Plymouth built the Formula S Barracuda back when Detroit built cars for NASCAR rather than a slot-car track. This was long before Bill Clinton stabbed Detroit in the heart with NAFTA.
She was one dark-green heap of rolling, testosterone-fueled, bad-ass with a 383 cubic-inch motor and a four-barrel carburetor to keep her breathing. She breathed plenty ... and loud ... and fast. Of three brothers in the family, I suspect all of us were busted in it at one time or another.
The cool thing about the four-barrel was the progressive opening of the barrels. Normally it ran as a two-barrel for fuel economy but when you 'kick it down' (i.e. floor it), the other two barrels would open and now you're Chuck Yeagar in a Starfighter hammering down the runway like you're going to launch to another planet.
Except for a little problem with cops. They didn't much like this kind of behavior but, what could they do, these kinds of rods were all over the place and the road was nothing but a drag strip.
Note: the car pictured is quite similar to the one my ol' Dad bought and which, consequently, my brothers and I mightily abused. I have no doubt he got his licks into it as this was the first car after station wagons and you bet he was hammering it.
What will you do when you don't have to drive one of those dodgy SUVs anymore.
So that's kind of a historical document like George Washington crossing the road to find where the chickens went ... but ... there is more.
There's no clear memory who definitely got busted in the Barracuda but I know for sure for this one: everyone who drove it. This is not a precise match for the vehicle but it's as close as I could find.
Doc, the middle brother, bought this one and I believe it was the first year Pontiac offered the TransAm. Some people would tell him Pontiac never built such a vehicle but he needed only tell them, "Dude, I own one."
Doc always has had a great need for speed and this one was ferocious. The motor was probably about 400 c.i. but who knows what else he did to it. Doc has always also had a need to make any car go faster. The last I heard, he was building Camaros pushing 700-800 horsepower.
So, that should adequately set the stage as you know now these boys are complete scofflaws. Driving fast is important and tickets, well ... pfft ... tickets happen.
Some tickets do more than happen ... some of them explode.
Lotho was driving down Central Parkway toward Ravine Street and rolling at one exceptionally illegal and drunken speed. There isn't one of us who did not deserve to be killed by our drunk driving but dumb luck sometimes keeps you alive. In this case, it was more dumb luck ... plus a ton of driving skill ... which did it.
Doc and Lotho may still disagree as to who was the fastest but I didn't care. I just liked to go fast and racing didn't mean much of anything to me.
Lotho rolled off Central Parkway onto Ravine Street in a full racing drift and this isn't the girly stuff they do for drifting on TV, this was hard-core, big metal automotive balls.
Are you, uh, ready to rumble?
Ravine Street, Cincinnati.
There is no telling how fast Lotho had the car going and these cars did slide exceptionally well so he didn't really slow down that much ... nor did he hit anything. He still had his foot deep into the accelerator and was punching straight up that hill. The picture doesn't convey so much the steepness of it as the other street intersecting is McMicken and the road levels off for that before continuing higher.
Due to the exceptional speed and Lotho's exceptional indifference to the law, the car launched on one side the intersection and landed again on the other, still, amazingly, without crashing.
These kinds of feats gain some kind of coolness when you have an audience but somewhat less if your audience is a cop and even less than that if the cop's cruiser is waiting at the stop sign on McMicken to cross Ravine. This gave the cop one premium vantage point to watch Lotho's exercise in automative aerodynamics as he flew over McMicken and landed, still under full acceleration, on the other side. The man can drive, I'm tellin' you.
But that's when things got weird.
I was crashed back at the house when I got a phone call. Man, I need to get home from District 5 headquarters but they won't let me drive the car.
I'm pissed because he woke me up and I make a little deal with myself. If they can catch me before I get home, then they bust me too.
They did.
I'm really not sure how many police cruisers we had engaged that evening but it's not likely we brought much joy to District 5 which, I'm sure, had better things to do. Oh, one of them again, huh?
Yep, Hosea Avenue ... get on up there.
NOTE: none of us continued the drinking and driving beyond the early 20's. That may explain the fact that none of us totaled one of these cars nor did we get smashed up in them. That came with motorcycles ... but that's another historical document.
She was one dark-green heap of rolling, testosterone-fueled, bad-ass with a 383 cubic-inch motor and a four-barrel carburetor to keep her breathing. She breathed plenty ... and loud ... and fast. Of three brothers in the family, I suspect all of us were busted in it at one time or another.
The cool thing about the four-barrel was the progressive opening of the barrels. Normally it ran as a two-barrel for fuel economy but when you 'kick it down' (i.e. floor it), the other two barrels would open and now you're Chuck Yeagar in a Starfighter hammering down the runway like you're going to launch to another planet.
Except for a little problem with cops. They didn't much like this kind of behavior but, what could they do, these kinds of rods were all over the place and the road was nothing but a drag strip.
Note: the car pictured is quite similar to the one my ol' Dad bought and which, consequently, my brothers and I mightily abused. I have no doubt he got his licks into it as this was the first car after station wagons and you bet he was hammering it.
What will you do when you don't have to drive one of those dodgy SUVs anymore.
So that's kind of a historical document like George Washington crossing the road to find where the chickens went ... but ... there is more.
There's no clear memory who definitely got busted in the Barracuda but I know for sure for this one: everyone who drove it. This is not a precise match for the vehicle but it's as close as I could find.
Doc, the middle brother, bought this one and I believe it was the first year Pontiac offered the TransAm. Some people would tell him Pontiac never built such a vehicle but he needed only tell them, "Dude, I own one."
Doc always has had a great need for speed and this one was ferocious. The motor was probably about 400 c.i. but who knows what else he did to it. Doc has always also had a need to make any car go faster. The last I heard, he was building Camaros pushing 700-800 horsepower.
So, that should adequately set the stage as you know now these boys are complete scofflaws. Driving fast is important and tickets, well ... pfft ... tickets happen.
Some tickets do more than happen ... some of them explode.
Lotho was driving down Central Parkway toward Ravine Street and rolling at one exceptionally illegal and drunken speed. There isn't one of us who did not deserve to be killed by our drunk driving but dumb luck sometimes keeps you alive. In this case, it was more dumb luck ... plus a ton of driving skill ... which did it.
Doc and Lotho may still disagree as to who was the fastest but I didn't care. I just liked to go fast and racing didn't mean much of anything to me.
Lotho rolled off Central Parkway onto Ravine Street in a full racing drift and this isn't the girly stuff they do for drifting on TV, this was hard-core, big metal automotive balls.
Are you, uh, ready to rumble?
Ravine Street, Cincinnati.
There is no telling how fast Lotho had the car going and these cars did slide exceptionally well so he didn't really slow down that much ... nor did he hit anything. He still had his foot deep into the accelerator and was punching straight up that hill. The picture doesn't convey so much the steepness of it as the other street intersecting is McMicken and the road levels off for that before continuing higher.
Due to the exceptional speed and Lotho's exceptional indifference to the law, the car launched on one side the intersection and landed again on the other, still, amazingly, without crashing.
These kinds of feats gain some kind of coolness when you have an audience but somewhat less if your audience is a cop and even less than that if the cop's cruiser is waiting at the stop sign on McMicken to cross Ravine. This gave the cop one premium vantage point to watch Lotho's exercise in automative aerodynamics as he flew over McMicken and landed, still under full acceleration, on the other side. The man can drive, I'm tellin' you.
But that's when things got weird.
I was crashed back at the house when I got a phone call. Man, I need to get home from District 5 headquarters but they won't let me drive the car.
I'm pissed because he woke me up and I make a little deal with myself. If they can catch me before I get home, then they bust me too.
They did.
I'm really not sure how many police cruisers we had engaged that evening but it's not likely we brought much joy to District 5 which, I'm sure, had better things to do. Oh, one of them again, huh?
Yep, Hosea Avenue ... get on up there.
NOTE: none of us continued the drinking and driving beyond the early 20's. That may explain the fact that none of us totaled one of these cars nor did we get smashed up in them. That came with motorcycles ... but that's another historical document.
3 comments:
I was busted 3 times in that car. Once when I hit a cop car Never understood why Doc kept letting me drive it
The Cuda I got busted before my first license
Ol Dad got mad when I got all tickets dismissed because cop wrote I was going west instead of east.
He still kept all the money ge made me save for the fines we thought I would receive
Something's been smiling on you! (laughing)
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