A Radical Ride in the ‘T’ Bag

My teeth chattered as I squeezed my body around the roll bar brace. A peeling sticker at its anchor point boasted: “We don’t give a fuck how you do it in California.�? I didn’t even have to read it and I already knew what it said. Hell, I knew nearly every inch of this machine after seeing it every year at Bill Bierman’s North St. Louis shop. As a wide-eyed high school kid, I remember studying the hand fabricated chassis, partially assembled 392 Hemi and half-dozen Strombergs. And that channel job? No chop? How could I forget that? Although it has been finished for a few years now, it’s nearly impossible not to be drawn in by the details of Bill’s ‘T.’

There’s always talk about balancing the macro and micro in just about everything we do. Bill has a firm grasp on that. On the larger scale, the ‘T’ Bag brings out all the big elements front and center: Raked body, aggressive stance and a mountainous power plant. The bright orange paint, blue windows and fuel altered-inspired rolling stock help round out the ‘T.’ Once the crowd finally dissipates, Bill’s attention to detail emerges. Note the cowl blister, hidden radiator and ultra-clean suicide axle setup.

If you take a step back and look at the ‘T’ Bag and think that it looks like a full-size model kit, you aren’t too far off. Like countless other hot rodders, Bill’s fascination with cars started at a young age with highly detailed plastic model kits. These days he’s the man behind one of the wildest shops in the nation. I’ve seen Bill in action dozens of times, smoking tires, jamming gears and pulling wheelstands on the street. But I realized that I’ve never been involved.

“Hey Bill,�? I said as I helped stack chairs at 3:30 a.m. after XXX-Mas party. “When am I going to get a chance to ride in the ‘T’ Bag?�?

“How about tomorrow?�? he responded with a smile.

***

After snaking through the lot behind the shop, Bill feathered the throttle and the weed burners cackled. His big hands yanked the ’60 Olds steering wheel as he brought the car onto the main drag.

I watched fuel travel from the Moon tank, through the translucent red fuel lines and into the six thirsty Strombergs. Each blip of the throttle shook the little steel coupe. Bill patiently watched traffic while he waited for his Riverview Dragstrip to clear. Less than a minute later, he saw his opening.

The Hemi howled and the ‘T’ launched hard to the left. I felt as if a magnetic force slammed me back into the metal bench seat as the hard rubber slicks fought the wet pavement for traction. My right hand grasped the window frame, Wild Wille style, as we careened down the boulevard. Icy wind rushed in from all sides, blurring my vision.

Out my window I saw a shocked pedestrian yell “Oh damn!�? while we blasted past. Somehow, the spindle mounts kept us on course for the length of the street. I looked over — Bill was grinning.

After taking one more pass down the street, he guided the coupe back into the Creative Customs parking lot. I stumbled out smiling, light headed and struggling for air.

It took me a solid minute to form any sort of comprehensible sentence. While I collected myself, Bill told Nick (Nick32Vic) to hop in as he went for another round. That’s where the action shots came from.

***

Hot rodding is a wild way of life. And there’s no better reminder than a hell-bent ride in an over-the-top machine with a friend behind the wheel.

So I’ll ask you this — what’s the most radical hot rod you’ve ever ridden in (or driven)?

-Joey Ukrop