I walked out to my car, after enough rust sanding I imagine I could of made the bismark look brand new. Anyways, I walked to my car and went for a schlitz, the original mind you, not the malt liquor crap they sell in vons, but the original red and gold cans. Like I was saying I walked to my car, and as I stood there outside the garage I heard a boisterous brap! brap! as a black roadster came screeching into the parking lot...
Now in this certain instance, I was introduced with an amazing example of the connection between car and man, and the sometimes obvious connection they have to each other. That is to say, where as one often reflects each other, you know what I mean? like the people in the dog park and their dog looks just like them... Well cars are the same, to an extent... Usually at a car show its hard because now adays so many people build cars for the show and for what they think others would like, seldom in this group of "enthusiests" is it a build that comes from their own creativity or their own background and love for the vehicle... that sickness is what birthed the booming market of billet, i mean come on, they want a vicky because their dad had one, or they learned to drive on one, well great go get it, but you didnt learn to drive on a model a with a digital dash and bullet hole stickers on the decklid... Anyways, outside the attention whoring builders who build to please the masses, there are cultures of people who do it the old fashioned way (hambers)...
For instance, my grandfather built his 34 Ford 3 window out of the parts he could afford and what he could do with his own hands, and thats the way the car stayed long into his life, until he had to part with it. When you see photos of that car its hard to tell where grandpa ended and the car started, they had the same personality, almost the same physical features, it was a true and honest reflection of him. Well im way off point here, but I was trying to say that most people who build hot rods, with the exception of the ones who build them just for shows and the soccer moms, are very much invested into their cars and it is obvious. Actually, the best example is my friends Peter and Scott. When you see there car in a parking lot late on Thursday evening, or in front of McCarthys Irish Pub, and of the 10 people standing around their chopped 47 Buick fastback, you know its theirs... not because their boasting the pink but because of the striking resemblance.
My apologies, im easily distracted... So this roadster comes hauling ass into the parking lot likes hes getting paid for it, tires smoking like a broke down coupe de ville, headers hot as a 2 dollar pistol. If I remember correctly it’s a slammed, jet black 27 t roadster, as low as he could get it. Now the driver who I’ve never met, sat like a big plump moon right on the top of a horizon of his decklid... I mean he was a big fella and he sat high, so to best explain it; as tall as the car was, from ground to door top, he sat from door top to the top of his beanie. Now, at the risk of sounding rude, which is not at all my aim here, he looked like the commercial from the super bowl a few years back where Mr Potatohead is driving the convertible miata or whatever and bellowing out of the top of the car, head way over the windshield, and Mrs Potatohead loses her lips, it looked alot like that. Only the roadster was way cooler then the red sports car.
Anyways, as it pulled up the big fella hopped out and went inside the garage to talk to my compadres Scott and Peter.
Before long they all three emerged and told me they had something they had to show me. Now these guys are my mates, and they are seldom not smiling and even more seldom not welding, so to see them cut from their work, and straight face, I knew they wanted to show me something important. As we walked to (I found out to be named Josh) the roadster I felt almost in trouble, a little weary, everything was tense around me but quite... I mean small talk was happening but it was small talk that was obviously dancing around the "object" that had to be shown and for that reason it made the dull words into a silence. Words were heard but not listened too. As I stood there, Josh was in no hurry, as he slowly opened his trunk and rustled around a while.
I think the fact that his big frame blocked anyone from seeing into the trunk added a mystery to the "object"...
Josh pulled from his trunk a black backpack and walked back over to the well lit garage and bent down on the ground and began to open it. He pulled out a pulley, a few springs, and metal "c" shaped brace of some kind, and gently laid it on the floor like in a movie where the surgeon slowly prepares his medical table with all his blades and saws... At last he pulled out a large round object and handed it to me, as I turned it over and brushed off the dust, it read, McCulloch Supercharger... I was speechless. Dumbfounded. Gobsmacked. I could barely hear him saying something about the 57 t bird it came off of, and how it works like new, and all the parts are there... though he was 2 feet away from me... All I could hear was Charlie Brown parent noises, just dull sounds over my own thoughts. If I could equate it to music, their voice was elevator music, and my thoughts were slash's guitar solo in November Rain...
Anyways I fumbled for some cash in my pocket, paid josh the few hundred bucks he wanted to get out of hawk to some big mean bastard who felt he deserved interest on something or other, I didn’t care, I had my super charger... and man was it cool! I half heartedly expected to look up and see the old knight from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade lookign at me saying, "You have chosen.........wisely"
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