For some, this has no meaning as speed simply scares the
pants off them and is something to be avoided and even looked down upon from
the slow lane in a sensible beige-shaded sedan.
For me and my velocity queered crowd, this bit of wisdom has
become a credo.
With the good doctor’s words resonating in my temples, I
loaded Clementine up behind the Big Bad Dodge and pointed us south towards
Pasadena, CA and the Kaddie Shack.
The plan had been to sort the chassis and then add some
power, but such plans are often abandoned when opportunity and impatience crowd
into the picture. The Kaddie Shack’s sensei Jeff Lain made me an offer I
couldn’t refuse, so Clementine was in the shop ready for a horsepower injection
before I had much of a chance to sort out some funky handling issues and add a
few more shiny bits to her. However, I knew she would be in good hands and
after a few months of careful fettling she was ready to come back home with a
new 1968cc bullet and a built race transmission in place of the old beat units
she arrived with.
Jeff and I drove Clementine around the streets I used to
call home before putting her back on the trailer and to call the transformation
of the anything but epic would be a sin. Where before there was a joyful little
chirping of 45 or so horsepower, there were now 125 very angry and offended
units of power looking for some pavement to hurt. Jeff and his crew also added
gauges, a zoomy shifter, and a few other goodies to make Clementine into a
well-tuned rocket. The lopey idle and the whine of the straight cut cam gears
made sounds that scared small children and let the world know that Clementine
was one hard pipe-fitting Beetle not to be trifled with.
With Clementine back home, the getting acquainted phase began yet again. Other than a small tweak to the idle speed, adding air filters to deal with the Yolo County dust, and some subtle adjustments to the steering, she was ready to go do battle. I did add a snarky new steering wheel to replace the bus sized original tiller and grafted in a shift light because the engine revved so quickly that it was hard to use the tachometer to time shifts correctly. A bit of time enjoying some empty farm roads confirmed some good launch strategies, so the stage is set for the first outing to the drag strip now after I make sure I can still wedge myself into my fire suit.
So, will my reaction times be better than they were nearly 25 years ago or will my 60 foot times be measured in minutes instead of seconds? Will the once former reliable workhorse blossom in her new role as finely honed instrument of speed or will she turn back into a grocery getter? Stay tuned and watch this space…
