With today being the 60th anniversary of the release of the Chevrolet Corvette, I found myself thinking back on all the Corvettes that I'd experienced over the years. Although I haven't seen them in over 20 years, three in particular still hold a special place in my heart.
One of those was actually the first car I've ever driven. This is the story of those Corvettes.
The car that most people first drive might be their parents' old sedan. Or, if you're lucky, a slightly older friend will toss you the keys and let you drive around a parking lot in a dented, faded 12-year-old Ford Escort.
Mine happened to be a custom 1991 Corvette coupe that would run a quarter mile in 12.9 seconds. It belonged to a friend who I will call "Tara."
Tara was a beautiful, tall 28-year-old brunette. Fortunately, she was also a really nice person at heart. Unfortunately, in her line of work, she had learned to not show that side of herself to many people and, as a result, would come off as being very abrasive to most people. However, she had done well for herself, and used her earnings to buy things that she enjoyed.
One of the things she bought was a custom 1991 Corvette that she bought brand-new. This one was parked next to another love of her life, her custom 1988 Corvette. This was parked next to the third love of her life, her custom 1977 Corvette. Her boyfriend was probably about #12 on her list.
As a 15-year-old living in a small town, I had seen these cars pass through occasionally, and when I finally stumbled across their habitat one day while on a bike ride, I had to stop. Tara was outside detailing them with her boyfriend, which I later learned was a weekly ritual.
"Excuse me," I said. "May I come look at your Corvettes?" Tara looked at me, then at her boyfriend, gave me a cautious shrug, and then beckoned me over.
I stared into the engine bay of the '91. "I see you put new intake runners on the TPI injection. What else have you done to it?" I asked.
The look on her face was priceless. "How... how do you know that?"
"Because," I said, pointing to the intake manifold, "These should be two tubes instead of the one larger oval-shaped one." It turned out those were the magic words that lowered her defenses. I was immediately given the full tour of all three cars.
The 1977 Corvette had a full Eckler's body kit and wing, had been custom painted a Champagne gold with tan leather interior, and had gold BBS-style wheels. The engine was a built 355ci small block with a roller cam and a big shot of nitrous. That car was good for mid 10's.
The 1988 Corvette was black with a (then in vogue) body kit that included pieces that resembled the side intakes from a Ferrari Testarossa, an F-40 style rear wing and she had comissioned a machinist to develop one-off chrome touches here and there. It ran on an early set of 5-star Fitipaldi wheels, and had a killer stereo. The car was later repainted a lovely blue pearl that flipped between cobalt blue and deep purple, and had purple neon lighting underneath (also a novelty at that time). The engine was a warmed over L-98 350, and it ran on a harsh Z-51 suspension with the Bilsteins.
The 1991 was my favorite, though. It was dark burgundy with matching louvers on the rear hatch. The windows were tinted illegal black, and the lights were covered with black-tinted lenses. The real fun part was the exhaust, which was removed as soon as the car arrived home from the dealership, and replaced with a set of 4-inch, chrome side pipes. The engine was the warmed-over L-98 350, with a stage-3 computer chip, and the afore-mentioned custom intake runners. But it was the side pipes that really made this car awesome.
All three cars were constantly detailed to a level that most Pebble Beach cars would envy. The best part was watching Tara dry them. She'd grab the keys, start up the car, then blast the cars around the block several times to remove the water. I always enjoyed sitting on the curb, listening for every gear change, then watching as a sleek, low Corvette would roar past me with all eight cylinders at full chat.
One Saturday, I was there helping to detail the cars. I had spent an hour buffing out the pipes on the '91 when Tara's boyfriend came outside. "We need to take it around the block," he said. I reached for the passenger door. "No, she wants YOU to drive it." I was nervous and excited at the same time.
I started up the car, and the sound from the open pipes reverberated through me to my soul. As much as I'd like to say that I got in the car and did a burnout all the way up the street, then hit 150mph as I rounded the corner, the truth is I was scared out of my mind. I put the car in "Drive", and idled my way around the block at a steady 5mph. I was relieved when I saw the driveway again.
As the years went by, Tara and I developed a great friendship. For me, it was that I got to hang out with a really nice person who happened to own three amazing cars. For her, I think I was someone who wasn't there to judge her, cheat her, or take advantage of her, and we could just talk with a mutual love of cars.
Then one day, Tara disappeared along with the cars. No one answered the door, and the phone went straight to voice mail.
I later learned through a relative of hers that she had run into some trouble. The gorgeous Champagne-colored '77 Corvette had been disassembled; it's motor sabotaged and destroyed by a vengeful mechanic. The beautiful blue pearl '88 had been in a serious accident, and was totalled. The '91, that I had loved so much, was sold to a drag racer.
I've never seen Tara, or the Corvettes since. But in my heart, I've always hoped that things eventually worked out for her. I hope that she found people who don't judge her, or take advantage of her like so many others had done. And I've always hoped she's been able to own another car that she loves as much as those Corvettes.
When I look back at my early automotive influences, I'll always put Tara up towards the top of my list. She could have easily turned me away that day I stopped by on my bike. But instead, she invited me over to share her passion for automobiles with a young car enthusiast. The woman who had been looked down upon by society had unwittingly become a great automotive influence and inspiration.
Over the years, I've often thought of Tara when I've been out working on cars and have been approached by an onlooker, especially when it's a child and parent. I'm happy to let them sit in the car, hear it run, and maybe run a hand along the fender. After all, you never know when you may unwittingly become someone else's automotive influence.
I probably won't let you drive my car, though.
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(photos coming soon)
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