#rival stars hose racing

[voidpetrova]

quick rinse — jeremy gilbert x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: swearing, suggestive content, reader is a cliché car girl — fluff

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: jeremy will do everything he can to keep an eye on the girl at the school's car wash

✧.*

under the scorching sun of a late spring afternoon, the grounds of mystic falls high school buzzed with anticipation. the annual charity car wash was in full swing, with colorful banners flapping in the breeze and clusters of students bustling around buckets, sponges, and hoses. the air was filled with the scent of soap and the distant laughter of teenagers eager to contribute to a good cause.

amidst the organized chaos, you stood beside a gleaming sedan, a determined grin on your face as you attacked a particularly stubborn smear on the windshield. dressed in a pair of faded denim shorts and a vibrant bikini top covered by a light, sheer tunic, you radiated energy that seemed to rival the sun itself. your friends worked on cars nearby, sharing laughter and shouts across the makeshift wash station.

across the lot, jeremy gilbert, a brooding yet attractive figure, leaned casually against a tree. His eyes were fixed on you as if you were the only person in the entire schoolyard. day after day, he had found himself inexplicably drawn to the car wash, captivated by your grace and determination as you tackled each vehicle with an unwavering enthusiasm.

he watched the way the sun glistened against your skin. you had one leg on the ground, the other bent against the surface of the car's hood as you scrubbed away at the windshield. he could feel his breath hitch as droplets of sweat and cold water dripped down your thigh, forming a small puddle under your feet.

“jeremy, seriously, you've been lurking here every day this week,” elena teased, sauntering over with a sly grin. “if you're going to stare, at least make it less obvious.”

jeremy tore his gaze away from you, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “i can't help it. she's just—she's something else, elena.”

she chuckled and bumped his shoulder playfully. “well, lucky for you, i happen to know her. that's (y/n), my friend from way back. she's just as amazing on the inside as she looks on the outside.”

jeremy's interest was piqued, and a mixture of nerves and excitement danced in his eyes. “do you think you could introduce me?”

elena's grin widened. “of course! in fact, why don't you help out at the car wash? it's for charity, after all.”

he hesitated, his gaze flickering back to you as you expertly wrung out a sponge. “i guess it wouldn't hurt to pitch in.”

a sudden heat crept up his cheeks as you peeled your tunic off, revealing the vibrant bikini top that had, unknowingly, become the star of his daydreams. he swallowed hard, his fingers unconsciously curling around the edge of the car's roof. his heart raced as you wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead, the gesture both casual and intimate.

“elena wasn't exaggerating when she said you were committed to this,” jeremy finally managed to say, his voice betraying a mix of admiration and bashfulness. you chuckled, shooting him a playful grin as you wrung out the sponge in your hand. “well, it's for a good cause,” you paused to meet his gaze, eyes twinkling as he stared at you. “you're elena's baby brother, aren't you?” the soft breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of soap and the faintest hint of blooming flowers. he found himself unable to tear his eyes away as you worked, your every movement seeming to flow with an innate rhythm that held him captive.

jeremy's eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “yeah, that's me. the one and only.” you shook your head, still smiling. “i've heard so much about you from elena. she talks about you with this mix of exasperation and affection that's pretty endearing.”

his lips quirked up in a fond smile, his nerves slowly easing in the warmth of your presence. “she's something, isn't she?”

“she is.” you resumed your scrubbing, your attention split between the car and keremy. “so, what made you decide to join our little car wash brigade?”

jeremy leaned casually against the car, crossing his arms as he regarded you with a thoughtful expression. “well, besides the fact that i can't resist your car-washing skills, i wanted to do something different. and helping out for a good cause seemed like a great way to start.”

you raised an eyebrow playfully, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “oh, so you're saying my car-washing skills were the main draw here?”

he laughed, a genuine, unguarded sound that resonated through the air. “can you blame me? you make it look easy.”

as the sun continued to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over everything around you, the conversation flowed effortlessly. the transition from strangers to acquaintances felt natural, the ease of your interactions comforting and exciting all at once.

jeremy leaned in slightly, his eyes focused on a particularly intricate part of the car's engine. “it's a nice engine belt, huh.”

you couldn't help but smile at his attempt, appreciating his genuine interest. “close, jeremy. it's actually called the serpentine belt. it's responsible for driving various components of the engine, like the alternator and the power steering pump.”

he nodded, a mixture of fascination and curiosity evident on his face. “wow, you really know your stuff.”

you shrugged modestly, a faint blush rising to your cheeks. “i've been working on cars since i was twelve. my dad used to own a small auto shop, and he taught me a lot.”

his admiration was clear in his eyes, and a warm smile spread across his lips. “that's seriously impressive, (y/n). i mean, most people my age would probably struggle to change a tire.”

you chuckled, appreciating his honesty but shrugging nonetheless. “i don't like to flaunt my knowledge, guys don't really like it when you know more about cars than them.”

his gaze lingered on you, a newfound admiration dancing in his eyes. “it's really cool that you have that kind of knowledge. it's— attractive, honestly.” the sincerity in his words sent a delightful shiver down your spine, your heart skipping a beat. “well, thank you, jeremy. i'm glad you think so.”

as the conversation flowed, you found yourselves delving into the intricacies of car mechanics, each exchange strengthening the connection that was forming between you. the sun had now fully set, and the car wash area was illuminated by the soft glow of overhead lights, casting a cozy ambiance over the scene.

jeremy's curiosity and genuine interest in your passion were evident as he asked questions and soaked in your explanations. with each topic you covered, he seemed more captivated, more drawn to the depth of your knowledge and the enthusiasm with which you shared it.

as the night wore on, you both stood by the car, the faint hum of conversation and laughter from the other students providing a soothing backdrop. the world seemed to narrow down to the two of you, lost in the exchange of ideas and stories. and in that shared space of learning and connection, jeremy and you continued to build a foundation, one that held the promise of something more—a connection fueled by mutual admiration, respect, and a growing attraction that neither of you could deny.

as the car wash event wrapped up, the two of you found yourselves caught in the magnetic pull of continued conversation. the stars were starting to twinkle in the night sky, and the idea of extending the evening seemed natural. jeremy cleared his throat, his gaze a mixture of nerves and excitement.

“hey, (y/n), i was thinking— maybe we could grab a drink or something? there's this bar not too far from here.” you smiled, touched by his invitation. “that sounds like a great idea, jeremy.”

he fumbled for his phone in his pocket. “i can call us a cab if you'd like.”

you shook your head with a playful glint in your eyes. “actually, i've got something better. follow me.” jeremy didn't know what exactly he was expecting—a personal car, perhaps? maybe a limo or personal driver? curiosity lit up his face as you led him towards a sleek, parked yamaha motorcycle nearby. he looked at you in surprise, his eyebrows raised. “you ride a motorcycle?” you nodded, a grin playing on your lips. “oh, yeah. i'm a bit of a car and bike enthusiast.”

his astonishment was evident, and his eyes sparkled with a newfound intrigue. “you never cease to amaze me.”

after a few quick instructions, you handed jeremy a helmet and swung your leg over the motorcycle. he followed suit, fitting the helmet onto his head and securing it in place. you could feel his arms wrap around your waist, a warmth seeping through your clothing and sending a shiver down your spine.

“ready?” you asked, your voice carrying a mix of excitement and anticipation.

“absolutely,” he replied, his voice close to your ear, sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

with a gentle rev of the engine, you set off into the night. the wind rushed past you, the cool breeze making the air feel electric. as you navigated the streets with the precision and confidence of a seasoned rider, jeremy's grip around your waist tightened ever so slightly, his body pressed against yours.

the city lights created a vibrant tapestry as you weaved through the streets, the familiar rumble of the engine blending with the distant sounds of nightlife. the two of you communicated in a language of shared adventure, every twist and turn a testament to your unspoken connection.

at a red light, you stole a glance at Jeremy through the rearview mirror. his hair was tousled by the wind, his eyes alight with a mixture of excitement and exhilaration. it was a sight that stirred something within you—a sense of newfound intimacy, a shared moment that felt suspended in time.

when the light turned green, you accelerated smoothly, the motorcycle responding to your touch. the sensation of the open road, the freedom of the night, and the presence of jeremy behind you created a symphony of emotions that resonated in your heart.

as you approached the bar, you gradually slowed down, bringing the motorcycle to a graceful halt. jeremy dismounted, his movements fluid and graceful. removing his helmet, he looked at you with an expression that held a hint of awe.

“that was incredible, (y/n). i had no idea you were this extraordinary.”

you chuckled, a mixture of pride and affection in your voice. “well, now you know.”

hand in hand, you walked into the bar, the world around you seemingly aglow with the magic of the night. the romantic adventure you had just shared on the motorcycle had deepened the connection between you, creating a foundation for the evening ahead—an evening that held the promise of laughter, shared stories, and a budding romance that seemed to mirror the stars above, bright and infinite.

inside the cozy bar, the atmosphere buzzed with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. you and jeremy settled into a corner booth, the dim lighting casting a warm, intimate ambiance. as you exchanged stories, it felt like a natural continuation of the connection you had built at the car wash earlier.

jeremy leaned back against the cushioned booth, his eyes locked onto yours as he listened intently to your tale. “so, you've been into cars since you were twelve, huh? that's impressive dedication.”

you nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “yeah, like i said— my dad owned a small auto shop. he taught me everything i know about cars. we used to spend hours working on them together.”

jeremy's gaze softened, a hint of understanding in his eyes. “i can relate to that. my dad was into cars too. he used to tinker with them in our garage. i learned a lot just by watching him.”

a shared sense of loss lingered in the air, unspoken but understood. you fiddled with your fingers, letting the moment settle between you before continuing. “he passed away a few years ago. it was tough, but working on cars has always been a way for me to feel connected to him.”

jeremy's expression grew solemn, a mix of sympathy and camaraderie in his gaze. “i lost my parents too, in a car accident. it's been hard trying to move forward without them.”

“i'm so sorry to hear that,” you said softly, reaching across the table to place a reassuring hand on his. “losing a parent is something you can't replace. but maybe we can find a way to honor their memories by carrying on their passions.”

he gave you a small, appreciative smile. “yeah, i'd like that. you know, maybe you can teach me a thing or two about cars. it would be nice to feel that connection again.” you returned his smile, a warm spark of enthusiasm igniting within you. “absolutely. i'd be happy to help you learn.”

the conversation flowed seamlessly as you talked about cars, shared memories, and traded anecdotes about your families. as the night wore on, jeremy's curiosity about your preferences took a playful turn. “what can i get you to drink?”

you leaned back, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “surprise me.”

he chuckled, looking amused by your response. “alright, how about a cocktail?”

you tilted your head in consideration before shaking it. “actually, i'll have a beer.”

his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “a beer? i didn't see that coming.”

you grinned, your expression unapologetic. “gotta keep you on your toes, right?” the corners of his lips curled upwards in an affectionate smile. “you certainly have a way of doing that.”

as jeremy headed to the bar to fetch your drinks, you watched him move through the crowd with an air of newfound familiarity. the warmth that had blossomed between you felt like a promise of something more—something built on shared experiences, mutual understanding, and the undeniable attraction that had drawn you together.

as he returned to the table, the clinking of glasses marked the continuation of your evening together. the laughter and stories flowed, creating a tapestry of connection that seemed to erase the boundaries of time and space. the bar's ambiance seemed to echo the sentiment, with its soft lighting and cozy atmosphere cocooning the two of you in a world of your own.

as the night deepened, you couldn't help but reflect on how this chance meeting at the charity car wash had unfolded into something far more significant. the shared passion for cars had been the catalyst, but it was the genuine connection that had truly set the stage for the enchanting evening.

with every glance, every laugh, and every story shared, it became clear that your encounter with jeremy was a turning point—a moment that held the promise of a new chapter in both of your lives. and as you raised your glasses in a silent toast to the future, you knew that the stars above weren't the only things shimmering with potential that night.

under the bright morning sun, jeremy awoke with a sense of anticipation in his chest. the golden rays filtered through his curtains, casting warm patterns of light on his bedroom walls. stretching languidly, he let out a contented sigh, his mind immediately wandering back to the previous day's interactions.

as he made his way downstairs, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the distant sounds of chirping birds. the comfortable hum of morning surrounded him, creating a sense of coziness that wrapped around his senses like a familiar embrace.

elena was already in the kitchen, her brows furrowed in concentration as she stared at her phone screen. her lips curved into a smile as her little brother entered the room. “good morning, sleepyhead.”

he returned her smile, his curiosity piqued by the look on her face. “hey, what's got you so engrossed? elena let out a half-amused, half-frustrated sigh. “my car's acting up. it just won't start.”

a spark of realization lit up jeremy's eyes. “wait, didn't you use it to drive back home last night?”

elena nodded, her frustration palpable. “yeah, and now it's completely dead. i don't know what's wrong with it.”

jeremy's mind immediately leapt to a solution. “you know, I think I might know someone who can help.”

elena's eyebrow arched inquisitively. “oh, do tell. who's this mysterious someone?”

jeremy's cheeks tinged pink as he hesitated, his voice a touch uncertain. “your friend, (y/n)? i think she's really knowledgeable about cars. maybe she can figure out what's going on.”

elena's lips curled into a knowing smile. “ah, i see. you're hoping to impress her, aren't you?”

jeremy's blush deepened, but he couldn't deny it. “well, she seems to know a lot about cars. it's worth a shot.”

elena chuckled, her gaze filled with mischief. “alright, go ahead and call her then.”

taking a deep breath, jeremy dialed your number. after a few rings, you answered, your voice carrying a sense of energy even through the phone.

“hey, jer. what's going on?”

he cleared his throat, the nervousness returning. “hey, (y/n). i was wondering if you could help us out. my sister's car broke down, and i thought maybe you could take a look at it?” there was a brief pause before your voice chimed in again, this time laced with enthusiasm. “of course, i'd be happy to help. where's the car?”

as jeremy provided the address, he couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. he hung up the phone with a mix of hope and anticipation, unsure of what the day would bring but eager to spend more time with you.

when you arrived at elena's place, jeremy's heartbeat quickened as he caught sight of you stepping out of your car. dressed in a snug tank top and shorts, you looked effortlessly confident, a toolbox in hand, and an aura of readiness surrounding you. your hair was half-up and half-clipped back, a few front strands dancing in the gentle breeze.

as you approached elena's car, your attention was fully captured by the task at hand. jeremy watched in awe as you bent over the open hood, your fingers deftly navigating the engine components. you explained each step with a mix of concentration and clarity, making it easy for elena and him to follow along.

“—so, it looks like this wire right here came loose, which is causing a disruption in the ignition system,” you explained, your tone informative yet approachable.

elena nodded, genuinely impressed. “wow, you really know your stuff.”

jeremy found himself nodding in agreement, his admiration growing with each passing moment. your expertise was matched only by your ability to explain complex concepts in a way that was easily understandable—a rare combination that only deepened his intrigue. after a few minutes of focused work, you stood up, wiping your hands on a rag. “there we go, that should do it.”

elena eagerly hopped into the driver's seat and attempted to start the car. a victorious smile crossed her face as the engine roared to life.

“thank you so much, (y/n)! you're a lifesaver,” elena exclaimed, her gratitude evident.

you smiled warmly. “no problem, happy to help.”

as you turned to leave, jeremy's heart raced with a mixture of excitement and something more. “hey, (y/n), hold on a sec.”

you turned back, your gaze curious. “yeah?”

he cleared his throat, his voice a touch nervous. “um, would you maybe want to grab dinner with me sometime? you know, as a thank you for helping with the car?”

a playful smile danced on your lips, and you stepped closer. “well, that depends. are you asking me out on a date?”

jeremy felt a rush of anticipation as he met your gaze. “yeah, i am.”

you leaned in, your voice softening to a whisper. “well, then, i think i'd like that.”

in a heartbeat, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a gentle yet electrifying kiss. the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you connected by a magnetic pull that was impossible to resist.

when you finally pulled away, your eyes locked onto each other's, a shared warmth and excitement in the air. jeremy couldn't help but feel that this moment was like a scene from a movie—a serendipitous encounter that had blossomed into something far more significant.

with a final, lingering look, you stepped back, promising to text him about the details of your dinner. jeremy watched you go with a sense of wonder, realizing that what had started as a chance meeting at a charity car wash had turned into a life-altering connection—one that held the promise of shared laughter, deep conversations, and a romance that had ignited unexpectedly but brilliantly.

as he stood there, watching you disappear from view, he couldn't help but feel that the road of life had taken an unforeseen turn—one that had led him straight to you, a car enthusiast who had not only fixed his sister's car but had also fixed something within his own heart. and as he looked to the future, he was eager to see where this newfound connection would take him.

#tvd #tvdu #the vampire diaries #legacies #the originals #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries fluff #the vampire diaries angst #the vampire diaries smut #jeremy gilbert #jeremy x reader #jeremy gilbert x reader #jeremy gilbert x reader smut #jeremy gilbert fluff #jeremy gilbert smut #jeremy gilbert angst

[eternal-senshi]

Sonic is smarter than you think!

Sonic The Hedgehog is widely considered to have average intelligence by both fans and outsiders alike. But in this post I will highlight some of Sonic's feats in terms of intelligence!

(You will have to copy and paste the links to see them, sorry!)

Note: Most, if not all, of these links are not mine, I got these from a now deleted deviant art post made by someone else. Credit to them!

Is Super Smart --> Sonic the Hedgehog Official stylebook Pg. 6

https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/980960551104553000/980968797253029918/sQFxl9F_d.webp

Has an Quick Wit - Sonic Triple Trouble

https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/980960551104553000/980968874969301013/page3-634px-SonicTripleTrouble_GG_US_manual.pdf.jpg

Accelerated Thinking -- Sonic the hedgehog adventure gamebook stat sheet

https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/980960551104553000/980968893038338048/mXS3Pxd_d.webp

Sonic The Hedgehog 2:

-Capable of repairing his Bi-plane after being shot down.

https://youtu.be/dNBXCyVPcuA?t=3815

https://youtu.be/dNBXCyVPcuA?t=3580

Sonic Adventure/Adventure DX:

Easily cracks the code to Final Egg, Eggman's hidden base.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XwtNXo1aQgs&list=FLXXOvt6Uqdvq289R2W0eizw&t=6583s

Eggman himself was even surprised Sonic made it that far! :

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XwtNXo1aQgs&list=FLXXOvt6Uqdvq289R2W0eizw&t=7133s

Deduces that recklessly sealing perfect chaos inside the master emerald would cause more harm than good.

https://youtu.be/IT7-8WLgdgc?t=216

Sonic Rivals:

Capable of hacking into Eggman Nega's base / tech:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?t=2764&v=2UNZcwvrVWw&feature=youtu.be

Sonic the Hedgehog 4:

Tracked down Eggmans Secret Base

https://youtu.be/NzITzZON98c

Sonic Adventure 2:

-Easily understood and carried out Tails' plan of locating the Space Colony Ark's control room, and sabotaging the eclipse cannon. Tails, a super genius himself, was even curious if Sonic got his plan or not.

https://youtu.be/mJcClMWtFp0?t=141

https://youtu.be/1nWxnex3esg?t=520

-Managed to pull off chaos control on his first try after watching Shadow.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xuiq5NEbRU

Sonic Forces:

-Hacked and shut down the Death Egg's weapons system

https://youtu.be/7yae_Lo4stQ

Sonic Colors:

Managed to read binary code, which Tails thought only he could do.

https://youtu.be/0RD-sdbfQYI?t=66

https://youtu.be/XzmZQokUj5w?t=490

Easily Foiled Dr Eggmans Plans every time who has an Iq of 300

https://youtu.be/aqq3riCcY4o?list=PLEh0ndqaj-5sV8NzCxYc1Jez_j1h0j455&t=137

https://youtu.be/DmE5DY7iNCw?t=2125

https://sonic.sega.jp/SonicChannel/character/eggman.html

Sonic Lost World:

Removed the exhaust hose from Eggman's hidden jetpack and is just generally always one step ahead of him

https://youtu.be/IBBqjUo5gsw?t=1712

Sonic Mania:

Defeats Dr. Eggman at his own game of Puyo Puyo!

https://youtu.be/xBbM7LfWE2Y?t=116

Sonic Generations:

Was the one who taught his younger self the Homing attack technique, and is all around an incredibly quick leaner.

https://youtu.be/BdWqcHtu_1s?t=437

Sonic Drift 1 and 2, Sonic Adventure 1 and 2, Sonic Sega and All stars Racing and Racing Transformed, Sonic Generations and Team Sonic Racing

Can Pilot Race Cars

https://youtu.be/ZYj37yb8F4I

Sonic 2, Sonic Triple Trouble, Sonic Mania, Sonic Advance:

Can Pilot bi-planes

https://youtu.be/2DpU3DBsVIM

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J8ZcUjU35vE

https://youtu.be/YpAH0RY0ZHs

https://youtu.be/RtyQZoqUcek?t=61

Sonic Riders, Sonic Riders Zero Gravity and Free Riders:

Can Pilot Hoverboards

https://youtu.be/SZFaHGtqWo4?t=192

https://youtu.be/k3yLYvXTnG8?t=1200

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOj5gIYQrwM

And Spacecrafts

https://youtu.be/DR8PwP4Oq1o

Sonic and the Olympic Games London 2012

Sonic and Tails are Smarter then Mario and Luigi as they came to the conclusion Fog Importers are Importers on their own.

18:55

https://youtu.be/aSo6cgEe8SY

Sonic beats Aristo, an intelligent young man, who claims no has beaten him in his intellectual battles:

https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/sonic/images/4/4f/STH2006_Aristo_02.png/revision/latest?cb=20210315184215

Here's info on him:

https://sonic.fandom.com/wiki/Aristo

Thanks for reading this and I hope you learned something new!

#sonic the hedgehog #sega sonic #Sonic #intelligent #Feats #video games

[mapleridge]

New baby Pumpkin!

#rival stars hose racing #rival stars #pumpkin

[atsukashii]

❝cold showers❞ // atsumu miya

➛ SYNOPSIS: all hell breaks loose when your boyfriend takes it upon himself to use all the hot water in the middle of winter. 

» CHARACTER PAIRING: atsumu miya x reader

» WORD COUNT: 1.8k

» GENRE: post time- skip, aged up characters, MSBY time period

» WARNINGS: kinda suggestive (17+), and just some self indulgent domestic chaos that no one asked for

« masterlist || ao3 »

“Atsumu!” Your shriek echoes loudly off your bathroom walls as the water you have been previously standing under rapidly changes from a relaxing warmth to rival that of arctic temperatures.

It takes your boyfriend only seconds to leave his place on the couch where he had been watching reruns of his latest match to practically kick down the bathroom door.

“Sweetheart? What happened?!” The concern in his voice on another day would have melted you into a useless puddle, but right now you are freezing your ass off because of him - so you only defrosted ever so slightly. Once his brown eyes meet your own through the steam that’s quickly slipping out through the open doorway, you want to growl as his eyes distractedly lower from your face as his brain catches up with what he just walked in on.

With a scoff of frustration, you grab your towel off the rack placed next to the shower and quickly cover yourself in an attempt to keep your boyfriends attention. “Atsumu.”

“Yes?” his eyes are still glued to your towel and you rest a hand on your hip as the other clutched tightly to the top of your towel. It’s not like you’re embarrassed to be seen as naked as the day you were born by your boyfriend, as you’ve been dating for years and it wasn’t the first time this had happened. You just wanted all of his attention so you could see the fear of God in his eyes as you kill him.

“You used all the hot water,” You growl out, and maybe it’s the anger in your tone that forces his warm gaze back to your face. “Again.” you finish for good measure. Because this was the third time this had happened this week, and it was Thursday.  Running a hand through his blonde locks, you refuse to let your eyes stray to the way his biceps bulge at the movement. It was a tactical move on his behalf, one you both recognize as a way to lessen the blow of your frustration, but it wasn’t going to work this time.

“Sweetheart, I thought something bad had happened.” Atsumu sighs, resting his weight against the now open doorway realizing that his attempt to sway you from anger is in vain.

“Oh trust me something bad did happen. I was halfway through washing my hair when all the hot water suddenly disappeared. Care to share why that would be Atsumu?” You interrogate and the asshole has the audacity to flash his panty-dropper smirk at you, which proceeds in just pissing you off more.

“I had a gruelling practice today so I treated myself to a spa treatment.”

“I swear to god if you used one of my fancy face masks…” You groan, trodding your sopping wet feet towards the sink, where you open the cabinets. Reaching in you rip out the box of the fancy face masks that your friend had bought you for your birthday and begin to count them. To be honest, you wouldn’t really care if he used one. In fact, on any bad days that you have, your boyfriend takes it upon himself to give you both DIY self-care of facemasks and wine on the couch. This time though, you know you’re being petty, but you can’t help it. Your hair is still full of conditioner, there’s no hot water left, it’s winter and you’re freezing cold. Letting out a sigh you close the cabinet closed and turn on the faucet for the sink, deciding to try and rinse out the rest of the conditioner in the sink rather than getting back in the hellish shower.

“You know there’s a way to get around this hot water situation right?” Atsumu finally speaks up as he watches you begin to rid the conditioner from your hair. Your eyes close as you shove your head under the faucet and use both hands to try and quickly get the conditioner out as fast as possible.

“And what’s what Atsumu.” You reply, exhausted with the conversation and the whole day. You just want this out of your hair so you can make yourself into a blanket burrito on the couch and watch your favorite show in peace.

“It’s simple, we just shower together. Can you please stop calling me Atsumu? It’s wiggin’ me out sweetheart” You pause your actions and raise your head to look through the mirror at his pouting face. He’s dead serious, you know it, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes that light up something in your chest. Come on sweetheart, bite back, his eyes seem to say. Normally you would, but instead, you just glare at his stupidly attractive face before bending back down to finishing rinsing your hair. You both stay in silence as you finish up before purposely grabbing his towel off the drying rack on the wall and using it to quickly somewhat dry your hair, all along making a conscious decision to have your back facing your boyfriend. It’s only when you put the towel back and turn to face him do you notice his child-like pout.

“I’m sorry sweetheart…” no he’s not. He lowers his eyebrows and looks at you through his long lashes, practically batting his eyes at you and you sweat to god there are stars shooting from his eyes.

“No, you’re not. Seriously Tsumu, if you want to take a shower that’s longer than twenty minutes then shower at the gym.” As you watch the smile rapidly begin to pull across your boyfriend’s lips, you doubt he actually heard it. Fine then, drastic times call for even more dramatic measures. Quickly, you turn back to the shower and grab the shower hose from the wall before spinning back on Atsumu.

“No more long showers.” His eyes drag back down your frame, his head nodding absentmindedly whilst fire blazes to life in his eyes. You know exactly what he’s thinking and there’s no way in hell that’s going to happen right now. So this time, not bothering to speak to try and gain his attention once more, you don’t hesitate to reach out and turn the nozzle on, unleashing a blast of frigid water right into Atsumu’s face. The ear ringing shriek that leaves his mouth has you bursting into laughter and making you wish you’d been recording the event. Turning off the nozzle between your bubbles of laughter, you eye Atsumu as he wipes the water from his face with a deadly calm. But once his eyes open and he sees your laughing form, all the tension in his shoulders fades until he’s smirking too.

“You think that’s funny gorgeous?” He asks, taking a step towards you.

“Hilarious. How’s the temperature TsumTsum?” You laugh teasingly as he takes another predatory step towards you.

“Fucking cold and you know it.” He sees your hand slowly reaching towards the nozzle and freezes in his place. “You wouldn’t.” Atsumu’s eyes narrow as you bite your lip to hold in another laugh as you see the torn expression of wanting to get you back but also wanting to get the hell out of there.

“Oh I so would,” You reply with a laugh as you turn on the water once more, completely soaking your boyfriend as he darts forward to drag the showerhead out of your hands. “Tsumu no!” You cry out as he joins you in the shower trying to pry the metal from your hands whilst also being blasted in the face. “Let go you demon!” he tries to say seriously but bursts into laughter at the end when your constant tug of war on the showerhead earns you a blast of water to the face. It’s not until Atsumu reaches behind you to turn off the water do you feel your legs slipping from underneath you. The second you feel yourself falling, there are steady arms behind your back and honey brown eyes right above your own.

“Oh god,” You exhale, the breath rushing out of your lungs as adrenaline pumps through your body at the feeling of slipping. You don’t even feel the cold water blasting across your legs from where you both dropped the showerhead, instead you find yourself smiling up at Atsumu.

“Actually my name’s Atsumu, but sure I can answer to God too. Anything for you gorgeous” The moment breaks as your boyfriend smirks at you with complete seriousness.

“That was so lame. Now let me go you big oaf.” You say trying to keep the laugh threatening to bubble out of your lips, trapped inside your throat.

“Lame? Lame? Wanna repeat that sweetheart?” Atsumu laughs as he releases you, only to catch you again a few inches from the floor.

“Tsumu!” You howl, clutching your boyfriend’s sopping shirt in your fists so even if he chooses to, he can’t drop you. He tries it again, but you cling to him like a spider monkey. His amusement floods the room and you glare up at your boyfriend.

“It’s not funny.” Your attempt to argue is pathetic considering you’re trying not to laugh, and he can tell. It’s only at that moment, standing in the shower soaking wet in your towel and hanging of your equally as soaked boyfriend, do you finally feel the biting chill in the air. “We’re going to catch colds standing here.” Atsumu’s teasing expression morphs into something so beautifully soft that your heart flutters against your ribs.

“You mean to say that if we stand here for longer, it’ll result in you being my nurse for a while. Can’t say I don’t like the thought sweetheart.” Although his words are taunting, his eyes are serious as they train on your own. Slowly as if to make it even more tortuous, his breath fans across your lips and suddenly you can’t remember what you had even been mad about earlier. As his mouth finally brushes against yours, the air leaves your lungs at the nagging tingle that jumps to life on your spine. It’s only a gentle kiss, one that lingers for but a moment before falling away, but that doesn’t mean it makes your heart race any less. “Wanna watch a movie? I made dinner,” He asks as he pulls away, but not quite letting you go.

Raising your eyebrows, you call out your boyfriends shit right there. “You made dinner?” It’s no secret Atsumu can’t cook, considering he almost lived off craft mac and cheese for three days when you had to take a trip out of town.  With an over-exaggerated groan, Atsumu slips from the shower stall, stripping out of his wet shirt before reaching into a cupboard and grabbing two dry towels.

“Okay I didn’t personally make it, but someone with my face did.” meaning Osamu.

“Oh good real food.” You grin, snatching the free towel out of Atsumu’s hands before quickly exchanging your wet one for the new one. “Can you heat it up whilst I change?” You feel Atsumu’s gaze follow you as you walk out of the bathroom and towards your shared bedroom.

“Need help with that?”

“Not since you made me have a freezing shower I don’t. Use all the hot water again and your new residence will be the couch, at Osamu’s apartment.” You call back over your shoulder as you raid your dresser for some warm clothes. As you change, you’re trying not to laugh as Atsumu’s muffled voice sounds up the hallway.

“Shorter showers? I can sooo do that.”

©️ 2021 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.

#atsumi miya #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu fic

[afterspark-podcast]

My Little Pony/Transformers: Friendship in Disguise, Part 2 Transcript

[This can also be found on AO3!]

[Stinger]

O: [laughing]

S: Like, I told you about this before.  You- you know my reasoning, you know where it comes from.

[Intro Music]

O: Welcome back to our April Fools’ Special!

S: For the My Little Pony/Transformers crossover.

O: Today we will go through issues 3 and 4, which will finish this little series and now on to part 1 of issue 3- Fluttershy makes friends, or [clears throat] um, ‘Pet Sounds’.

S: Fluttershy and Discord are in Fluttershy's house having a tea party, when they hear a very loud noise outside.

O: Discord, for reference, is a reformed villain in the series.  He's basically just Q from Star Trek if Q were an amalgam of a bunch of different critters all smooshed together.  (Including being played by the same actor.)  Ah, but he's good friends with Fluttershy at tha- this point in the series, presumably.

S: Outside in a crater, Soundwave emerges concluding that this world is ‘illogical’.

O: Fluttershy asks Discord if he's trying to play a trick on her, but he says even he can't think of something this bizarre.

S: Soundwave scares several of Fluttershy's animal friends, who flee into her house for safety.

O: Fluttershy attempts to calm them by saying, “No one's all bad!”  Before she catches sight of Ravage, Ratbat, Rumble, and Laserbeak.

S: Her first instinct is, “I can bond with this person!  He has PETS!!!”

O: Pretty much.  Fluttershy gathers up a few of her animal friends and flies directly over to Soundwave to introduce herself.

S: Said animal friends do not appear to be happy about this turn of events.

O: I don’t blame them!

S: Soundwave does not detect a threat from Fluttershy, but correctly detects a threat from Discord.

O: Meaning Soundwave can scan for chaos magic.

S: Well, considering Starscream, I'm pretty sure he can just scan for chaos in general.

O: [laughs] That's not a bad way of looking at it!  Soundwave begins attacking Discord, while the cassettes make a beeline for Fluttershy

S: Rumble, being the only one who can presumably speak in this group, starts badgering Fluttershy for information about this world's defenses.

O: And also, “Why does everything smell like lavender!?”

S: The Decepticons… I guess, know what lavender smells like.

O: I think the question is, do the Decepticons like what lavender smells like?

S: Very good question.  Discord proceeds to make a nu- a nuisance of himself to Soundwave, transforming into a metallic version of himself.  With puns even!

O: [snorts] Fluttershy, being Fluttershy, spots a scratch on Ravage's nose.

S: Or a booboo, as she calls it.

O: And pulls out some ‘booboo cream’ to tend the wound.

S: Ravage looks rather disarmed by all of this attention.

O: The rest of the animal cassettes all gather around Fluttershy, while Rumble is in the background getting more annoyed as he protests that it's not a ‘booboo’ it's ‘battle damage’.

S: Rumble backhands the cream out of Fluttershy's... hand?  Hoof?

O: Hoof, probably. [laughs]

S: To the shock and chagrin of the rest of the cassettes, Discord, and all of the animals in the vicinity.

O: Fluttershy gets upset because she was, “Trying to be nice!”

S: The other three cassettes turn on Rumble, as Discord transforms Fluttershy's animal friends into little robot versions of themselves.  Surprisingly menacing ones!  And they all attack Soundwave.  Soundwave gets to learn what being attacked by a dozen rabid little bunnies feels like.

O: Rumble attempts to dissuade his fellow cassettes from murder, invoking the ‘f word’.  The ‘f word’ being ‘friendship’ here.

S: Fluttershy immediately changes her tune and asks if friendship is what they really care about.

O: Soundwave responds with, “Unquestionably: Friendship superior.”

S: While being covered in a bunch of tiny, rabid, metal animals.

O: Yes.  The fighting stops, as Fluttershy says they can start over and be friends.

S: Discord points out that he could just turn them all into little pretty ponies, but doesn't.

O: The animal friends are returned to normal, and Rumble apologizes to Fluttershy.

S: Megatron coms Soundwave at this point, and tells him to meet up with the rest of the Decepticons.

O: Soundwave responds in the affirmative, but with the caveat of, “Eventually.”

S: And the final panel has Soundwave sitting down and looking on at- as his cassettes and Fluttershy frolic.

O: It is a stupidly cute panel.

S: Mm-hmm, Rumble has a bunch of bunnies in his arms.

O: Ravage is playing with a birb.

S: Laserbeak and Ratbat are both giving tiny animals rides.

O: And Discord is giving Soundwave a thumbs up.

S: It's happy communication all around.

O: Right!? Like, this is what Soundwave deserves, okay!? This is my humble opinion- Soundwave should just stay here and be happy.  I actually would pay good money for a crossover- like, a crossover fic of them.  Just Soundwave helping with like, Fluttershy's animal hospital thing.  That sounds so cute! [laughs]

S: It would be a relaxing vacation for him.

O: He deserves a relaxing vacation.  My boy deserves a relaxing vacation!  Also, just going to pause- if you guys hear creaking, I am super sorry.  But we- my neighbor is moving around a lot for some reason, and there's a lot of cranking going on here.  So, sorry you can hear that.

S: Issue 3 part 2, “The Flying Fox Trot,” begins with Rainbow Dash reclining on a cloud and chomping on an apple, content with life.

O: At least until Windblade zooms by, dissipating Rainbow's perch.

S: The two introduce themselves to each other and rainbow proclaims herself as, “The fastest in Equestria!”

O: To which, Windblade, seasoned warrior, plane with literal jet engines, asks, “Until I showed up?”  Of course, the only way to settle this is with a race, apparently.

S: Considering Rainbow Dash's personality, yeah.

O: Yeah.

S: At the starting line we get cameos from some horse-based Transformers, Mach Kick and Battle Unicorn.

O: Which, honestly, since one’s a horse and one's a unicorn, I'm just amused that these exist at all- in a toy line for boys.  And also, I kind of want them on principle.

S: They're-

O: They look amazing. [laughs]

S: With very convoluted transformations.

O: Apparently.  Because apparently, you can't, you- you- you- can take the horse out of the organic but you cannot take the horse out of a horse.

S: [laughs]

O: I know that wasn’t right.

S: You can take the organic out of the horse, but not the horse out of the robot.

O: Yes.  So it's, uh, anatomy is just about as bad as a real horse is what I'm getting at here. [laughs]  Windblade and Rainbow Dash take off and are neck and neck, figuratively speaking, since Windblade doesn't have a neck right now, but whatever.  Until they run into a gaggle of Decepticons.

S: Misfire and the Rainmakers not- well, to be specific.  And honestly that just sounds like a band name?

O: Jem and the Holograms’ new rival! [laughs] I like- great- okay, okay, I know- I know- I know that we were talking about this in our warm-up, not in the actual episode but if you want to get into weird things you can that like, fit into the Transformers-verse, arguably Jem and the Holograms takes place in the fit into the same continuity.  And in fact, there was a G.I. Joe character whose entire backstory is that he was a roadie for Jem and the Holograms, and G.I. Joe definitely takes place in the same universe as Transformers.

[Okay, so like, I’m not wrong per say, but arguably Transformers, Inhumanoids, G.I. Joe, and Jem and the Holograms all take place in the same universe due to the presence of Hector Ramirez in all four series. ~O]

S: And considering the comics, which definitely have had multiple G.I. Joe crossovers.

O: Yeah, but not Jem and the Holograms.  Like, I think the last IDW Jem and the Holograms was kind of weird because it didn't- it didn't tie in with the rest of like, the Hasbroverse.

S: Mm.

O: Anyway, I'm sorry, tangent!  It just cracks me up that's all.

S: [laughs] The Rainmakers popped up in a season one episode, in G1, when the Autobots had to visit Cybertron.

O: Misfire doesn't show up in G1 till like, very late season four, and by late I mean, season four only has like, what?  Three episodes?

S: Mm.

O: But, you know what I mean!  And he's more widely known from his IDW appearance with the Scavengers, who are ‘sirs not appearing in this comic’.

S: And also for his incredibly bad name-

B: [laugh]

S: And also for his imp- incredibly bad aim, for which, poor Misfire gets his name.

O: Rainbow Dash suggests doing the ‘Flying Foxtrot.’

S: Which Windblade, understandably, is not familiar with.

O: And I'm half convinced that Rainbow Dash made it up, but whatever!  This entire thing seems to be baiting the Cons into shooting heat seeking missiles at the two of them, and then nyrooming behind them so that the missiles hit the Cons instead.

S: The comic ends with Rainbow Dash and Windblade agreeing to a tie and sitting atop a pile of Rainmakers and Misfire.  Who all look like they are regretting their life choices.

O: They were defeated by a pony, [speaks while laughing] I would hope they were regretting their life choices! [returns to speaking normally] Issue 4, part 1, is, “Strength in Numbers,” featuring Applejack and the Insecticons.

S: It opens with Applejack being very upset that there are some giant ass bugs in her orchard, eating everything.  And, I mean, she unfortunately has a super big pest problem here.

O: Which is a bad thing when her entire income is dependent upon farming.

S: Yep.  The Insecticon horde is very happy, and surprisingly cute as they munch on delicious apples and trees.

O: Applejack attempts to chase them off in multiple ways… none of which work.

S: Spraying them with the hose, hitting them with rakes, spraying them with the hose again, and then trying to push them off the apple trees.

O: Back inside her house, she brainstorms more things to try when Discord appears out of nowhere and she too is like, “Are you playin’ a prank, Discord!?”

S: Well, if i lived in ponyverse or-

O: Equestria.

S: Equestria, I think that might have been my first thought too.

O: I mean, fair.  Giant insects are eating her apples.  Like, who else could do that but Discord on a normal day? [laughs]

S: Mm-hmm.  However, Discord says that this stuff is too mundane to be one of his pranks.

O: Applejack asks for his help.  He declines, as he'd much prefer to watch this madness, but he does summon all of the Apple Family to aid Applejack.

S: The Apple Clan is here!

O: No, really, like, ALL of them are here.  And I am not listing them off, because it's pretty much every single Apple character that appeared in the show at some point.

S: So all of the Apple Clan charge in, and I'm kind of wondering now if he like, showed up and briefed them all- just-

O: [laughs] I think they all saw through the portal, and saw bugs eating apples and were like, “My people are calling me!” [laughs]

S: My- my home needs me!

O: My home needs me, exactly.

S: Babs Seed, Big Mac, and Apple Bloom take out an insecticon by themselves by kicking it,

O: Which are Applejack's cousin, older brother, and little sister, respectively.

S: Several other Apples take out other Insecticons with ropes.

O: And an elderly Apple accidentally kicks one of Bombshell's Cerebral Shells back onto him and then orders him to go away while she's sort of flailing.

S: Accidental mind control, here we are!

O: And the day is saved thanks to the Apples, and we move on to the final chapter of the crossover fittingly called, “Finale.”

S: We open in the Crystal Empire with one of the other princesses of Equestria, Princess Cadence, as several of Twilight’s students report back to her that the Decepticons are nowhere to be found, but are likely planning an attack according to the Autobots.

O: Speaking of attack!

S: [sighs] The wall is smashed in as Megatron, Queen Chrysalis, and their allies arrive and demand that they hand over all the magical artifacts.

O: Twilight Sparkle and Optimus arrive just in time.

S: Optimus attempts to get Megatron to leave with politeness.

O: Surprising no one who's dealt with Megatron for more than 10 seconds, he declines. [laughs]

S: And with a combined call of, “Transform and trot out!” and, “Till everypony are one!”  …Oh, so grammatically incorrect.

O: [laughs]

S: The Autobots and their allies go on the offensive.

O: And I get secondhand embarrassment from those lines existing in a printed form.

S: Pinkie Pie throws a pie in poor Soundwave's face.

O: And we get a pretty great two-page spread where a variety of things are happening...

S: Rarity is riding in Arcee's vehicle mode as they launch themselves at Shrapnel.

O: Optimus is punching the crap out of Starscream.

S: Megatron orders Shockwave to just get some magical shit already!

O: Bumblebee goes on a tangent about Equestria's tasteful decor.

S: More bickering back and forth, and went- then Twilight summons the orange cap of shame onto Megatron's Fusion Cannon.

O: For reference, this is referring to the fact that Megatron with his original alt can't normally be sold without said orange cap identifying that he's not a real gun.  Which was a thing that was put into place after- or like you know, late 80’s, early 90’s.  Um, at least, you know, he can't be sold without this in the states and personally I think it's fucking hilarious.

S: And through the powers of friendship and Spike's awesome skills, the Space Bridge opens and Spike and Grimlock come through and assist.  And this is dragon Spike.

O: Yes.

S: Not human Spike.

O: Oh- to which, dragon Spike is wearing adult human Spike’s exo suit though.

S: Mm-hm.

O: To make this more confusing, how many Spikes would you like to go around?  That sounds really dirty within the fandom- and I'm gonna move right along!

B: [laugh]

S: Twilight and Optimus use alicorn magic and the Matrix in tandem to send the Decepticons home.

O: One delightful tea and Energon party later… the Autobots arrive back home themselves.

S: Optimus then explodes the space bridge behind them to protect Equestria from the Decepticons.

O: Much to the sadness of the Autobots, who enjoyed their time with their new friends.

S: Unfortunately for the ponies, Shockwave might have figured out a way to bring them to Cybertron instead.

O: And on that sequel bait, the crossover ends.  And yes, there is actually a sequel that's been announced.  In fact, I think the first issue or two might be out, and we're definitely looking forward to reading it at some point.

S: I feel like I've definitely seen a cover…

O: Other than that, what were your thoughts and feelings about this crossover?

S: The colors and such were really nice, but the cartoony style that the My Little Pony artist used for the robots didn't really work for us.

O: And we want to add, we're not saying they're a bad artist!  It was merely a stylistic option that didn't mesh well for us, specifically for the robot characters.

S: Mm-hm.

O: Um, this was further compounded by the fact that normal- like, Transformers artists that we are more used to doing comics, were also involved in other issues.  And so, they were drawing the robots better, and then the ponies also didn't look like terribly off model or something.  So it was just less distracting when they were doing it.

S: Mm.

O: Overall the special was good, and we recommend it to you if you like Transformers and My Little Pony.

S: Not that you should, you know, wait for our recommendation or anything.

O: [laughs] Uh, the Fluttershy/Soundwave chapter was a standout for both of us.

S: It was very cute, and I really enjoyed how emotive the non-speaking cassettes were.

O: I loved seeing the poor man have to deal with Discord's nonsense.

S: I feel like... we could have done with something longer having him deal with Discord’s nonsense.

O: I- yeah, it was constrained in the way that they did this, where each- there were only four issues, and each issue was- was split into two parts.

S: Yeah, and it's only 24 pages an issue or something.  So it's very- they're very minimal and very constrained.

O: Right.

S: It's just an issue with the medium.  I also really enjoyed the Spike/Grimlock chapter, because it was nice to see them both admiring each other's qualities, and supporting each other, and just being so uplifting.

O: And cute!

S: Mm-hm.

O: My second favorite was probably the Pinkie Pie chapter though, because it was just completely batshit insane.  Uh, just- again, Shockwave had a whisk and a spatula, because he was planning on eating the ponies.  I- where do I go with that?  How do I make that better!?  I can't, that's the answer! [laughs]

S: Shockwave just really wants to- to practice his, um…

O: Culinary arts? [laughs]

S: Yeah. I don't know, the implication that Cybertronians have culinary arts is- it just kind of weirds me out.

O: [continues laughing] Yeah, but- but Gauge was like, “I have a recipe!”

S: I know!  Well, that's the entire implication, it's just like, oh.  Mm.

O: I love that we probably got more actual like, culinary cannon from a fucking My Little Pony crossover than any of the other Transformers comics combined!

S: Yeah.

O: That's weird! [laughs]

S: I mean, the fact that it does come from effectively a pre-war era does mean that we'd potentially get more culture.

O: Eh, yeah.  I mean, but I don't think this was pre-war.  It seemed like it was mid-war?

S: I know, but just the fact that the uh, IDW2 is mostly pre-war.

O: Ah, that's true, that's true.

S: The characters all felt in character, the relationships were entertaining and sweet, and barring the one artist everyone was very expressive.

O: And with that, thanks for joining us for our April Fools’ special.  We hope ya’ll enjoyed, join us next time as we go back to business with episode 43, The Golden Lagoon.

S: Yay.  And that just about wraps it up for us today.  Remember to check us out on Tumblr or Pillowfort as Afterspark-Podcast, for any additional information, show notes, or links you may have mentioned.  You can also find us on Facebook and Twitter at AftersparkPod (all one word), and various other locations by searching for ‘Afterspark Podcast’ such as AO3, iTunes, Spotify and Youtube, just to name a few.  And feel free to send us questions on Tumblr, Youtube or AO3.  Till next time, I'm Specs!

O: And I’m Owls!

S: Toodles.

[Outro Music]

#transcript #afterspark #afterspark podcast #friendship in disguise 3 #friendship in disguise 4

[twaaaaaa]

Race report: Ironman 70.3 Augusta

This is the first race report I've written for a U.S.-based race since college. And like a true American, I'm going to do it using bullet points. (Get it? Because we have an uncontrollable gun violence problem here?)

Also, I apologize for the lack of pictures here. Tumblr doesn’t play nice with photos in the middle of text, and figuring out the HTML for it is too close to my real job to be enjoyable.

PART 1: THE LEAD-UP

This was the first race I've done in more than two-and-a-half years. I took a hiatus because of burnout and an international move, spent 2018 building up a base and really started training again this year.

Going into it, I felt I was adequately trained on the bike. I hadn't done enough long runs, but that was balanced out by the amazing speedwork I've put in. Shoutout to Gerald and the Tuesday morning track crew.

My swim is also at the best it's ever been, though that's not saying much.

The race was in Augusta, Georgia. I have a bit of a shameful history with it – I registered for it in college in 2011. And then midterms happened, so I couldn't make it. To date it's my only DNS. Consider this time grade forgiveness.

I flew out with a bunch of teammates from Triple Threat. It's such a delight to race with a supportive team like this. Many of them were doing their first half-Ironman. They're so cute when they're new.

I got into the rental car with my teammate, Ann, and it took five minutes before I hit the first complication for the weekend. As soon as the speedometer hit 65 mph, WHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAP. Something on the front of the car was rattling. So we turned around and swapped it for a free upgrade to an SUV. Later, my coach would complain the same rental company was out of cars, and I'm partially to blame. Sorry, coach.

Most people paid $350 a night or so to stay at the host hotel. Screw that – do you know how much ice cream $350 can buy? The value inn a half-mile away had a soft bed, a warm shower and a stale continental breakfast. That's more how I roll.

Turns out the cheap hotel was ideally situated – two blocks away from the starting line, damn close to the transition check-in and right at the edge of the downtown area. No regrets.

Augusta is … not the most august location. It has a stench to it. From the river, I learned – the same river we were to start the day swimming in. Greeeeeat.

But at least it wasn't Waco.

We crowded into the Mellow Mushroom for dinner to give the newbies last-minute advice and reassurance. My advice in summary: it was going to be freaking hot, relax on the down-river swim and do a cannonball when you jump off the dock to start.

I found a Publix the day before the race! You have to understand what this means to a Floridian trapped in Texas. Texan friends, it's like finding a Whataburger and a Buc-ees next to each other in the middle of nowhere. Canadian friends, same but for Tim Horton's. UAE friends, imagine if a small town was entirely made out of malls. It just felt right.

I got my chicken tender PubSub and my guava pastries for maximum homeopathy to Florida Man. You could hear Jimmy Buffet playing in the background. Pitbull yodeled. The alligators lurking in the Savannah lifted their heads in praise. God shrugged and turned a blind eye. It was glorious.

At some point I bought a badass helmet with a visor that made me look like Judge Dredd. It was good for 15 minutes of confidence before Devon, who tests these things in a wind tunnel shamed me for it.

The morning of, we trudged down to transition for final prep and then made out way 1.2 miles upstream for the start. Three school buses were working as shuttles, but the line for them stretched almost as long as we'd have to walk.

Here's the nice thing about having a hotel next to the race start: instead of standing in line for the portable toilets before the start, you get to bask in the air conditioning and proper ventilation of your hotel room. Makes quite the difference.

This was my first time racing long-distance in a two-piece kit. I didn't realize you need to apply sunscreen to the small of your back, where the top rides up on the bike. This would later result in a sunburn tramp stamp.

PART 2: THE SWIM

The pros started off at 7:30 a.m., and us age groupers had to wait until 7:50 to start. Except it was a rolling start, with two people going off every three seconds. It took 90 minutes to get everyone in, as the sun rose ever higher.

I made friends with a guy in my age group while waiting in line (thanks to a fast seed time, we only ended up standing around for 35 minutes). His name was Houston, he told me, and he had roots around Delaware, Ohio. Sounded to me like he couldn't decide on a state. I declared I lived in Dallas and that made us rivals.

Oh buddy, you better believe I did a cannonball.

Augusta is a down-river swim. It ranges from easy to easiest, depending on the current. There are videos of them floating a coke bottle or bag of chips down the river and making the cutoff time. This year the current wasn't too swift, but a personal record was still a foregone conclusion.

I became best friends with some river weeds. Best friends hug each other and stick together, right?

I did not have to punch or shove anyone out of the way, thankfully. Guess all the breast strokers started behind me.

I popped out of the water in 33:49. That's a PR for me, but only enough to hit 67/135 in my age group. I aim for top 50% in the swim, so that was just baaaaarely acceptable.

3:55 T1, because I took some time to towel the grass off my feet before donning socks. This was not the most luxurious transition location.

PART 3: THE BIKE

My choice of a disc wheel and 50mm front was a good decision for the day. It wasn't too windy and the road conditions, while not amazing, were not enough to give me trouble. The 56-mile course starts off flat for 17 miles or so, then has a few hills, then goes back to mostly flat for the last 15.

Ten miles in or so I see a yellow jersey up ahead. Is that … yup, it's Houston. I ding my bell and whoop as I pass him.

Five miles later, I get passed by a dude in a yellow jersey. He waves back at me and compliments my helmet (yessss). We would continue to pass each other every few miles for the remainder of the ride. “Tag, you're it.”

Aid stations on the bike are chaotic. I've found the best way to let the volunteers know what you need is to roar it. It may scare the bejesus out of a middle schooler when some dude rides by on a spaceship-looking bike, points at her and screams “BANANA! BANANA!”, but that's part of the fun. Whatever gets me my potassium.

Nutrition-wise, I nailed it. The usual strategy of super-concentrating my electrolytes in one bottle and picking up water at each aid station worked perfectly. I head enough caffeinated gels to keep my energy going, and while I came close to cramping near the end of the run I never did.

I keep a bell on my aerobars, mostly because I don't want to waste the breath to yell “on your left” each time I pass someone. Because I'm a slow swimmer but a fast cyclist, and I pass a LOT of people.

You know what the bell is also useful for? Cheering a teammate on the other side of the road while your mouth is full of banana. You go, Jeff.

Years ago, star USF time trialist and all-around hammerhead borrowed my disc wheel and put an 11-23 cassette on it. I've never taken it off. You know what that cassette is good for? Flat land. You know what awaited me in the middle of the course? Not flat land.

In races, they say you only have so many “matches” to burn before your legs tire out on you. Most people burn their matches pushing up a steep hill or going fast near the end of the run. Me? I burn them to see if I can hit 40 mph going downhill. While screaming at the top of my lungs. I may not have the best time, but I'll be damned if I'm not having the most fun.

(Garmin reports my max speed was 40.1 mph. Yeeeeaaaahhhhhh.)

I RODE PAST A DUDE WITH A GOAT ON A LEASH.

Despite the hills, I managed to keep a steady heart rate for most of the bike course. Don't know about my power output because my P1 pedals have refused to play nicely for a while. I can finally send them in now that it's the offseason.

I'm happy to say I passed Houston a mile before the end of the bike. But I stopped for the bathroom in transition, so he still beat me to the run.

If there's no volunteer to jump out of the way of your flawless flying dismount, did it even happen? Conversely, if there's nobody around when you jump onto gravel in your socks, did you even scream?

Total bike time was 2:56:25, with a more than 19 mph average page. 57/135 for my age group – that's behind the upper-third that I aim for. I still have a ways to go to regain my bike strength.

PART 4: THE RUN. ALLEGEDLY.

By the time we got to the run, the sun was high in the sky and the ambient temperature was 95. With the humidity, it felt close to 99. A course record by a generous margin. Crap.

I caught Houston within the first mile, and for a while there were four of us 25-29 men within 15 seconds of each other. Every peer I passed got a fist-bump.

We had a nice chat for the next few miles as we admired the beautiful downtown course. It's a zig-zag through the street, with spectators lining the sidewalks. Many of them had water guns, hoses or sprinklers, and I love everyone who cooled us for a few precious seconds.

The very best, though, was the homeowner with a giant inflatable unicorn spouting water from its horn.

I was holding a steady heart rate and pace for the first four miles, but the heat got to me as it got to everyone. Houston dropped me at an aid station and went on to beat me by 20 minutes.

From then it was all about heat management. How much could I push myself before overheating and being forced to slow down? How much cold water could I take in? Was I balancing the right amount of liquid and electrolytes?

I began walking in the shade of every building and running to get to the next patch of shade faster. It served me decently for the rest of the race.

I came up on a cute girl around my age (they write it on your calf) and had fantasies of using a pickup line on her as I passed her. “Excuse me, can you remember this number for me? 727-555-1234.” Thank God I didn't, because a mile later she caught a second wind and dusted me. How humiliating would that have been?

After an hour or so I began to get some underarm chafing. I asked for a bit of sunscreen at an aid station and slapped it on. That hurt. Then the volunteer saw what I was doing: “You know we have Vaseline too, right?” Oh well, too late.

Speaking of which, the second-best sign on the course was “chafing the dream.”

The very best one, though, was a drawing of Marvel's Iron Man next to the words “MAKE STAN LEE PROUD.” At that point I was so worn down that I teared up a bit. And then I picked up my legs and ran for as long as my body would let me.

What stage of heat stroke is it when your body has no idea whether it's cold or hot anymore so it just tells you it's both? Because I had that starting around mile 8. Maintaining homeostasis is not one of my strong suits.

Three times I called out to the onlookers, “Hey man, can I pet your dog?” Three times I was denied. Augusta can burn in hell.

At some point around mile 10 (of 13) I did the math and realized I could still hit a sub-6-hour time if I pushed it. So began a frantic but calculated series of runs and walks.

Thank goodness I was in one of the run stages as I passed my coach and relay teammates on the sidelines. They got a decent picture of me – I'm only panting a little bit.

I made across the line with two minutes to spare. Then I grabbed a water and laid down under the pizza table with two other dudes. For 45 minutes. Good race.

Total run time was 2:20:39, and frankly I'm surprised it was that short. 53/135, which surprisingly was again better than my bike performance, comparatively. I blame my running coaches.

Total race time was 5:58:05. 53/135, which again isn't where I usually shoot for. But I knew I wouldn't hit the top third going into the race.

Total calorie burn for the day, according to Garmin: 5,200.

The overall goal of this race wasn't a time, but nor was it just a finish. It was to have my body do what I told it to – or at least what I could negotiate with it – without cramping, collapsing or bonking. And I did. I have my mojo back. The heat collapsed everyone's plan A, but I was able to pull off plan B without much of a struggle. I could not have done that a year ago.

Unfortunately, the deal with myself was that if I pulled this race off I'd sign up for another Ironman in fall 2020. So it's either Cozumel or Argentina for me next year. I'm going to try to enjoy my social life while I still can.

PART 5: THE AFTERMATH

I ran into Houston a bit past the pizza table and collapsed into the chair next to him. His mom and sister were there to cheer him in his first half-Iron race. He snuck the pizza and beer. Hooray for supportive families.

After collecting some teammates and nursing a pizza slice for an hour, I made my way to the rest of the team to yell at passers-by. And someone finally let me pet her dog. She was from Dallas – go figure.

The walk from my hotel to downtown takes ten minutes. The post-race walk from downtown to my hotel takes 30. The difference is staggering.

I came back to my second batch of car trouble: someone had backed my rental in the parking lot. No note or anything – just a bunch of scrapes and misaligned panels.

I talked to the hotel manager, who earned a great Booking.com review into pulling the security footage. We watched as a family three doors down from me backed their car straight into mine, got out, saw no witnesses and sped off. Thank God for my credit card's insurance coverage.

The geniuses were staying through the end of the week – the hotel had their driver's license and video evidence of them leaving the scene of an accident. Easiest police report the cop had ever filed.

As I was packing up the next morning, and after the policeman had talked to her, the woman approached me apologizing. I shrugged and wished her best of luck against the insurance and rental car companies. If I have to deal with this load of paperwork, so does she.

In the day after the race, I polished off three meals' worth of leftovers – including two different pizzas. Between those, the finish-line pizza and the week of carb-loading, I never wanted to eat another slice in my life.

That resolve didn't even last three days.

I bonded with a fellow athlete seated behind me on the plane ride back. Turns out his carry-on was not a suitcase, but a reusable bag of fresh vegetables and a half-eaten box of Life cereal. The absolute legend.

I learned later that day that over the weekend my Abu Dhabi friend Leanne had taken fourth place in Ironman Cozumel that same weekend in her debut as a pro. But I didn’t pee myself on the bike, so who really came out ahead there?

So now I'm in the off season. It's nice to get eight hours of sleep most nights. I'll be tweaking my workout schedule to build a base over the fall and winter, and then it's back to training. I'm looking at one or two half-Irons and a full next year, plus whatever local sprints and olympics bubble up.

When I came back to the US two years ago, I left important parts of my identity behind. Bunches of friends, a journalism career, my expat status. And triathlons were placed on hold. This past season has made me feel more like myself again, and it's a comforting feeling after so much doubt and uncertainty. It's good to be in love with the sport again after a few years of burnout.

The hardest part of the next year will be persuading my mom not to disown me if I get an Ironman tattoo after next fall. Wish me luck.

#Race report #Ironman 70.3 #Augusta #Georgia #Triathlon

[itsworn]

Backstage in 1962 With Shelby, Breedlove, Roth, Stanley Mouse, Mickey Thompson, Jet Cars, Dobie Gillis, and the First Ford Mustang

Boom!

The first wave of post-WWII Americans was flooding DMV offices with license applications. Millions more of us were right behind, pacifying ourselves with model kits and slot cars and go-karts and magazines until that magic 16th birthday made the real thing possible. Tri-Five Chevys were just used cars, cheap and abundant. Networks of indoor winter shows brought California’s latest customs to enthusiasts across North America. Automaker dollars flowed freely to motorsports for the first time in five years, since spooked automakers and suppliers pledged to stop supporting racers and promoting speed. Henry Ford II personally announced his factory’s return while mocking secret skunkworks programs that enabled rival manufacturers to win races on Sunday and sales on Monday during the so-called ban. Ford Motor Company simultaneously dispatched an elaborate Custom Car Caravan of modified new cars and display engines. Most of Detroit’s new, lightweight compacts were optionally available with small V8s. The species of muscle car was not germinated just yet, but the gleam was in the eye. What a great year to be a gearhead!

Archive images exposed outside and inside L.A.’s long-gone Great Western Exhibit Center support Tex Smith’s Apr. 1962 HOT ROD appraisal of NHRA’s second Winternationals Rod & Custom Show as, “The major hot rod exposition in the nation” and “the biggest show ever staged that we know of.” The hit-making bands of guitarist Dick Dale and drummer Sandy Nelson undoubtedly contributed to four-day admissions exceeding 65,000, according to HRM. Later, the vast City of Commerce facility hosted the 1968-1979 L.A. Roadsters Shows prior to its demolition.

It’s impossible to imagine such a cohesive hot-rodding world evolving without the media network created by the Petersen Publishing Company. Even after two ex-PPC employees opened Argus Publishers and launched Popular Hot Rodding this year, Petersen monthlies had virtually no competition on a national scale (with the exception of Road & Track, which always stayed ahead of Petersen latecomer Sports Car Graphic). News-hungry enthusiasts had no reliable alternative to coverage arriving two, three, or more months late, sterilized in Hollywood to portray the hobby positively (and ignore drag racing outside of NHRA’s). On paper, Robert “Pete” Petersen appeared to be printing money. Editors never let on how close he—and we—came to losing it all.

There’s a business expression about how strong cash flow will invariably cover up mistakes—until it won’t. Early employees have said that the fledgling company thrice fell perilously behind on printing bills in the 1950s and survived only by the grace of sympathetic, patient printers and bankers. “Pete got a little carried away with his spending,” recalled photographer Bob D’Olivo, who was hired on in 1952 and stayed for 44 years. “The company was growing, and Pete wasn’t seeing all the figures. He hired a general manager to take some of the load, but if you wanted to talk to him in the afternoon, call the bar just down the street, and he willtake your call!”

When Car Craft’s Bud Lang stopped by this Sherman Oaks upholstery shop to report on a T-bodied AA/Modified Roadster under construction out back, Tony Nancy happened to be building a custom oxygen mask. We know that “The Home of Bitchin’ Stitchin’” did its usual fine job because later, when Spirit of America crashed into the water, Craig Breedlove feared that he was trapped and doomed until realizing that the breathing hose was keeping him connected to the submerged cockpit.

D’Olivo said the “major change came in the early 1960s, after two financial guys named Doug Russell and Fred Waingrow came aboard. Tighter control was needed on salaries, projects, travel, and so on. A management-and-numbers guy was needed, and that job went to Fred. All publishers and directors would now report directly to him, about 28 or so. This is when I was given the title of photographic director.”

A tradition of acquiring competitive titles and spinning off experimental ones was paused. As strict formulas were imposed upon individual publications, unprofitable or inconsistently profitable titles were either killed off (e.g., Kart and Rod & Custom Models) or reinvented (e.g., Motor Life became Sports Car Graphic) to free up operating capital and reduce debt. The painfulprocess worked: President Waingrow steered the ship back into the black, and the founder retained full ownership of a company that he would ultimately sell, in two installments, for nearly three-quarters of a billion dollars.

Since setting up shop at the 1958 Michigan State Fair at age 18, Stanley “Mouse” Miller drew crowds and eager customers wherever he appeared in the Midwest and Northeast. If $6 seems like too little to charge for a custom airbrushed sweatshirt, that would be about 55 bucks today. The kid could whip out one every hour and do it in color, instead of the basic black outline drawn by competitors. His operation must have impressed Wally Parks, who waded through the sea of ducktails to get the shot. Burned out on monsters by 1965, Mouse returned to his native California (where his animator father used to work for Walt Disney) and found work creating posters for San Francisco music promoters and album art for local bands, most notably the Grateful Dead. Mouse is still painting at 80, and still offers prints of Freddie Flypogger and other lovable “weirdoes” (MouseStudios.com).

Sure, had this virtual monopoly come apart early, competitors would have tried to fill the abandoned niches, but how well, and for how long? Just like the tree that falls in a forest with no one around to hear it, how else in 1962 could all of us, together, have followed Zora and Shelby, hot rods and customs, Roth and Mouse, Tony Nancy and Craig Breedlove, Cobras and Sting Rays, model cars, slot cars, sports cars, old cars, new cars? No way would the photo archive that Bob D’Olivo organized in 1955 and protected had stayed intact, in which case the most complete pictorial record of hot rodding and American motorsports would not exist for us to study and enjoy in a magazine directly descended from Pete’s first one. We’ll be feeling lucky all over again as each coming issue digs deeper into the 1960s.

Decades before IRS became commonplace in domestic cars, Pontiac chief engineer John DeLorean attached this exotic suspension, two-speed-automatic transaxle, and torque tube to entry-level 1961-1963 Tempest compacts with just a few bolts. How convenient for Mickey Thompson’s busy skunkworks, which the factory commissioned to hurriedly convert a stocker for the NHRA’s Winternationals introduction of Factory Experimental classes. Regular visitor Eric Rickman obviously had his run of M/T Enterprises—and a hunch that future readers might appreciate a peek at the world’s fastest man’s junk pile. We are left to wonder how the faded body panel wound up here, and whether some magazine staffer was responsible for separating the piece from an unknown open-wheel race car. (Help, longtime Car and Driver followers?)

Here’s the kind of historical image that could easily go undiscovered without the magnification enabled by modern scanning and digitizing. Only after zooming in to confirm the identity of Zora Arkus-Duntov (with helmet) did we realize that his waiting ride was a test mule made by joining the front half of the upcoming second-generation Corvette with the back half and roofline of a first-gen Vette. Sports Car Graphic tech editor Jerry Titus was granted exclusive access to private January tests at Daytona and Sebring on the condition that he ignore the “blue disguised prototype” that joined a red ’62 model and Zora’s baby, the CERV I single seater, for some brake development. Titus snapped the photo literally behind the distracted engineer’s back in late January, nearly a year before most folks saw a new Corvette in person. (See Apr. & May 1962 SCG.)

Jerry Titus was probably the best racing writer or writing racer ever employed by Robert E. Petersen. At the conclusion of Chevy’s Florida testing, Zora offered a few laps of Sebring in a priceless test car previously driven only by Stirling Moss, Dan Gurney, and Duntov himself. In the May 1962 SCG cover story, Titus described his 172-mph straightaway speed as “conservative” in a 1,700-pound package pushed by at least the 380 hp conceded by Chevrolet. Later, Titus was tabbed by Carroll Shelby to shake down and race the G.T. 350.

Help, readers: Does this scene ring any bells? None of our sources can recall a movie or TV production involving the channeled, 283-powered ’31 highboy that New York transplant Bill Neumann (not pictured) brought to L.A. prior to joining Car Craft and, ultimately, taking over Rod & Custom after PPC editorial director Wally Parks fired the whole staff. Neumann’s classified ad in R&C’s May 1962 Bargain Box mentioned “over 90 trophies,” but no asking price. A born promoter, he helped organize the Speed Equipment Manufacturers Association in 1963 (later renamed the Specialty Equipment Market Association, or SEMA) before opening Neuspeed Performance Systems.

Leave it to George Barris to add life-size TV stars Robert Young and Dwayne Hickman to a Barris Kustoms display that brought three famous hot rods to the Winternationals Rod & Custom Show. Barris’ own AMBR-winning ’27 T played a role in Young’s short-lived Window on Main Street series, while the former Chrisman & Cannon competition coupe costarred with Hickman and beatnik sidekick Bob Denver in an episode of The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis. Behind them is the Ala Kart, the roadster pickup that survived the 1957 Barris Kustoms fire to become the first repeat winner of Oakland’s tall AMBR trophy. (See Apr. 1962 HRM; May 1962 R&C.)

Yes, slot car racing was both a participant and spectator sport at its peak. Model-maker AMT staged regional competitions on elaborate tracks like the setup at the NHRA’s February show. This showdown matched up winners from 1,100 West Coast hobby shops. Later in the year, AMT cheerleader Budd Anderson unveiled the gamechanging, steerable, 1:8-scale Authentic Model Turnpike system for home use during a six-month, fulltime modeling stint at the Seattle World’s Fair. (See May 1962 CC.)

Pontiac stockers prepared by factory contractor Mickey Thompson enjoyed another dominating season, starting with February’s second Winternationals. What appears to be a late round of Mr. Stock Eliminator—a bonus, heads-up showdown bringing back the quickest 50 stockers, win or lose—finds S/S Automatic champ Carol Cox, the first female allowed to enter an NHRA national event, out in front of stick-class-winner Jess Tyree, an M/T mechanic driving the same 167-mph Catalina that set multiple international speed records over the winter at March Air Force Base. Waiting to run at Pomona are previous-round winners Lloyd Cox, Carol’s husband (Pontiac, right); Gas Ronda (Ford); and eventual runnerup Dave Strickler (Chevy), who would fall in the Mr. Stock final to Don Nicholson (not shown). The barn across the street is long gone, but last time we looked, the two-story house remained. (See May 1962 HRM, MT & CC.)

The ragtag bunch of drag and dry-lakes racers that test-fired Craig Breedlove’s $500 military-surplus engine at Los Angeles International Airport in June, just two months before this homebuilt tricycle’s scheduled Bonneville Nationals debut, must have seemed unlikely to make the builder-driver a household name worldwide. The official team truck’s wooden signboards announced the “Spirit of America World Land Speed Record Attempt.” The low-buck team made it to Speed Week, but the semifinished car/trike was limited to static testing at the adjacent Wendover airbase. (See Sept. 1962 MT.)

Despite the convergence of five jet-powered vehicles on the salt during and immediately following Speed Week, a piston-powered streamliner remained the world’s fastest land vehicle all year—to the certain relief of Revell, which had entered the hot rod market by miniaturizing the 406-mph Challenger I and Ed Roth’s revolutionary Outlaw street roadster. Rather than follow the shady example of fly-by-night model makers that blatantly reproduced identifiable race cars without attribution or remuneration, Revell licensed and heavily promoted the men along with their machines. Revell’s national advertising blasted Roth’s brand and zany image far beyond the hot-rodding press and car-show circuit. (See Nov. 1962 R&C.)

It didn’t take long for an unidentified slot car hobbyist to power one of Revell’s snap-together streamliners. Reader Rick Voegelin, the former Car Craft editor and a lifelong slot racer, squinted at the photo through old eyes and semipositively identified the dual motors as Pittmans, likely swapped out of powerful locomotives.

It’d be a stretch to suggest that muscle cars and Funny Cars were invented here, but the roots of both American inventions run through this very engine compartment. Two years before the second-gen Tempest begat the GTO, Pontiac assigned the Super Stock Division of Mickey Thompson Enterprises to create a prototypical factory hot rod for the NHRA’s new A/Factory Experimental class. Beyond a mandate to stick with genuine Pontiac hardware wherever visible, in-house engineers Hayden Proffitt and Lloyd Cox (pictured) virtually rewrote the rulebook as they converted a four-cylinder ’62 Tempest into the year’s quickest and fastest late model, a runaway A/FX champ at both of the NHRA’s national events. By the time this photo was snapped in late June, displacement of M/T’s Super Duty 421 had soared from 434 to 487 cubes, according to Motor Trend, and Cox had assumed the wheel vacated when Proffitt took a 409 Chevy deal and opened his own shop. Meanwhile, Holman-Moody and Dragmaster were secretly developing 480-inch strokers for Ford and Chrysler, respectively. Understandably alarmed, Wally Parks halted drag racing’s arms race—temporarily—by capping 1963 displacement at 427 for NHRA-legal competition. However, the horse had left the barn, and the Big Three’s monster-motor lessons would not be lost on so-called “outlaw Super Stock” racers running independent meets and run-what-ya-brung match races. (See Sept. 1962 HRM; May & Dec. 1962 MT; June 1962 R&C; Jan. 2017 HRD.)

If you remember being faked out by this photo, don’t feel like the Lone Ranger; so were the rest of us subscribers and newsstand browsers. Art director Al Isaacs’s clever positioning of the car’s shadow and of editor Don Evans’s right forearm clinched the delusion that Monogram’s 1:8-scale “Big T” was a real roadster. Inside, the description of Bud Lang’s cover shot joked that because the car is only 16 inches long, Evans and his “lovely cousin, Sharon Huss … were shrunk for photo.” Either way, such juxtaposition was a neat trick when Xacto knives, layers of physical film, and steady hands were required to do the layout work done digitally now.

Staff photographer Pat Brollier shot the B&W photos for CC’s inside story, which Isaacs laid out like a typical car feature. Despite a steep retail price of $10.98—10 times that of the usual $1.98 kit—strong sales inspired Monogram to rush-order a fullsize running version for use as a promotional vehicle. Customizer Darryl Starbird delivered that bigger-yet Big T to the model maker’s booth at NHRA’s late-summer car show in Indianapolis. (See Oct. 1962 CC; Dec. 1962 R&C.)

This one had us baffled until a regular research source, the American Hot Rod Foundation, came through in a big way. AHRF director David Steele recognized the back wall from later photos of Carroll Shelby’s Cobra factory, while AHRF curator Jim Miller instantly identified the last Scarab that Phil Remington built just before Reventlow Automobiles Inc. was shut down under IRS scrutiny. Its all-aluminum Buick V8 shared technology and major components with similar engines that Mickey Thompson developed for this year’s Indy 500. The suspiciously empty Venice, California, space and much of Reventlow’s workforce were taken over by Shelby not long after photographer Pat Brollier visited in early July. Lance Reventlow personally debuted the sports car in September with an impressive second-place SCCA finish at Santa Barbara and made at least two more starts before selling to John Mecom, who installed a small-block Chevy. Augie Pabst eventually acquired this rarest of Scarabs and still has it, as far as our AHRF friends know. (See Dec. 1962 SCG.)

Lance Reventlow was the husband of actress Jill St. John and the son of infamous heiress Barbara Woolworth Hutton. Mom’s fortune financed the boy’s dream of all-American sports cars, built and driven by homegrown hot rodders to beat the best European factory racers. His trio of front-engined Scarab roadsters did exactly that starting in 1958 with a shocking upset at Riverside’s International Grand Prix and the national SCCA championship. Two subsequent attempts at building formula cars and competing in Europe were expensive failures, however, and the Internal Revenue Service was unconvinced that the cash-burning business was really a business. Lance fatally crashed a private plane in 1972, at age 36. His alcoholic, drug-addicted mother followed in 1979, leaving behind just $3,000 of a trust fund that had once been the equivalent of nearly $400 million in today’s money.

Wally Parks became HOT ROD’s first fulltime editor in 1949, cofounded the NHRA in 1961, and simultaneously guided the publishing company and the sanctioning body through the end of this year. In early 1963, he resigned as editorial director of Petersen’s automotive publications to run the NHRA fulltime.

Two years after designer-builder Athol Graham was killed chasing the unlimited LSR in the homebuilt Spirit of Salt Lake, his widow, Zeldine, and former helper, Otto Anzjon, brought the rebuilt streamliner back to Bonneville to prove that Graham’s design was sound. The inexperienced driver followed officials’ instructions to gradually build speed to the 225-mph range before attempting this first full pass, which lasted about 100 feet before Allison-induced wheelspin exploded the right-rear tire. (See Dec. 1962 MT; Jan. 2017 HRD; Jan. 2019 HRD.)

NorCal drag racers Romeo Palamides and Glen Leasher didn’t get to Wendover until the last day of Speed Week, in August, which is normally restricted to prequalified record runs. They were granted one low-speed shakedown run that reportedly revealed “unexpected chassis problems.” The monstrous Infinity went home to Oakland to prepare for a private session on September 10. Leasher, who’d acquired jet-car experience in Romeo’s busy Untouchable dragster, made a troublefree checkout pass and turned around. On the return trip, he unexpectedly accelerated on “full ’burner,” veered off the course, flipped repeatedly, and was dismembered. (Later that day, Romeo called another Bay Area slingshot driver about fulfilling his jet dragster’s commitments and created a colorful career for “Jet Car” Bob Smith, who miraculously survived crashes in a whole

In late August, the original Ford Mustang was captured in the L.A. shop of famed bodybuilders Dick Troutman and Tom Barnes. Barely a month later, the tube-framed, midmounted-V4, front-drive, 1,480-pound prototype made exhibition laps and fans at both the Watkins Glen and Riverside Grands Prix. Ford described it as a “study vehicle for possible production of a sports car.” Motor Trend predicted that its “Impact should hit squarely and cause excitement in three or four or five years,” adding, “Unlike so many styling projections and dream cars offered so far, this one is crammed full of usable ideas.” (See Nov. 1962 HRM; Dec. 1962 SCG; Jan. 1963 MT; Feb. 1963 CC.)

Judging by other film negatives documenting Robert E. Petersen’s fall hunting trip, the boss got the last laugh by bagging both an elk and a bear.

The day before the Los Angeles Times Grand Prix in Riverside, Carroll Shelby (right) and Ford upstaged Zora Arkus-Duntov (left center) and Chevrolet by sneaking the second Cobra ever built into a so-called Experimental Production class and race that SCCA conceived for brand-new Sting Rays; in particular, the fearsome foursome of Z06 fastbacks entered by Mickey Thompson. Despite Bill Krause’s sizable horsepower handicap, his spunky, 260ci roadster swapped leads with Dave MacDonald’s 327ci Corvette (background) until the Cobra’s rear hub carrier failed an hour into the 300-mile enduro. (See Jan. 1963 SCG; Jan. 2017 HRD.)

These had to be the trickest transporters at Laguna Seca for October’s SCCA showdown. Meister Brau beer outfitted one of the earliest tractor-trailer rigs in the photo archive for hauling the high-dollar Scarabs and Chaparrals campaigned by Harry Heuer, a member of the brewing family. Norm Holtcamp had other ideas and started from scratch on his Cheetah, sliding an electric-load-leveling Mercedes sedan chassis under a ’60 El Camino cab purchased at GM’s Van Nuys Boulevard plant. A hot-rodded ’57 Corvette 283 and three-speed Chevy trans mount amidships. We don’t know whether Holtcamp hit his target of 112 mph fully loaded, but you can be sure that second-owner Dean Moon wrung top speed out of the Cheetah before parking and neglecting it for years at Moon Equipment Company. Longtime HRD readers will recall a small color snapshot in our May 2013 issue of the disembodied remains in the yard of collector Geoff Hacker, who tells us that full restoration is scheduled to start later this year at JR’s Speed Shop (Venice, Florida).

Longtime PPC photographer Bob D’Olivo identified art director Art Smith, but neither the blonde nor the legs. Not much work was getting done the day that SCG editor John Christy wandered by, two weeks before Christmas.

The Mysterion signaled the beginning of Ed Roth’s asymmetrical (some would say dysfunctional) stage. The dual-engined gas dragsters that proliferated during these fuel-ban years might have inspired the twins that buddy Budd Anderson procured from Ford (said to be 406s, but probably ordinary 390s). During transport between shows, their combined weight repeatedly cracked and ultimately collapsed the Swiss-cheese frame, which was stripped and junked along with the body. Reader Don Baker saw the HOT ROD Network preview of this article and sent in a memory of riding bikes with his childhood pals to a show at Devonshire Downs (San Fernando Valley). Lacking money for admission, they arrived early that morning and sat outside, watching the show cars arrive, “when Big Daddy rides in, towing Mysterion. He was alone and asked us to help getting it off the trailer. We pushed it right onto the show floor. Pretty cool at that time.” We found the image on one of the final rolls exposed by staff photographers this year, yet the Mysterion was completed in time for the start of the indoor show season in January. (See Dec. 1962 & Sept. 1963 R&C.)

The post Backstage in 1962 With Shelby, Breedlove, Roth, Stanley Mouse, Mickey Thompson, Jet Cars, Dobie Gillis, and the First Ford Mustang appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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[makingabigdealoutofnothing]

A Cosmic Vasectomy

The ice caps were melting faster than a self-immolating monk.

A village in a far corner of Siberia was home to 35 Eskimo and counting- the civilization's population was increasing at about 1/10 of a person every 250 years.

The men would spend most of their days fishing, hunting, and drinking, while the women spent most of their days distilling tundra twigs into alcohol, curing meat and fish, and gossiping about which man held the throne as most ice cold Eskimo.

None of the men could see very well due to the lead content of their moonshine. Drunk and blind most of their lives, the women did most of the neighborhood planning.

Igloos were the way to live.

Some igloos had style, other igloos took the more simple approach. Some Eskimo had style, some Eskimo took the more simple approach.

Overall, life didn't change much for the Eskimo over the past few millenia. There were few aberrations to the bleak, cold townscape, and few Eskimo to think differently than the rest.

Once a year, there would be a fist fight over a loathed woman which resulted in exactly 1 Eskimo death. There were never any Eskimo lost to sickness or natural phenomena, as their immune systems were well adapted to the natural bacteria around them and no outsider had ever come in contact with them, or wanted to.

You can't want something which you know nothing about, though we try but can't seem to find reason.

Their defense against wolverines, moose, and the occasional reindeer reaching a midlife crisis was impeccable. Babies that were birthed with imperfection were boiled into stew.

Far away, in America, business tycoons gathered in a scyscraper just high enough to perceive the civilians walking below as ants. Real “I fuck hookers because I don't have time for a real relationship” types, though they were all married with children. The fortune must live on through little Joe's boots.

“Bad for the environment? BAD FOR THE FUCKING ENVIRONMENT? I told him he can go calculate his way out of the mess we're making for him, and that's that,” one tycoon said, and the rest assumed laughter.

“We're finally seeing returns from the rigs we drilled off the coast of California 8 years ago, Joe.” another chimed in. “The only casualty there was Santa Barbara- and the liberals are acting like it's some big tragedy!”

They all sat around, speaking of “no-brainer” investments and how to save a dime at the grocery store. This that this that this, and that.

Finally the meeting was about to reach its conclusion.

“And y'all know how we do,” Joe bellowed gregariously, loquaciously. “Sacrifice all of society- from Mexican immigrants to Greenwich Village whores to stay at home moms to tiny villages in Siberia- for OUR personal profit. We're in this together, and if any of us loses any faith in our paradigm here, you are putting US at risk, and you will most likely find yourself breathing through a hose- at the bottom of the big ole' toxic ocean. This meeting is adjourned.”

The room stood up, applauding, and returned to their indifferent penthouse hookers.

Meanwhile, back in Siberia, the Eskimo began to take off their jackets for the first time since childbirth. Their houses were melting. Skin was tanning.

The fish were flourishing, as the rivaling polar bears were sitting back drinking tall cans and dying. It was like fishing in a barrel for those blind drunk Eskimos. All was swell.

As the ice melted, long-frozen artifacts and corpses were being uniced as well. The artifacts and corpses left the Eskimo baffled, and led to various forms of new-age dogma amongst the small town. One Eskimo in a drunken stupor slipped and punctured his ass on the perfectly preserved tusk of a wooly mammoth.

But artifacts and corpses weren't the only things being introduced to the civillazation through the melt; ancient bacterias and viruses that couldn't be seen even by the sober female Eskimo were doing what they knew how to do best: fucking up the human lives.

The Eskimo began coughing, vomiting, and shitting blood. Their glands swelling, varying body temperatures began a search for the jackets that had been naively discarded after the first few weeks of the melt. Tempers were unstable as well, leading to more fist fights amongst both men and women, though seizures would stop the altercations short of untimely deaths.

The real battlefield was between the poor Eskimo immune system and the insidious anthrax emanating from the corpses of pre-Ice Age moose and mammoths and Alamo Eskimo from a long frozen dynasty.

The immune systems didn't stand a chance. All of the adults and most of the children were wiped out. The few remaining adolescents couldn't cope with their being thrown into adulthood so prematurely, and turned to the bottle, Tundra moonshine, that is, and drank their little lives into oblivion.

So it goes.

Back in America, profits and revenues were plateuing. The rich weren't getting any richer. They weren't getting poorer, either, but if you're not getting richer what the fuck is the point in living.

Several crusading groups of activists were able to gain enough unity and notoriety to pass some injurious laws on the rich. Something about climate control and limiting environmental impact yada yada… It was all words and numbers to the bone head rich. But it did mean war.

The rich finally developed a plan to fill the government with a team of all-star panderers that the American people absent-mindedly elected.

The rich, then, feeling vindictive over their previous defeat at the hands of scientists and lovers of life, passed a 3 trillion dollar “nail in the coffin” bill to strip the Earth of all remaining resources as quickly as possible.

Their response to the world that preferred to keep the human race running a little bit longer was simply, “Rock n roll. Deal with it.”

Production maximized. Oil drills and mines were reaching 8 miles below the earth, sucking every little ore and ooze and mineral and metal that could possibly have grimy hands groping it.

Cities began collapsing- literally. The mines and wells were jeopardizing the foundations which buildings were built. Rio de Jeniero wasn't built in a day, but it crumbled in one.

As the old biblical story goes, he who builds his house on rock may still someday lose his wit and begin dynamiting the shit out of it.

Part of the bill mandated that every human receive a car, a train, a plane, a personal power plant if they wanted, as long as it was doing something to fuck up the Earth.

Most humans happily applauded this part of the bill, and helped out as much as they could.

Skies were grey and yellow, even through the enormous artificial sun that was built and run by an equal amount of energy used by the cities of Los Angeles, Mumbai, and Guangzhou combined.

There was no need for an artificial moon, as all romantic connections with the original one were lost.

The tycoons were still getting rich, though even they knew that the days for Earth were numbered.

Most people on Earth, aside from loonies and conservatives, knew that Earth was done-zo washington.

There were few that felt it worth the fight to try to bring down those responsible for the current state of things. Security was tightest on the bracket for those brazen tycoon punks.

Among the fighting force, was a young scientist that had been ardently studying global warming since out of the womb, as his father had taught him. He had observed the phenomenon of the Eskimo being exposed to ancient anthrax. It broke his little scientist heart.

He decided that the only just thing to do to get back at those responsible would be to expose them to ancient anthrax.

He knew where to get it.

Back in Siberia, a whole civilization lay in bloody melted ruin. It stank of shit and moonshine.

The young scientist and his team deboarded their chopper, suited in the finest protective suits, and fetched up one of the deceased rotting Eskimo and brought it back to America.

The tycoons met in the skyscraper. The artificial sun barely permeated through the cloud of pollution that groped the earth.

They raised glasses.

“Well boys,” Joe the tycoon addressed the group, “We've successfully maxed out our profits and fucked up the Earth beyond repair.” This was followed by a swath of haughty laughter and approval.

They clinked glasses.

Unbeknownst to the tycoons, a chopper rushed towards the building. A young scientist was gleaming with passion and determination. A rotting anthrax-stricken Eskimo corpse was sitting next to him unaware of the role he was about to play in rectifying the playing field in Earth's current folly.

The chopper gunned it towards the large unshaved shaft that the tycoons roosted in. Their faces turned from glee to confusion as the young scientist hurled the Eskimo out of the chopper. The chopper flew past the top of the building and the Eskimo crashed through the window at about 200 miles per hour, striking Joe the Tycoon and pancaking him against the opposite wall.

Before the others could process this freak occurrence, the anthrax that had wiped out an entire Eskimo village contaminated the tycoons and made them all start coughing vomiting and shitting blood.

They died shortly thereafter.

The artificial sun simultaneously became terminally ill and exploded, wiping out the rest of civilization.

The Earth stood lifeless like rapture at a hookah bar.

So it goes. . .

#conundrum #vasectomy #runin #eskimo #anthrax #soitgoes #rapture #science #in the wake #global warming #send it back #guyzini #hookah bar #moonshine #fishing in a barrel #cosmic #done-zo washington #multiple ways everything can get fucked up

[mapleridge]

Sun Dance's foals- all sold

#sun dance #rival stars hose racing #foals