Many of you will recognize this quote from the fairly hilarious “Talladega Nights” starring one of my favorite people, Will Ferrell.
Others will simply gloss over the fact that it’s a movie quote, and nod their heads in agreement with the statement; maybe mime a second-to-third shift or two. Gearheads all have one thing in common: gears are always turning in their heads. This makes a great deal of sense, considering the term “gearhead.”
What defines a gearhead? Is it the love for taking something apart and putting it back together? I’ll admit it, I’ve always loved taking things apart, but don’t have the best track record in terms of putting them back together.
Is it the love for speed? I think it is. From almost day one, I’ve been finding different ways to put myself in harm’s way and go as fast as possible. The first time I ever rode a dirtbike, I almost pissed myself laughing like a maniac as I ripped around on my friend’s lawn.
What a rush it is. There’s something truly intoxicating about “syncing up” with a car, bike, or anything else that gets you moving faster than your own two feet can. Knowing exactly what you want the car to do is something that a lot of people (my girlfriend, parents, and a number of friends) just can’t even begin to fathom. My fellow gearheads know what I’m talking about, and we don’t mind one bit that a lot of you don’t get it. It leaves more room for us on the road.
This is my uncle’s 1971 Plymouth Barracuda. This ‘Sassy Grass Green’ monster is what got me into cars. How could it not? The ’70’s were a great time for lovers of American muscle, and this ‘Cuda is one damn fine example.
Look at that rear end. I would take this one over Kim Kardashian’s any day of the week and have no regrets whatsoever. It may cost just as much as what I’m sure are the absurdly high costs to maintain that talentless booty, but I would never grow tired of looking at this gorgeous green machine.
My fondest memory of this car is when my family went over to my uncle’s house for a party in the summer. I was around eight, and I was antsy to get to their house. I knew this magnificent beast lurked under a tarp in the garage, and I wanted to see it. I would go into the garage alone when we went over just so I could stand there and look at it. I was obsessed. Here was a machine that actually frightened me. I felt like it would throw off the tarp and swallow me whole if I wasn’t careful. I was in love.
On this particularly beautiful, summer day, I was presented with the opportunity of my short lifetime. My uncle was going to take me, my cousin and my dad out for a little spin. Let me offer you some advice: if someone with a nice car offers to take you out for a “little spin,” you are not going to be cruising around at grandmother speeds.
With the top down, sitting in the back of this absolute badass almost left me with a dislocated jaw from smiling too much. We hadn’t even left the driveway and I was giddy.
We got out onto the neighborhood drive, rumbling around and snapping necks, I’m sure. We weren’t going very fast, but the 318 V8 with a four-barrel carb, cam and headers was shaking my teeth loose. I occasionally glanced over at my cousin and tried to say something like, “This is the best thing ever!” but all he could see was my mouth moving.
And then my uncle opened it up. Holy s**t. I almost pooped my Buzz Lightyear underwear right then and there. I was planted in that back seat, holding on for dear life. We went under a bridge flat-out in second gear and I was convinced I was going to be deaf for the rest of my life.
I didn’t mind one bit.
I don’t know what it is about gearheads and floating the middle finger to high schools, but apparently it doesn’t disappear with age. We rolled up to my dad and uncle’s old high school, and lined up just over one of the speed bumps. I didn’t really know exactly what was going on, but I didn’t mind. We came to a stop, and I looked around to see why.
That’s when my uncle revved it up, dropped the clutch, stepped on the brake, and I found myself in the midst of my first burnout. “Why is there all this smoke around us??” I wondered, “Why is the engine revving but we’re not moving?” I didn’t fully understand what a burnout was until a few years later, but I knew that I liked them, whatever they were.
It was also a few years until I understood how much of his blood, sweat, and (possibly a great deal of) tears into this car.
“When I first saw the car, it had been stored in a barn for some time. The seats were shot, the top was gone. The floors and trunk were rotted through. The trunk was stuck shut. When I finally got it opened there were six bags of cement that had solidified and the floors were rotted. All four tires were dry rotted.”
Doesn’t look too bad in the pictures, does it? I can’t really fathom how many hours went into restoring the car to the glory it was in when it was sadly sold a few years ago, but as a lot of gearheads will understand, “The body was good and straight, and the motor ran.” I have a tremendous amount of respect for anyone that can tackle a project like this, and when you consider my uncle did all the work himself minus the paint, you realize how important cars are to us.
What’s the next project he’ll take on? Well, he now has a V8-swapped Wrangler that I’ve ridden in and displayed my s**t-eating grin in, but my uncle thinks “Something like an old pick-up truck might be fun.” If his track record is anything to go by, the pick-up will be a great deal of fun to drive down the street and piss off the neighbors.
I dream of the day I have my own garage, a full toolbox, and a project to wrench on. Until that day comes, I’ll have to content myself with perusing Internet forums and daydreaming about cruising in the ‘Cuda.
Tomato, Tomahto 