I got over to the regular Hunt Valley Horsepower show Saturday morning after donning my leather jacket and Snoopy cap. It was chilly enough for gloves–50 degrees or so, I guess–but the car ran flawlessly after burning off the oil [sigh] that drips on the cat from the left valve cover.
Right off I spied this 427-powered Corvette. Stock as could be, apparently, which is why I looked at the tach. See that redline? That is a 6200-RPM redline. The small blocks actually had a lower redline, pretty sure. The 450-horse 427, from the factory, revved over 6000, with GM’s blessing.
It was a slow day, as Hunt Valley Saturdays go. I noticed a contingent of Suby crazies parked over one side of the lot. I had already parked next to a TR6 and near a late ’60 MGB and a pretty nice Alfa, so I didn’t see the need to move. But one day I think I’ll put Bridget in their midst and open her gas tank cover.
Just to see how these guys react.
This Jag XK 140 has been here before and I always take at least one picture.
I got some coffee and a croissant, and when I got back to Bridget there were a bunch of people crowded around her. One guy wanted to know about the folding windshield. So I folded that down. Guy said he built a Lotus 7 with a 1967 Volvo B2000 engine, basically from scratch. He’s got the Brooklands windscreens but wants something more substantial, he says: the dual SU carbs on the engine spit some during certain common driving situations. Doesn’t bother him a bit, he says–the carbs are on the passenger side. His girlfriend is not so enthusiastic.
We talked about windshields for a minute and then I noticed this ’48 TC
Complete pile o’ junk, as you can see.
And of course I was in love. Green paint looks like it might be original, until you notice all the smackem putty waves in the dash, doors and elsewhere. She’s been well-used.
The owner came over to look at Bridget & I told him how much I love his car. “You ever driven one,” he asked. When I told him I haven’t he said “Well that’s why you can love them.” There followed a discussion of the drawbacks of a solid axle, leaf-spring front suspension.
Turns out the guy has quite a collection of Alfa Romeos and, as a friend of his told me, seldom drives anything but those–“nothing newer than 1967,” he said.
On the way home I left the windscreen folded. That’s always a mistake when running on the highway. My eyes teared-up something awful, as usual, and I had to squint, and sometimes close one and then the other because of the stinging pain.
The rule has to be: goggles, or windscreen–or both. But never neither.