Thread: How about some great stories??

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well, being I'm young, I did a real stupid thing just tonight a couple hours ago.. I have been borrowing my moms '91 Toyota pickup ( 3.0L V6 5spd, 3" body lift with 31x 10.5's ) until the dealership puts the truck togther that I'm buying from them... these kids, in a mid '90's Ford Mustang Cobra started high beaming me ( with HID's ) as I turned on an intersection.. possible they wanted to 'play' as the truck has a flowmaster and it rumbles pretty good for a V6, and when I turned, they were in the closed gas station parking lot ( 1.30 AM )... anyway they started high beaming me and riding my tail. so I dropped it into 3rd and punched it, and we were going thru the valley around roads that are fairly windy at 60- 70 MPH. and they were always well behind me. I used both sides of the road to keep the old Toyota on pavement and not rolled over, but there were times I was unsure if it was going to hold the road, but I managed to keep all 4 tires planted and it's all in one peice w/o hitting anything.. I bet they got a little bit of shame, because that Shiny red Mustang got out drove by a rusty old Toyota 4x4..... one of the stupidest things I ever did tho..
oh BTW, I work the night shift. I'm not out terrorizing the neighborhood for no reason. I was just on my way home from work

In 1961, I was stationed in San Diego, and had a very active social life for a guy without wheels. My Li'l Bro was using my '51 Ford for his transport at home, and I didn't want to cut him off, so I wangled a deal on a salvage title '57 Chevy 150 2 door; the title said it was a business coupe, but it had a back seat and full sized non-opening back seat windows.

It had been hit pretty hard in the front, almost head on, and was definitely tweaked. I managed to find folks who could help me from time to time, and with the use of the base auto shop, I got it pulled and pushed back to straight; took it to a frame shop to get it checked, and the guy said I had done as good a job as could be done. Found some relatively straight front metal for it and a bumper, and had meself a early sixties rat with grey primer, black primer, and leftover mint green paint. It had a 235 and 3 speed, but it was a runner for a six; I never could turn down a challenge, and surprisingly, that old six could hold it's own against many eights.

Once I got that thing on it's feet, I started taking advantage of the social connections I had previously only maintained with occasional bus trips, or a thumb ride once in a while. I had female interests in Tucson, Phoenix, El Centro, Blythe, L. A., and even San Ferdisco (I usually flew up there, though; could catch a ride from North Island to Alameda pretty easy), as well as my ol' hometown girlfriends, and a few around San Diego. I ran that poor ol' Chevy near to death, or so some would think. It always gave yeoman service, seldom any trouble, but it did develop one fault that the first time it happened, nearly stranded me, had it not been for the gracious tutoring of a total stranger in the middle of the AZ desert who took a worried sailor under his wing. I was on my way back to San Diego from Tucson, and around Gila Bend, the engine started missing real bad and I couldn't get more than twenty or so mph out of it, and it was into the late evening hours, and dark. I limped in to a gas station, and the owner was still there working on a car in the bay. He listened to it, and said he thought I had a broken valve spring; bypassed all of the usual stuff like bad points, fuel system, plugs, etc., and he was spot on. I pulled the valve cover and he showed me a couple of old timer shade tree tricks to replace the spring, and I was back on the road in a couple of hours. He told me that some times Chevy sixes developed that particular habit, and it would be to my advantage to carry a few springs and the appurtenant other parts and tools to make the fix if I got stuck again, so in addition to my regular tool box, I carried a length of 1/4 inch cotton line to stuff in through the plug hole to keep the valve from dropping into the cylinder, and to hold it up on the seat, and a flat spring compressor, plus a box of valve springs, some retainers and keepers, and an extra gasket or two. I got to where I could change out that number six exhaust spring in less than a half hour, many times on the side of the road.

I traded the poor ol' thing in on a new Pontiac in the summer of '64, and had totted up over 200 thousand miles since I'd bought it.

I have plenty of stories, but this one sticks out in my mind...Back in
the 60ies about 6 of us guys would meet in this little town every Saturday
evening before dark, and go outside of town where there was a long flat
we could run a quarter with room to spare. We had the road marked with
lines..The local law was was a Barney (one bullet guy) and he said he was
going to arrest us if we did not stop that racing..............

He would take a drink now and then, so we bribed him with a 6 pack, and
before long he was dropping the flag for us, as long as the beer lasted.