyotes. The car owners description of something big, fast, and hairy, has put some other members on edge. The driver asks the other members if they have any information on the possible exsistance of wolves, grizzlys, or even big foot sightings in the area. The driver is told that his questions are not appreciated. The driver holds up a 45 into a flashlight beam and flips the safety off. "I'm goin in" says the driver to the other wide eyed members. The driver steps out into the night, underneath the motorhome awning, closes the door softly, and kneals down on the astro turf carpet that has been layed down, and comes face to face with the grand dad of all coyotes, who is snuffling around the boxes underneath the step to the motorhome. The first glance from the coyote, with a welcomeing smile on his face, tells the driver that "Heyman, I'm under here looking for some rabbit and if you help me catch it, I'll be more than happy to share with you" The driver shoots a quick glance up at the door and mischieveously thinks about the possible ramifications of a scream of terror, and shots from a 45 ringing out in the night. The second glance from the coyote quickly dispells any inference of possible friendship between the coyote and the driver. In fact, the coyote states verbaly to the driver that he is not going to share any rabbit, and futhermore, that the coyote doesn't like anything about the driver at all. The driver suddenly remembers that he doesn't really like coyotes that much at all. With malice aforethought, the driver yells "CONTACT", and shoots the bad mouthing coyote. The shot and blue flash from the old 45 is even more impressive in the dark than in daylight. Even more impressive is the echo of the shot from the surrounding countryside. Other members of the coyote gang suddenly remember previous pressing engagements as far from the motorhome as possible and vacate the area with great haste. Grand dad coyote, who now has a bad case of lead poisoning, twists and turns and growls and yips under the motorhome. The driver thinks that this must sound just terrible and maybe even a little scary from within the motorhome. The driver follows the coyote to the rear of the motorhome. The coyote half crawls out from under the motorhome and looks up at the driver and hurls one last defient insult and shows the driver a middle claw and expires. The driver fires three shots into the air in quick succession, and does his best impression of a man caught in the jaws of death and being ripped limb from limb, to date...

 

[RNGRDVE]

Great story jim, keep em coming.

 

[Jimway]

"I'm a commin", yells the cars owner. The driver, rotton as he is, grabs grand dad coyote by the lower jaw and one leg, and hoists him up and holds the coyotes head by his neck, as if the coyote has got the driver by the neck. The driver staggers around the rear corner of the motorhome into the moonlight view of men who are jumping into action, well, one man , at least., Flashlight beams illuminate what must have appeared to be a ghastly scene of mayhem and carnage as the driver was being attacked and eaten by what must have looked like a over six foot tall werewolf standing on his rear legs. By twisting his head, and the coyotes head, back and forth and side to side, The driver successfully appears to be shaken by the neck like a sock in a puppys mouth. Eyes and mouths are open wide as the driver goes down on one knee and holds back the raging coyote with one hand on the top, and the other hand on the bottom of the huge coyotes chomping jaws. "I think he's got me boys" says the driver in a withering voice. The cars owner steps forward in one impressive giant leap. He holds the shotgun up and brings the butt end of the stock down against the head of the coyote, knocking the whole coyote clean off of the driver. "Git off em you blank blank blankin varmint" says the cars owner in a serious tone. The driver rolls over to witness whatever is going to happen next and lays comfortably on his right side with his head propped up with his right hand, trying to supress a grin. Quick as a flash, the car owner flips the gun around and fires three rounds from the hip, into the coyote, hitting it all three times. Pieces of fur and blood fly into the air. The huge coyote lies forever stilled upon the ground. "Got chu you sum blank" says the cars owner proudly. As the sounds of the shotgun echo off of the hills and ringing ears, Some of the members are noticing with dissapproval that the driver is smiling. The driver makes ready to go for an early morning jog as one disgruntled member says "Look at his face" and points accusingly at the driver. "My hero" says the driver to the cars owner...

 

[Jimway]

Some folks, after you get to know them, will sometimes utter a word or catch phrase, that you learn to look out and listen for. Sometimes the person might get your undivided attention by producing a lighter, or maybe a tool or gun in thier hand. Past experience with them will determine whether you run, or duck down, freeze in place, or tackle. Some of these spoken phrases might begin with key words like "Watch this", "Have you ever tried", Give me a hand here", "I tried this once", "You smell(hear, feel,) that". One particular phrase that the cars owner uses right before, and often just during the begining phases of a medium sized fire, crash, explosion, or general conflagration, that gets everyones immediate attention, is two small words. Actually just two letters from the alphabet. Really, just one letter from the alphabet said twice. This one letter, said twice, sometimes only once when the dissaster comes even more quickly than expected, can easily cause the escape coil springs in your legs to wind up to the breaking point, empty the contents of your adrenaline resevoir directly into your blood stream, and trigger the most basic of human reaction, Fight or Flight. As the driver is getting to his feet rather quickly in preperation of hopefully staying in front of the angry mob, who appear to not recognize a stellar ad lib performance by one of thier very own, the car owner sits back against a fold up table, sets the shotgun down upon the table, and utters the dreaded words. He says "UH OH". All heads turn in his direction at once. His left hand is scrunched up like a claw. His right hand slowly moves to his chest. He flops over onto the table even as helping hands rush forward and ask him if he is OK, and whats wrong. His legs are placed up on the table and a coat is placed under his head to make him as comfortable as possible. The retired medic jumps into action, years of experience clearly evident, and starts asking all kinds of questions and checks pulse and respiration and requests someone go get his ready bag from the motorhome. "I thank it might be my hart" says the car owner in a whisper. "Ah gots me a tearable pain raghts here" adds the car owner, moving his right hand to his chest. Foreseeing an early morning race against time to the nearest hospital, the driver suggests carefully loading the patient into the back of the big Dodge crew cab turbo diesel and making tracks toward the town with haste...

 

[Jimway]

It is a sobering moment for all as they jump into action and get ready to transport one of thier own. "See if you can get the hospital on the hook and tell em whats comming" says the retired medic as he checks the patients condition. The car owner looks small and pale lying on the table. He slowly rolls over to his side and moans softly. He motions for us to come closer. His forehead is furrowd. His eyes are closed. His teeth are clenched as if in pain. "Hang in there buddy" says the driver, "we'll get ya to the sawbones in time" The car owner grimices in pain and balls up into the fetal position. In a faint whisper, the car owner says, "I don't thank we is gonna need no trip to the sawbones". The car owner puts both his fists right under his chin and appears to bear down for a moment, his breath is shallow and fast. The cars owner then proceeds to produce a specimen of flatulance worthy of a trophy. He sits up on the table, legs hanging over the front, snaggletooth grin all over his face, and proudly proclaims "Fart Attack", and busts up laughing. They all stare in disbelief for a moment until the driver states "Get a Rope". The driver knows that he has been trumped by a king.

 

[Jimway]

The driver has just returned from a momentous lifetime achievement. The weather has cooled somewhat at the higher elevations although daytime temps reach the low 90's. Mornings are in the 30's. It was very smokey on the east side of the state due to forest wildfires. It was like driving in the fog. The band of outlaw brother criminal miscreants had the roadster suspension all aligned by Fast Eddie who just shakes his head back and forth and looks at the ground. They turned up the heat with larger carbs and even more overdrive on the blower. The Roadster has come into its own with the higher speed geared rear end, and additional boost from the blower. Some additional modifications to the ignition system to provide some more advance have proven benificial also. Torque and horsepower are beyond beleif. In the later afternoon, when temps are up on the road surface, She'll put you back into the rollcage with g force acceleration as long as traction is available. One must be delicate on the throttle to keep from twisting axles and driveline components to peices, but at the same time one must accelerate down the course as fast as possible. You run out of road fairly quickly, even 7 miles or so. At speeds calculated at north of 250 mph, you can cover a mile in around 15 seconds. The first three miles are eaten up with increadable, breath robbing acceleration, clear up thru overdrive, shifting as fast as the engine twists up, double clutching between moving four levers, trying to keep the rear wheels from going up in smoke, and fiddling with a small rotary dail that controls the amount of mixture that is being fed into the intake plenum to lessen spark knock with a gloved hand. Addition of front and rear weight redistribution bars has tamed the torque lean from the motor. The forth mile (the one they call the flying mile, literely) goes past in less than 15 seconds or around a football field length per second. Awesome. One cannot just let up abruptly on the throttle when it is time to slow down. Decelleration rollout eats up the last three miles. In the last few days, they took about two steps past the edge of control. Saw 4900 rpm on the dail. That translates to just over 7000 rpm on the driveline(short as it is). Thats just over 3000 rpm at the axle. In the late evening haze, with the sun no more than an orange glow on the smokey horizon, they say you could see the blue flames reaching back from the collectors on the headers that glow yellow. They say you can hear the blower intake note clearly above the sound of the motor, and that it sounds kind of like a p51 flying past at the Reno Air Races.

 

[Jimway]

Wow, it's been since 2012 already. Not sure where the time is going. Speedweek 2015 is nearly upon us. That is what we call a special few days that a few old guys come together at a quiet Eastern Washington location. There will be a couple of motorhomes, some pickup trucks, some cargo trailers, and an old Ford roadster. They call the roadster the 'Streamliner'. Some of the original crew are no longer with us. It is a somber time. The Streamliner comes equipped this year with some down force, a larger supercharger, a custom massaged ignition system, and most importantly, a racing rear axle that can accommodate quick gear ratio changes. The nine inch Ford rear axle is gone, a victim of torque multiplied by heat. So is the complicated reversing gear and belt drive system for the blower. Test runs on the West side of the state have quickly shown that the 702 will not turn past 5500 rpm, but the higher one goes with the rear axle ratio, the faster the car will go. Alarmingly so. I am confident that we will break 300 mph. I have money on it with the cars owner, a guy some of you know as Sharkbait. Fuel consumption, never very good in the beginning, is now atrocious. We're all feeling kind of old and used up this year, and this will probably be the last runs of the Streamliner. The 702 is spot on in tune. We are shoving a lot of air and fuel into it at around 4500 rpm. Not sure if I'll be behind the wheel this year. We're going to need as much roadway as we can get. We are going to move the start back up the road a ways past a fairly big curve. Someone's going to be taking that curve at around 100 mph.

 

[karzrus]

Someone,lol

 

[Jimway]

I'm not sure if I'll be up to the 'Dance', but my motor, the one Shark and I found in Central Washington, the one that ran on lp that has a higher compression ratio, is currently installed in the Streamliner.

 

[Jimway]

Harken back to August of 2012. With 4900 rpm on the big dial, 220 degrees on the ECT, and both hands on the wheel (white knuckles). Did I mention that it was hot that day. The 702 was consuming over a gallon of rather expensive fuel per mile of roadway. The spot on the roadway that corresponds to the end of the 'Flying Mile' is also the spot where the camp is set up. We mortally wounded the 2.33 gear set in the rear axle. 262 (and some change) mph. That is what Old Shark saw when he looked at the hand held GPS. Brought a tear to his eye, let me tell you. He'll tell you "Waren't nothin but sweat on account of it bein powerful hot out that day. August is here. There is now a 2.0 to one gear set in a new to the car rear axle. If the motor will pull 5000 rpm in top gear, we will see just over 300 mph, approximately 312 if my calculations pan out. 343 and some change if she'll pull the full 5500 rpm (Smile). I can already hear the sound of an 11 and a 1/2 liter v12 trying to ingest the induction system. Car is 86 years young. Motor is around 52. Quietly, I have been pondering a couple of turbo chargers in place of that horsepower robbing giant supercharger out in front of the engine. I wonder if the fuel injection system from an old Jaguar v12 might work... Me and the Shark have slowly traveled the whole course on foot. We have talked at length about each gear change up to the 5280 feet that gets measured and then the roll out to get the machine stopped and loaded back onto it's trailer. Should be something to see. It'll be around 105 there this afternoon about 5 pm (head shaking back and forth).

 

[Jimway]

Did some soul searching on the way over to the East side of the state. (400 mile trip one way). Felt pretty good when I got there. Old Shark got into it with the 'new driver' right from the get go (Smile). Jack Ass started revving the motor like he was a Nascar jockey. We were very explicit and spoke at length about how the machine must be treated. He would have shredded the drive train in two seconds. We couldn't get him out of the car fast enough. Sent him on his way real quick. He wasn't amused. I've lost some weight so the old suit fits a little better. It's out in the middle of nowhere where there is this straight stretch of pretty level county road. There are rolling hills that surround the valley. The hills are burnt brown by the sun by this time of year. The fellas that I call 'The Rat Pack' had the Streamliner off of it's trailer at 4:30 am. It has rolling stands that fit at both the front and rear of the machine that lift it clear of the ground. They lift it up and then we fire it up and warm it up in gear to get all of the juices flowing. There are two petcocks, one at each intake manifold, that old SharkBait opens up to spray some fuel into the motor. It's a ways from the blower to the intake runners. With a spray of fuel, the old 702 only turns a couple of revolutions and fires off cold, four separate headers coughing to life. You can plainly hear the whine of the blower, even at idle. Each cylinder cracks off at the collectors and you can tell with no doubt that this motor means business. When the throttle is blipped, the whole car leans over from the torque of the motor. The engine does it's very best to suck the fuel tank dry at all times. The car is driven to the starting spot and the tank is topped up. The tank will be nearly dry in approximately the next ten miles after that. That ten miles goes past real fast. Acceleration will plant you into the back of the roll cage like nothing you've ever felt (I call it the Hand of God). Much care must be exercised to keep the rear wheels from going up in smoke. With the new higher geared rear axle, the clutch must be slipped a little bit in first gear to get the car rolling. The engine is a torque monster and will spin the rear tires even above 100 mph. This year we moved the starting spot up the road about two miles. After the two miles, there is a curve to the right. It is a fairly big sweeper but feels really tight at about 100 mph (Smile).

 

[Jimway]

You sit in what used to be the rumble seat at the very rear of the vehicle. There is a roll cage loop that surrounds your head. You are sitting over the rear axle, so low that your line of sight is level with the hood. The axle is covered by an explosion proof blanket, should things get even more exciting than usual, to protect your valuable under carriage, as it were. The transmissions and clutch are likewise covered. The new rear axle is noisy. It really howls as the speed comes up. The new engine has an aluminum housing in front that the blower mounts to in place of the original housing that covered the timing chain and water pump and mechanical fuel pump.. The timing chain has been replaced by gears driven off of the crankshaft. In this way we are able to drive the blower a little faster than the speed of the crankshaft (smile). The old motor has a belt driven jackshaft that goes forward along side the blower to drive it and it is a constant maintainance issue. A Special Thanks goes out to Fast Eddie for some awesome fabrication on the CNC machine. I've got to tell you right here that the sound of all of those gears and the over driven blower whine will send tingly sensations all over your body. Just standing next to the car looking at her will quicken the pulse. Firing her up with intent to drive will put a Grinch Who Stole Christmas smile on you from ear to ear. Most of those present take a step back when you fire it up and glance at each other with raised eyebrows. Old Shark gets right up close and listens here and there to the engine. He'll get down on his knees and look underneath, then he'll run his hands around the tires. Then he'll stand up with his hands on his hips and yell "What the **** you waiten fer"? A couple of members of the 'Rat Pack' drive a truck down to the starting spot. They have fuel to top up the tank for the run. Another team travels to the end of the road to load the car back onto it's trailer and repack the chutes if necessary after you get the thing stopped again. Around six o clock I ease her onto the road and run the engine up to 3500, shifting four times. About 145 mph. Then quickly on to fifth and six at 3500. Right at 175. The car is on rails. I engage overdrive and pull her right back up to 3500. Real close to 220. "Geesus" I say out loud. Then I'm all over the brakes and down shifting as I come up to the curve, coming in on the left and exiting over on the right, no problem.

 

[Jimway]

A lot of work has gone on to get to this moment. Lots of late night wrenching, brainstorming, a couple of adult beverages and so forth. Oiling of the motor has been a challenge. I think I could write a book on it. Lots of welding and fabrication too. I am more than a little nervous as I roll to a stop. The big 702 comes to an idle. A wonderous melody of 12 cylinders over 4 inches wide with over 31/2 inch stroke. Big sodium filled valves with rotaters being operated by a special ground camshaft, driven by a one off gear drive setup that also drives a water pump and the big blower that sits nestled right in front of the motor. The intake pipes come up from underneath the blower to feed each of the four banks of three cylinders. Three Holley Carbs sit sideways on top of the blower. The intake pipes have a bunch of fins welded to them to bleed off heat and cool the charge. I look down at my shaking hands and notice that my mouth is really dry as I try to swallow. The coolant temperature is just below 180. The electric fans aren't even on. The guys top up the tank while I check in on the radio. Old Shark makes some crass comments on whether the motor will stay running long enough to get me to the other end. I smile. The big tach is steady as a rock at idle. I blip the throttle to 2500 and the whole car leans over with torque from the 702. The guys give me the thumbs up. I ask if the roads clear. "Nothin but a coupla coy-o-tees and a t-rantula" says ole Shark as he lets out a laugh like the postman in the movie 'Funny farm'. "Oh yeah, well hold on to your (backsides) cause I'm droppin the hammer. I wouldn't have no truck parked on the road down there neither cause I'm gonna be flyin like the wind when I blow past" I say to old Shark. "We'll see" says Shark. "Don't you worry about that, I'll see you in a minute or so" I add. He's about six miles away. I say a few words about friendship, dedication, professionalism, and the dearly departed. "You runnin fer Congress or Parliment"? asks Shark. I kind of roll my head around like I'm cracking my neck, then I tuck my chin down. I run her up to 4500 in first, followed by second third and forth. Each gear screams in protest. The corner comes and goes fast and I'm on the straight. About 187 mph. I short shift to sixth and the secondaries crack open. Main overdrive and 5000 rpm. Right at 250. I flip the auxiliary overdrive switch then open the throttle. I hold the car to the middle of the county road, following the yellow lines. The old engine bellows. Six pairs of butterflys in the carburetors are perpendicular. The car leans over from the massive torque of the engine. 5300 fully loaded rpm as I flash past the end of the 'Flying Mile'. 330 and some change. The car is really digging in and still leaning from the engine torque but I'm out of road. I slowly let off of the throttle and begin to slow down. I fully realize that there is more speed in the car, the driver, maybe not so much. It's all I can do to get it slowed down and still keep it on the road. We take some big jolts from the road. The car bottoms out more than once. It hurts a little.

 

[Jimway]

X rays show no broken back for the driver. Came up with some pretty cool contusions too. There is an extra 1/8 inch gap between the body and frame on the port side (boating reference) right at the cowl that wasn't there before. There is also about a 3 inch crack between bolts in the frame rail where the engine (very very heavy) mounts at the flywheel area that coincides with the extra gap at the side of the cowl. It looks like we may have bent the frame. The car is back in it's spot in the barn. I am thinking about procuring my own chassis. An automatic transmission would be nice too. Traction control would be awesome. This year I had one of the Rat Pack standing at the 1320 foot mark with a stopwatch. Nothing super accurate but we covered the first 1/4 mile in a pretty respectable time. Shark doesn't think too much about drag racing so I keep needling him about the 1/4 mile results for the car.

 

[Jimway]

News flash. Seems that a great portion of the State is on fire. Been really dry here. Longest run of dry, hot weather that I remember. Had to pack up the Streamliner and move her real fast. She is safe. Wild fire within five miles of Casa del Jim. Getting all vehicles fueled up and so forth. Hoping for rain tomorrow...