After picking the car up we got about 50 feet away from Dale’s and it died. It refused to start. The starter had burned up, but Dale cheerfully picked the front of the car up with his wrecker and changed the starter out in the turn lane for no charge. We were off again. However, the ignition switch was missing the collar and kept grounding out against the column causing the car to die. It did this several times on the way home. Every time it did it, Jimmy would start it up again in a belch of black smoke and open headered roar. He liked revving the engine with open headers, especially at stoplights. I found it amusing to join in with my Dad’s open exhaust 455.
So, the two of us traveled in our open exhaust cars back towards my hometown of Etowah, Tennessee. Everything went fine until we got on a particularly dangerous and curvy section of highway called Bowater road. Many people have died on this section of highway - but that didn’t scare us. At this point the ‘Cuda starts to go faster and slowly pulls away. Initially, I keep up. The speed limit for this road is 55, but at 100 mph, my Dad’s car starts coming out of gear. Now I’m mad. Piece of crap car. It won’t stay in gear at 100 mph and I have to reduce speed to 95 mph. So, as I’m sliding the big boat through the curves at 95 and listening to the tires squeal and the body moan and creak, the ‘Cuda suddenly belches black smoke and walks away from me like I’m sitting still.
I was bewildered as it pulled way, wondering how it could do that with only the primaries working? Did I mention the kick down linkage was missing? How about the brakes not working so great either? So, now I’m mad at the Buick for not being able to keep up and mad at Jimmy for driving my car like a maniac. Remember the slick tires with cords showing through, and the seats nailed to 2X4’s? I was going to beat the daylights out of him if he wrecked my car before I got a chance to drive it. Providing, he survived the crash of course.
Well, some miles down the road I spotted a speck in the distance. I slowly closed the gap, coaxing the big boat to stay in gear at as high a speed as it could muster. 95-99 mph. I closed to within 30 feet or so. The ‘Cuda was approaching the intersection of Highway 411. It seemed to be going to fast to stop. What was Jimmy doing? There was an old gas station from the 1920’s at the intersection with a few old men sitting outside watching us. They were chewing tobacco and talking. The A/C was off and the windows were down on my Dad’s car in order to squeeze out a few more horsepower. So, I heard one of them say, “He ain’t gonna make it.” Referencing Jimmy in the ‘Cuda of course. He was right, Jimmy didn’t make it. He slid right out into the middle of 411 and the car died. He jumped out of the car, arms flailing, yelling at me to help him push it out of the way before it was hit. I quickly pulled off the side of the road and ran over to him. Sure enough there was an 18-wheeler bearing down on us. This guy wasn’t even slowing down. We scrambled and pushed the ‘Cuda out of the way with a couple of moments to spare before the big rig sped by. We pushed the car into the old gas station. The old men were laughing and telling us about the Model A’s they used to own. Real nice guys. The owner let me leave the car there until I could return to pick it up. The starter had burned up again.
On the way home in my Dad’s car, I asked Jimmy how fast he had been going in the ‘Cuda. The conversation went as follows:
Me: Jimmy, how fast were you going in the ‘Cuda?
Jimmy: I don’t know if the speedometer is right and it was hard to see with all the chicken feathers flying around inside. I think it was used as a chicken coup at some point. How fast were you going?
Me: Well, my Dad’s car was coming out of gear at 100 mph.
Jimmy: Like I said, I don’t know if the speedometer is right, but it said 135.
Me: What! Are you crazy? You know how slick those tires are, they could have burst at any moment and the seats are NAILED IN!!
Jimmy: So.
Me: So, you could’ve wrecked my car and been killed in the process.
Jimmy: Yeah, but I didn’t. Would this be a good time to tell you about the windshield fogging up from the freeze-out plugs coming out of the block?
Me: I can’t believe you did that.
Jimmy: I wanted to see how fast the car would go, and I was mad at you for doing 130 in your Charger with me in it. The first time I went those speeds, I wanted to be the one driving. Now we’re even.
Me: You’re crazy.
Jimmy: So.
I returned the next day and pulled it home with a chain. In the course of the next month I fiddled with it and drove it around some with the open headers. Somehow, Jimmy talked me into letting him drive the ‘Cuda while I was away in the Army. The agreement was he would work on it and drive it in college and upon my return; I would pay him for any parts he had purchased. But, his labor would be free. Did that work out? No, those things never do. Besides, you ever see a college student with money? One time he removed the front clip, doors, decklid, and drove the car down his neighborhood street. Stomping the gas to see what it would do, in it’s lightened state it took off with such force that he fell off the (newly modified) cinder block seat. Luckily, no one was hurt. Don’t get me started about the time he sanded it to bare metal and left it outside for a couple of months.
Eventually, I returned from the Army and semi-restored the car. I traded it for a nice original 383 automatic ‘70 Roadrunner. I really had a blast with that car! But, that’s another story too. Jimmy and I lost touch for many years as our lives took different directions. We got back in contact again a few years ago. He is still the same adventure crazed nut case he ever was, but in an older, wiser, form now. Age and scars will do that. Roughly a year after high school while I was off saving the free world from the Soviets, and he was drinking beer in college and listening to Rock Music, he purchased a 70 Challenger 340 that made it’s own name on our local streets for it’s Chevy eating adventures. Never being the conventional type, he painted it Panther Pink before Panther Pink was cool. Not only were the Chevy’s beaten by a Mopar, but a Pink one ! Oh, the HUMANITY ! Succumbing to a lack of funds, or was it bad grades? Or both? Heck, I don’t remember, it’s been too many beers ago. Anyway, he left college and joined me in the fight to defeat communism known as the “Cold War”. I was in Germany on tanks and he was in Washington State on refueling aircraft. We both felt the “cold” in the “Cold War”.
Bald tires, seats nailed to 2X4’s, chicken feathers flying around inside the car, 135 mph. I still laugh about that. We must have a team of Guardian Angels looking out for us. I also still think about that ‘Cuda. Like all the Mopars I’ve had, I wish I had it back. I found it again in the early 90’s. It was sitting in a pile of weeds. The 340 had been replaced with a 440 shortly after I sold it, and it had taken on a short-lived life of street racing. It was quite successful. By the time I found it again, the guy who owned it wanted around $5000 and it was in really rough shape. I passed on it, but sometimes I wonder…..
One thing I never wonder about is, MOPAR OR NO CAR!!
