Bench Racing, and Other Great Lies #6

Here's one from Christian's past that he's offered to share as part of the next great installment in the wildly-popular, Bench Racing, and Other Great Lies series.

We love to hear stories, whether they're true, or just a great lie. So click the "Contact" link in Christian's profile, and send 'em to us. We'll even help edit, and maybe exaggerate a lie or two ourselves!

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One day during my Sophomore year in high school, my friend, Steve, stopped me in the hall. "What are you doing after school? 'Cause I have my Dad's Trans Am today."

This was a rare treat for both of us. Steve's father was a company executive who owned a handful of interesting toys including a big block '68 Corvette convertible and this car, a 1983 Pontiac Trans Am with the Daytona Pace Car package. We immediately made plans to go for a drive after school.

Within minutes of the final bell ringing, Steve and I were jumping into the car like, well, two kids who borrowed Dad's cool car.

We cruised it to a local 7-Eleven where we eased it into a prime parking spot right in front of the door. The car was loaded to the hilt with all the goodies, including the aerodynamic wheel covers and a 5-speed, and the white paint made the wedge-shaped car look like the shark that it was.

We'd only been inside a couple minutes when we came back outside to find a large gentleman admiring the car. A few pleasantries were exchanged between him and Steve as I got into the car. As I did, I overheard the man say to Steve, "I see you have a dent in the rear quarter panel and a crack in the spoiler. I do bodywork, and would be happy to give you a price on the repair." Steve thought that sounded like a good idea, and agreed to pull around the side of the building to get a quote.

I almost smacked him when he got back in the car.

We pulled around the side of the building, parked between a dumpster and an old blue and tan '77 Thunderbird. Steve got out to talk to the man when another man got out of the Thunderbird and popped the trunk. I wished that Steve had left me with the keys, but I stayed in the car and locked my door.

What eventually made me get out of the car was several loud, metallic banging noises followed by the car shaking. This was caused by a slide hammer punching eight holes in the fender. For the next five minutes, I watched as Steve's eyes remained the size of dinner plates covered in a big heaping of panic. Before he could panic any further, plastic filler was made up and spread over the holes. "All it needs is paint," said the first man. "That'll be $300."

The scam had been set, and these guys had two naive 16-year-olds in their sights. Steve gulped hard, and took a step towards the man. "That's not right. You said you were going to give me an estimate. Not actually fix the car."

Unfortunately for Steve, the man took a step towards him, and the second guy (still holding the slide hammer in his hand) was glaring at me. "I don't know what you're talking about. You owe us $300, mother fucker. And you're going to give us that money, right now."

"I'll have to go to the ATM across the street," Steve said.

"That's good. We'll follow you over. Don't try anything stupid." And that's exactly what we did.

We got back into the cars, and Steve pulls the Pontiac to the driveway. "Hold on. TIGHT." We were about to try something stupid.

For the next ten minutes, the two cars bobbed and weaved through traffic on Route 202 in Delaware at high speed, cutting through neighborhoods, blowing through stop signs and red lights, all the time hoping we'd come across a police officer. If a bridge had been out, we'd have jumped it, Dukes of Hazzard style! Hal Needham couldn't have asked for a better car chase.

Eventually, we cut through a shopping center and barreled down a side road. We pulled into a neighborhood, and came to a screeching halt in the driveway of an elderly gentleman who was mowing his lawn. He must have thought we were crazy, but seeing the panic in our eyes and our shaking voices convinced him that we were telling the truth. He and his wife let us use the phone, and Steve called his father to explain everything.

Forty-five minutes later, Steve's father pulled up in the driveway, and escorted us back to school where my ride home was waiting.

I don't know if the car was ever repaired, but it took me years to not go into a blind panic every time I saw a blue '77 Thunderbird.

Photo from http://autopolis.wordpress.com

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The Idiots of Seville

I was surfing through my music library the other day, when I came across, "Love is Life" by a Brit-Club music band called Candyflip. The music lives up to the band's name, and has a very trippy-sounding, semi-House feel to it.

It's not really what I'm into anymore, but throughout 1990-1992 year, my friend Vinnie and I used to play that album constantly!

We loved it because the bass used to travel throughout the interior of Vinnie's car, and we'd put the windows down and crank up the music wherever we went. In hindsight, it's no wonder neither of us got laid back then.

So while our music wasn't particularly appealing, the third part of our trio was - a 1976 Cadillac Seville.

Vinnie had assumed ownership of it during his Sophomore year in high school. It had belonged to his grandparents, who had purchased it brand-new in 1975 and loaded it with every option. It was finished in white with a blue vinyl top and plush blue Velour interior. Once his grandmother became too old to drive, she passed it along to Vinnie. It had a grand total of 31,000 miles on it when Vinnie got his hands on it, and had probably never traveled over 40mph. Vinnie and I changed all that.

In 1976, Cadillac released the Seville model as a top-of-the-line model (it actually cost more than the 1976 Eldorado) aimed towards the impending fuel and emissions problems that plagued American carmakers in the mid-'70s. Nevertheless, GM stylist Bill Mitchell (famous for the initial look of the Corvette Sting Rays and 1960s-era GMs) designed a wonderfully-proportioned 4-door sedan that gently sloped towards the rear, arguably later copied by the current Rolls Royce Phantom.

It featured an Oldsmobile-sourced 350ci small block V8 with a Bendix electronic fuel injection, all backed up by a TH400 automatic transmission and either a 2.56 or optional 3.08 rear end. The whole thing was good for 180hp and 275 lb-ft of torque just off idle. The torque came in handy, as it was required to lug around two idiots, a CD player, and 4300lbs of vehicle!

Despite its seemingly lack of performance numbers, Vinnie drove all four doors off that car. We'd hustle it down narrow, twisty back roads like it was a sports car. It would cruise from stoplight to stoplight like it was it's job. And we discovered that it would glide along for many, many miles of highway at speeds that buried at least one gauge needle in the process.

It's certainly a good thing that neither one of us knew anything about cars, because we'd sit and fantasize about fiberglass body panels, a roller cam, and some wicked twin-turbo setup we'd somehow find on a junked Callaway Corvette. We could dream with the best of them!

Unfortunately, it was a bad thing that neither one of us knew anything about cars, because the car proved to be very unreliable. The aging electrical system seemed to throw fits, whether it was an oddball accessory that was shorting out, or the alternator burning out again.

After a few years of investing a small fortune into the Seville, Vinnie's parents suggested he get rid of the car. He ended up with a used, 4-cylinder '92 Mustang notchback (ironically in the same color combination as the Seville). We both cried when he traded in the Caddy.

I still occasionally come across one of those boxy Sevilles, and the memories of those days of my youth become numerous enough to have filled the car's ginormous trunk. I just don't think anyone who owns one ever plays anything as cool as Candyflip.

Photo from OrlandoClassicCars.com

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