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blamemma · 7 months

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30 maxiel!!!

things I wish you’d said - this literally does not fit this prompt at all really, it does if you squint really hard at the end, but anyway :)) - 2,072 words - yes we're out of the depressed daniel era, but sometimes u just need to sit down and re-visit it for a lil cry

In the end, Daniel has to take a break from everything. Racing. Social Media. Public Events. Every One. Michael. His parents. Max.

He buys a converted van, featuring a sofa that pulls out into a single bed, a tiny kitchen, and a shower he can just about squeeze into, and heads out along the coast of Australia. He turns his phone off for the most part, only using it for Maps and to message the group chat his family forced him to set up every two days, a small update and a selfie, so they know he's okay, alive.

He avoids tourist trap areas; he received enough sympathetic looks and kind words in Abu Dhabi, can't face strangers who barely know who he is or what he feels, coming up to him and passing on their condolences.

He drives and drives and drives and drives.

Open road. Sandy banks. Rock faces and dried out trees. Open barren land with a singular road cutting through it.

He avoids busy restaurants and sticks to quiet bars. Drinks too much whiskey and then passes out on his too small, cold, bed. Stops off at vineyards he's been meaning to visit for years, stock-piles bottles of wine to gift his mum and dad when he eventually arrives back home.

Max had hated the idea. Had come stumbling out of the door of Daniel's home, sleepy-eyed from jet lag, when Daniel had driven up in the van after heading out early to collect it.

He'd looked perplexed, cocked his head as Daniel had clambered out of the driver's seat.

"What is this Daniel?" Max had asked. He'd walked forward to Daniel, still in his sleep clothes, an over-sized Enchanté shirt and tight boxers, arms lifted a little higher than his waist, looking to curl into the side of Daniel's body in the early morning sun that was already blisteringly hot.

"It's my van," Daniel replied. "I'm going to go away for a bit."

Max stopped in his tracks, his hands instantly forming fists at his sides, before stretching out his fingers again.

"What?" He asked again.

"I'm gunna go away for a bit Maxy. Just me. And the Australian Road. Get my head straight."

"No," Max had responded. Daniel knew this would be Max's reaction. It's why Daniel hadn't told him beforehand, had kept the secret since Brazil, an impulse purchase after he'd crashed out in his second-to-last race. "We have just got here Daniel. You are not going to go away on your own. You can stay here or I will come with you!"

Despite Max's defiant attitude, Daniel had won. He'd left Max at his home in Perth, the first time he'd visited as Daniel's boyfriend, a promise of barbeques with family and chasing each other on dirt bikes forgotten. They'd argued, they'd cried, they'd pleaded with each other to understand, but ultimately, Daniel's mind was set.

He hasn't spoken to Max in two-and-a-half weeks now. Doesn't know what he'd say. I miss you. Your love isn't good enough to fix me. I love you. I can't stand the way you pity me.

He doesn't even know if Max is still in Perth. He wouldn't blame him if he'd gone back to Monaco.

His decision had been finalised when his Mum and Dad had arrived in Abu Dhabi. The tears prickling at the corner of his mum's eyes as she'd pulled him in sent guilt washing over him. He'd failed. They'd sacrificed everything for him to drive. And he couldn't give them the one thing they deserved. A Championship.

He'd marked Exmouth as his stopping point, where he'd turn around and head back home, but he arrives, camps under the stars for two days, rents a boat and sits for hours with a fishing rod that's never successful and still doesn't feel complete. Whole. He'd imagined, in the days between Brazil and Abu Dhabi, that this would fix him. That a solo trip would give him all the answers. Show him whether he's happy with this being the end, or driven to find a way back.

Instead, he just feels lost and alone.

He clambers back into his van, pulls out the beaten-up map that came with the vehicle and tries to pick a new place to go. No where strikes inspiration in him though. The big bold lettering of PERTH near the bottom of the map taunts him over and over again and he scrunches the map up, throwing it at the windshield.

Across from where he's parked, just across his van on a grassed area sits a family, at a picnic bench, fitted with a barbeque. Two dads sat side by side, a young son and daughter sat opposite them. Daniel can't tear his eyes away from them, as the kids sit eagerly awaiting their dinner, laughing, conversing. They're happy.

He'd promised Isaac and Isabella in Abu Dhabi that when they got back to Perth, they could come round to his house, and they'd spend hours in the pool and have a large barbeque, and end the night around the fire with smores.

Instead, he'd been too chicken to say goodbye to them.

He'd promised Max that he'd take him hiking at his favourite spot. Take him out on a date to his favourite Italian restaurant. Promised trips to the farmers market, and out for brunch, and endless beach days. Promised him a winter break of relaxation. A Christmas at Daniel's parents, one filled with sunshine and shorts and a mountain of presents.

Instead, he'd made Max fly all the way out here, and then abandoned him. The guilt hadn't left him, not since he'd pulled out of his dusted driveway and away from Max.

He props his feet upon the dash and watches the family as they move about their evening. Burgers eaten far too quickly by the children. A plea from their fathers to at least try the salad they'd purchased. A rugby ball emerging from their bag that they kick around and throw to each other. Small gentle kisses shared between partners, an arm around the waist, one thrown around the shoulder. Kids piling on top of their dads as they fall to the ground in a tackle. Laughter. So much laughter. And joy. And happiness.

Daniel calls Max.

It rings and rings and rings. Then Max's voicemail sets in. Daniel tries again. It rings and rings and rings. He puts his phone down on the seat and starts his engine. He'll follow a road somewhere.

His phone rings. A photo of Max curled up asleep in the sheets of their Monaco bedroom fills the screen.

He answers immediately, clutching the phone to his ear. It's silent on the other end of the line.

"Max?" Daniel asks gently.

"Daniel," Max repeats back to him.

"Max." Daniel says again. "I miss you, I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking, and I'm just so lonely and I hope you're okay, please tell me you're still okay. Are you still in Perth? I'm so sorry Max. I'm gunna drive home. Yeah? I'm gunna drive back okay. You'll be there right? When I get home? I'll make this up to you. Okay--I'll drive home tonight and then tomorrow we can do whatever you want. Whatever you want. " He's crying, and his words are coming out so fast, but the simple sound of Max's voice, the Dutch intonation speaking his own name, collapses him.

"Where are you?" Max asks. Daniel can hear his voice quiver on the other end of the line and a fresh wave of guilt washes over him. He should be there right now, Max shouldn't be feeling this way.

"I'm in Exmouth, it's almost at the tip of Western Australia. So it's about 13 hours to Perth but I can drive through the night Maxy, and then I'll be back home tomorrow. Yeah? Does that sound good?" Daniel selfishly, wants Max to beg him to come home, tell him how much he's missed him, and needs him. Daniel can't even tell if Max is still in Perth, too scared to outright ask.

"You should get some sleep Daniel. And then come home. You should not drive through the night you might crash. And then I will not be able to shout at you for all the horrible things you have done and I will have to attend your funeral with all these unresolved issues of course, so probably my speech would not be that good." The glimmer of teasing that comes through in Max's voice makes Daniel clutch at his chest in want.

"Yeah, okay baby, I'll see you tomorrow yeah?" Daniel asks.

"Yes Daniel. Come home. I will cook dinner for you when you get back. We can have a lovely evening."

"Sounds good. I love you." Daniel responds.

"I love you also." Max says, and Daniel has to hang up quickly before Max catches on to his desperate sobs.

---

He does what Max asks, and sleeps. Not very well, and not for very long, but the next morning, he starts the van up at 5am and drives, joins the open road and heads home. He turns the stereo up, his Max playlist on loud and proud, singing along to the lines that resonate most to him. Whenever he stops off for fuel, and snacks, he texts Max, updating him on his journey and when he'll be home. Max responds to Daniel's first message, when he'd left Max know that he was leaving Exmouth, with Drive safe ❤️, the second message with See you soon! 😁 and the third message with I hope your bum is not feeling too numb!

He pulls up onto his track road and into his driveway just after 8pm and is greeted with a house decorated and ready for Christmas. Lights strung across the porch, pretend Snowman's just beside the front door, mistletoe hanging from above the entranceway. Max had put out all his Christmas decorations from years past.

He's already crying as he fumbles to undo his seatbelt, and stumbles out the drivers door.

The tears start falling when he sees Max running out of the front door towards him, jumping over the steps of the porch and bounding towards Daniel. Max stumbles into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around Daniel and pulling him into him. Daniel collapses into him, exhaustion and want and love all seeping out of him.

"Your mum showed me where all the Christmas decorations were kept last week. I asked her if she could show me. I thought that maybe if you would come home, it would be nice for you to come home to." Max finally says, his voice shaking, speaking into Daniel's neck. "Isaac and Isabella helped. They kept on asking where you were. And I didn't have an answer for them Daniel. I had to tell them that you'd gone on a trip. And then they would ask when you were coming back and I would say I do not know. And then they would ask if we could go and join you and I said I do not think we can. You were cruel, Daniel. You were so cruel."

Daniel finally wraps his arms around Max, kisses the crown of his head and cries with him.

"I'm better now Max, I promise you, I am better." He whispers into his hair. Max's grip around his waist gets tighter, pulling him impossibly closer.

"You never said you were bad, Daniel. I could tell and I tried to help, but you would always shut me down. You never said--"

"I know baby, I know. I'm so sorry."

Max's hand comes to the back of Daniel's neck, holding him tight, his fingers moving through his hair. It's all Daniel needs, he's realised. Is Max. Is Family. Is simple moments.

They both stand there, crying, in each other's arms, birds singing above them, the last remnants of the evening sun warming their backs, until Max, pulls away, intertwining his hand into Daniel's.

"You have to come inside now and eat," Max insists, stepping forward and tugging Daniel's arm. "Your mum has been giving me food every few days and I think that Brad is going to have to work overtime."

Daniel laughs then, his first proper, from-the-gut, endearing, happy laugh, in a long time. Max watches him, the way his eyes light up and his broad smile make up his whole face.

Daniel's back.

Daniel's home.

#this is like....something.....lots of holes that should have way more details probably but yeah #western australia tourism ad inspired with a big splash of depressed mclaren daniel era sprinkled in :))#dr #mv #maxiel #my fic

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thefudge · 5 years

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scattered thoughts on sanditon so far

this is a fun romp from andrew davies and there’s a lot to like and be invested in

but i do have some observations/ gripes

obviously davies is going for a modern/sexed up adaptation of austen and i have mixed thoughts on that, cuz there’s a lot of interesting stuff you can do with that, but you can also botch it up big time (i’m glad he didn’t do this to p&p back in 1995...i wonder what that adaptation would’ve looked like today. probably full monty darcy, lol). so i think some elements verge on the ridiculous, for instance having almost every dude in this show strip naked in front of a crowded beach several times in a row. ditto for theo james. i don’t mind the view (hehe) but i think it’s inserted awkwardly at times. like okay, we get it, it’s a beach resort and we’re trying to make austen edgy in 2019.... just maybe indulge a little less and literally keep it in your pants.

this being a more modern adaptation i don’t mind hair and make-up anachronisms, but i DO mind the fact that rose williams sports this really weird shade of fuchsia lipstick in almost every single scene. stop iiiit

speaking of which, rose williams is a cutie and i loved her on reign, but i don’t understand what she’s doing with her face in this series. don’t get me wrong, she does a good job of making charlotte very likable, but the only way she can express...anything, really, is by making these confused faces, like a child practicing frowning in the mirror. it’s...really awkward. and she does this all the time, whether she’s happy or sulky or nervous, she just always looks like she’s trying to figure out the fibonacci sequence. i mean it’s hilarious when u have theo james going all gruff to her about his feelings and rose williams is that gif of the blond lady doing math in her head. her acting is pretty good otherwise, but those faceeeees.

esther denham is my goddamn FAVE, gosh i love a Disappointed Queen and i’m glad she’s getting away from that boring skeevy brother. for once the incestuous siblings didn’t do it for me at all (which is pretty much the point lol). there’s nary a dude more uninteresting than edward whatshisface, my gaaaawd (also, davies trying to ramp up the sexiness with those scenes of edward brushing her hair or doing her stays...lol, sir, this rly isn’t your strength i’m sorry)

but i have to say that i thought esther and clara would be a thing. because my gosh, the chemistry during their scenes! the way they’d glide past each other with utmost contempt, while being disquieted by each other @___@. i mean it’s an austen adaptation, so i guess they’d never go there but!!! i need fic (would’ve made clara more bearable at least. i appreciate her character objectively cuz she’s an interesting pseudo-antagonist and you don’t get many of those, but blerghh. she was insufferable)

i was kinda (actually very) disappointed that the relationship between sidney and his ward, georgiana, wasn’t really developed. like there’s one more episode to go (as far as i know?) and they’ve barely scratched the surface with them. i mean he’s halfway decent to her now.... but ehh. i feel like this was a missed opportunity. after all, this was austen’s unfinished novel, so andrew davies & co could have added more material between these two. this, to me, should have been the real heart of the series.

i like otis as a character, but georgiana/otis was zzzzzz. i suppose that they’ll end up together? zzzzzzzzzz (i frankly ship her way more with arthur! she finds him infuriating! he’s a sweetheart! the shenanigans!)

that German doctor is the real MVP, i feel like he should be sanditon’s no. 1 bachelor. i mean the shower rod??? providing pleasure to all the ladies in town, what a hero

the soundtrack is rly rad! and the cinematography

i love how the show captures austen’s growing interest in the industrialized modern world which was emerging in the twilight years of the regency and i feel like maybe the show should’ve invested more time in that modern aesthetic (steampunk!) rather the awkward sexual shenanigans

so....i can’t delay the inevitable anymore, can i? sigghh okay here i go

sidney/charlotte...annoys me.

HEAR ME OUT.

u know that i love LOVE “enemies to lovers” and hate/love stories, i LIVE FOR THIS SHIT.

and i was ready to gorge on this dynamic because it looked delish

but i felt like michael bluth finding the dead pigeon in the paper bag.

from what i can gather, sidney is supposed to be a mixture of darcy and capt wentworth, “haughty” and proud, with a history of romantic disappointment, a brooding sexy hero with a heart of gold. but to me this dude just comes off as weird.

there’s legit no reason for him to be THIS mean to this young girl he just met. he is not just an asshole, he is ridiculously over the top about it, to the point where he makes a fool of himself. i am FINE with a man telling a woman off, believe me, but it has to have some kind of motivation, some kind of reasoning behind it. here, it just feels like the plot needs him to be utterly shitty to charlotte so that “sparks will fly”. that first ep convo on the balcony??? wtf???? it was genuinely bizarre. i got weird incel vibes. and every time he lashes out at charlotte (at least in the first 4 episodes) it’s fucking silly, because it’s not like he lashes out because she’s scratching the surface of his innermost painful memories. no!!! many of their arguments revolve around basic things that he could easily clarify!!! which he does eventually, so like whyyyyyyyyyy. charlotte keeps telling him he’s being vague for no good reason and he still does it. it doesn’t make sense he’d be this guarded and outspoken at the same time. like, fine, keep that shit to yourself, don’t tell ppl, but don’t also get pissed at them when they don’t guess your mind. again, i love an antagonist dynamic when it’s done right, but here many times it’s just pointless bullying, it’s not sexy or fun or challenging. the writers keep making charlotte apologize to him about how “wrong” she got him and how he makes her doubt her judgement but it sounds fake to me. like a) this dude went out of his way to be a total assface to you from day one, b) none of that bullying was him trying to coax you into having a more complicated view of the world. when darcy rebukes elizabeth, he is hinting at her limited point of view. he’s not blatantly negging her or calling her stupid as this dude does. AND U KNO WHAT.

i’d be absolutely fine with him calling her stupid IF IT MADE SENSE WITHIN THE STORY

like if charlotte had truly done smth stupid during the first episode, sure, fine, it’s somewhat warranted

but for him to decide she’s an idiot for no other reason than her making some honestly super nice remarks about his brothers when he asked for her opinion is THE HEIGHT OF NONSENSE

it’s even more nonsense when 2 episodes later he decides maybe she’s not that dumb after all FUCK U MR. EDGELORD

and it makes me pity charlotte cuz she’ll probably marry this dude and have to deal with him in his old age when he’ll be even more insufferable.

and i totally get the appeal. i do! i mean their scenes are manufactured to make you want more of them, i see the chemistry, it’s there (and we’re already at a point in the series where he’s trying to make amends) but at the same time i’m put off by this dude’s intensity, cuz it’s not the hot kind of intensity...it’s more like he’s a giant dumb baby who breaks things. meh. theo james is very pretty tho, and he is doing the most with his character (that voice def helps!). but i wish this antagonistic relationship had been written better, because it could’ve been glorious

this is why i think sidney/georgiana should’ve been so much more present. just like darcy has his georgiana we need the humanizing element, we need to see more variety from this dude than just “guy who clearly needs anger management classes”.

i’m pretty sure i’m in the minority or possibly one of two ppl not won over by this romance, and i can’t lie and say i don’t root for them. too much of this show is predicated on their clashes for them not to work it out and get together, but boyyyy do i wish they’d done it a bit better

i almost feel like a reylo anti lol, but at least kylo ren doesn’t neg rey every single time they talk

also, i go back to rose williams’ faces because they just rly enhance how clumsy this dynamic is. theo james is doing byronic asshole 2.0 and charlotte looks at him like he’s developed a smell lmao. i mean the scene where she catches him naked? she turns around and FROWNS in this rly bizarre way, almost like she noticed a growth on his dick lmao it’s that bad

anyway i totally get the appeal, but i also know what i want from this kind of dynamic and...this ain’t quite it

honestly i think i prefer charlotte/cute architect guy whose name i don’t remember right now!

that being said, my fave moments of this show are the most austen-esque, where ppl don’t take themselves so seriously. i mean the adventures of the perennially-ailing parker siblings (arthur & diana)? deeeelightful. the pineapple scene? glorious

also it makes me sad that sanditon was left unfinished because to see austen tackling georgiana’s character in depth would have been so, so interesting

in conclusion, the show’s a lot of fun but also frustrating in many ways

i hope davies doesn’t set his eyes on re-adapting p&p or other austen classics because ermmm i know i’m trash but i am kind of tired of these sexed-up “look how scandalous we are behind closed doors” adaptations. you can make the regency era feel modern and relatable without “shocking hand job in the estate park” pls and thank u. sure, the regency era was the inheritor of the sexually relaxed 18th-century, but it wasn’t that relaxed yall. ppl still kept their wits and bonnets about them.

still, i’m glad this show exists and that it tries to take risks, i just wish it took different kinds of risks, if that makes sense. like i am SO bummed i didn’t get into sidney/charlotte, u have no idea

#sanditon #my thoughts #the fudge watches #jane austen

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laurelp · 5 years

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Playlist tag!!!

Put your playlist on shuffle and list the first 10 songs.

I was tagged by @zombiemoney thank you angel❤️❤️ I love these

1- Ultralight beam, Kanye West

2- Like a Wrecking Ball, Eric Church

3- Do u even miss me at all, Gianni and Kyle

4- Surprise party, Hoodie Allen

5- Hell of a night, Travis Scott

6- Afterglow, The driver era

7- You make my dreams, Daryl Hall and John Oates

8-Still Woozy, Goodie Bag

9- Big Mood, Mike Stud

10- Stay with me, Rod Stewart

Im gonna tag these beauties!!

@hartsypeach @seggyscurls @babrielandeskog @hockeythighs @hockeysmut

#about laurel #about my bitchass #these are so fun #tag games

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itsworn · 5 years

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The Flyin’ Fridge: Homebuilt 10-Second Turbo-LS 1980 Ford Fairmont Wagon

“That happens all the time…” Lebanon, Tennessee’s Shaun Potter adds after a passerby briefly interrupted our photo shoot to offer his admiration for the work on Potter’s 1980 Ford Fairmont wagon. “…but reactions like that are why I built this car.”

Casual automotive observers readily offer thumbs-up to shiny, swinging ’60s muscle cars. But it takes the keen observation of an enthusiast to appreciate infusing a tired people-mover rescued from the dustbin of uninspiring automotive appliances with a healthy shot of horsepower and ingenuity. This LS-swapped, turbocharged Ford Fairmont wagon personifies the sentiment of “built, not bought.”

The 41-year-old Tennessean had his eye on the white wagon for some time. “I drove past this car every day while taking my kids to daycare. I saw the weeds around it get taller and taller. One day, the owner was out walking his dog. I immediately whipped it into his driveway (probably startling him). I asked if the car was his and if he considered selling it. He replied, ‘No.’”

“I thanked him and apologized for the intrusion before he said, ‘No, I hadn’t considered selling it, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.’ We struck up a deal and I picked it up a few days later.”

While loading it on a trailer, the owner warned, “Be careful. The car is full of wasp nests.” The straight-six powered Fairmont had seen better days, but Potter had plans…

Potter’s previous projects include a 1991 Mustang coupe. Keen Ford nerds recognize that the Ford Fairmont shares its platform with the 1979-’93 Mustang. This shared lineage makes the Fairmont familiar territory for Mustang owners. Potter explains: “I wanted this car to be a cruiser. My kids love local car shows and taking rides in the vehicles I’ve built, however, my Fox-body with a rollcage makes this impossible. So I took all of the suspension, rearend, and fuel system out of my drag-only ’91 coupe and bolted it directly to the wagon.”

In contrast to his previous ‘91 Mustang coupe, Potter was determined to do all the work on his Fairmont Wagon himself—even if that meant the results were less than perfect. “I’m not afraid to fail,” says Potter. He was eager to try his hand at a turbo LS swap: “5.3-liter engines are so plentiful and cheap that when I break one, it’s cheaper buy another salvage engine than rebuild one. Too much boost? No problem! Just load another bullet in the chamber and try again.”

The body of the wagon carries the bumps and bruises of its past as a family hauler. The patina is unique. “I wanted to keep as much of the car intact as I could. I’m not even Catholic, but I keep the rosary dangling from the rearview mirror because it’s part of the car’s history.”

There were some areas of the wagon that needed cosmetic attention, however. Potter replaced the carpet with a fresh red rug. “It’s hard to believe, but you can find replacement carpet for Farimont wagons.” The headliner also needed replacement. “I was tired of bits of disintegrated headliner blowing in my eyes while driving. I took a piece of the plastic interior trim to a fabric store and picked a pattern fitting for a Griswold-style family truckster.”

The DIY-or-die approach continues underhood. “As you can see, my friend Mike Edwards is helping me learn to TIG weld. Aluminum is especially difficult. Even if it’s not perfect, at least I did it myself.” Engine management is also new territory for Potter. Using a MegaSquirt 3 EFI system, Potter does all the tuning and relies heavily on the advice of others. Potter even had his eleven-year-old son try his hand at tuning while his dad does the driving.

Potter appreciates that his wife and two kids not only like riding in the car, but support the family patriarch through long nights in the garage. Shannon Taylor at Boost Addicts in Madison, Tennessee helps Potter provide tuning advice…and long-block cores when Potter misses the mark. Steve Pruitt, James Rowlett, and Shane Groshong at Steve’s Automotive provided additional tuning guidance and advice.

Potter is unfazed by criticism. “Everybody on the internet is going to tell me all the things I did wrong, but I don’t care. I did this all myself. It went 10.59 at 136 mph on 13 pounds of boost. That’s a lot faster than I expected.”

TECH NOTES Who: Shaun Potter What: 1980 Ford Fairmont Wagon Where: Lebanon, TN

Engine: The 2008 GM 5.3L is a salvage yard find. A stock bottom end surrounds a Trick Flow 228/230 “Sloppy Stage II” camshaft that squeezes Brian Tooley Racing 0.660-inch lift valve springs in stock aluminum 706 cylinder heads. Potter uses a Cadillac CTS-V oil pan to clear the Fairmont’s tubular crossmember.

Induction: The major motivation for Potter’s wagon comes from a Precision Turbo 88mm turbocharger. Potter fabricated the hot and cold side plumbing linking it to factory exhaust manifolds and a stock 2008 truck intake manifold. Potter welded a sump in the Fairmont’s fuel tank, which feeds Twin Walbro 255 lph pumps and Bosch 210 fuel injectors a steady diet of E85.

Electronics: Potter and his son tune the MegaSquirt 3 electronic fuel injection system that controls the turbocharged 5.3-liter mill. Potter says: “I built the wiring harness for the engine management system and rewired the whole car. I actually enjoyed that part more than I thought I would.”

Transmission: Cameron Powers at CPR Transmissions built the GM 4L80E overdrive trans that is fortified with a Jake’s Performance recalibration kit. It receives torque from a PTC 9.5-inch non-lockup torque converter that footbrakes to 3,500 and flashes to 4,100 rpm.

Rearend: The third member was plucked from Potter’s ’91 Mustang coupe. The Ford 8.8-inch features Ford 9-inch ends and 33-spline Moser axles. The 3.08:1 gear set is highway friendly, but the spool makes U-turns a little dicey.

Chassis/Suspension: Since Potter’s Fairmont shares its platform with Mustangs of the era, finding go-fast suspension parts was as easy as swapping them from his 1991 Mustang coupe drag car. First, Potter stiffened the chassis with his own “through-the-floor” subframe connectors fashioned from 2 x 2-inch square tubing. The front coilover suspension includes Strange Engineering single-adjustable struts, Viking 200 lb/in springs, a Team Z crossmember, QA1 control arms, and spindles from a 1995 Mustang. The rear features UPR upper and lower control arms, Dakota Mustangs’ instant-center brackets, and get this: a kid’s-sized football in the right rear spring to even out his drag launches. A Flaming River manual steering rack points the wagon down the strip.

Brakes: Stopping hardware includes more from the Ford parts bin including 1995 Mustang front rotors, 2001 Mustang front calipers, a 2001 Mustang master cylinder, and a rear brake package from a 2001 Ford Explorer.

Wheels/Tires: The rolling stock is the only external cue that this wagon means business. Black SVE Mustang drag wheels measuring 17 x 4 (front) and 15 x 10 (rear), hold 26 x 17 Mickey Thompson Sportsman S/R and 255/60R15 and Mickey Thompson ET Street S/S radials, respectively.

Paint/Body: Potter goes to great lengths to retain the body’s “patina,” that is, the outside of the wagon is untouched. He washes it…sometimes.

Interior: Nearly forty years of hauling families took their toll on the wagon’s carpet and headliner. New ACC carpet replaced the original fuzz, but Potter takes special pride in the headliner, refurbished with a pattern that his wife dubbed, “Uncle Lewis” (a nod to a character in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation). “I chose the material because I wanted a ‘cantankerous old man’ look, but as soon as she saw it, she said I hit the nail on the head and immediately came up with the description. She even helped me lay the fabric on the backer board, keeping the lines straight from front to rear.” The MegaSquirt EFI system occupies a tentative place on the trans tunnel, as Potter has yet to find a permanent mounting location. A B&M shifter is perched prominently over the middle of the bench seat, but Potter plans to use the factory column shifter at a later time. “I’m not sure the detents of the column shifter are compatible with the 4L80E.” A tachometer occupies the space where the original speedometer was located. With a fuel gauge on the left, Potter explains, “I use my phone’s GPS as a speedometer.”

The post The Flyin’ Fridge: Homebuilt 10-Second Turbo-LS 1980 Ford Fairmont Wagon appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network https://www.hotrod.com/articles/flyin-fridge-10-second-turbo-ls-1980-ford-fairmont-wagon/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hot Rod Network

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stickyyouthstudent · 5 years

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Need some advice on casting(?) a knife handle...

Hey Gang,

I've been kicking around an idea for a while and doing a lot of research but I'm still struggling with some logistics as to how to pull off what I want to do. I have a (broken and subsequently repaired) knife from the WW2 era that was possibly made out of a bayonet. Pictures here. /r/knives was not able to tell me much, and the knife does not appear to be particularly valuable, so I want to play around with it a bit and possibly create a display piece out of it.

I would like to make a handle for this knife in the style of the M1918 Trench Knife. Unfortunately, I have limited experience working with metal beyond tinkering. I've done some shitty sand-casting with lead and zinc, and I've cast some copper ingots out of old pipe for fun. I do not have extensive power tools beyond a bench grinder, an angle grinder, a drill press, and a relatively shitty band saw that is probably only rated for wood use. For these reasons, I was thinking that maybe casting the handle might be my best bet. I do have a pretty serious forge that I made from kiln bricks and gas furnace components.

The knife currently has a hollow piece of 3/8" barstock for a handle that was welded (or possibly silver-soldered) on to the blade itself before it came into my possession. It's a good solder/weld job, but obviously it's never going to be as strong as a full tang setup, hence the display piece aspect. I would like to make the new hilt fit around the existing barstock handle if possible. I have a "skullcracker" piece for the base of the hilt that is threaded and will screw onto a threaded rod soldered into the barstock. I just need the handle itself.

I think that casting something is my best bet, but I'm open to suggestions otherwise. Contenders for material are bronze (to match the original) or a zinc/aluminum alloy, likely ZA27 (increased strength, lower melting point).

Here's what I'm struggling with:

I don't really know a damn thing about proper casting. I've done a lot of reading on sand casting and I can't quite figure out the logistics of casting something with a hollow core for the barstock.

Would you guys likely try to cast this if you didn't have access to machining equipment? Am I missing a more obvious solution?

If I do decide to cast it, I need to basically sculpt what I want out of clay or styrofoam, right? Any tips on that for someone who is a shit artist? I think the last time I sculpted clay was in 5th grade.

Any tips at all or ideas that anyone has would be greatly appreciated.

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mrcoreymonroe · 6 years

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The Joy Of ADF

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Like many of you, I bought my first airplane a long time ago, and the panel looked like something out of a South American locomotive. There was a very tired, crystal-controlled Narco VHT3 navcom that worked on alternate Thursdays when the moon was full. There was also an equally weary but still functional Bendix T12D ADF that looked as if it shouldn’t work but did.

At the time, I regarded the Bendix as a wonder box. It was the simplest possible form of radio navigation. The needle pointed at the station. End of directions.

Simplicity isn’t necessarily all it’s cracked up to be. ADF offers no distance or altitude information and no internal heading info, though following the needle could provide a bearing to the station. If you could receive two strong signals with the proper geometry, you could switch back and forth and sometimes triangulate a rough position. Very rough.

ADF was simple and primitive, but it worked…most of the time.

Anyone who’s read Rod Machado, William Kershner or any of a dozen other aviation textbook authors can probably recite chapter and verse as to why ADF has been all but abandoned as a primary nav aid for VFR and IFR flight.

The system dates back to the 1920s, and no, this isn’t a historical dissertation on the superiority of ADF over today’s satellite-based, supremely accurate navigation technology.

ADF operates in the LF band that ranges from 200 to 415 kHz and the AM, commercial broadcast band that plays between 550 and 1600 kHz. Unlike some clear channel, AM broadcast stations that boast power up to 50,000 watts, dedicated aviation LF stations generally make do with 200 watts or less.

Of course, as everyone learned in flight school, the LF signal is notoriously unreliable in convective weather. Any electrical discharge, typically a thunderstorm, can drive the needle crazy, most often pointing at the nearest lightning flash. Terrain errors, common in mountainous areas, can induce erratic readings. Ionosphere error during sunrise and sunset also can cause fluctuations in the readout. Bank error can compromise the DF function when the aircraft is in a turn.

The former owner of my 1946 Swift had a directory of commercial AM broadcast stations that he carried with him everywhere he flew, and he bequeathed that book to me when I bought his airplane. The info in the directory and my Bendix ADF helped me travel to pretty much anyplace I wanted to go.

Blessed with undeserved courage and limited aviation brain cells, I flew the Swift from Southern California to practically everywhere in North America except Mexico. Though my directory provided the lat/long of the transmission source, it didn’t relate to the airports’ location. I could usually determine that info from Acc-U-Quik or by consulting the chart.

I was reminded of all this a few weeks back when Dan Neil, auto reviewer for the Wall Street Journal, wrote a story in his Rumble Seat column about driving coast-to-coast across the lower U.S.A. in his minivan.

Neil waxed poetic about the joy of driving at night when some AM broadcast stations could reach out and touch him from 2,000 miles away. Obviously, Neil had no DF capability in his van, but that barely mattered since he was forced to follow the interstate highway system anyway.

When I flew at night over Southern California, I was a little amazed to sometimes tune WABC in New York (770 kHz) and have the stations come booming into my headset as if they were on the phone.

Moot point. The Swift had a range of about 350 nm, so those far-flung stations were never my destinations. At least, the ADF could point out the proper direction to the station, sometimes even in daylight.

When I was learning to fly in Alaska, navigation was mostly by pilotage, dead reckoning or ADF. Few trainers had VOR receivers. Mountains are practically everywhere in the 49th state, so even when VORs finally became available, their application was limited.

When ADF worked, it was the closest thing we had to long-range nav. Fortunately, most general aviation aircraft came equipped with ADF in that era, and it seemed there were NDBs everywhere.

When I began delivering airplanes overseas in 1980, ADF became even more valuable. LF beacons are relatively inexpensive to buy and maintain, and they’re still used extensively all over the world, especially in Africa and on many remote Pacific islands.

The advent of GPS has eclipsed much of the NDB’s application in the U.S., and the FAA is slowly decommissioning more and more of those low-frequency stations.

LF beacons and four-course ranges were standard in many places until VHF/VORs began to supplant them in the early 1960s. The VOR network was good for short distances over land but not so good over the ocean.

On the standard, 1,800-nm leg from Gander, Newfoundland, to Shannon, Ireland, we used to tune a commercial broadcast station (Radio 2 – 566 kHz, I think) that happened to have its transmitter located directly east of Shannon.

If atmospheric conditions were good, we could track that signal all the way across the Atlantic. Sometimes, when conditions were optimum, we could pick up Radio 2 while sitting on the ramp at Gander.

If we homed on the station with the needle, we’d sometimes prescribe a slight arc across the ocean because of frequent, northwesterly crosswinds. Most of the time, the added distance was less than 5 percent of our total. If we “tracked” to the station, using a wind correction angle, we could often reduce or eliminate the error.

More importantly for pilots who were smarter than to overfly oceans, ADF allowed tuning LF frequencies at airports across the U.S. These stations weren’t always very strong, but some offered NDB approaches that allowed IFR procedures when weather was marginal.

Coincidentally, a non-directional beacon (CPM–378 kHz) was mounted on the side of my hangar in Compton, California until a few years ago. One joke around the airport during instrument weather was that if I could call ahead and have someone open my hangar door, I could fly right into my hangar. Not!

ADF was usually a good friend. I used it religiously, even after the VHF/VOR network was introduced. Every airplane I’ve owned has been equipped with ADF, and the system has been a valuable backup more times than I can count.

Once, back in the ‘80s, well before the introduction of GPS, I was flying a 36 Bonanza outbound from Honolulu, final destination—Perth, Australia. I was halfway out on the second, 2,000-nm Pacific leg toward Majuro in the Marshall Islands, still 1,100 miles distant.

The Majuro NDB was strong and pointing straight ahead when the needle lost lock and wandered slowly around to the 90-degree-right, park position. I tried to check the identifier, but there was nothing on the frequency. Majuro’s beacon had gone off the air.

No cause for panic. For what it was worth, I still had my dead reckoning flight plan, but that was based on best guess winds aloft in Honolulu, now far behind me. My chances of finding tiny Majuro, a half-moon coral atoll about three miles across counting the lagoon in the center and still 1,000 nm away, were marginal, at best.

I called up San Francisco long range on HF and asked if they could check with Majuro on the problem with the NDB.

San Francisco called back a few minutes later and said they were still trying to contact Majuro. Apparently, there’d been a major power outage, and even San Francisco couldn’t raise anyone at Majuro.

Meanwhile, with no better plan in place, I kept doing what I’d been doing, hoping that someone could get the NDB back on the air. Power failures are common on mid-Pacific atolls, and they usually don’t last long, I kept telling myself.

Sure enough, a half-hour later, the needle came back to life and rotated back to top center. At the same time, San Francisco called and said someone at Majuro had forgotten to refill the generator’s emergency fuel tank. When the power failed, the voltage drop was supposed to kick the generator back on and keep the NDB on the air. No gas, no signal.

Perhaps sadly, the advent of GPS has eclipsed ADF in both OEM and the aftermarket. Most aircraft manufacturers still offer ADF as an option, but many buyers don’t bother to check that box, because GPS is regarded as invincible.

Don’t believe it. I was flying a Cessna Grand Caravan from Guam to Seoul, Korea, on the last leg of a ferry delivery from Santa Barbara a decade after the Majuro incident and was treated to a GPS “blink,” a brief signal loss on both panel-mount GPSs and my two portables.

I was flying in strong headwinds toward Hiroshima, Japan, and the airplane was 1,700 pounds over gross with ferry fuel. Plus, with a cargo pod hanging down, the Caravan was about as aerodynamic as a stagecoach, so I was only grounding (watering?) 120 knots. Plus, Dumbo, the dancing bear in the left seat, hadn’t checked the ADF before departing from California. It turned out the ADF was stone cold dead.

Japan and Korea are hard targets to miss if you can merely read a compass, but I was still grateful the GPS signal came back online in about 20 minutes.

Before you sign on to your MacBook or Dell to ask, yes, I’m a big fan of GPS. I have two of them on my current Mooney’s panel, plus a semi-permanent Garmin backup on top of the dash, and they’re my primary nav sources. I also have a small Terra ADF tucked into the lower right corner of the panel, and it’s on most of the time during every flight, just in case GPS decides to blink at me again.

Check out more Cross-Country Log flying stories from ferry pilot and Senior Editor Bill Cox.

The post The Joy Of ADF appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

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jesusvasser · 6 years

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Extended Family: The Incredible Story of the Kircher Special and Its Long-Lost 300 SL Relative

When Jack Gallivan was a boy in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the middle of the last century, he and his brothers played a game. Their father was the publisher of The Salt Lake Tribune, the local newspaper of record, and in order to prove the Trib’s classified section worked, they would buy used cars out of the paper.

“We’d look through the Sunday listings, whittle it down, make calls, go visit, and take the finalists to the mechanic to check them out,” Gallivan says. “Of course, the sellers didn’t realize that we were kids making the [initial] calls.”

In the early ’60s, one of the vehicles they came across was a 1955 Mercedes 300 SL Gullwing. Gallivan’s father wasn’t a car connoisseur, but he responded to vehicles he found beautiful—classic dual-cowl Lincolns such as those driven by the Trib’s owner, an automotive editor’s MG TC, and the Volkswagen Karmann Ghia and Jaguar XK140 he purchased. The Gullwing was one of these vehicles. “He just fell in love with it,” Gallivan says, “the sheer beauty of the thing.”

The family looked at it, but the price was too high. About a year later, however, Gallivan’s father was driving with his younger son and saw the same car parked in a gas station with a “for sale” sign on it. “My little brother says they just made a U-turn, went back to the gas station, and Dad went in and bought the car,” Gallivan says. He recalls his father paying around $3,400.

The Gullwing became his daily driver. He drove it to the office. He parked it at meters on the street. He let valets park it. “It was not something he treated as outrageously special,” Gallivan remembers, “but that was how he loved it.”

Gallivan loved the car, as well, and drove it regularly. “There were no restrictions or ‘don’t take my car,’” he says. “It was just there.” As his father aged, Gallivan found himself in line to receive the Gullwing. “My dad decided early on that he wanted to die broke and was liquidating stuff out of his estate,” Gallivan says. “I am a junior. His name was John Gallivan, and I am John Gallivan Jr., so there was no big challenge in just moving the title over to me.”

As can happen in the life of a car enthusiast, Gallivan stumbled into becoming the owner of the one-of-a-kind Kircher when he was on the hunt for his Gullwing’s original engine, which he ran in the Colorado Grand.

Gallivan spent his career producing sports programming for ABC and ESPN on the East Coast, including airings of the Indianapolis 500 and Monaco Grand Prix. Now 76 and retired back in Salt Lake City, he thinks of his own fiscal legacy. “I have no plans to sell the car,” he says, “but I thought maybe the next generation would [benefit from doing so].”

One of the Gullwing’s mysteries: It arrived in the Gallivans’ possession with a nonoriginal engine; the powerplant was from a 1957 car. Factory-correct drivetrain stampings increase the value of a car such as this significantly. “We typically say at least 10 percent [added value] to be conservative, but I’ve heard figures as high as 25 percent,” says Mike Kunz, who runs the Mercedes-Benz Classic Center in Irvine, California, a brand subsidiary dedicated to preservation and restoration of vintage Benzes. “But at today’s values, 10 percent is more than $100,000.”

Given this difference, Gallivan set out to find the original engine. He hadn’t been active in the collector car community or in researching automotive history. But he found a Gullwing owners’ group message board and posted a question. Does anybody know how the engine I have ended up in my car? “It never occurred to me to ask,” he says, “or that an engine, missing for 60 years, would ever reappear.”

A Stylist named Charlie Lyons hand-built a curvaceous body out of aluminum. Like many homemade sports cars of the time, it was a bit of a mashup of Italian and British lines.

He was shocked to soon receive a response from a classic car restorer in Missouri named Jeff Moore, who ran a shop called The Automotive Archeologists. “I have your engine,” Moore wrote. “And moreover, it happens to be in the Kircher.”

In the post-WWII era, soldiers returning from overseas or assisting in the war effort on the homefront put their gearhead field experience to good use in the customization and hot-rodding of automobiles. According to historians, even before the Corvette was launched in 1953, there were more than 50 American-made sports-car models. Many of these were manufactured in limited numbers—by hobbyists, obsessives, or entrepreneurs—some with the dream of becoming regular production cars, some to be raced in early Sports Car Club of America events. Their activity was clustered on the coasts, particularly the West Coast, but pockets existed nationwide.

Charles Hughes of Denver, Colorado, the scion of a wealthy local family, developed a passion for speed before the war, testing planes for the military and sponsoring vehicles in the Indy 500. After the armistice, he further indulged this interest by purchasing a Jaguar XK120 to race. He bought the car new from Kurt Kircher, who owned the local foreign car shop, Denver Import Motors. Kircher was an amateur racer himself who’d had some success with a Chrysler Hemi-powered Allard J2X, one of the quickest cars of its time, if a bit crude.

The two became fast friends, quite literally. Kircher had a degree in automotive engineering—he’d worked for General Motors on post-war V-8s and the Powerglide transmission. Hughes had a degree in physics as well as a stellar machine shop in his six-car garage. So in the early ’50s, the pair decided, according to a history Kircher wrote a few years before his death in 2004, “It would be fun to try to build something better.”

Familiar with the Jag powertrain, they decided to create a clean-sheet racer around an engine and transmission salvaged from a wrecked XK120. Kircher designed the drilled chrome-moly tube frame, rear De Dion suspension, and inboard rear-wheel drums and safety hubs. The front suspension came from the Jag. The steering rack came from an MG. The rear differential came from Halibrand. The rest of the bits were either shopped or poached.

A stylist named Charlie Lyons hand-built a curvaceous body out of aluminum. Like many homemade sports cars of the time, it was a bit of a mashup of Italian and British lines—a Ferrari 250S mated with a Jaguar D-type. But unlike either of those, it had inboard headlamps in the grille, deeply scalloped sides, and an intriguing dual-piece construction—the car’s entire top half could be unbolted to allow for mechanical massaging. It was finished after a year of work. Kircher named it for himself—the Kircher Special—and hit the track. The car was fast and handled well. “I do not have a list of all the events we participated in,” he wrote. “But we won most and never did worse than third in class.”

Still, by the mid-1950s Porsche and Ferrari upped their power games, and Kircher and Hughes decided they too needed more. Kircher set his mind on installing a fuel-injected straight-six and four-speed from a Mercedes-Benz 300 SL Gullwing. According to a murky chronology, he apparently found a wrecked SL and traded its powertrain to a friend at Mercedes-Benz in Germany for a hotted-up race version allegedly prepared for the Mille Miglia. Kircher installed it in his car and went to work winning more races.

Soon after, however, advances such as disc brakes rendered the car’s drums somewhat archaic, and the owners decided not to invest in it further. The Kircher eventually passed to body-maker Lyons, who apparently traded the race engine in it for a stock one from another 300 SL in Colorado Springs. It was this factory engine that, again mysteriously, came out of the car the Gallivans would eventually purchase. (Confused yet? You’re not alone. It’s like a game of three-card monte with engines.)

A succession of owners followed—including Bugatti collector Carlton Coolidge and the Blackhawk Museum—before the Special passed into the hands of Court Whitlock in Missouri. Whitlock campaigned it on the vintage race circuit in the States, as well as more far-flung locales such as New Zealand, Singapore, and Malaysia. He had the car cosmetically restored by Moore’s Automotive Archeologists and showed it at the Amelia Island Concours in 2014.

The Classic Center’s Kunz spotted the vehicle on the field at Amelia that year and immediately noticed the big three-pointed star on the hood. “I remember walking by the car, and I went, ‘Oh my God, who did this?’” Kunz says and laughs. “Not knowing there’s a very cool story to who did this.”

Or that he’d soon be involved in undoing and redoing this.

The Gallivans had no history on the origin of the 1957 SL engine that came with their Gullwing. Neither did they particularly care. “Dad loved the car,” Gallivan says. “I don’t think it ever occurred to him that it was flawed or imperfect because of some mismatch, in part because selling was never on the table.” And no one knows why or when it was put into the car, why or when the factory engine was taken out, and whatever became of that alleged Mille Miglia racing engine from Stuttgart. But all old car stories are seemingly full of incomprehensible apocrypha. “There’s a disruption in the continuity that cannot be overcome,” Gallivan says.

When Kurt Kircher and Charles Hughes ventured to create a racer, they took inspiration and parts from several cars, but for racing they sought out a fuel-injected straight-six powerplant from a Mercedes-Benz 300 SL Gullwing.

Convolutions aside, Gallivan wanted to reunite car and engine. Sadly, by the time he made the discovery, he’d already sent his Gullwing to the Classic Center to have the nonmatching engine rebuilt as part of a mechanical restoration. He offered Whitlock’s representative, Moore, the opportunity for a swap: his rebuilt engine for the proper one in the Kircher, whatever its condition. But Whitlock was no longer driving the car, and his interest in an updated engine was minimal. “He insisted that if I wanted the engine I’d have to buy the whole car,” Gallivan says.

“You’re exposed from the nipples up. But even in the cold of the night, in the rain, in the dark, immense heat pours through that firewall”

After much consternation and bargaining, Gallivan decided to go forward with the purchase. Among his two daughters and three grandkids, no one really cares about cars—“I’m very concerned about this,” he jokes—so he viewed his plan as an investment in their future financial stability. Still, he felt obliged to write his family a note. “I am 75 years old. I have migraine auras, macular degeneration, ringing ears, some kind of weird outcropping on my kidney, a bladder condition, one bad hip, and two bad knees,” he wrote, wryly. “Today I bought a race car.”

The engine in the Kircher needed a complete rebuild before it could return to where it belonged in the SL. While this occurred at the Classic Center, Gallivan decided to have the rebuilt, unmatched straight-six from his dad’s car installed in the racer. His plan was to have it ready in time to drive it in the Colorado Grand, a 1,000-mile historic tour through the Rockies. After this, he would sell it.

The Kircher has no top or windshield to speak of. It also lacks windows, ventilation, a stereo, a driver’s side door, a speedometer, or any other modern comforts. “You’re exposed from the nipples up. You have no protection. But even in the cold of the night, in the rain, in the dark, immense heat pours through that firewall,” Gallivan says. Yet despite all of this, he fell in love with the Special. “The car is so endearing,” he concedes. “It’s magic, and it’s very lucky for me. I mean, I got the engine reunited, and I had this great experience with it. I just think I will hold onto it as long as I can.”

Gallivan was kind enough to share the magic with us, allowing us to drive his one-off race car. We’ve had the good fortune of getting behind the wheel of a few 300 SLs, so the stiff four-speed shifter and period VDO gauges were familiar. We were not prepared, however, for the tractability. The Kircher’s front overhang is shorter than a Gullwing’s, so the turning circle is tighter. The suspension setup and ride quality is superior, more pliant and less unpredictable compared to the sporadically terrifying swing axles on the factory car.

But the real difference is in the speed. Because of its stripped-down interior, aluminum body, and drilled frame, the Kircher is hundreds of pounds lighter than a standard SL, closer in spec to one of the rare aluminum-bodied Gullwings. And because of the side exhausts exiting just aft of the front right wheel, the straight-six’s sound is both more proximal and more intoxicating, a guttural snarl not usually associated with Mercedes of the era. Although it’s fussy like all old sports cars, it just wants to go at all times.

Of course, it also has to stop—a bit harrowing with four-wheel drum brakes and a weirdly offset pedal. And because it is lipstick red and doesn’t look like any other vehicle ever made, when it does stop at li from Performance Junk WP Feed 4 http://ift.tt/2FuXyLI via IFTTT

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jonathanbelloblog · 6 years

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Extended Family: The Incredible Story of the Kircher Special and its Long-Lost 300 SL Relative

A Stylist named Charlie Lyons hand-built a curvaceous body out of aluminum. Like many homemade sports cars of the time, it was a bit of a mashup of Italian and British lines.

Or that he’d soon be involved in undoing and redoing this.

“You’re exposed from the nipples up. But even in the cold of the night, in the rain, in the dark, immense heat pours through that firewall”

#IFTTT #Performance Junk Blogger Feed 4

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jesusvasser · 6 years

Text

Extended Family: The Incredible Story of the Kircher Special and its Long-Lost 300 SL Relative

A Stylist named Charlie Lyons hand-built a curvaceous body out of aluminum. Like many homemade sports cars of the time, it was a bit of a mashup of Italian and British lines.

Or that he’d soon be involved in undoing and redoing this.

“You’re exposed from the nipples up. But even in the cold of the night, in the rain, in the dark, immense heat pours through that firewall”

#IFTTT #Performance Junk WP Feed 4

0 notes