In praise of older Mopars.........
Discussion
In praise of older Mopars.........
This is a letter I wrote to be sent to on of the Classic Car mags a few years ago - but forgot to send it!
Reading through your magazine's columns I couldn't help but wonder, if other readers remember any test drives that help shaped their motoring careers.
After a couple of climatically lightened versions of BMC's finest, plus a Minx , my first real excitement was at the age of 19. I was an apprentice Toolmaker, on £15 per week. However I worked all 7 days and all the overtime available and after a couple of years got together, the then huge sum of £1,000.
Things were a lot different, back in 1974, a new Cortina GT was £1,400 and Thursday morning's Exchange & Mart was the big event in my week.
Feigning an injury at work, falsely attributed to lifting, the foreman sent me home to recuperate.
Reality was a pre-planned meeting with a mean and moody Yank motor in the South London badlands of Streatham.
When I arrived at the lock-up, there she was in all her glory. None other than a metallic Copper, AMX Javelin V8 with twin white bonnet stripes that pre-empted Starsky’s. And she could be mine if I wanted – all I had to do was hand over my life savings.
Clearly I had much to learn about car selection and should have read Car and Driver a bit more thoroughly- but I was on the right road.
Peering inside it had high back cowboy seats, manual shift, 8 Track and instrument binnacle's so deep you could store clothes in them. High or low mileage? – I didn't even notice. My mates had their Mums Triumph Heralds or a rusty Corsair. What would they make of this beast?
Actually the Aussie seller wasn't the owner, he was selling it for his mate, who had left the UK because he got some girl in trouble. When he went to start it, the suitcase key he was using, snapped clean off.
No matter, he said, these cars are a doddle to hot wire......
Sadly driving the beast was a predictable let down. The tee handled remote-less gear lever was a yard long, hopelessly imprecise and felt like it was suspended by elastic from an invisible ceiling.
Sounded like thunder though and I was smitten with the concept, if not this particular car.
A dozen E & M’s later, I could hardly contain myself. Standing on the car lot of Cliff Davis (the actual racer himself) Cars, Goldhawk Road, London, I was looking at the best car I had ever seen.
It was non other than a 1970 Plymouth Barracuda Grand Sport – with several tins worth of unsanded P-38 Type-Elastic, wedged into the front wing – Pastry Sous style.
The previous owner couldn't control it said Chris – Cliff’s son, the new owner will have to be a very skilful driver indeed – this car is a widowmaker in the wrong hands.
That not withstanding, this was a car from another planet, it even had a red lit console in the roof and a sticker on the dash, advising occupants to close windows at speeds over 130mph!
A considerably far better purchase than the AMX I deduced and I handed over £1,100 ASAP for the E-Body, Dodge Challenger shape Plymouth.
96,000 miles on the rectangular clock, Slap- Stick auto, a nail varnish lid for a dash warning light lens, but best of all, the big block 383 motor with a six pack – whatever that was!
I juiced it up on the way home and reality almost crept in. Nearly a weeks wages gone already, but unpreturbed, I brought it home, legs still shaking.
I did all my own sevicing back then and it was fairy straightforward, except no 7 and 8 spark plugs at the rear of the V8. They were almost impossible to access and took an hour each to remove.
A few months later, with some fat Cragar 5 -Spokes all round, a brace of Gabriel air shocks and anti- social Cherry Bomb exhausts, she was a regular crowd pleaser down the Kings Road cruise. Even getting there was fun, down the Finchley Road, in convoy with some long haired nutters in a Plymouth Superbird, it seemed everybodies heyday. A great time and place to be.
By blipping the accelerator whilst creeping forward, you could make the whole body twist a few degrees and the spectators lining the street on Saturday Cruise nights seemed to be love it as much as us.
However one night, in a fit of over conceitedness, arm dangling out of door, fag hanging at 30 degrees, Milner style,I blipped the loud pedal and to my absolute horror it remained down. Within moments we were hurtling down the narrow, crowd lined Kings Road at 50mph, in kickdown, with 335 angry BHP out of control, heading for a stationary custom Ford Pop.
I leant with both feet on the brake pedal – but nothing doing.
The crowd must of thought, this looks good – what's he gonna do next? In panic I switched the ignition off and tried to pull over – but worse was to come, the steering lock did exactly that and we finally thumped up onto the pavement at 45 degrees, inches from somebody's railings. I felt the consummate idiot. I got out, opened the hood pretending to look for an engine fault, when in reality, the I knew that the rubber floor mat had got jammed in the accelerator pedal pivot
Suddenly there were 1,000 wanna-be helpers in my engine bay and the Kings Road was gridlocked.
Then the Met arrived, but fortunately were in calming and constructive mood. They seemed entirely relieved, that I had fixed the problem and sent me on my sheepish way.
The cars career in my hands, finally ended when it was tragically hit head on by a motorcyclist at high speed, while we were almost stationary.
When the bikers insurance offered me £250 for the car, I now valued at £2,750 I had to prove my claim.
I called Cliff Davis, now wheelchair bound and he kindly said he would come round to my house and supply me a written valuation free of charge. When I offered to pick him up in my tatty Nut Brown, Chrysler Avenger, he said not necessary and that he always preferred to travel in the ‘Caddy’.
In the end they paid out £3,000 plus I kept the wreck, thanks to Cliff’s help.
I advertised the sad remains for £500 in the ol’ E&M and had over 50 replies. The highlight of which were two birds in mini-skirts. who came down from the MOPAR Musclecar Club, who had taken it upon themselves to record all Chrysler division cars in the UK. You should have been there and seen them scurrying around my garage floor on their hands and knees, looking for some obscure chassis detail. It was indeed a sight to behold.
In the end it was bought by a guy in a Sunbeam Avenger Tiger. He joked that he expected the ‘Cuda to be more economical! As he handed over the monkey, his mate, in a Viva 2300SL, fried it’s clutch, trying to the drag the 3 wheeler out of the garage.
As it was loaded onto the trailer, I noticed inside the front wing a odd rubber flap. I stuck my head in the wheel arch an pulled the flap back and what did I see? Yep it was no 8 spark plug and there was an identical on on the other side..............
Those were indeed the days and the reg was ALO 57H - is it still around - I'd love to see it again.
This is a letter I wrote to be sent to on of the Classic Car mags a few years ago - but forgot to send it!
Reading through your magazine's columns I couldn't help but wonder, if other readers remember any test drives that help shaped their motoring careers.
After a couple of climatically lightened versions of BMC's finest, plus a Minx , my first real excitement was at the age of 19. I was an apprentice Toolmaker, on £15 per week. However I worked all 7 days and all the overtime available and after a couple of years got together, the then huge sum of £1,000.
Things were a lot different, back in 1974, a new Cortina GT was £1,400 and Thursday morning's Exchange & Mart was the big event in my week.
Feigning an injury at work, falsely attributed to lifting, the foreman sent me home to recuperate.
Reality was a pre-planned meeting with a mean and moody Yank motor in the South London badlands of Streatham.
When I arrived at the lock-up, there she was in all her glory. None other than a metallic Copper, AMX Javelin V8 with twin white bonnet stripes that pre-empted Starsky’s. And she could be mine if I wanted – all I had to do was hand over my life savings.
Clearly I had much to learn about car selection and should have read Car and Driver a bit more thoroughly- but I was on the right road.
Peering inside it had high back cowboy seats, manual shift, 8 Track and instrument binnacle's so deep you could store clothes in them. High or low mileage? – I didn't even notice. My mates had their Mums Triumph Heralds or a rusty Corsair. What would they make of this beast?
Actually the Aussie seller wasn't the owner, he was selling it for his mate, who had left the UK because he got some girl in trouble. When he went to start it, the suitcase key he was using, snapped clean off.
No matter, he said, these cars are a doddle to hot wire......
Sadly driving the beast was a predictable let down. The tee handled remote-less gear lever was a yard long, hopelessly imprecise and felt like it was suspended by elastic from an invisible ceiling.
Sounded like thunder though and I was smitten with the concept, if not this particular car.
A dozen E & M’s later, I could hardly contain myself. Standing on the car lot of Cliff Davis (the actual racer himself) Cars, Goldhawk Road, London, I was looking at the best car I had ever seen.
It was non other than a 1970 Plymouth Barracuda Grand Sport – with several tins worth of unsanded P-38 Type-Elastic, wedged into the front wing – Pastry Sous style.
The previous owner couldn't control it said Chris – Cliff’s son, the new owner will have to be a very skilful driver indeed – this car is a widowmaker in the wrong hands.
That not withstanding, this was a car from another planet, it even had a red lit console in the roof and a sticker on the dash, advising occupants to close windows at speeds over 130mph!
A considerably far better purchase than the AMX I deduced and I handed over £1,100 ASAP for the E-Body, Dodge Challenger shape Plymouth.
96,000 miles on the rectangular clock, Slap- Stick auto, a nail varnish lid for a dash warning light lens, but best of all, the big block 383 motor with a six pack – whatever that was!
I juiced it up on the way home and reality almost crept in. Nearly a weeks wages gone already, but unpreturbed, I brought it home, legs still shaking.
I did all my own sevicing back then and it was fairy straightforward, except no 7 and 8 spark plugs at the rear of the V8. They were almost impossible to access and took an hour each to remove.
A few months later, with some fat Cragar 5 -Spokes all round, a brace of Gabriel air shocks and anti- social Cherry Bomb exhausts, she was a regular crowd pleaser down the Kings Road cruise. Even getting there was fun, down the Finchley Road, in convoy with some long haired nutters in a Plymouth Superbird, it seemed everybodies heyday. A great time and place to be.
By blipping the accelerator whilst creeping forward, you could make the whole body twist a few degrees and the spectators lining the street on Saturday Cruise nights seemed to be love it as much as us.
However one night, in a fit of over conceitedness, arm dangling out of door, fag hanging at 30 degrees, Milner style,I blipped the loud pedal and to my absolute horror it remained down. Within moments we were hurtling down the narrow, crowd lined Kings Road at 50mph, in kickdown, with 335 angry BHP out of control, heading for a stationary custom Ford Pop.
I leant with both feet on the brake pedal – but nothing doing.
The crowd must of thought, this looks good – what's he gonna do next? In panic I switched the ignition off and tried to pull over – but worse was to come, the steering lock did exactly that and we finally thumped up onto the pavement at 45 degrees, inches from somebody's railings. I felt the consummate idiot. I got out, opened the hood pretending to look for an engine fault, when in reality, the I knew that the rubber floor mat had got jammed in the accelerator pedal pivot
Suddenly there were 1,000 wanna-be helpers in my engine bay and the Kings Road was gridlocked.
Then the Met arrived, but fortunately were in calming and constructive mood. They seemed entirely relieved, that I had fixed the problem and sent me on my sheepish way.
The cars career in my hands, finally ended when it was tragically hit head on by a motorcyclist at high speed, while we were almost stationary.
When the bikers insurance offered me £250 for the car, I now valued at £2,750 I had to prove my claim.
I called Cliff Davis, now wheelchair bound and he kindly said he would come round to my house and supply me a written valuation free of charge. When I offered to pick him up in my tatty Nut Brown, Chrysler Avenger, he said not necessary and that he always preferred to travel in the ‘Caddy’.
In the end they paid out £3,000 plus I kept the wreck, thanks to Cliff’s help.
I advertised the sad remains for £500 in the ol’ E&M and had over 50 replies. The highlight of which were two birds in mini-skirts. who came down from the MOPAR Musclecar Club, who had taken it upon themselves to record all Chrysler division cars in the UK. You should have been there and seen them scurrying around my garage floor on their hands and knees, looking for some obscure chassis detail. It was indeed a sight to behold.
In the end it was bought by a guy in a Sunbeam Avenger Tiger. He joked that he expected the ‘Cuda to be more economical! As he handed over the monkey, his mate, in a Viva 2300SL, fried it’s clutch, trying to the drag the 3 wheeler out of the garage.
As it was loaded onto the trailer, I noticed inside the front wing a odd rubber flap. I stuck my head in the wheel arch an pulled the flap back and what did I see? Yep it was no 8 spark plug and there was an identical on on the other side..............
Those were indeed the days and the reg was ALO 57H - is it still around - I'd love to see it again.
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